Make Me Breathless
Colt and Lucas McCray were at it again, giving Ally a lust attack.
Her pulse ticked up.
If history repeated itself, both guys would soon strip naked and cool down in the creek
that ran through their land and hers. Technically, she was on her side, shadowed by
foliage. Her gaze, however, invaded their territory.
Ally couldn’t move or look away. Colt and Lucas were too delicious, Texas large and
one-hundred percent freaking male. For the last half hour, they’d cleared vegetation from
their ranch and flexed more muscles than any guy should be allowed. Lucas had operated
a monster machine similar to a bulldozer. Rather than knocking down the cedar and shrub
overgrowth, the damn thing gobbled the stuff noisily and regurgitated what appeared to
be mulch. Chainsaw in hand, Colt had carved up tree trunks, turning them into
manageable logs he and Lucas now dumped into their pickup bed.
The metal twanged. Dust flew.
Hard work on such a blistering day. Perspiration dotted their faces, dirt streaked their
white tees. The soft cotton clung to their damp chests. Battered jeans hugged their
powerful thighs and the meaty bulges between their legs.
The world shifted. Ally gripped her motorcycle handlebars for support.
Colt turned away first. After tossing his work gloves into the pickup cab, he took a
long drink from a thermos. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. Short,
dark hairs shadowed his throat, chin, and cheeks. Unspeakably virile.
Heat poured through Ally and warmed her better than the muggy air.
He wiped off his mouth and handed the thermos over.
Lucas drank greedily. Liquid streamed over his bristly chin and throat. His stubble
was slightly lighter but totally masculine.
Colt strode toward the creek, his movements fluid and assured, a man comfortable
with himself and his world.
Following him, Ally swatted at insects and low-hanging branches.
He dropped his tan Stetson on the grassy bank and pushed his fingers through his
dark-brown hair. Thick locks tumbled over his forehead. Others curled around his ears
and his neck. Eyes closed, he lifted his chin.
She sagged against a tree, heedless of its rough bark.
His looks were deliciously rugged: dark eyebrows, strong nose and jaw, a rich,
kissable mouth. In other words, the real deal, not Madison Avenue’s version of what a
rancher should look like. Tall, possibly six-three, he was nothing but lean muscle.
Prominent veins corded his biceps. His skin was deep bronze from sun-drenched days.
He pulled off his tee.
Her mouth went dry.
His pecs were firm, abs wonderfully defined, his tiny nipples similar in color to brown
sugar. Dark hair traveled downward from his navel and disappeared beneath his jeans
Ally hoped he’d rip those suckers off.
He sank to the grass and removed his boots and socks.
She smiled at his long toes.
Back on his feet, he padded through water until it reached his thighs then fell back
into it, still dressed.
Ally screwed up her mouth at his unexpected modesty and hoped Lucas wouldn’t be
He’d stopped near Colt’s hat and dropped his own next to it. Although they shared the
same last name, he and Colt were cousins, not brothers. Lucas wore his ash-blond hair
cropped short with some length on top. His features were all-American handsome rather
than rough, his sun-kissed skin golden not bronze. Like Colt, he was tall, lean, and
muscular with surprisingly dark eyebrows and stubble given his fair locks.
Unlike Colt, he stripped bare, his arms and torso deeply tanned. The skin beneath his
navel was several shades lighter but just as luscious.