Who the heck was that? She was a drop-dead knockout, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing her before. She wasn’t Jeannie Sommers, and she wasn’t Brandy Lamar either.
Surely he’d remember her, with that blond hair rippling down her back and that tanned, toned body. She reminded him of Suze, but…
But nothing.
She was Suze.
Shoot. Red hadn’t seemed interested at all in the idea of Suze as a representative of Lariat’s ladies’ line, and that had been fine with Brady. Now he’d have to work with her, thanks to his overactive conscience. She’d avoided him so effectively since that night that he’d never gotten a chance to apologize, and now? Now it was way too late.
“Told you she was serious,” Stan said.
“You weren’t lying.” Brady clutched his chest. “That girl’s serious as a heart attack.”
Stan wrinkled his brow with sudden concern as Brady took a step backward.
“We need Marta over here.” The photographer gestured to a dark-haired woman standing at the rail. “We need you to work your magic again. Brady’s looking a little pale.”
Brady resisted the urge to swat at the makeup lady, who came over and fluttered around his face with blush and powder like some annoying, fashion-conscious insect. The only fashion he was conscious of was the kind that had transformed Suze Carlyle from barn bum to beauty.
“She is luffly, no?” the stylist whispered.
“She is luffly, yes.” Brady glanced back at Suze and felt like he’d been felled by a hammer. Wham! Right to the forehead.
What the hell was going to happen now? She was staring at him, eyes wide, jaw dropped in surprise. But when she caught him looking, her whole attitude changed. Tossing her hair, she turned away, looking angry and proud and drop-dead beautiful.
Scenes from their night together rushed into his head and heart as if he’d dammed them up and the dam had broken.
Suze, lean and languorous, lying across the bed; her long legs tangled with his; her eyes, green as a summer lawn, glowing with happiness and humor. Those same eyes an hour later, shaded by her long lashes and sleepy with satisfaction.
Trouble was, the lawn had frozen over the next morning, and satisfaction had turned to something sour. So how was he going to make this shoot anything less than torture for the two of them?
People thought he was a ladies’ man, but it was the ladies that made him one. He had no idea what he did that made them flock around him like crows to cracked corn. He usually kept things light. Teasing. But nobody teased Suze Carlyle, and here she was, coming his way. Her eyes were shining like they did before a race, when she was holding back her horse and waiting for the signal to start. He was surprised she was so excited about modeling.
Aw, hell. He had to talk to her, and all he could think to do was make some lame joke.
“Wow.” He widened his eyes. “How’d they get you to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Dress like a girl.”
She tossed her hair. Marta had apparently worked some magic with a curling iron, because Suze’s straight, glossy stream of hair was coiling around her shoulders and framing her face in pale flames.
Brady had only seen her hair loose one other time. He had no problem pulling that picture out of his memory—Suze, naked on her bed, her hair fanning over the pillow while he…
Stop it. Just stop it.
She shrugged. “They asked, that’s all.”
She wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t sure if she was being stuck-up or self-conscious. It was always like that with Suze. She was a bundle of emotions, but he was never sure which ones were on the surface and what was simmering underneath. She was one complicated woman.
Setting the Lariat cowboy hat she’d been carrying on her head, she adjusted the brim just so. Hot damn, she was gorgeous.
He managed an aw-shucks grin. “You wouldn’t have dressed like that for me if I’d asked.”
“Darn right.” She leaned on the chute gate, resting her elbows on one of the metal rails, and shot him a look under her lashes that told him he didn’t have a chance.
“So how’d they get you to do it?”
“They offered me money.” She said each word separately, as if it hurt to say them, and the shine in her eyes intensified. He felt his heart drop in his chest. She wasn’t excited. She was on the verge of tears.
Dang it, now he’d hurt her feelings. He’d known the answer to that question. And although he didn’t think there was any shame in needing money, it apparently bothered Suze.
Maybe the teasing thing wasn’t a good idea. He stole another look at her and stumbled back another step. Just her face was enough to knock a man sideways—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and that generous mouth, perfect for kissing.
Maybe he should piss her off as a form of self-defense. The Lariat outfit showed off every sweet, seductive curve, and there was a dab of shimmer on her lips that made him want to taste her. Her eyes had green depths like a pine forest, dark with secrets and shadowed with pain. Suze had never had it easy, but she still managed to look more strong than vulnerable. And her beauty was natural, with no special effects or fancy frills.
He gave her his best smile, hoping she’d remember she’d liked him once. “So what if I offered you money?”
“Not a chance.” She finally looked at him, and the anger and hurt in her eyes nearly knocked him to his knees. What did she think had happened that night in the trailer?
He hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t like he’d promised her anything but a night she’d never forget, though she apparently wished she could. Ever since, she’d stepped around him like she was afraid he might stick to the bottom of her shoe.
Maybe he should just pretend it hadn’t happened.
With a dismissive toss of her hair, she strode to the center of the arena, stepping lightly over the cords that snaked all around the arena to power Stan’s equipment. She stood there like an experienced model, her stance wide, her gaze commanding.
“Let’s do this.” She sounded like she was about to have a tooth pulled.
“Yeah, let’s.” Brady kept his tone bright. “Where do we start?”
“Let’s see.” Stan tapped his front teeth with his index finger, a tic that meant he was thinking things through, visualizing the finished photo and putting the elements together in his head. Brady hoped to God he wasn’t planning his usual scenario, where the woman knelt at Brady’s feet. Suze would never do that. Never.
She might be desperate enough to dress like a girl, but the woman had her principles.
Chapter 12
Suze watched Stan Peterson dither over the positions she and Brady should take for the photo shoot and wondered what the heck was wrong with the guy. Lariat might be peddling clothes for women now, but their big bucks came from menswear. They’d managed to convince Easterners who had a romantic image of the West that real cowboys actually tolerated shirts with fringe and all kinds of frippery. In reality, fringe could get caught in buckles and straps, and besides, all that fancy stuff looked plain ridiculous.
She knew when she’d signed on with Lariat that she’d be required to shed most of her dignity and half her clothes for the shoot. But what mattered was the money. She needed to keep that in mind, because this was the tough part—the part where she knelt at the feet of the male model who shared the shoot. And in this case, the model was the man she’d been avoiding ever since they’d burned up the bedsheets just months before.
That time, she’d lost most of her dignity and all of her clothes.
“Okay. Suze, I need you to stand over there.” Stan gestured to a point just in front of a particularly rustic part of the bucking chutes, with their weathered wooden frames and rusting metal gates. “Brady, you go stand beside her. Not a hardship, right?”
Brady flashed Suze one of his blinding smiles. �
�Never a hardship.”
It was a hardship for Suze. The truth was, she’d sooner stand beside a riled-up rattlesnake than get anywhere near Brady Caine.
But she needed the money, she needed the money, she needed the money. She chanted the words in her head like a mantra. Barrel racing was an expensive sport. You needed a great horse, who needed great feed and a nice stable and pasture. You needed a good-sized arena for practicing too. All these things made it essential to hang on to the Carlyle family ranch, and lately that had become a challenge. Her dad had mortgaged the place to pay off her mother’s medical bills after her long fight with cancer, and now he had medical bills of his own. Suze couldn’t go out and get a regular job to pay the bills, because her dad needed her to do the chores at home. Besides, she had to practice, and she was out rodeoing every weekend.
She won often, and brought home substantial sums, but it never seemed to be enough. That was the reason—the only reason—she was standing beside Brady Caine with her arms folded over her chest and her jaw clamped so tightly it hurt. She might have to stand beside him, but she didn’t have to look at him.
Not yet, anyway.
“Okay.” Stan looked a little worried. “What we need to do is soften up your look a little bit, Suze. Just—maybe unbutton your shirt a little.”
She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt. “Like this?”
“Well…”
She unbuttoned another. “This?”
He gave her a charming smile and she unbuttoned a third, exposing a generous swath of her embarrassingly generous cleavage. Men liked big breasts, but Suze would have traded hers for a smaller set in a heartbeat. Normally, she wore maximum-strength sports bras to keep everything pressed in tight. But today the girls were on full display, and Suze was sure Brady was enjoying the view. She stood stiffly, chin high, jaw clenched.
“Do you two not get along, or something?” Stan grimaced and raked his fingers through his hair, making a matched set of cowlicks stand up like owl’s ears. “We’re looking for a little spark here.”
Suze waited for Brady to say something teasing about how well they got along. She was sure he’d allude to their night together sooner or later, making sure Stan knew what a stud he was. But to her surprise, he just gave her an honest cowboy grin with no leering undertones.
“Sure,” he said. “We get along fine, don’t we?”
“Oh, yeah. Fine.” She tried to smile back at Brady, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. It felt stiff in the middle and shaky at the edges. She hated to think how it would look on film.
“Right. Well, we need to get this done,” Stan said. “Brady, just do what you always do.”
“Okay, but…”
“The pose. This is the introductory ad for our cowgirl line, so we’re doing a modified version of the standby. So pose.”
The photographer might’ve looked meek as a kid’s pet hamster, but he was in charge of this shoot and Brady knew it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood tall, shoulders back, chin raised. Suze had seen the pose in a half-dozen Lariat ads, so she knew what came next.
“Now, Suze, if you could just kneel beside him…”
In the eyes of Lariat Western Wear—and in the minds of most of the men she knew—men were men, and women were born to adore them. Gingerly, she rested one knee in the dirt and knelt sideways so the other leg bracketed Brady.
Brady glanced down. Instead of looking admiring, like he had when she’d first strolled into the arena, he looked horrified.
She braced herself for the joke, the sarcastic comment, the jab.
Instead, he reached down and grabbed her elbow, hauling her roughly to her feet.
“Hell no, Stan,” he said. “We’re not doing this. Not with her. No way.”
* * *
Brady watched Suze stomp across the arena, her hands clenched at her sides, her blond hair bouncing with every stormy step. He’d obviously ticked her off.
It figured. Every time he tried to do the right thing, he made her mad.
He’d just been trying to protect her. Frankly, he’d expected her to protect herself, and he’d been looking forward to the fireworks when she told Stan that she wouldn’t kneel at Brady Caine’s feet if you gave her a million dollars. He’d have bet his last gold buckle on her refusal. Ever since that night in her trailer, Suze’s every glance told him she thought he was lower than the prairie dogs that dug up her pasture—and for a rancher, nothing was lower than a prairie dog.
She must’ve really needed the money from this contract, and she was willing to do whatever was required to keep it. That was her choice, and he ought to have let her make it.
But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He knew how proud she was, and watching her kneel down like that—it was unbearable. He’d had to stop her. But instead of thanking him, she’d stormed off.
“What just happened?” he said to Stan. “I was trying to help.”
“Who exactly were you helping?”
“Her. You too. If I’d known who you’d chosen, I could’ve told you she wouldn’t kneel at my feet like those other girls. I mean, Suze Carlyle? She’s got no reason to grovel.”
“She was fine with it,” Stan said. “You’re the one with the problem.”
Brady took his hat off and raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s just that it’s disrespectful,” he said. “Especially with her. I mean rodeo queens, they don’t mind. They know darn well they’re part of the West’s grand tradition of objectifying women. But Suze is an athlete. She deserves respect.”
“Listen to you,” Stan said. “The cowboy feminist, all up in arms about objectifying women. I didn’t even know you knew words that big.”
Brady flushed. “I must have heard it somewhere. Half the time I don’t know what I’m saying.” Brady gave him his aw-shucks grin. Who was he to mess with the legends of the West? He did his best to live up to expectations as the dumb cowboy bronc buster.
He sobered. “Bill taught me not to treat women like that, though.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the trailer that served as Suze’s dressing room. “You think she’s coming back?”
“I doubt it,” Stan said. “Why would she?”
“So we can work things out. I think we should change the shot,” Brady said. “Why don’t you lay me down in the middle of the arena and let her trample me on her horse? Cowgirls would love to see that. Speedo’s as famous as she is. Best-known quarter horse in the world.”
“Brady, she doesn’t think there’s anything to work out. She thinks you just refused to work with her. Hell, that’s what I thought too.”
“What?”
“Brady, you said, and I quote, ‘Hell no. We’re not doing this with her.’”
“No, I said…” Brady ran the words over in his mind. Yep, that’s what he’d said.
He took off at a dead run, following Suze’s footprints across the arena. When he tripped on a light cord, he caught himself, then spun around to holler at Stan.
“Think of something different to do. We’re not doing that dumb shit with the girl at my feet, okay? Not with Suze. Not in a million years.”
He slowed, walking backwards to make sure Stan would hear what he’d really meant to say—and maybe Suze would hear it too.
“If you want,” he said, “I’ll kneel at her feet.”
Chapter 13
Marta had returned to the trailer and was fussing around, cleaning the sink and setting her makeup into a carefully organized carryall.
“Back so soon?”
“It didn’t work out.” Suze had intended to be brusque and efficient, as if she had somewhere important to go. That way, Marta wouldn’t see how upset she was.
“What didn’t work out?” Marta ran some water in the sink to wash down a few stray hairs she’d trimmed from Suze’s ’do. “You didn’t like the cowboy?”
“I can’t stand the cowboy.” To Suze’s horror, her bold words came out along with a rush of tears. “I can’t stand him.”
Marta put her arm around Suze’s shoulders and led her over to a couch. As they sat down, she smoothed Suze’s hair back from her forehead in a motherly gesture so kind it made Suze break down entirely.
“You know this cowboy?”
Suze nodded, unable to speak.
“You have a history?”
“Not really.” Suze huffed out a mirthless laugh. “It was over as soon as it started.”
“So you don’t want to pose with him? That is not professional, dear,” Marta said gently. “Is not right.”
Marta was right, and Suze suddenly wished with all her heart that the makeup artist would come back to the ranch with her and be her stepmother. Marta wouldn’t have to marry Earl Carlyle. Heck, she and Suze could throw him out. Because here was a woman who barely knew her, and she was offering the kind of wise, motherly advice Suze had longed for most of her life.
A fresh fountain of tears rose up, and Suze reached blindly for a tissue, patting the sofa and end table. “He didn’t want to pose with me. He just kicked me aside like a—like a dog. I was kneeling at his feet.”
Marta calmly rose and crossed the room for some Kleenex. She came back with the box.
“How could he not want to pose with you?” she said. “You are a beautiful cowgirl. And a champion, right?”
Suze nodded, blowing her nose so loudly she could probably be a champion at that too.
“He kicked you?” Marta asked. To her credit, she didn’t sound the least bit skeptical.
“Metaphorically.” Suze honked into a tissue one more time and set it aside. It was obvious that English wasn’t Marta’s mother tongue, so Suze rushed to explain. “That means not really, but sort of. He made me feel kicked.” She sniffed, struggling to compose herself. “He might as well have kicked me with those fancy boots of his. I got his message loud and clear.”
Marta patted Suze’s arm. Somehow, the kind gesture gave Suze courage and her despair was driven out by a heady, white-hot anger that filled her up and burned like a dozen shots of tequila.
How to Kiss a Cowboy Page 8
