“As usual, your mouth is what got you into trouble,” HC Wagner said to himself, grinning widely.

His mouth tended to get him into sticky situations, but then again, many of them turned out to be fun. This time wasn’t one of the fun times. He sobered and stared at the closed door of the ranch house. HC didn’t want to do what he knew he must, but he wouldn’t shirk on it. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, then lifted his hand and knocked. He made it hard and loud, just to aggravate the occupant of the house. HC knew he had to apologise, but he didn’t have to make it nice and could add this to the count he was keeping of ways to piss off the man inside. The door was yanked open and the man in the doorway looked at him and immediately scowled.

Hmmm…a new record for his scowling at me. HC slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, smiling widely.

“Stop pounding on my door like you live here.” Drake Finley, MGR Ranch foreman, used that calm, level-headed tone that set HC’s teeth on edge.

“If I lived here, I wouldn’t have to knock, I’d have a key.” HC blinked slowly and exaggeratedly. “Unless you’re asking me to move in. In that case. This is so…sudden.”

Drake’s frown deepened. “You’re such a…”

HC’s smile widened as Drake trailed off. Score one for HC. Drake didn’t like to swear and it was fun to see how far he could push him. It was a goal of his to make the cowboy curse. It was perverse but, from their first meeting, Drake had seemed to hate HC on sight. Since that was the tone set, HC followed his lead and whenever he was around Drake—he went out of his way to aggravate him. Drake rubbed his fingers through his hair. At the gesture, HC’s breath caught.

Why does he have to be so attractive? HC studied the cowboy. His short, slightly curly, auburn hair always had a carelessly messy look that gave Drake a sexy, tousled appearance many would pay to achieve. His hair framed a tanned, classically handsome face and his green eyes seemed not to miss anything. It was his face that had captured HC’s attention when he’d first seen Drake a little over a year ago. Drake, with his unfathomable expression, was a puzzle HC really wanted to figure out. It was baffling, since Drake wasn’t even his type. HC preferred men who were shorter and leaner, but HC and Drake were the same height and although Drake was lanky, it was all muscle from working hard on the ranch. HC also preferred people he was interested in to like him and enjoy his company, instead of running in the other direction whenever they saw him.

“Come on, you know you want to say it,” he taunted.

“You have enough of a potty mouth for us both.” Although his tone was again calm, Drake’s gruff voice reminded HC of one confrontation when Drake had got in his face.

HC went hard at the thought. Drake’s eyes had flashed and his nostrils had flared. The emotion Drake had shown—instead of that cold exterior he normally presented to HC—was even more intoxicating. Drake had almost sworn, calling him a ‘dang ass’. In HC’s view, ‘dang ass’ didn’t really count as swearing.

HC still couldn’t decide which version of Drake he preferred—calm or showing irritation. He looked at Drake’s mouth then decided maybe it didn’t matter which. Those firm but soft-looking lips fascinated him and HC had imagined many times how Drake would taste. In the next moment, HC snapped out of it, knowing it would never happen—it was stupid to torture himself over wanting a man who couldn’t stand the sight of him and who wasn’t even gay. From a distance he’d seen Drake often enough with a woman who was obviously important to him. HC had never met her but the rest of his family had and they all sang her praises. Yeah he knew her name, but he’d be damned if he’d even think it.

You’re being irrational. Hating a woman who has what you want. Drake doesn’t even like you. HC pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest.

Drake lowered his gaze and HC knew he was looking at the tattoos that ran from his elbow up and under his sleeves. HC resisted the usual temptation to tell Drake there was much more to explore under his clothing, or something else that would annoy Drake.

Damn you, Blayne, for making me promise to not antagonise Drake.

Blayne Dalton his brother knew him too well. After Drake and his confrontation, Blayne had got a promise out of HC to be ‘kinder and gentler’ with Drake than he’d been since they’d moved here. Is that what you’re doing? Seems to me you’re going out of your way to push Drake to be the one to strike first. That oh-so-reasonable voice in his head sounded a lot like his other brother Thomas Ward. And the voice was right. If Drake lost his cool first, as per his get out clause, HC was free to return to form—gleefully pissing off Drake at every opportunity he got.

“Is there a reason you’re standing at my door on a Friday night”—Drake looked pointedly at his watch—“at six-eighteen?”

HC rolled his eyes. “Exact time. Do you have some place you need to be?” HC clenched his fist, wondering if he had a date with her.

“Maybe.” Drake gazed at HC’s bulging arms and shook his head. “Why are you being kinder and gentler?”

HC narrowed his eyes. “Blayne told you.”

“Morgan,” Drake said, referring to Morgan Ralston, the owner of the ranch and Blayne’s partner. “He tried to tell me the same thing Blayne told you. They don’t know how our dynamic works. As if we could be ‘kinder and gentler’ to each other.” Drake shuddered then winked.

HC’s breath caught at the playful expression on Drake’s face—it only made him more attractive. HC cleared his throat. “A sense of humour—who would have thought you had one? And our dynamic works. Do you even know what saying that means?”

“I can laugh. You’re just a pain in the ass.” Drake scowled. “Calling me dumb is a good way to piss me off.”

“As usual, your mouth is what got you into trouble,” HC Wagner said to himself, grinning widely.

His mouth tended to get him into sticky situations, but then again, many of them turned out to be fun. This time wasn’t one of the fun times. He sobered and stared at the closed door of the ranch house. HC didn’t want to do what he knew he must, but he wouldn’t shirk on it. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, then lifted his hand and knocked. He made it hard and loud, just to aggravate the occupant of the house. HC knew he had to apologise, but he didn’t have to make it nice and could add this to the count he was keeping of ways to piss off the man inside. The door was yanked open and the man in the doorway looked at him and immediately scowled.

Hmmm…a new record for his scowling at me. HC slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, smiling widely.

“Stop pounding on my door like you live here.” Drake Finley, MGR Ranch foreman, used that calm, level-headed tone that set HC’s teeth on edge.

“If I lived here, I wouldn’t have to knock, I’d have a key.” HC blinked slowly and exaggeratedly. “Unless you’re asking me to move in. In that case. This is so…sudden.”

Drake’s frown deepened. “You’re such a…”

HC’s smile widened as Drake trailed off. Score one for HC. Drake didn’t like to swear and it was fun to see how far he could push him. It was a goal of his to make the cowboy curse. It was perverse but, from their first meeting, Drake had seemed to hate HC on sight. Since that was the tone set, HC followed his lead and whenever he was around Drake—he went out of his way to aggravate him. Drake rubbed his fingers through his hair. At the gesture, HC’s breath caught.

Why does he have to be so attractive? HC studied the cowboy. His short, slightly curly, auburn hair always had a carelessly messy look that gave Drake a sexy, tousled appearance many would pay to achieve. His hair framed a tanned, classically handsome face and his green eyes seemed not to miss anything. It was his face that had captured HC’s attention when he’d first seen Drake a little over a year ago. Drake, with his unfathomable expression, was a puzzle HC really wanted to figure out. It was baffling, since Drake wasn’t even his type. HC preferred men who were shorter and leaner, but HC and Drake were the same height and although Drake was lanky, it was all muscle from working hard on the ranch. HC also preferred people he was interested in to like him and enjoy his company, instead of running in the other direction whenever they saw him.

“Come on, you know you want to say it,” he taunted.

“You have enough of a potty mouth for us both.” Although his tone was again calm, Drake’s gruff voice reminded HC of one confrontation when Drake had got in his face.

HC went hard at the thought. Drake’s eyes had flashed and his nostrils had flared. The emotion Drake had shown—instead of that cold exterior he normally presented to HC—was even more intoxicating. Drake had almost sworn, calling him a ‘dang ass’. In HC’s view, ‘dang ass’ didn’t really count as swearing.

HC still couldn’t decide which version of Drake he preferred—calm or showing irritation. He looked at Drake’s mouth then decided maybe it didn’t matter which. Those firm but soft-looking lips fascinated him and HC had imagined many times how Drake would taste. In the next moment, HC snapped out of it, knowing it would never happen—it was stupid to torture himself over wanting a man who couldn’t stand the sight of him and who wasn’t even gay. From a distance he’d seen Drake often enough with a woman who was obviously important to him. HC had never met her but the rest of his family had and they all sang her praises. Yeah he knew her name, but he’d be damned if he’d even think it.

You’re being irrational. Hating a woman who has what you want. Drake doesn’t even like you. HC pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest.

Drake lowered his gaze and HC knew he was looking at the tattoos that ran from his elbow up and under his sleeves. HC resisted the usual temptation to tell Drake there was much more to explore under his clothing, or something else that would annoy Drake.

Damn you, Blayne, for making me promise to not antagonise Drake.

Blayne Dalton his brother knew him too well. After Drake and his confrontation, Blayne had got a promise out of HC to be ‘kinder and gentler’ with Drake than he’d been since they’d moved here. Is that what you’re doing? Seems to me you’re going out of your way to push Drake to be the one to strike first. That oh-so-reasonable voice in his head sounded a lot like his other brother Thomas Ward. And the voice was right. If Drake lost his cool first, as per his get out clause, HC was free to return to form—gleefully pissing off Drake at every opportunity he got.

“Is there a reason you’re standing at my door on a Friday night”—Drake looked pointedly at his watch—“at six-eighteen?”

HC rolled his eyes. “Exact time. Do you have some place you need to be?” HC clenched his fist, wondering if he had a date with her.

“Maybe.” Drake gazed at HC’s bulging arms and shook his head. “Why are you being kinder and gentler?”

HC narrowed his eyes. “Blayne told you.”

“Morgan,” Drake said, referring to Morgan Ralston, the owner of the ranch and Blayne’s partner. “He tried to tell me the same thing Blayne told you. They don’t know how our dynamic works. As if we could be ‘kinder and gentler’ to each other.” Drake shuddered then winked.

HC’s breath caught at the playful expression on Drake’s face—it only made him more attractive. HC cleared his throat. “A sense of humour—who would have thought you had one? And our dynamic works. Do you even know what saying that means?”

“I can laugh. You’re just a pain in the ass.” Drake scowled. “Calling me dumb is a good way to piss me off.”