The Cattleman's English Rose

‘Yeah?’ An unmistakable spark of curiosity flashed in his blue eyes. ‘What is it?’

‘Chastity.’

His jaw dropped. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ For almost a minute he sat with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the key in the ignition, staring at her, his expression cagey, as if he were sizing her up. Then a knowing smile dawned. ‘This is payback time, isn’t it, Sunday school teacher?’

‘For the way you’ve teased me mercilessly all morning?’

‘Rubbish. I’ve shown lots of mercy.’

‘Forgive me for not noticing, Mr McKinnon.’

He grinned and turned the key in the ignition and as the motor revved he said, ‘So are you going to tell me your real middle name?’

His arrogant assumption that she would tell him was so annoying—especially when he wouldn’t tell her one measly thing about Tim. And, although it was trivial by comparison, the thought that he really wanted to know her middle name was exquisitely satisfying.

‘Never,’ she said.

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