Rough and Ready (More Than A Cowboy 2)

“Okay?” he asked, his voice low. Gentle.

From Gray and Emory’s apartment, music was playing, set low. I didn’t smell dinner, and from where I stood, coul

dn’t see the dining room table set for eating. Were we alone?

I couldn’t slink away and hide with embarrassment, no matter how much I wanted to. If I did, he’d probably think I was scared of him. Again. Still. I owed him an apology, so I nodded. Cleared my throat. “Yes, thanks. I promise not to freak out this time.”

He only gave a quick nod as reply. “I should probably introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Reed.”

“Harper.”

He held out his hand, and when he clasped mine, I could feel the rough callouses, the strength. I should feel afraid because I was well aware how easily he could hurt me. Guys like him weren’t in my usual social circle. Gray was the first professional fighter I’d ever met, and I could only imagine what my mother would think of my new landlord—and neighbor. Either way, I wasn't scared of Reed. Not at all. Perhaps it was because we were standing in Emory's doorway or that I'd run seven miles and burned all my fear away. Perhaps it was because I felt something else entirely toward him—all because of the feel of his hand holding mine. It definitely wasn’t fear now that I took a moment to look my fill. I was attracted to him. Every conscious woman would be. I had no doubt he had women flinging themselves at him.

He wasn’t doing anything but looking at me with those intense eyes. Waiting.

“I'm really sorry about earlier,” I told him as he released my hand. Was his eye color ocean blue? Ice. That was it. They were ice blue.

“Gray said I scare people away when I'm ripe with sweat after a workout, but I hadn’t really believed him before.”

God, he was sweet. He was giving me an excuse to push my earlier panic onto him. No, I'd own up to it. Besides, he hadn't smelled bad. If something had been pumping from him, it was pheromones not BO. While I'd been struck by a panic attack, I'd still picked up on how hot he was. And now, my ovaries were jumping for joy just standing in front of this hot bad boy.

Yeah, he was all bad boy and made my nipples hard. I hadn’t had this reaction to a guy in a long time. Perhaps ever. Perhaps it was time I reevaluated my social circle because I’d been missing out.

“It wasn’t you,” I said sheepishly.

He looked skeptical, especially when he arched one dark brow, and the corner of his full mouth tipped up.

“I have a problem with elevators,” I admitted.

He stared at me for a few seconds, rubbed the back of his neck, offered a small smile. “Elevators?”

I nodded in confirmation. “Big problem.”

“I was not expecting that answer. Claustrophobia?”

I offered a slight shrug. “Something like that,” I provided, not wanting to tell him the real reason. Now that would scare him away. He thought I was crazy enough already. “What were you expecting?”

He shrugged, and I didn't miss the play of his muscles beneath his collar. “I'm a pretty scary guy, Harper.” Pointing to his face, he continued, “This mug's been in lots of fights, most of them outside of the ring.”

I imagined he held his own pretty well, but I got what he was saying. He was a bad boy. Had a history that wasn’t homecoming king and graduate school.

“What do the other guys look like then?”

His smile slipped entirely.

God, I’d said the wrong thing. I’d just been joking.

“Some of them, not so good,” he told me. “That's why you should be wary. Your first instincts about me may have been right.”

Even though he’d scared the shit out of me earlier, I wasn't getting any danger vibes now. What had he done to make him feel I should stay away from him?

“Emory’s a good judge of character,” I countered, tucking my hair behind my ear. His eyes followed my action. “Like I said, it wasn’t you. It was the stupid elevator.”

He stepped out into the stairwell with me, pulling the door to the apartment closed behind him. “Come on,” he said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.

I frowned. “Where are we going? Isn’t Emory expecting us?”

He went down a step, looked over his shoulder, so we were eye level. In the fluorescent lighting of the emergency stairs, his hair looked almost black.