Blog Tour Review & Giveaway: Million Dollar Cowboy by Lori Wilde

Lumbering up in a battered, blue, Toyota Tundra extended-cab pickup truck and parking catawampus beside the tallest barn on the ranch.
He cocked his head. Who was she?
The woman hopped from the tall truck with the fluid grace of a playful water sprite more at home underneath a cascading waterfall than smack in the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert.
She wore faded blue skinny jeans that fit like spray paint, cupping rounded hips and a firm lush fanny. A neon-pink, V-neck T-shirt showed off a hint of sweet cleavage. Her flat-heeled cowboy boots were scuffed and dusty. From this distance, it appeared as if she didn’t have on a lick of makeup, and her thick dark hair was pulled into twin braids. A gust of hot, lazy June air blew across the sand, and her nimble fingers reached up to tuck a tendril of loosened hair behind one ear.
Ridge had a startling vision of easing the elastic bands from her hair, undoing the braids, and watching that tumble of hair fall over his hand soft and smooth as liquid silk.
What the hell? Why the instant lust? Normally, he went for tall willowy blondes like Vivi. Not petite, shapely brunettes.
Why?
That was easy enough to answer. A) The brunette was smoking hot. B) There was something familiar about her, something warm and cozy and inviting. C) He hadn’t had sex in so long he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
Hope cut into him, gutted him open, leaving him raw and hungry. Hey, who knew? There was a wedding this weekend—alcohol, food, music, slow dancing. Maybe they’d hook up.
Easy Lockhart, getting ahead of yourself.
He didn’t even know her name, or if she was involved with someone, or if she’d even been invited to the wedding.
No, but that didn’t stop steamy sexual fantasies from unspooling inside his head. Nor could he shake an odd feeling that he’d gone fishing for shad and managed to hook a mermaid instead.
The woman opened the extended cab’s passenger side door and bent over, butt wiggling as she ducked her head inside to retrieve something from the backseat. That round wriggly rump robbed the air from his lungs, highjacked his brain as effectively as a gun-toting bandit.
As the owner and CEO of Lock Ridge Drilling, he made snap decisions on a daily basis and he’d honed the skill of sizing up people at a glance.
From the click-quick snapshot trapped in that breathless time of his mind, Ridge knew she was the spunky girl-next-door type. Able to climb trees, make chicken soup for a sick neighbor, organize a charity drive, spike a witty barb at smart-ass-know-it-alls, passionately root for her favorite sports team complete with face paint and logo jerseys, park her butt in the church pew every Sunday morning, and cheerfully answer three a.m. phone calls from friends in need.
She was, in fact, everything Ridge was not—perky, happy-go-lucky, laid-back, a rule-following, people-pleasing team player.
Not his type. Not in the least.
Which probably explained the pounding lust. He had a knack for picking women who were all wrong for him.