Wyattâs eyes twinkled. âWeâre a proud lot.â
âIâve heard as much.â
With his finger, he pushed a barrel curl resting on her cheek behind her ear. From the second his finger glided across her skin, ridiculous yearning reared up again, putting a halt to their pleasant banter. He gazed at her with dire want, his eyes dipping down to her mouth.
âBrooke,â he rasped. There was a distinct hitch in his voice that touched something powerful inside her quivering belly.
âItâs okay, Wyatt,â she said. Whatever he wanted, she was ready for.
A groan rose from his throat and he began shaking his head as if he couldnât believe what was happening. One of his hands wrapped firmly around her waist, his fingers inching her closer, while the other hand was lifting her chin. His lips met hers. She felt instantly safe with Wyatt, and it wasnât borne by his saving her from empty gas tanks or pesky older men. It was something more, something sheâd never experienced before. Utter trust.
* * *
Twins for the Texan is part of Harlequin Desireâs No 1 bestselling series, Billionaires and Babies: Powerful menâ¦wrapped around their babiesâ little fingers.
One
Brooke McKay had no clue where this deserted Texas road was taking her. Gazing past a dozen squished bugs on the rental carâs windshield, she saw flatland stretching before her for miles and miles. After living in California near mountains and beaches, this kind of vast flatness was foreign to her.
Red warning lights blinked from the carâs dashboard. She looked down at the indicator. Her gas tank was nearing empty. âDonât do it, donât do it.â
Decked out in her best black lace dress with all the necessary trimmings and red heels so high theyâd put the balls of her feet to the test in the walking-to-the-next-gas-station department, Brooke pushed the car to its limit.
She spotted something lying in the middle of the road. âOh!â
Roadkill.
Apparently someone had driven on this road recently. It was good news for her, but not for the poor possum.
As she drove on, she removed her sunglasses and squinted into the afternoon sun searching for a miracle. A gas station would be nice, with an attendant who knew where in heck she was.
The car sputtered, the engine wringing out its last breaths.
She sucked in oxygen, praying that her worst nightmare wasnât coming to life.
And then the car crawled to a stop.
She pumped the gas pedal, but there was no more wringing to be had.
Oh, boy. Not only wouldnât she make it to Heatherâs wedding on time, she might have to camp out here in the wilderness for heaven knew how long.
She stared at her cell phone lying beside her on the seat. She already knew that miracle wasnât happening. She had no cell service. She hadnât for the last ten miles. She knocked her head against the leather steering wheel a few times and decided it made a good pillow, a place to rest her head and close her eyes while she thought of a way out of this predicament. She didnât have many choices. Sheâd have to get out and start walking.
âExcuse me, miss,â came a deep voice from out of nowhere. âAre you okay?â
Her head popped up, and she looked into the bone-melting blue eyes of the man standing beside her driver-side door. Her heartbeat immediately picked up speed. There in the flesh was a dauntingly handsome, iron-jawed cowboy.
Her miracle.
âI, uh, I didnât hear anyone drive up.â She glanced in her rearview mirror and sure enough, a shiny black Cadillac SUV was parked behind her car. âYes, yes. Iâm okay.â
She took a closer look at him. Goodness, they grew them tall in Texas. Her miracle wore a black Western suit, a sterling silver belt buckle and one of those sexy string ties. âI th-think I took a wrong turn somewhere. Now Iâm out of gas.â
He nodded and scrubbed at the dark blond facial hair on his jaw. âNot a good thing to do on this road. There isnât a gas station for at least ten miles or so. Iâm Wyatt Brandt, by the way.â He stuck out his hand and she took it. It was a little awkward shaking hands through the car window, but his firm grip, beautiful eyes and rich Texas drawl put her at ease.
He could be a serial killer.
That thought flittered through her mind, but she dismissed it. The butterflies winging around in her stomach as he enveloped her hand, ever so briefly, told a different story. âIâm Brooke. I was heading to a friendâs wedding, and now Iâm afraid Iâll never make it.â