Tucker's Crossing. Marina Adair

Lynn?” Cody’s voice came from behind, wrapping itself around her and grabbing hold. Her fingers loosened, the hair slipping and spilling down to the middle of her back.

      Shelby Lynn. Cody had called her that a thousand times before. But hearing it now, falling from his lips so casually, created a yearning deep within her. It was as if the life she’d been living these past ten years had never existed.

      Setting the cloth on the counter, Shelby smoothed her hands down the fabric of her dress. Going for calm and collected, she held her position by the sink and prayed for some witty remark. One that would show him how unaffected she was, how strong she’d become.

      But Lord help her, she’d missed everything about this man. And except for his hair, which formed unruly curls at his neck, everything about Cody crackled with control and order. The small scar on his chin, the smell of musky cologne mixed with soap, even the way he wore his—slacks?

      “Are you wearing loafers?”

      He blinked, looking baffled. Join the club, buddy. Since when did Cody Tucker—cowboy, rough-and-tumble cattle wrangler, and all-around sexy Texan—start dressing like a city boy?

      “What’s wrong with loafers?”

      “You’re on a ranch. In the middle of Texas. Wearing softer hide than the cows.”

      “Visited a lot of cattle ranches in San Francisco, did you? Between all your dinner parties and Save the Arts soirées, I’m surprised you found the time.”

      He sounded so—mean. Shelby crossed her arms, to show him she could be mean too, and to hide her cute and totally inappropriate summer dress. Thankfully, she’d left her equally unsuitable city-girl shoes upstairs.

      Cody stepped closer with that easy gait of his, which was more of a stroll than a strut. Stopping right in front of her, he left just enough space to keep them a world apart.

      “What the hell were you thinking?”

      Now that she was clothed, she wasn’t sure if she should go for the hey-now-that-you-don’t-have-a-gun-pointed-at-me-it’s-great-to-see-you attitude or hide under the table. Since cowering in front of an intimidating man was something she’d sworn never to do again, she gave him what she hoped was a hard look. “That I was hot and needed a shower. Didn’t expect Jesse James to come riding through.”

      “Yeah, well, you could have gotten yourself shot.” He sounded furious, which she’d take any day over controlled and unaffected.

      “You wouldn’t have shot me. You engaged the safety the minute you saw it was me.”

      “That’s just because I’m good. Someone else might not have bothered to ask questions first.” His tone softened, and his hand came up to cup her face. His touch was reverent and gentle, almost as if he needed real, tangible proof that she was really there.

      Heat gathered along the path his fingers took. Not prepared for the overwhelming electricity that surged between them, and knowing how easy it would be to lose herself to him, Shelby turned her head.

      “Don’t.”

      “Don’t what, Shelby Lynn?”

      “Don’t you try to sweet-talk your way out of busting into a lady’s bathroom. What if Ms. Luella had been in there? Lord, Cody, you scared me half to death. And do you apologize for your behavior? No. You scold me like I am some misbehaving child who—”

      “You’re still scared.”

      “I am not.”

      “Then why are you rambling?”

      “I’m not rambling.”

      “Yes, you are. You always ramble when you get nervous.”

      It irked her that he could still read her. He didn’t know her anymore, had given up his right to know her. “I’m not that naive college girl anymore.”

      “Is that right?” His eyes slid down her, stopping to rest at her breasts, and the blatant male appreciation in his appraisal caused her nipples to bead under her bodice, which went to show how very stupid hormones could make her.

      He gave a low whistle. And if there was any lingering doubt that he had failed to notice, Cody locked eyes with Shelby, his mouth kicking up into that easy grin of his—the one that had stolen her heart. The one that said, “Gotcha,” and reminded her of late nights filled with making love, and lazy days spent in tangled sheets.

      “My, my, my, you’re right about that. You surely have grown up,” he drawled, purposely turning on the Southern charm.

      “Yeah, well last time you saw me you were so busy burning rubber out the door, I wasn’t sure you even had the time to get a good look,” Shelby blurted and instantly wanted to suck the words back into her mouth and swallow them whole. The last thing she needed was him knowing just how much he’d hurt her. How much he still got to her.

      Yeah, good luck with that.

      Their relationship had been explosive from the start, the connection instantaneous. A shy glance over her biology notes had turned into dinner at Joe’s Chicken and Waffles and ended with leftovers for breakfast. Cody never really left, moving his things in little by little until their lives were so intertwined no one knew what was whose.

      Then he left. And although his best friend had relayed Cody’s message explaining why, things were still unsettled, achingly intertwined. They always would be.

      “Yeah, well last time I saw you, you were wearing a ring.”

      “Not for a couple of years now.” Shelby lifted her hand and wiggled her naked finger.

      “Is that right?” Cody said again, this time with a healthy dash of smugness. “Preston always was an idiot.”

      Her friends had thought she was crazy to leave a man like Preston Van Warren. On paper he was perfect, rich and handsome and funny, with a charisma and family name that drew people in and hooked them. Too bad it had taken Shelby so long to realize that under all that easy charm was a controlling bully who took joy in degrading his wife.

      “Thanks,” she whispered, feeling ridiculously happy that someone else in the world knew what a jerk her ex was.

      Cody’s body went taut, as if he were waiting for the whistle to blow and the game to begin. Closing the gap, he pressed her back into the counter. Their bodies nearly flush, he lowered his head, his lips close enough to taste. Her blood pounded with anticipation—and fear—causing her ears to ring loudly.

      “You’re smokin’.” Cody’s voice sounded low and seductive, a proposition.

      Shelby felt her stomach heat and wondered if Cody wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted him to kiss her. Then she smacked herself for wondering and reminded herself that he’d come back because of the will, not her. Right?

      Cody pressed all the way forward, his chest hard against her nipples, and for one gut-lurching, heart-stopping, totally terrifying moment, she thought he was actually going to kiss her.

      He rested his hands on the counter’s ledge, caging her in and whispered, “I was referring to the oven. But I’m willing to go there, too.”

      Shelby swallowed. The light pink in her cheeks turned a mortifying red. “Don’t you dare try to flirt with me!”

      “Honey, when I’m flirting, you’ll know. There’ll be no trying about it.” But the cocky grin he wore told her that he was flirting. And her body was all for it.

      “You’re just trying to intimidate me into leaving.” Shoving against the wall of his chest, she scrambled to open the oven, and prayed for the strength not to stick her head inside and close the door. “Pick a new strategy. That one won’t work.”

      She grabbed the oven mitts. “Ms. Luella would kill me if I burned her corn bread. She’s practicing for the cook-off. She added oil from a habañero and water