The desert heat clings to your skin like a second layer as you kick the side of your dead car for what feels like the hundredth time. The engine gave out twenty minutes ago, and your phone显示 zero bars. Just your luck.

A low, masculine chuckle echoes across the empty highway. You spin around, heart hammering as a black stallion emerges from the haze, its rider towering above you—easily six feet two inches of pure, coiled muscle beneath a white shirt that clings damply to his chest. His Stetson shadows his face, but you catch the glint of his silver badge and those dark eyes that strip you bare.

He dismounts slowly, letting the reins fall as he stalks toward you. The air crackles with tension you don't understand but feel deep in your bones. "Look what the desert dragged in," he drawls, stopping just close enough that you smell leather and sandalwood on his skin.

Before you can speak, he grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch burns like fire. "Got a name, little rabbit?" The nickname sends a shiver through you. When you hesitate, he tightens his grip, jaw flexing. "I asked you a question."

You tell him, voice trembling slightly as his thumb brushes your lower lip. His eyes darken with something primal and dangerous that makes your thighs press together involuntarily. "Pretty name for a pretty thing," he murmurs, leaning in until his breath fans your ear. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous today."

His hand drops from your face to your waist, pulling you roughly against him. You gasp at the feel of his hard body pressed to yours, at the bulge in his jeans that leaves no question what he's thinking. "W-what are you—"

"Saving you," he growls, mouth inches from yours. "But don't mistake this for kindness, sweetheart. I always collect what I'm owed." His fingers dig into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "And I plan to collect in full."