air seeped through the wool of her dress coat. “Thanks.”
“You need some new things. That coat won’t do up here and those boots”—he gave the stiletto heels a nasty glare that let her know exactly what he thought of them—“really won’t do.”
“Thanks, Mr. Gunn. So glad to have the fashion lesson. Now I know exactly what does not work.” The confused look in his eye both reassured and brought a small smile to her face. “Not a Project Runway fan?”
“Um, no.”
“You’re more the man-cave dwelling, let-me-watch-my-football type instead of the Heidi-and-Tim type?”
“You could say that.” A small smiled hovered over his lips as he fastened the last button on his coat. “Maybe we could try this again?”
“Try what again?”
Walker extended his hand. “Walker Montgomery.” When she just stood there staring at him, he reached for her arm, dragging her hand toward his. “And you are?”
Sloan tightened her grip. “Sloan McKinley.”
If she hadn’t been standing, frozen to the very depths of her impractically clad toes, Sloan wouldn’t have believed it. But as Walker’s hand enveloped hers for the faux introduction, a shot of electricity tripped along each and every nerve ending she possessed.
As waves of warmth flooded her wrist and traveled up her arm, settling somewhere in the center of her chest, she tugged lightly and tried to pull back her hand. Despite her best intentions to stay immune to his charm, the warmth continued to fill her, spreading out like ripples on a pond from her very core.
Oh man, was this guy lethal.
When he wouldn’t release her hand, she opted for bored disdain. “You make it a habit to follow women out into the cold, stealing men’s jackets for them?”
“Only when it’s women from the Lower Forty-eight, who don’t seem to know how to dress for the temperature.”
“Sounds like you get a lot of them up here, from what I’ve heard. That big competition next weekend is all anyone can talk about.”
Walker moved forward and Sloan had to tilt her neck to look up at him. She wasn’t a small woman—and the heels on her boots only added to her height—so the sensation was as unfamiliar as it was welcome. Up close, he was even bigger than he looked. “Tell me about it.”
There was something so manly—so physical—about him, Sloan was torn between taking a few steps back or tackling him to the ground and having her way with him.
Where had that thought come from?
As unexpected as the idea of tackling him was the bubble of laughter that threatened at the dismal note in his voice.
“You’re not all that crazy about the event?”
“Would you be?”
Sloan tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips. Although the gesture had been innocent, she didn’t miss the way Walker’s eyes grew even blacker in the reflection of the light, his gaze following her fingertip with rapt attention. “So the men don’t like it and the local women don’t like it. Seems like that would make for more trouble than it’s worth.”
“That’s not exactly how my grandmother sees it. And several of the men actually look forward to it.”
“You’re just not one of them.”
“No.”
“And the other grandsons?”
“Mick and Roman?” Walker let out a harsh bark of laughter. “They’d prefer a trip to the dentist, too.”
“Oh, come on, it doesn’t sound that bad. It is for charity.” Sloan had paid attention to Sophie’s little PR piece during the town hall, where the woman attempted to explain her grand vision of what the competition was really all about.
Charity.
Yeah, right.
Sloan tried to focus on the conversation at hand, though Walker’s strong physical presence was doing a number on her. A town full of marriage-obsessed matrons, desperate to marry off three men who had no interest and willing to go to great lengths to achieve it.
“So my grandmother hasn’t tempted you to compete in the event yet.”
Horrified at the thought, Sloan firmly
“You need some new things. That coat won’t do up here and those boots”—he gave the stiletto heels a nasty glare that let her know exactly what he thought of them—“really won’t do.”
“Thanks, Mr. Gunn. So glad to have the fashion lesson. Now I know exactly what does not work.” The confused look in his eye both reassured and brought a small smile to her face. “Not a Project Runway fan?”
“Um, no.”
“You’re more the man-cave dwelling, let-me-watch-my-football type instead of the Heidi-and-Tim type?”
“You could say that.” A small smiled hovered over his lips as he fastened the last button on his coat. “Maybe we could try this again?”
“Try what again?”
Walker extended his hand. “Walker Montgomery.” When she just stood there staring at him, he reached for her arm, dragging her hand toward his. “And you are?”
Sloan tightened her grip. “Sloan McKinley.”
If she hadn’t been standing, frozen to the very depths of her impractically clad toes, Sloan wouldn’t have believed it. But as Walker’s hand enveloped hers for the faux introduction, a shot of electricity tripped along each and every nerve ending she possessed.
As waves of warmth flooded her wrist and traveled up her arm, settling somewhere in the center of her chest, she tugged lightly and tried to pull back her hand. Despite her best intentions to stay immune to his charm, the warmth continued to fill her, spreading out like ripples on a pond from her very core.
Oh man, was this guy lethal.
When he wouldn’t release her hand, she opted for bored disdain. “You make it a habit to follow women out into the cold, stealing men’s jackets for them?”
“Only when it’s women from the Lower Forty-eight, who don’t seem to know how to dress for the temperature.”
“Sounds like you get a lot of them up here, from what I’ve heard. That big competition next weekend is all anyone can talk about.”
Walker moved forward and Sloan had to tilt her neck to look up at him. She wasn’t a small woman—and the heels on her boots only added to her height—so the sensation was as unfamiliar as it was welcome. Up close, he was even bigger than he looked. “Tell me about it.”
There was something so manly—so physical—about him, Sloan was torn between taking a few steps back or tackling him to the ground and having her way with him.
Where had that thought come from?
As unexpected as the idea of tackling him was the bubble of laughter that threatened at the dismal note in his voice.
“You’re not all that crazy about the event?”
“Would you be?”
Sloan tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips. Although the gesture had been innocent, she didn’t miss the way Walker’s eyes grew even blacker in the reflection of the light, his gaze following her fingertip with rapt attention. “So the men don’t like it and the local women don’t like it. Seems like that would make for more trouble than it’s worth.”
“That’s not exactly how my grandmother sees it. And several of the men actually look forward to it.”
“You’re just not one of them.”
“No.”
“And the other grandsons?”
“Mick and Roman?” Walker let out a harsh bark of laughter. “They’d prefer a trip to the dentist, too.”
“Oh, come on, it doesn’t sound that bad. It is for charity.” Sloan had paid attention to Sophie’s little PR piece during the town hall, where the woman attempted to explain her grand vision of what the competition was really all about.
Charity.
Yeah, right.
Sloan tried to focus on the conversation at hand, though Walker’s strong physical presence was doing a number on her. A town full of marriage-obsessed matrons, desperate to marry off three men who had no interest and willing to go to great lengths to achieve it.
“So my grandmother hasn’t tempted you to compete in the event yet.”
Horrified at the thought, Sloan firmly
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