Texas Blaze

by Jean Brashear

  Pen’s back bowed in ecstasy. “Finally—” The word ended on a shriek. “Bridger!”

  He shot her one very smug smile. Then need snapped the bonds of his restraint, and he was on her again.

  She met him, measure for measure, as the blaze shot into the sky, a roaring fire she hoped he had absolutely no desire to put out.

  “So,” he asked when at last their heads cleared a little. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was in the neighborhood?”

  “Yeah, right. Mackey send you to play mother hen?”

  “Please. With this body?” She smirked.

  He didn’t buy it. She was dodging. He switched tactics. “How come you’re not back in D.C.? Don’t you have a job?”

  “Of course I do—” She looked away. “Maybe. I don’t want to talk about it. I…made a mistake, that’s all.”

  “So you’re in timeout like me?”

  Her gaze whipped to his and saw the anger and the humor. “You’ve been a bad boy?” she tried to tease.

  “Not as bad as I want to be, Legs.” But his heart wasn’t into the banter. “It’s not—I don’t—” He slapped the mattress and hurled himself from the bed. “Damn it.” He yanked on his jeans and started out.

  She leaped from the bed and made it to the doorway before him, though she had no idea why she didn’t just let him go.

  “Not now,” he grated.

  She pressed one palm to the center of his bare chest. Felt the racing of his heart. “I’m not the enemy, Bridger.”

  He exhaled. “I know that.” He cocked his head. “Seriously, why are you here?”

  Suddenly she felt too naked. “Because Mackey’s not your type?”

  Surprise lifted his gloom a little. “What?”

  She squirmed. “I need to get dressed.”

  He captured her wrist. “You don’t have to hide from me, Penelope.”

  “Bridger…” She went for honesty. “We’re both hiding a lot.” She shrugged. “I’m not used to honesty anyway. Especially not with men.” When he still didn’t let go, she dipped and grabbed the nearest garment, which turned out to be his shirt. “Okay if I wear this?” Without waiting she slipped on one sleeve.

  “Guess so.” He released her, but he helped her into the other sleeve, then brushed her hands aside and started buttoning the shirt.

  “I can dress myself,” she said.

  “I get that, but I like my hands on you.” He glanced up. “Though it does seem a damn shame to cover up this body.”

  “Feed me, and we’ll uncover both of us later.”

  “All right. I can get behind that.” He finished, though not without a lot of wandering hands all over her and dipping beneath the cotton.

  Then he pressed one smacking kiss to her lips, and the friendly Bridger was back.

  She knew now, though, that dark currents swirled beneath the easygoing exterior. He clearly didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him.

  Which was just fine with her. She wasn’t the least bit interested in baring her soul.

  “I’m not taking your brother’s fancy-ass plane back to Texas,” Bridger said the next morning over coffee. “You’re welcome to, though. I’ll meet you there unless…”

  “Unless what?” She frowned.

  “You probably don’t have a spirit of adventure, being a stuffy lawyer and all.” He could literally see her rising to the challenge. Getting her back up at the notion that she didn’t take chances.

  “You have no idea what I’d risk.”

  Well, now… He smiled, even as his logical self was shouting what the hell are you doing? He’d never traveled with a woman, especially not one who wore stilettos worth his monthly salary. “So you say…”

  Oh, there she came: Princess. Even though he was a good six or seven inches taller now that she was barefoot, she still gave an excellent imitation of looking down her nose at him. “You are full of it.”

  He had to laugh at her imperious sense of insult. “So you want to ride in my truck all the way to Texas? I was thinking we could pull the grill. Make a little money to fund the trip.” He’d thought no such thing, but he couldn’t help challenging her. Damn, but the woman kept him on his toes.

  “You think I wouldn’t?” She gripped him by the shoulders and rose to tiptoe to brush first her lips, then her tongue over his mouth. “I like barbecue just fine.” She trailed her hands down his belly, nails raking in a faint scratch that shot straight to his groin. “I’ve never taken a road trip. Which way would we go?”

  Was he really going to do this? Be locked up in a truck for probably three days, maybe more, with a high-maintenance woman?

  But there would be the nights…

  She nibbled at her lower lip, her eyes twinkling with a dare. “Hm? What sights would we see?”

  He was actually going to commit this insanity. It was completely crazy, but at the same time, he’d never had an actual vacation—first because he was a broke kid trying to stay below the radar until he was of legal age, then in the military where he volunteered for extra missions as often as he could manage.

  “Nashville first. Great music.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Country music.”

  “Good barbecue—and the Country Music Hall of Fame, just because you’re a snob.”

  “I am not a snob.”

  He only lifted one eyebrow.

  “Seriously? Country music?”

  “Don’t tell me—you like, what, jazz? Or—” He smiled at her grimace. “Celine Dion.”

  “Please. Coldplay. Lucinda Williams. Neko Case.”

  He shook his head. “Honey, that has to change.”

  “I don’t think so. Rube.” She grinned. “Then where?”

  “Memphis. Got to. Barbecue and blues.”

  She considered. “I could do blues.”

  “Why, thank you, your majesty.” He grinned at her quick spurt of laughter. “Then Arkansas, Crater of Diamonds. We’ll seek our fortune.”

  “Diamonds? In Arkansas?”

  “Been known to happen. Larry and Kyle weren’t up for it.”

  “Seriously. Me, hunt for diamonds.”

  “If your East Coast snob friends could see you now.” Then he was sorry because sorrow swept over her features.

  She recovered and twirled away from him. “So what’s in it for me on this redneck Grand Tour?” She glanced over her shoulder, and she looked fine again.

  “Honey, you have forgotten your roots, clearly. A little chicken fried steak with biscuits and gravy, we’ll set your world aright.”

  “Bet Ruby makes better.”

  “I would never argue against Ruby’s cooking. I’m not stupid.”

  She cocked her head. “No, you are most definitely not.” A slow smile. “So you’ll comprehend when I do this.” She crooked a finger as she sashayed back toward the bedroom, that sweet behind swaying like a siren call.

  He grabbed her in two strides, pivoted and plopped her onto the kitchen table. Then he laid her back and pressed his mouth to her thigh. “Bed’s too far.”

  “It surely is,” she said on a breathy moan.

  Never in a million years had she imagined herself in the Country Music Hall of Fame, a building designed to look like a piano keyboard, set in the heart of Nashville. The Louvre, yes. The Tate Modern in London. The National Gallery or the Met in New York for the umpteenth time.

  Instead, here she was looking at Webb Pierce’s convertible with its six-shooter door handles, steer horns on the front grille, tooled leather seats with silver-dollar-covered console.

  And having a ball. “I need that Dottie West outfit with all that fringe,” she murmured.

  Bridger shot her an amused glance. “Legs, you never cease to amaze me.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on. Elvis’s limo is right over there.”

  If Hugh could see her now… But she smiled against the ache of his betrayal. Bridger was taking up too much room in her head to spend any time mourning a faithless politician. />
  This building was beautiful, with its stream of water trailing alongside the stairs, its soaring ceiling, its gorgeous wood entry. “You still owe me a cowgirl hat. I’m thinking red.” She’d coveted a pink one at a truck stop, but red was better.

  His grip on her hand tightened, and he laughed as he drew her forward. “You will not let me forget that, will you?”

  She admired his broad shoulders as she followed his powerful stride. Women paused to watch him as he moved past, and he seemed all but oblivious to his effect on the opposite sex.

  Mine, she wanted to growl. Not really, but for right now he was. She knew what that tough, gorgeous body looked like under his clothes.

  He halted so quickly she ran into his back. “What?”

  “What are you thinking about, Legs?”

  She could not believe a man alive could make her blush, but he was. “Nothing. Just enjoying the sights.”

  His golden gaze scanned her body…slowly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Oh, stop that.”

  “I don’t think so.” He whipped them behind an exhibit, pressed her up against the partition and proceeded to kiss her breathless.

  She doubled the ante by writhing against the front of him.

  He tore his mouth from hers and took a step back, still gripping her hips. “Stop that. I won’t be able to walk. Now you’re stuck here with me until I get presentable.”

  She reached toward him. “Or we could take care of it now.”

  He grabbed her hand. Laughed. “You are incorrigible. Who the hell ever thought you were dignified? Are you sure you’re a lawyer?”

  She smiled as she drew an X over her heart. “Positive. Wanna sue somebody?” Her eyebrows waggled.

  “Yeah. You. For reckless endangerment or disturbing the hell out of my peace, at the very least.”

  She pulled from his grip. “Aw, poor Bridger…” She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek then stepped around him. “See you when you’re fit for company.” She strolled off, grinning at the muffled cursing coming from behind the partition.

  They pigged out on barbecue at Corky’s in Memphis. They’d gotten a late start because he’d sworn they couldn’t leave Nashville without a visit to the Bluebird Cafe the night before.

  “Not bad for pork,” she said, grinning from beneath the red cowboy hat she refused to take off. “I mean, everyone knows beef is the only real barbecue, but…” She shrugged elegantly. Then ruined the image by licking the sauce off her fingertips.

  Sloooowly. Sucking each fingertip.

  Then releasing with an audible slurp.

  She was killing him. “I’m driving off while you’re in the bathroom,” he threatened.

  “Yeah?” Total lack of concern. “A pity. I’ll just have to hitchhike with some good-looking trucker.”

  His brows snapped together at the thought of her alone on the highway. “You’d better call your brother. Better yet, I will.”

  “If you were really going to leave me behind.” She raised both eyebrows.

  “If I were smart, I probably should.”

  “Because I’m not your type, and you’re not mine.” Her smile softened. “I’m having a good time, Bridger. Thank you.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” To his very great surprise, she was low maintenance as a traveling companion. He’d pictured stops demanded every fifty miles, endless waits for her to primp, a lot of silence as they drove.

  Instead, she would go as long as he would, and she entertained him with a running commentary on the sights, generating conversations unlike he’d ever had with anyone else. She seemed surprised that he preferred reading over television and flat refused to own a computer. He was astonished to know that she actually had once liked to cook and tried to picture her in an apron.

  With stilettos.

  And nothing else.

  Niiiice.

  “What are you grinning at?”

  He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

  She waggled her eyebrows. Then lapped her tongue slowly over another long finger.

  Bridger rolled his eyes.

  And considered stopping for the night.

  Now.

  “It’s…a field.” She turned to him. “Bridger, it’s just…dirt.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought it would be like panning for gold or something. A cool stream and, you know—” She waved imperious fingers. “Diamonds.” At his chuckle, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you laugh. You expected this? And you thought I would like it?”

  “Gotta do a little hard work to get the good stuff in life, Penelope.”

  She huffed her disgust. Then turned to watch the people out in the sunbaked field. “I could have stayed in Sweetgrass if I wanted to dig in the dirt. There cannot be diamonds in the middle of a field in freaking Arkansas.”

  People around her slid glances in her direction.

  “Your city side is showing, Princess.”

  “I like the city. I like bagels in the morning and my corner deli and traffic and noise and…excitement.”

  “Then let’s go. We’ll get on the road.”

  She grabbed his wrist. “No. I’m sorry. You wanted to come, and I said I would.” Her eyebrows waggled. “But you owe me. We’re going to do something to my taste before we get home—get back,” she corrected.

  “Like what? I’d better figure out the price of this. Matching manicures?”

  That got a broad grin from her. “Oh…sweet! You’d like it, you know. A good seaweed pack and a mud bath, followed by exfoliation and hot stone massage.”

  “I don’t do seaweed.”

  Her grin only widened as she led him over to where they rented buckets. “Maybe aromatherapy while we’re at it.”

  “Now you’re just being mean.” But he loved her laughter. “Next thing I know, you’ll be shoving quiche in my direction.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “At my mercy, remember. My choice, totally. You just say yes, ma’am and play along.”

  “What the hell kind of men have you been dating, Legs?”

  “Nobody who amused me nearly this much, I promise you that.” She walked away, bucket swinging, and next thing he knew, she was talking some girl out of her bandanna, exchanging it for a bracelet that probably cost a hundred times more.

  And showing off her red cowboy hat in the meantime.

  “Come on, slowpoke,” she said. “The Hope diamond awaits us.”

  Bridger only shook his head and followed, trying to think back to exactly when he’d lost control of this situation.

  He smiled. Right about the time those long legs slid out of the fancy SUV, best he could reckon.

  She was a trouper, he couldn’t deny that. Two hours later, they were both hot and tired and dirt-encrusted.

  Not even a diamond chip to show for the effort.

  But somehow she’d made it fun. She traipsed all over the field, examining the findings of others, visiting at length. Dragging him over for introductions and reciting the life stories of every new friend.

  Not one trace of aloof princess in sight.

  Not one trace of diamonds, either.

  But her eyes were flashing at him as they washed up in the outdoor faucet. “You have dirt on the side of your nose,” he pointed out.

  “You have dirt in your eyebrows.”

  “No big. I get dirty a lot in my work.”

  “My kingdom for a shower,” she sighed.

  “We can stop in Little Rock and find a hotel.”

  Merriment danced in those gorgeous blues. “If we find the right one, we’ll get started on your beauty regimen.”

  He cringed. “Don’t be enjoying the prospect so much. I’m not even sure I owe it to you. You spent about five minutes actually looking for diamonds.”

  “But I stayed here two hours. Did you get me a nice big sparkly I just haven’t seen yet?”

  “They don’t sparkle much in their raw state.” But for a second he imagined having mined one for a ring for her.

>   Good grief. The sun had clearly baked his brain.

  Besides that, she wasn’t a diamond girl. She’d need something much more unique.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “You gave me two hours—cheating or not—so that’s what you get with me. Two hours—” He couldn’t help his wince “—to do…whatever that crap was you mentioned.” Then he pinned her with a hard gaze. “But if Mackey or the guys back at the station or one single soul I know hears even a peep about this…”

  A delighted giggle softened to a smile. “Poor Bridger. I happen to know your manhood can stand the test.”

  He shuddered. “It better.”

  All smiles, she dried her hands on her jeans, then reached for his. “Come on, you big baby. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

  He snorted.

  But he took her hand and walked back across the field with her.

  Chapter Nine

  Oh lordy, she couldn’t laugh.

  But how she wanted to take pictures of Bridger, his face covered in green goo while a manicurist hovered beside his big muscled frame, his overwhelmingly male presence a tangible force in the room.

  While he all but squirmed in the salon chair.

  She’d delayed joining him in the shower until she’d spoken to the front desk of the hotel and quickly made arrangements. It wasn’t the quality spa she could have found in Dallas or Houston, perhaps, but she didn’t want him to dread every mile they drove.

  She’d barely finished the call when he’d pushed out of the shower, naked and dripping and too gorgeous, and snatched her up, carrying her inside and proceeding to wash every inch of her.

  Every. Inch.

  Slowly.

  She’d been ready to scream by the time he’d lifted her effortlessly into his arms and pinned her against the shower wall with his body.

  And then she had.

  God. He was…glorious.

  “Go away,” he said, voice low and menacing. “This is bad enough without you smirking.”

  The salon estheticians cast perplexed glances at her but quickly turned back to the glorious savage who was naked beneath that robe. He’d won them over from the first instant.