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His mouth curved as he leaned across the console. She met him halfway, intending a quick kiss, but the instant his lips covered hers, that plan went straight out the window. By the time she pulled back, she was seriously reconsidering why she’d insisted on coming home.

“This is your fault,” she murmured.

“What is?”

“That I’m going to be exhausted all day.”

His expression turned downright smug. “I don’t remember hearing you complain last night.”

Memories of exactly what she’d been doing instead of complaining flashed through her mind, and her cheeks flushed. “Goodbye, Grady.”

His chuckle followed her out of the SUV. She closed the door and headed toward the house, but spun around when he lowered the passenger window and told her to get some sleep.

She gave him a mock salute. “Yes, Sheriff.”

“And text me when you wake up.”

That stopped her. Somewhere between dinner and his bed, they’d finally exchanged phone numbers. It was such an ordinary request for her to text him, but it still sent a small flicker of pleasure through her.

So much for keeping everything neatly compartmentalized.

“I will.”

She headed toward the house, aware that Grady remained in the driveway as she climbed the porch steps. Only after she’d unlocked the door and stepped inside did his SUV pull away. She closed the door and leaned back against it, unable to stop smiling as she replayed the past eleven hours in her mind.

Dinner, the teasing, the kisses, the incredible sex, and waking up beside him. None of it had felt temporary while she was with him, and that was the problem. She could list all the rules she wanted, but Grady Minor was already making them damn difficult to follow.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Several hours later, Amanda was considerably more human. A shower, another three hours of sleep, breakfast, and two cups of coffee had helped. She’d spent the rest of the morning working on her manuscript while Edith watched television, and shortly after lunch, a rental car pulled into the driveway.

Amanda was out the door before Fen had finished climbing from behind the wheel. At six feet tall and rail-thin, Fenton Albright had perfected the art of making an entrance even when no audience existed to appreciate it. Today, oversized sunglasses covered half his face, a bright pink button-down shirt was tucked into fitted slacks, and his loafers looked as though they belonged anywhere but rural Wyoming. His blond hair was styled to perfection, not a strand out of place, and a subtle sheen of lip gloss completed the look.

He took one look around and pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, honey. You really are in the middle of nowhere.” He sniffed the air and grimaced. “And what is that smell?”

Laughing, Amanda hurried toward him. “Hello to you too. And that smell is fresh air.”

“It’s fresh something.”

He swept her into a hug, kissed both her cheeks, then held her at arm’s length and gave her a thorough inspection.

“I look exactly the same as I did two weeks ago.”

Fen lowered his sunglasses and peered at her over the frames with his piercing blue eyes. “No, you don’t. You look... rested. How irritating.”

“You should try getting arrested. Apparently, it does wonders for the complexion.”

“Darling, orange is not my color.”

“You don’t have to wear orange for reckless driving.”

“I’m not willing to take the chance.”

She hugged him again, happier to see him than she'd realized. Fen had been her assistant for six years and had long ago become one of her closest friends. Having him in Wyoming brought a little piece of her Los Angeles life with her.

He opened the trunk, revealing two large suitcases and two medium ones. Reaching past them, he retrieved his computer bag and a small gift bag.

She stared at the luggage. “How long are you planning to stay?”