Hayden Thorne sat in the front row at the arena, staring straight ahead at the long lost Fenn Lockwood. He was settling onto the back of a black bull named Tabasco, a ten-gallon hat set low on his head. He bent to stroke the bull’s neck and it tossed its head, furious. She could hear Fenn’s rich laugh even though she was twenty feet away. He turned his head, smiling at something one of the cowboys perched on the railing said, and his teeth flashed white with a cool, predatory, and sexy smile.
Fenn was gorgeous, Hayden thought, in the way only a rough cowboy could be. Damn, he could wear a pair of blue jeans. A woman could lose herself in thoughts of digging her heels into that tight ass while he thrust into her—hard, wild. Hayden worried her bottom lip as the announcer started counting do
