Harper With a single glance at the insanely hot cowboy leaning over the end of the bar, Lily knew to the ends of her toes he was trouble. The best, most devilishly creative sort of trouble. “Good grief, Lils.” Her Packmate Sara sipped a third gin and tonic and eyed the cowboy with appreciation. “He’s really gorgeous. I mean, really.” Lily nodded, too rapt in her own appreciation to respond verbally. The cowboy was long. Strong. Dark hair, dark eyes, skin that whispered of the sun-drenched desert and a hard fitness. Deliberate intention coiled around him, fitting to his muscles and informing every graceful, unwasted motion he made, from signaling the barkeep to touching the brim of his black Stetson with his fingers. And what gorgeous, talented fingers they seemed. Lily bet they could play her up, down, and sideways, setting off little earthquakes she’d deliberately forgotten how to trigger. Mm... Her wolf reared up, eager for the heat of mating.
