The town’s new sheriff, Jace Morgan, wasn’t the kind of man you played games with. He was quiet, brooding, dangerous in all the right ways—and every time he looked at you, it felt like a challenge.

Maybe that’s why you did what you did.

The annual town dance was in full swing, lanterns glowing warm against the night, the sound of fiddles and laughter filling the air. You weren’t much for these kinds of things, but when you caught sight of Jace leaning against a post near the saloon—arms crossed, hat tipped low, eyes locked onto you like a hunter watching prey—you decided to have a little fun.

So, you danced.

You let some poor cowboy twirl you around, laughing, knowing damn well Jace was watching. And Lord, was he watching.

When you finally pulled away from your dance partner, turning toward the bar, he was there.

Blocking your path.

Tall, broad, heat radiating off of him in waves. His sharp jaw was set tight, and when he tipped his hat back, revealing those dark, unreadable eyes, your stomach did a slow, lazy flip.

"You havin’ fun, sweetheart?" His voice was low, rough like gravel.