Sometimes hot cowboys scare us

Esopecially when they take us exciting places our bodies haven't been before and we discover how much we like it.

Excerpt from Rodeo Heat, my CAPA nominated book.
Available at Ellora's Cave http://www.jasminehade.com/
Visit me at http://www.desireeholt.com/

By seven thirty Grace knew her idea had been foolish if not downright idiotic. Almost from the moment Curt had ushered her into the restaurant and they’d followed the maitre d’ to their table, she knew this was a mistake.
As she sipped her wine from the oversized goblet, she let her eyes roam over every detail of the man across from her that she could see, hoping she was missing something. But no, it was the same old Curt. The one who had seemed like such a good candidate for socializing. A carbon copy of the other men she’d allowed herself to date since she took down the Keep Away sign. Gray hair combed so carefully not one strand would dare move out of place. Closely shaven face pink from the effects, she was sure, of the three glasses of wine he’d already had to her one. Suit almost the same shade of gray as his hair. With his impeccably laundered white shirt and precisely knotted tie, he looked like a cover model for a senior citizen’s magazine.
But Curt no longer appeared to her as a person who was aging gracefully as she’d once thought. Already she could see the hint of jowls along his jawline and the beginning of liver spots on the backs of his hands. He never worked out, didn’t even play golf and she wondered now if the body beneath the expensive tailoring was already showing the first signs of flab.
Thinking of him naked, a shiver of revulsion raced over her that she could barely control.
What am I thinking here? Curt is exactly what I need. The perfect…the perfect…the perfect what?
The perfect waste of time, her mind screamed at her. Put him next to Ben and there was no comparison.
Ben!
Get out of my mind. I need to stop thinking about you.
“Grace?”
She jerked herself back to the present, realizing Curt was talking to her.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “Just winding down from the day. What were you saying?”
He reached across the table and closed his hand over the one she had resting on the fine linen. It took all her willpower not to jerk it away.
“I was just remarking how nice it is to finally spend some time with you again that doesn’t involve my business.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
Her mind blanked and she sipped at her wine. Without thinking her hand stole to the pin she’d placed on the lapel. She had no idea what had made her fasten it on at the last moment. Now it was like a flame thrower burning a hole into her body. The tip of one finger rubbed the burnished surface and instantly an image of a naked Ben flashed across her brain.
No, no, no! This is what I’m trying to get away from.
Ben Lowell had Danger—Handle With Care written all over him. The intensity of what was building between them scared her to death, so she’d run back to what was safe. Secure. Non-threatening. Curt Sanderson.
But when you danced with the devil, you couldn’t slow down for a sedate waltz. All that wild music just keeps on playing, drawing me in. I’m afraid to lift the cover and look inside myself. So here I sit, time moving as if weighted by concrete.