Cowboy Alpha Billionaire Bad Boy: F#cking Jerk 1 Read Free

me...
     
    I looked to my right.
     
    Was that a…dead raccoon? A dead, flat raccoon?
     
    To hell with caution!
     
    Waving one arm to try to catch the driver’s attention, I made promises to the Big Man Upstairs that I would stay out of bars and in a church for at least a year and attempted to push myself upright before I was flattened by the huge tires barreling at me at a million miles per hour.
     
    Prayer answered.
     
    It stopped. The vehicle ground to a halt, tires tossing gravel into the air. A few pieces showered me.
     
    I would not go the way of the poor raccoon. I owed The Big Man Upstairs. I owed Him big time. I’m yours every Sunday. I promise.
     
    “Babe!”
     
    Okay, maybe I didn’t owe Him so big.
     
    “Of all the people, why send him ?” I whispered as I stared up at the fluffy clouds marching across the sky.
     
    Clay’s face blocked out my view. “Are you alive?”
     
    “I’m alive,” I said on a sigh. “And my name is not ‘Babe’. It’s Morgan.”
     
    “Fine. Morgan, are you breathing? Do you need mouth-to-mouth?” He licked his lips.
     
    My gaze locked on that mouth, and a crazy impulse raced through me. Mouth-to-mouth sounded kind of good right now. Clay was, by far, the best kisser of my life. Maybe one kiss wouldn’t hurt. What the hell am I thinking? “Yes, I’m breathing. No, I don’t need mouth-to-mouth.”
     
    “Damn.” He squatted, arm extended. “Hurt?”
     
    “Not sure.”
     
    “Let’s get you out of this road, darlin’, before you become roadkill.”
     
    “Good idea. But it’s Morgan. Mor. Gan. Not darlin’. Not babe. Morgan.” I placed my hand in his and slowly sat up. The world spun. Not just a little, but fast, like an out-of-control merry-go-round.
     
    The dizziness had to be because of the fall, right? Right? I blinked. “Whoa.”
     
    “Easy. No  need to hurry. I won’t let anyone run you over,” he promised, that wicked sin-with-me look firmly in place.
     
    “No offense, but I don’t believe that.”
     
    His laughter vibrated through my body, making my nerves tingle. Tingle! I didn’t want them to do that. Because tingles always led to other things.
     
    Bad things. Very bad.
     
    Especially with this heart breaking, v-card punching jerk.
     
    “None taken.”
     
    Strong hands supported me as I gingerly climbed to my feet. My knees and elbows were scraped raw and burned, but otherwise I’d survived my massive crash mostly unscathed. I turned to find the bike and stumbled. Clay clamped his hands around my upper arms, steadying me. I looked up into his face and became breathless all over again. Wow, did he look totally hot in that cowboy hat, day-old stubble coating his jaw.
     
    “Easy, darlin’. You knocked yourself silly when you fell.”
     
    “I sure did,” I agreed as I fought another wave of weakness. I reached up, fingering my scalp. I must have given myself a massive concussion. Odd. I didn’t feel any bumps or blood. But the weakness and instability had to be because of the knock on my head. There could be no other cause.
     
    “Come here. I’ll drive you home.” Supporting me with both hands, Clay steered me toward his pickup truck, parked a few yards away, but my knees were so wobbly I stumbled forward and nearly did a bellyflop on the road. He didn’t ask for permission, just scooped me into his big, strong arms, hauled me to the truck, and, after yanking open the passenger door, plopped me onto the seat. “Where were you going in such a hurry?” he asked as he tossed the bike into the back then circled to the driver’s side. “You were racing faster than a spooked pronghorn. On this road, that’s suicide.”
     
    “I needed--“ I cut myself off, remembering what happened the last time Clay did a favor for me. I so did not want to repeat that mistake. “I was getting some exercise. I forgot how bad this road was. I thought it was pretty smooth in the summer.”
     
    “It is. Later. The county hasn’t