by Tessa Layne
“Lyds?”
She glanced up. She couldn’t help it. As soon as their eyes met, it was game over. Cassidy covered her mouth, laughing with glee. “Ohmygod you DID.”
Lydia shook her head furiously. “I didn’t.” Her chest burned.
“Don’t deny. You were always the worst liar. Was it good?”
Lydia brought her hands to her cheeks. She would never live this down. These were the kinds of stories that got hauled out at future Christmases and weddings. “I can’t remember,” she wailed, shaking her head.
Cassie gaped at her. “You can’t remember? As in you were too drunk?”
Lydia nodded furiously. “Please don’t say anything. Not to Caro or Lex. I will never live this down.”
“Damn straight you won’t,” Cassie answered with awe in her voice. “No wonder he told mama he wanted to talk to you about a pair of boots. He wants to talk you out of yours.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re such a knee slapper.”
“Would you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Make him a pair of boots?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess I could. I’ve never made men’s shoes, but it can’t be that different.”
“You already checked out his feet, didn’t you? I bet they were the perfect size.” Cassidy laughed and waggled her eyebrows.
“Oh stop already.” She had, she always did. She couldn’t help it. She could discern a person’s shoe size in one glance.
Cassie’s expression turned serious. “Have you thought about it?”
“Thought about what?” Lydia’s guard went up. The look in her sister’s eye only meant one thing. Trouble.
“Opening your own shop. Doing custom-made? How many pairs of wedding shoes have you made for the ladies here? I bet they’d let you take pictures. You’d have a built-in catalog. Make a pair of men’s boots, and folks would go crazy. You’d have tons of orders pouring in. I know it.”
Cassie’s enthusiasm was infectious, even though the thought of striking out on her own terrified her. Making bespoke shoes was vastly different from dabbling in her spare time. “I don’t have the startup funds. Shoemaking equipment, and materials, are expensive. Like tens of thousands of dollars expensive.”
Cassie speared her with a determined look. “So what if you started small? Took only enough orders to help you purchase the next piece of equipment, or the material for the next pair?” Cassie’s expression turned sly. “What if you got your cowboy to wear your boots everywhere? Nothing like a little free advertising.”
“He’s not my cowboy.”
Cassie waggled her eyebrows. “But he might be. And he wants some boots.”
Lydia suppressed a giggle. The way Cassie’s voice lingered on the word boots implied far more than boots. “Nothing’s ever free. Even you know that.”
“Well, he’s already interested, so why not ask him?” Cassie leaned forward, an excited light in her eye. “The worst he can do is say no. If he’s serious about having you make a pair of boots, why not trade him? I don’t follow rodeo, but I’m sure he has corporate sponsors.”
A knock at the door saved her from answering. Lydia sprang up, ignoring the stab behind her eyes as she moved too quickly. “I’ll grab it.”
The knock sounded again. More insistent this time.
“Coming,” she called, as she straightened her robe and tightened the belt. She flung open the door, smile freezing on her face as the air left her lungs.
Colton Kincaid, looking as delectable as one of her mother’s desserts, stood with an arm braced on the door jamb, smiling down at her with an expression that could only be called wolfish. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
CHAPTER 8
For a second, he forgot to breathe. Lydia’s hair, still damp at the ends, curled in tousled waves. Heaven help him if this was what she looked like first thing in the morning. Soft and touchable, ready to be tumbled. Her eyes widened, and pink stained her cheeks. Not for the first time, he wished he’d taken her up on her offer the night before.
“Hi,” she said, a husky note to her voice.
It might be rude, but he couldn’t stop staring. In the light of day, she looked even more beautiful. Plump lips that invited kisses, curves that cried out to be worshipped with fingers and mouth. “You feeling okay?” he asked when he finally found his voice.
Her cheeks flushed darker, and she cast her eyes down. “I’ll live.” She glanced up through her eyelashes and quickly looked away. “So… did we, did we… ah–”
His belly shook. He shouldn’t laugh at her discomfort, but she looked damned adorable all flustered. More than anything, he wanted to take her into his arms. Feel her soft curves melt into him the way they had last night. “You don’t remember?”
Her gaze flew up, tangled with his. For a split second, before her eyes narrowed suspiciously, she’d looked at him like she wanted him. The way she had last night. Only this time she was sober, and damn if that didn’t send a bolt of lust shooting straight to his toes.
“Would you regret it if I said yes?”
She drew in a sharp breath, mouth parting, cheeks flushing full red. She held his gaze while the air left his lungs and his heart galloped off to the races. And when the corner of her mouth slowly tilted up, he was lost. “Would you?” she countered.
“Hell, no,” he answered, his throat suddenly rough.
She raised an eyebrow, as if not believing him. “The bad boy bedding the good girl in the barn at his brother’s wedding. That’d give tongues something to wag about.”
“Let ’em wag.”
“Wouldn’t that ruin your bad boy reputation? Being linked to someone uptight like me?”
He doubted she was uptight. Not if last night was any indication. Underneath her proper exterior was a hot-blooded wanton woman. “Maybe I’m not that bad anymore.”
She stared at him a long moment. Did she feel it too? The electricity arcing between them? Again, her mouth curled up. “Maybe I’m not that good.”
Holy. Hell.
His eyebrows jumped up. “What are you sayin’?” He leaned in, so close, her scent enveloped him, as warm and welcoming as a kitchen full of fresh-baked cookies. “You sayin’ you wanna start somethin’?”
Lydia’s pulse thrummed wildly at the base of her throat, and her delicate hand gripped her robe more tightly. “No,” she whispered with a tremor.
Liar.
Her voice betrayed her. More than that – it was her eyes. “Such an unconvincing liar,” he murmured, stroking a thumb down her cheek, not missing how her body trembled at his touch. He tilted her chin, watching raptly at how her tongue flicked out to slick her lower lip. It would be so easy to take her mouth right now, pick up where they left off. Assert his claim. But this was Lydia. Sooner or later, she’d regret it. She’d look at him with the same mixture of frustration and disappointment she always did before he’d left town years ago. “I’d make it good for you. So good, you’d never look at another overdressed metrosexual again.”
She pulled her head back, eyes snapping. “So you’re saying we didn’t?”
Damn. He’d overplayed his hand.
He took a step back, jamming his hands deep into his coat pockets. “You might think I’m all kinds of bad, but I’d never take advantage of an intoxicated woman,” he said flatly. That she’d think that of him, burned. But he’d never given her any reason to think highly of him. No, he’d only let her see him at his worst. And maybe someday, he’d unpack why that was. But that time wasn’t now.
Hell, why was he even here? What had he hoped for by coming over? The only reason she’d made a pass at him last night was because she’d been flat-out drunk. Disappointment crashed over him. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you got home okay. See you ’round.” He turned to step off the gracious front porch.
“Wait.” Her hand snagged his coat.
Slowly, he met her gaze. “Change your mind?” He flashed her a cocky
grin.
Her eyes lit with something he couldn’t identify, but her mouth tightened into a familiar thin line. “Cass said you were interested in a pair of boots?”
Oh. That. Dammit, he wanted to kiss her, not discuss the finer points of hand tooled leather. “I heard you’re pretty good.” Let her make of that whatever she wanted.
Damn if she didn’t give him a coy smile and lift a shoulder. “You’ll never want another.”
“Nope.” He barely shook his head, not taking his eyes from her. “Don’t suppose I will.” The air hummed between them, and he leaned in to take another whiff of her intoxicating mix of sweet and sexy. “Want another pair of boots,” he rasped into her ear before pressing his mouth to her temple.
“You…you devil,” she huffed indignantly, giving him a push.
Laughing, he took a step back.
“Everything okay?” called a voice from inside the house.
They spoke at the same time.
“Colt was just leaving,” Lydia said.
“I was asking about a pair of boots.”
Cassie appeared behind Lydia, looking sharply back and forth between the two of them. “Forget your manners, sis? Mama’d tan your hide if she learned you kept a guest on the porch.”
“Then don’t tell her,” Lydia sassed as she stepped aside, motioning for him to come inside.
Colt bit back a snicker. He always liked Cassidy. Tossing a wink at Lydia, he followed Cassidy into the kitchen.
“Coffee?” Cassidy held out a mug.
“Thanks.” He accepted the steaming cup.
“Don’t mind Lydia. She’s, er…”
“A bit wrecked?” Colt supplied.
Cassie laughed. “Yeah. You could say that.”
Lydia bustled in holding a pad of paper and a pencil. “Mama still have a tape measure in the drawer?”
“Yep,” answered Cassidy. Smirking as she shot a look his direction, she made her exit. “I’m off. Don’t get too crazy in here, kids.”
Lydia snorted while rooting through a door below the coffee maker. With her back still to him, she raised a finger. “Sit. Take off your boots.”
Colton sat slowly, mesmerized by her backside. The fluffy robe might be bulkier than he liked on a lady, but it clung to her ass, putting her firm round curves on full display. Hers was an ass he’d love to grip while he buried himself in her softness.
“Stop staring,” she said crisply, turning and catching him in the act.
He smiled unapologetically. “Nothing wrong with appreciating the view.”
Her cheeks pinked up again, and her mouth twitched. “Boots.”
Still holding her gaze, he toed off his boots, letting them fall to the floor with a thud. “What now?”
She held up the paper. “First, I trace your feet.”
“On the first date? I’m surprised at you, Lyds,” he said, unable to keep himself from sliding into her nickname.
She muttered something as she crouched by his feet. It sounded an awful lot like “You have no idea what I could do on a first date.”
He bit back a groan as she lifted her head and trapped his gaze. Her eyes smoldered with heat and his body answered in response. “What do you want?” he asked with too much rasp in his voice. She had him off-kilter. Like he had a bad grip on the rigging in the chute. And that would only land him one place – on his ass.
Her mouth twitched again, and she shook her head, grabbing his ankle and signaling him to lift his foot. “You could charm the skin off a rattlesnake.”
“I promise only to bite gently.” The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them.
She snorted and tugged on his other ankle, then motioned for him to stand. Her touch was light as she adjusted his foot and then traced the outline on the paper.
“You’re tickling me,” he said gruffly. Not that he minded. Her touch was gentle. Intimate. And it did funny things to his insides.
“Sorry. You can sit again. This will only take a few minutes.”
He sat and wiggled his toes, unsure of what to do next. Hell, if she were a buckle bunny and they were at a bar after a rodeo, he’d woo her with whiskey and dancing, whisper scandalous things in her ear, invite her back to his room. But he was pretty sure if he tried that with Lydia he’d end up with a slap across the cheek. Regret burned a pit in his stomach, but he quickly pushed away the feeling. He might not be proud of his past behavior, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
“You okay?” She tilted her head sideways, a curious light in her eyes.
“Of course. Why?”
Her smile looked bemused. “You look… nervous.” A soft giggle filled the kitchen as she firmly grabbed his foot and wrapped the tape around the ball, pausing to write down the measurement.
“No one’s ever touched my feet like this before.”
Their gazes collided again, and the electricity snapped between them. The seductive smile that lit her face had him squirming in the chair, and a myriad of lascivious thoughts flying through his head in rapid succession. If he’d let things play out to their natural conclusion last night, where would they be now? Holed up in his hotel room in Manhattan with her naked and crying for his touch? His cock pressed painfully against his jeans, and puffing out his cheeks, he studied the ceiling. This would not do. She was measuring his feet for chrissakes.
“Why I do believe you’re blushing, Colton Kincaid,” she said with a husky laugh as she took his other foot and made the same several measurements.
Aww, hell. He could feel the heat racing up his neck, building from his balls.
She winked at him and stood. “Getting naughty inside that thick skull of yours?”
He stood too, towering over her, at odds with himself about how to answer. She was clearly flirting with him, and he liked it. If she were anyone else, his hands would be inside her robe faster than the first time he was thrown from a bronc, but her mother’s warning echoed in his head. With a sigh, he dragged a thumb down her cheek. He’d allow himself that much, at least. One touch of her silky skin. “Always.” He wouldn’t deny it. But he took a step back, pushing the chair out of the way.
He could have sworn disappointment flashed in her eyes, but she turned away too fast for him to be sure. She cleared her throat, placing the papers on the counter. “When you in town again?”
“Christmas. I’m headed to Vegas for the NFRs.”
She turned back to him, arms crossed, leaning against the counter, all business. “I don’t know what Mama told you, but I have to be upfront. I’ve never made men’s boots before.”
Damn. It might be for the best, but his cock disagreed. “Is there a difference?”
She stuck out her foot. “You tell me.”
Okay, so she had a point. Her foot was tiny. Dainty, with a high arch that he ached to cover with kisses. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off the creamy expanse of thigh her movement exposed as her robe fell away. Even more delectable in the light of day. “I see your point,” he choked out. Hell, he had to get out of here before he crossed a line. Boldly holding his gaze, she lowered her leg and readjusted her robe. What the hell? Had she done that on purpose? Was she trying to make his balls explode?
“As I was saying,” she continued primly as if she hadn’t flashed him an eyeful of leg. “I’ve never made men’s boots before, and I’ve also never charged for anything I’ve made.”
“I’m sure they’ll fit fine.”
“They’ll fit more than fine,” she said with confidence. “But I’d like to hold off on discussing payment until I’m satisfied with my results.”
The businessman inside him took notice, and he stood a little straighter as admiration zinged through him. “Fair enough.” He liked this cocksure side of her. “Anything else we need to discuss?” He could come up with a whole laundry list, but he’d be the farm all his topics of discussion were off limits. “Color? Style?”
She cocked her head giving him a little half smile, then shook it. “No
pe. Black. No flash. Sexy, but durable.”
His eyebrows jumped in surprise.
She raised her own in answer. “Snip toe, spur ridge, standard heel, premium leather.” She flashed him a self-assured grin. “How’m I doing?”
Colt rested his hands on his hips and let his head fall back as he rumbled with laughter. “You’re full of surprises, Lyd. Full of surprises.”
“And?”
“And you’ve nailed my style.” Of course, she had. She’d always been the quiet one whose eagle eyes never missed a thing. She had the uncanny ability to sum up someone’s insides with a look. And right now, she looked like a cat who’d just discovered a bowl of cream as she met his gaze. Before he could move toward the door, his feet closed the distance between them. Damn feet, going in the wrong direction. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, amazed at its softness, wanting desperately to bury his hands in it. He should kiss her now. End the tension for both of them… but he couldn’t. He settled for pressing his mouth to her temple, and breathing in her intoxicating feminine scent. “I’ll see you ’round,” he murmured huskily.
Before he did something he regretted, he spun, and this time his feet moved in the right direction. But his heart tripped a little when he heard her sigh in frustration as he walked away.
CHAPTER 9
Three weeks later
Lydia fingered the club floor pass while she waited for the bartender to pass over her Old Fashioned. For at least the fifteenth time in the last two hours, she looked longingly at the exit. What had she been thinking? Hopping on a plane, spur of the moment like this was so unlike her. So was asking Travis if she could make use of his unused NFR tickets and club pass. Her face still burned at the memory of Travis’s knowing smirk when he handed over the envelope. Of course, everyone would read into it and jump to conclusions. It turned out more than a couple of folks had seen her plastered against Colton at the wedding.
