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you’re okay. We missed you at the meeting Tuesday night, and I’m…well, I’m worried about you. I’ve been trying to reach you since Monday.” Stupid, India, he knows that, courtesy of the twenty increasingly paranoid messages you’ve left him.
    “ Beep . End of message.”
    “Fuck!” India hit redial and waited for it to kick over to voice mail. She half-listened to the same canned response. Finally, the beep sounded.
    “Look. I understand that you’re embarrassed about what happened Sunday morning. But I don’t see where you get off blowing three years worth of our friendship just because you’re embarrassed. We’ve always been able to talk through anything, and this shouldn’t be an exception. You’re making this so hard on—”
    Dammit. Should she have said hard-on ? Should she have said blowing ? Shit shit shit. Think back. Did she say come ? Or get off ?
    At any point?

    Branded As Trouble
    “ Beep . End of message.”
    “Fuck!” Infuriated, she pressed redial. This time she was ready for the beep.
    “Quit being such a dickhead, McKay. Call me.” She snapped the phone shut. Hah! That’ll get his attention.
    But hours passed and still no word from Colt.
    India crawled in bed and stared at the shimmery silver canopy.
    For the hundredth time, she wondered how everything had spun out of control. Sure, she understood his anger at her accidentally shooting him in the butt and his frustration at being stuck in her apartment. India even understood him being pissed off about her going out on a date with his cousin and how he could’ve jumped to conclusions when Blake was hammering her headboard with such vigor.
    What she couldn’t understand? Why sexy-as-sin, charm-the-panties-off-any-woman-with-a-pulse Colt McKay hadn’t gotten laid in three years. That boggled her mind.
    The McKay men were all notoriously good-looking. Every.
    Single. One. Since her sister, Skylar, was married to one of those hunky McKay men, and those cowboy beefcakes congregated on a regular basis, India had plenty of room to judge. In her eyes, Colt was the best looking of all of them. Period.
    Not only was Colt a shining example of masculinity, he was sweet. Smart too, but he preferred to hide his brainpower under beguiling smiles and cajoling words. He was fun to be around, thoughtful, insightful…so it made zero sense he wasn’t getting any.
    Neither are you.

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    Lorelei James
    And when had smokin’ hot bad cowboy Colt started leveling his intense I-wanna-fuck-you-now stare…on her? And using a seductive masculine growl instead of words?
    Why wasn’t she put off by the changes?
    Because it seems right. Natural. And about goddamn time.
    India closed her eyes and relived the brief interlude in the kitchen. Her hand rubbing on his cock empowered her. She never remembered feeling such a thrill at a man’s loss of control. Wanting to see how he could take control of her. To see how far he could push her before she lost it.
    Hell, she’d been tempted to drag him into her bedroom and see how wild they could be together. But she’d backed off. Partially out of guilt for his injury, partially out of self-preservation, fearing a spontaneous tumble would irreparably damage their friendship—a friendship she valued above all others.
    And look what that self-preservation had gotten her…the man had cut off all communication anyway. She could’ve had a mind-bending orgasm or twenty and ended up with the same result.
    Frustrated, India covered her head with a pillow and tried to sleep. She’d definitely get in touch with him tomorrow.

    ***
    India hadn’t seen or talked to Colt for six days, which sucked, but not as bad as the impending humiliation sucked. She sighed.
    Loudly.
    “Stop it,” Domini said.
    “But I don’t want to go to this stupid dance.”
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    Branded As Trouble
    “Tough. You are always making me do things I don’t want to do.”
    India cocked an