SHE WAS AS stupid as she was transparent. She didn’t care if Grant wanted to date again. She wasn’t interested in Grant like that at all. But she had to do something to…something. To diffuse that very obvious moment that had just happened between herself and Wyatt.

She didn’t like this. Not at all.

She didn’t like feeling like she didn’t have the upper hand on a social situation. Didn’t like feeling as if everything around her was so far beyond her she could never reach it.

That was her entire experience in the early days of dating Damien and being his wife. Feeling like she had just walked into the room in the middle of a conversation and had to spend every moment thereafter playing catch-up.

She hated that feeling. More than anything.

Well, that wasn’t true. Actually, she hated finding out that her husband had been having an affair for years and years even more. Although, it was a different side of the same coin. Being out of the loop. Being ignorant. Being small.

Somehow less than everyone that surrounded her.

Wyatt didn’t make her feel like she was less, but he made her feel something. And she didn’t like it.

She’d gotten her balance in a small sense when she had demanded that Laz put Wyatt’s drink on her tab.

But then, he had touched her.

He had touched her, and she hadn’t been able to disguise her response to it. She could see it in his eyes. That he thought he knew exactly what she felt. And even if it was true, even if he did, she was not going to let him have that.

She enjoyed this. That hesitation in his eyes. The tightening in his jaw. The fact that she had him on his back foot. Yeah, she liked that a lot better than feeling like she was on hers.

He tilted his head back. “Grant, huh?”

“He seems like a nice guy. Good-looking too.”

“Right.” His teeth were clenched so tight she’d be surprised if he didn’t chip one. Maybe that shouldn’t satisfy her. But it did.

“Just wondering if you have the inside track on that.” She tried to look both cool and interested at the same time.

He lifted a brow. “I expect you could ask him yourself.”

“Oh, I expect I could.” She kept her tone light but steady. She had a feeling it was that lightness that had him caught so off guard.

“Then why ask me?” He was trying to sound casual too. Unlike her, he was failing.

“Everyone could use a good wingman, Wyatt. If you wanted to be mine, I would hardly say no.” She smiled, and he didn’t.

“I’ll pass.”

She lifted her shoulder. “Suit yourself. But, I would have returned the favor.”

“Wingmen are for amateurs, honey,” he said. “I’ve never needed one yet.”

He walked away from her, heading back over to their shared corner of the saloon. She was captivated watching him. Even angry at him. Even with him angry at her.

Those broad shoulders, narrow waist. His ass in those jeans.

She didn’t know who she was when she looked at him. The things she noticed. What it made her want.

She stood for a moment and took a breath trying to get a hold of herself. It was only then that she realized her hands were shaking. Dammit.

She crossed the room, making her way back over to the table. “Why don’t you sit next to Grant?” Wyatt asked, giving her an evil smirk from his position in his chair.

And that made her suspect that he didn’t believe her at all. Asshole.

“Sure,” she said, easily, casually. She took a seat next to Grant. “We haven’t had a chance to talk much,” she said, turning to the other man.

Grant was looking at her, somewhat blandly, and she felt a small twinge of guilt. She wasn’t interested in him. She didn’t want him to think she was. Not when she wasn’t going to actually follow up.

That was a new low. Using a widowed man as a pawn in her control game.

But, his extreme and apparent lack of interest made her feel less guilty immediately.

Somehow, they stumbled through the rest of the evening making conversation. And she could feel Wyatt’s eyes on her the entire time. But she refused to look back at him.

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.

In 2009, at the age of twenty-three Maisey sold her first book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily ever afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light sexy contemporary romances set practically in her back yard. She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.

In Gold Valley, Oregon, forbidden desire just might turn into the love of a lifetime…

When Lindy Parker lost her cheating husband, she gained a vineyard. She’ll do anything for Grassroots Winery, including teaming up with the hottest devil she knows, rancher Wyatt Dodge. Wyatt is her ex’s friend and has an ego as big as the bulls he rides. But in spite of that, disciplined Lindy has always wanted him…

Lightning struck Wyatt Dodge the first time he saw Lindy Parker. But there were two problems with that: she was married to his friend, and Wyatt doesn’t do strings. But now Lindy is free, and the two of them can finally explore the heat that’s burned between them for so long. But can Lindy make this good time cowboy decide on forever?

LINDY PARKER HATED the rodeo. Just in general. The sights, the smells, the cloud of testosterone that covered everything.

She hadn’t always hated it, but now it all reminded her of her ex-husband. Damien was so firmly part of that world to her. Whenever she’d gone to rodeo events, it had been for the sole purpose of seeing Damien’s work. To see the results of PR campaigns he’d run and to rub elbows with possible sponsors.

The rest of it didn’t much appeal to her. Dirt and bright lights and overly loud announcers.

But if there was one thing she hated more than the rodeo itself, it was the bull riders.

Cocky. Arrogant. Jerks.

Even her younger brother, Dane, suffered from a bad case of it when he’d been out on the circuit for too long.

But there was no bull rider who irked her quite like Wyatt Dodge. Her dear ex’s favorite rider. A man who’d made Damien tons of money and inflated his ego beyond the telling of it, which, in her humble opinion, had contributed to the flagrant affair her husband had engaged in with a woman who had—at the time—worked at Grassroots Winery, and had been young enough that she still probably remembered how to get to Sesame Street.

Not that it was Wyatt Dodge’s fault. No, Damien was responsible for his own body parts and where they wandered. He was the one who had made vows to her, and even if she did feel like perhaps his prolonged exposure to a pack of manwhores hadn’t helped her marriage, she knew exactly where the fault lay for what had transpired.

With Damien.

She’d caught him kissing an employee of their winery. A much younger employee. Sarabeth, who Lindy had considered a casual friend. A woman she’d invited into her home. A woman she’d paid an hourly wage to. And apparently some of those hours had been spent in bed with Lindy’s husband.

And Lindy could hold a grudge. And had. All the way to court, where she had managed to get full ownership of Damien’s family winery, Grassroots Winery.

Jamison Leighton and his wife had been unsurprisingly angry at the way all that had gone. But, they shouldn’t have left the entire thing to a son who didn’t know how to keep it in his pants. Particularly not a son who had signed a very foolish prenuptial agreement, designed only to protect him from her. Which had meant that all bad behavior stipulated in said agreement had been based on the assumption that she would be the one to do all the very bad things.

And so, she had emerged victorious. She’d given more power back to his sisters, who had not had a chance to claim any part of the property from his parents, but who had stood by her side through the ordeal.

She was close to Sabrina and Bea, in spite of the fact that they were blood-related to Damien. They were the sisters of her heart, and they all worked together even now.

She loved the winery, but unfortunately it was that work that brought her to the Get Out of Dodge ranch now—and was bringing her into contact with a man that she liked less than cooked carrots.

Bull rider. Manwhore. Friend of her ex-husband.

Wyatt Dodge.

Lindy gritted her teeth and parked her little red car in the gravel lot. She questioned her decision-making sometimes. The fact that she’d come to Wyatt with the idea of the joint barbecue that would hopefully increase business at both Grassroots and Get Out of Dodge. A barbecue that would showcase the grounds of the dude ranch and the wines from Grassroots, and educate people on the different activities available at both locations.

But it made sense. Business sense, anyway. And she’d felt like it would be shortsighted to let her feelings for Wyatt—both her irritation and the strange tightening she felt in her stomach whenever he was around—hinder an important business decision.

Back in the day, Get Out of Dodge had been a thriving dude ranch, bringing people in for miles. But then, Quinn Dodge had lost his wife, and the tragedy had made it difficult for him to continue running the place at that capacity. Since then, the ownership had passed to Quinn’s son, Wyatt, who had retired from the rodeo circuit. He was working on bringing it backto its former glory, modernizing it and creating a place that would cater to what guests wanted now.

Lindy felt like she was very much doing the same with Grassroots. Now that it was in her control she was doing all the expanding she had wanted to do when she and Damien had been married. He had been just happy to live in a big house and let the winery bump along, making income as it had always done.

Not Lindy. Lindy had come from nothing, and she didn’t take a thing for granted.

All that mattered was the future.

And getting through all of it without killing Wyatt.

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.

In 2009, at the age of twenty-three Maisey sold her first book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily ever afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light sexy contemporary romances set practically in her back yard. She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.

Luke Hollister was kissing her.

He was only the second man to kiss her. The sec­ond man to ever put his mouth against hers. But at the moment, she couldn’t even compare the two experi­ences. She was frozen, and Luke was still, too, but he was… Him.

He tasted like Luke. Like sunshine and hard work. Like whiskey that lingered on his lips. And like a whole lot of trouble.

It was more than just taste, more than just the strange sensation of a mouth that was an unfamiliar shape pressed against hers. It transcended those physi­cal things.

And it went somewhere deeper.

She was on fire. Melting. Her legs were weak, her stomach trembling. It was as if she had never been kissed before at all. That’s how different it was.

His hand was so big, and it was pressed against her lower back, like he owned her. His other hand came up to cup her face—rough, callused—skimming over her cheekbone. He didn’t take the kiss deeper. Didn’t part her lips.

It was over in less than a second.

A chaste kiss. A simple kiss.

That left nothing chaste or simple remaining in her entire body.

There was a pulse pounding insistently between her legs, a slick wetness that had built up in defiance of ev­erything she knew about herself. Her heart was pound­ing, her breasts heavy, her nipples tightened into painful points.

It was over. Over long before she was able to move or think or react at all. Over long before she realized they were still standing in the middle of the Gold Val­ley saloon, rather than in some moment that existed outside of space and time.

Luke Hollister had just kissed her in front of ev­eryone.

Bennett was there. She remembered that too late. She remembered everything too late. Including why they were doing this. Of course. He was making a show, as he had promised he would do. And he was definitely trying to get a rise out of her, which she expected, be­cause he was Luke.

All of that made sense. Except none of it made sense. Not inside of her anyway.

“Throw the dart,” he said, his mouth so close to hers it would take nothing for her lips to touch his again. Nothing at all.

Then he withdrew, taking a step back and leaning against the table again, all cocky arrogance and that kind of masculine swagger she hated. She did. She hated it. And right now she was pretty sure she might hate him, too.

She turned away from him, drew her arm back and threw the dart. And it missed.

She hadn’t missed a bull’s-eye without meaning to in more than ten years.

Hot, angry tears pricked her eyes but she refused to let them fall. Because that was just stupid. This was a game. That was all. It was supposed to be a game where they made Bennett jealous. Where they made him think that he was in danger of losing her.

It was supposed to make Bennett feel wild and un­pleasant things; it was not supposed to make her feel wild and unpleasant things.

Too late she remembered to look over at Bennett. And when she did, she had to force herself. He was fac­ing away from them. For all she knew, he hadn’t even seen the kiss.

“He saw.”

She blinked, feeling numb. “What?”

Luke was looking at her, his expression grave. “Ben­nett saw the kiss,” he said.

And just like that, she felt about two feet tall. Be­cause not only had he read her mind just now, it confirmed to her that Bennett was all he had been thinking about during the kiss. She hadn’t thought of Bennett until after. Much, much after. But Luke had been aware the entire time. And then, when she had been standing there feeling vulnerable and reduced, desperately try­ing to remember the purpose behind this entire inter­action, he had read her. Unerringly.

Meanwhile, she couldn’t read him or Bennett or any­thing. She couldn’t even read herself.

“Good,” she said, as if it was all she cared about. As if there was nothing more conflicting inside of her than whether or not they had managed to affect Bennett.

To say nothing about how she had been affected.

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New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.

In 2009, at the age of twenty-three Maisey sold her first book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily ever afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light sexy contemporary romances set practically in her back yard. She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.

Oh well. She needed rescuing. Even if it was by Luke Hollister. She moved closer to the road, crossing her arms and standing there, looking pathetic. At least, she had a feeling she looked somewhat pathetic. She felt pathetic.

Luke would stop, because despite being a scoundrel, a womanizer, he had that innate sense of chivalry that cowboys tended to possess. All yes ma’am and open­ing doors and saving damsels from the railroad tracks.

Or the side of the road, in this case.

The truck came closer, and she registered the exact moment Luke saw her. Felt it, somehow. She took a step back, making room for him to pull off and up next to her car. His truck kept going.

She stared after him. “He didn’t stop!”

She had been incredibly peeved that Luke Hollister had been the salvation she hadn’t wanted, but she was even more peeved that he had declined his opportunity to be said salvation.

Then she saw brake lights, followed by reverse lights.

Slowly, the truck backed up, easing its way up be­side her.

Luke leaned across the seat, working the crank win­dow so that it was partway down. He had a black cow­boy hat on, covering most of his dark blond hair, his green eyes glittering with humor beneath the wide brim. And then he smiled. That slow, lazy smile of his that always made her feel like he had spoken an obscenity.

“Olivia Logan, as I live and breathe. You seem to have gotten yourself in a bit of trouble.”

“I didn’t get myself into any trouble,” she said crisply. “There was a nail in the road, and I now seem to have a flat tire.” He just looked at her, maddeningly calm. “You weren’t going to stop,” she added, knowing she sounded accusing.

“I thought better of it. I’d hate it if you were eaten by wolves.”

“There are no wolves here,” she said, feeling im­patient.

“They recently tracked one that came down from Washington. Just one though, so probably the worst that would happen is you’d get gnawed on, rather than eaten in your entirety.”

“Well. I’m glad you decided to help me avoid a vi­cious gnawing,” she said grumpily.

“I could change the tire for you,” he said.

“Do you want to pull off the road before we have this discussion?” she asked.

He looked in his rearview mirror, then glanced back at her. “There’s no one coming. It’s not exactly rush hour.”

“There is no rush hour in Gold Valley.”

But that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t be pulling up behind him on the narrow two-lane road soon enough.

He still didn’t move his truck, though.

“Luke,” she said, “I need to go to work.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Do you have a spare tire?”

“Yes,” she said impatiently.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll drive you down to work, and then when I head back this way I’ll fix your tire.”

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Maisey Yates’ SMOOTH-TALKING COWBOY Review & Excerpt Tour Schedule:

February 12th

Feel the Book – Excerpt

Jen’s Reading Obsession – Excerpt

Relentless Romance – Excerpt

February 13th

Always a happy ever after – Review

Ficwishes – Review & Excerpt

OMGReads – Review & Excerpt

February 14th

Ramblings From This Chick – Excerpt

Up ‘Til Dawn Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

February 15th

E-Reading After Midnight – Review & Excerpt

What Is That Book About – Excerpt

February 16th

All Things Dark & Dirty – Excerpt

Reading Reality – Review

February 17th

Adventures in Writing – Excerpt

Moonlight Rendezvous – Review & Excerpt

February 18th

Reading Between the Wines Book Club – Excerpt

Sofia Loves Books – Review & Excerpt

February 19th

Aaly and The Books – Review & Excerpt

Naturally Nerdy Books – Excerpt

February 20th

Ripe for Reader – Excerpt

What’s Beyond Forks? – Review & Excerpt

February 21st

Bobo’s Book Bank – Excerpt

Kari’s Book Reviews and Revelations – Review & Excerpt

February 22nd

Booked All Night – Review & Excerpt

I’m A Book Shark – Excerpt

February 23rd

Friends Till The End Book Blog – Excerpt

Literary Misfit – Review & Excerpt

February 24th

Becky on Books – Review & Excerpt

Lover of Big Books Cannot Lie – Review & Excerpt

February 25th

Booknerdingout – Review

Brittany’s Book Blog – Excerpt

February 26th

Renee Entress’s Blog – Review & Excerpt

Two Crazy Ladies Love Romance – Review & Excerpt

February 27th

Book Magic – Under a spell with every page – Review & Excerpt

Inside the mind of an avid reader – Review

Sweet Red Reads – Review & Excerpt

February 28th

Jax’s Book Magic – Excerpt

Teatime and Books – Excerpt

March 1st

Devilishly Delicious Book Reviews – Excerpt

My Girlfriends Nook Korner – Review

Smut Book Junkie Book Reviews – Review & Excerpt

March 2nd

G & T’s Indie Café – Excerpt

I’m A Sweet And Sassy Book Whore – Review & Excerpt

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.

In 2009, at the age of twenty-three Maisey sold her first book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily ever afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light sexy contemporary romances set practically in her back yard. She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.