Loving Her Crazy (Crazy Love)

By: Kira Archer
It was just supposed to be one crazy night…

Iris Clayton is supposed to be on a tropical island, soaking up the sun and a few dozen mojitos. Instead, she’s snowbound in Chicago overnight, holding out hope the morning flight isn’t cancelled. Good thing there’s a hot cowboy to keep her company. And it doesn’t hurt that Mr. Tall, Calm, and Sun-Streaked can make her tremble with one sultry look from under his well-worn hat.

Montana rancher Nash Wallace sucks at ice skating, has no clue what a selfie is, and may be a tad averse to breaking and entering, but being with Iris makes him want to bend a few rules. Or, hell, throw them out the window altogether. She’s fun, spontaneously crazy, and can rock a Muppet fur coat like no one’s business. He’s falling hard and fast, but wanting to spend his life with someone after one night is insane.

Except, nothing has ever felt so right, and neither of them wants the night to end…

To TCR, always and forever.

And to Sarah, because without you I think I’d still be staring at a blank page.

Chapter One

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay. The flight attendants will be circulating throughout the cabin momentarily, and we’ll do what we can to keep you folks comfortable until a gate opens up. It should be just a few more minutes. We apologize for any inconvenience the delay is causing.”

The passengers responded with a general groan of disappointment. The captain had been making similar statements every quarter hour or so for the last hour and a half since making the announcement that all flights out of Chicago had been grounded due to the weather.

Iris groaned and laid her head back against her seat, shutting her eyes to block out the sight of the steadily falling snow outside the plane windows. “They’re sorry for any inconvenience the delay may cause?” she asked the man next to her. “How is this delay in any way not inconvenient?”

He glanced at her but quickly closed his eyes again, feigning sleep. He’d been pretending to sleep ever since she’d suggested he fake a heart attack to get the show on the road. The stubborn ass hadn’t wanted to play along. It was a shame. They would have had to pull the plane up to a gate if one of the passengers was having a heart attack, right? Sure, it wasn’t exactly ethical, but after an hour sitting on the tarmac waiting to take off only to be told all flights had been grounded and they’d have to return to the gate, Iris wasn’t really sure she cared much about ethics anymore. She was supposed to be halfway to Miami already. Not stuck in the wintery vortex of a snowed-in Chicago.

She leaned in again. “Okay, if you don’t want to do the heart attack thing, what if we started making out in the aisle. Maybe they’d throw us off the plane for indecent behavior.”

The other eye cracked open to look at her. Iris resisted the urge to cringe. It had been her suggestion, after all. Sure the guy was pushing seventy and had those crazy old man eyebrows that creeped the hell out of her, but a round of massively inappropriate PDA was bound to get them some sort of attention. Possibly enough to force someone to open the damn plane doors. Or, at the very least, get them put in airplane time out somewhere roomier than this seat—where she was currently sandwiched between two large, sweaty males. Not that she hadn’t ever had that fantasy before, but the males in question weren’t quite what she’d had in mind. However, if a little rumble-tumble down the aisle would get them out of the claustrophobic tin can they were in, Iris was totally ready to take one for the team.

The eye closed again. Iris was relieved, despite the resistance to her plans.

Before any more potentially masochistic remarks could escape her mouth, a finger reached between the seats from behind her and poked her in the shoulder.

Iris kicked her seat back a little and craned her neck backward to see through the crack. She met the woodsy-hazel gaze of a surprisingly hot fellow passenger.

“Hi,” he said. His voice was a warm, slow drawl that sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

“Hi yourself,” she said, smiling as much as she could through the seats.

She let her eyes wander over what she could see of him. Strong features and sharp angles. Light dusting of sexy scruff on his jaw line. And not the patchy scruff that was all some guys could muster. Manly scruff that promised a big ol’ bushman beard if he let it go too long. She definitely approved. He reminded her of a gladiator. Or a pirate. Maybe Paul Bunyan, she amended, taking in the flannel shirt. Someone who spent a lot of time outdoors with his shirt off, working hard enough to develop a truly spectacular musculature. She could definitely picture this guy swinging an ax in a forest somewhere.

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