Million Dollar Cowboy

by Lori Wilde

  That is until he snaked a big, strong arm around her waist, and all the air evaporated from her lungs.

  It took her a second to calm her raging hormones, fumble with the key dangling in the ignition, and start the ATV. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck and that was totally distracting.

  She wanted to ask him to stop breathing.

  Also, she wanted to tell him to stop smelling so good. Because he did. Smell good. He was getting all tangled up in her nose and her memories and confusing the hell out of her.

  “Locked and loaded,” he said, wrapping his tongue slowly around each word, making it sound bizarrely sexual. “Let’s buzz.”

  “I’m driving here. We’ll buzz when I’m ready.”

  He laughed like she was the most hilarious thing since America’s Funniest Home Videos. “All right, honeybee. Buzz when you’re ready.”

  Well, of course she was ready now. She didn’t want to keep sitting here in the hot sun with his arm wrapped around her, going nowhere.

  She popped the clutch, put the ATV in gear, and took off.

  His arm was tucked right up underneath her breasts. Crossing boundaries. Invading her personal space. Too intimate by half.

  It felt territorial.

  It felt like foreplay.

  Gak!

  But she couldn’t protest. He needed to hold on to her or risk falling off.

  She drove. Going perhaps a bit faster than she should across the craggy terrain, anxious to get back to the house and off the ATV.

  A dangerous part of her wanted to savor the feeling of being snugged up against his hard-muscled chest, his thighs strapped around hers. To revel in his warmth, the pressure of his legs, but she needed to focus on getting them from point A to point B as quickly and safely as she could.

  Since her accident, she’d become an overly cautious driver. But not today. Not with this pulsing thrill shooting through her. Today, she felt headstrong and reckless and brave as hell.

  The landscape whipped by at dizzying speed. Slow down. But he laughed in her ear as if he was enjoying the pace, and so, insanely, she sped up.

  Idiot. What was she doing?

  They flew across sand and sagebrush, thrust forward by paddle tires beating out a steady rhythm against the ground. Momentum rocked his body forward, pressing his hips against hers, each bump and rut pushing them closer together, each vibration a jolt of awareness.

  As if in concert with the machine, the wind picked up, blowing warm air over their bodies, matching their ground speed with whirling energy.

  A sense of inescapability, of baffling aptness, crashed through Kaia like thunder. This was what she’d been waiting for. A man worthy of changing her life for.

  No, no. no. Not him. It could not be him.

  A jackrabbit jumped out in front of the ATV. Startled, Kaia swerved, plowed right over a tumbleweed kicking up a thick rooster tail of sand. She swallowed back the gulp of fear that leaped into her throat, eased off on the throttle, and inhaled a deep breath of dusty air.

  “Good reflexes,” Ridge whispered.

  The vibration of his voice sent a quiver straight through her center. She felt dizzy, but it had nothing to do with the speed or the jackrabbit or hitting the tumbleweed and everything to do with the man at her back. His arm was latched tight against her belly and ribs, hard and firm, more holding her in place with his steady strength than hanging on.

  His grasp reminded her how long it had been since a man had held her. Ages. Eons. She’d been too busy for a relationship. Too busy even for sex. Her life filled with school and animals and family, and then the wreck, where her biggest goal had been first, not dying, and then getting well, getting healthy, getting her life back.

  Was that why she was so responsive to him? Because it had simply been years since she’d had sex?

  Yes. That was it. She liked that idea. She’d go with that explanation.

  She relaxed then. Loosened her grip on the handlebars. Lowered her shoulders. It was okay. She was just sex-deprived. That’s all this was.

  Whew. Now she knew the problem, she could deal with it. Not with Ridge of course. She wasn’t going to have a wild weekend wedding fling with him. Not at her brother’s wedding.

  But this chemical reaction did call her attention to the fact she’d been neglecting her physical needs. It was something she would address once the ceremony was over and Ridge was safely in Canada where he could do her no harm.

  “How was the ride back? Did you hang on to his hot bod for dear life?” Tara asked, mischief shining in her eyes as Kaia joined her sisters in the ranch house kitchen.

  Thankfully, as soon as they arrived at the mansion, Ridge had offered to put the ATV in the barn and she couldn’t hop off and sprint into the house fast enough.

  “I drove.” Kaia tossed her head. “He was the one doing the hanging.”

  “Ooh.” Tara giggled and wriggled her fingers. “How was that?”

  Kaia rolled her eyes. “It was a ride on an ATV.”

  “With his big strong hands on your body.” Tara ticked her head back and forth like a human metronome.

  “Ridge is so hot,” Aria breathed, sticking her nose into the conversation. “Pure testosterone on two feet.” She fanned herself vigorously. “He’s such a badass.”

  “Just like his brothers.” Ember sidled up, shot a look at Ranger, who was talking to Archer. “The Lockhart boys are yumminess personified.”

  “Are you lusting after Ranger?” Kaia asked Ember.

  “Eww! Good grief no,” Ember said. “He’s my best friend in the whole world. Why would I mess that up? But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how hot he is for someone else.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing that neither Rhett or Remington can come to the wedding,” Tara mused. “Can you imagine all four of them together in one place?”

  “All the air conditioners in Cupid wouldn’t be able to cool off that chapel.” Aria panted.

  “What are we whispering about?” Casey asked, popping over.

  “The supreme hotness of the Lockhart men,” Ember said.

  Casey scoffed. “As if they can compare with Archer.”

  “We know you’re madly in love with our brother, but Archer cannot compete against four Lockhart men.” Tara clicked her tongue. “No one in Cupid can.”

  “I hate to disagree with you,” Casey said. “But it’s my wedding and my opinion is the only one that counts this weekend. Can we get this brunch started?”

  Kaia let out a sigh and followed her sisters and Casey into the dining room, where the guests were lining up at the buffet of chafing dishes.

  Her gaze was immediately drawn to Ridge, who was at the head of the line, his plate stacked high with food. He’d taken off the Ray-Bans, and she could see the bruise darkening at his temple, but the swelling seemed to be receding.

  Kaia was the last one to get her food, and now there was only one seat left, and it had to be directly across from Ridge.

  Damn her luck.

  She sat down and, flanked by Lynne on her left, Casey on her right, she kept her eyes on her plate.

  Or tried to.

  “Could you pass the pepper?” Ridge asked.

  Why did the confounded pepper have to be right in front of her? She glanced up and her gaze slammed into his sultry navy blue eyes and even sultrier smile. And why did he have to keep staring at her like she was some fascinating creature he’d hauled onto his boat during a fishing expedition? Especially when the entire table could see the way he was looking at her?

  Kaia dropped her gaze to the pepper shaker, picked it up and thrust it at him.

  In the handoff, his big, broad fingers touched hers.

  Intentionally?

  Her heart gave an excited little kick and it was all she could do not to react. Or look at him again.

  All right.

  She did look at him again, but only after he’d lowered his eyes to pepper his eggs, and she tried not to let him see she was
looking. From her peripheral vision, she watched his Adam’s apple slide while he drank orange juice. The sun slipping in through the big picture window splashed him in a luminous glow, accentuating that dark sexy stubble on his jaw.

  And that mouth! Full and angular. A glistening drop of juice on his bottom lip, his tongue whisking it away.

  Detonating tiny little bombs of desire inside her. Boom. Boom. Boom.

  Good God, surviving this weekend was not going to be a slam-dunk.

  Not a cakewalk.

  Not duck soup.

  Not even close.

  Ridge studied Kaia across the table.

  She smiled, easy and uncomplicated, her mouth promising lots of fun. Of course, she was the proverbial girl-next-door—sweet, guileless, honest. Contagious. Yep. She was infecting him with her cuteness.

  And sass.

  Nice as she might be, she also had a bright spark of wildness, sleek golden skin, and a fetching scent. Not to mention those mysterious eyes, dark and deep enough to drown a man and make him happy for his demise.

  In that quick pulse of the moment, a powerful urge passed through him. An urge so strong it yanked the breath from his lungs and spun his head. The urge to stare into her eyes so long they ceased being two people and merged as one.

  He couldn’t deny it. Something was chaining them together, something more than history and familiarity. Something he never expected.

  Sizzle. Sparks. Chemistry.

  Freakadilly circus, it was overwhelming. And he had to sit here at the table, surrounded by their families, and pretend that absolutely nothing was going on.

  “Oops,” Casey said. “I forgot to put the honey butter spread that Granny Blue made for the biscuits on the table.”

  “I’ll get it.” Kaia hopped up from her seat before the bride-to-be had a chance to move, and darted for the kitchen.

  Escaping?

  Ridge waited a beat, and then pushed back his chair, picked up the bag of frozen corn he’d been using as an ice pack. He was encouraged to see everyone was caught up in conversation about the wedding and not paying him much attention.

  “Think I’ll refresh this,” he murmured.

  In the kitchen, he found Kaia with her head in the fridge, her lush little rump in the air as she bent over, opening containers, searching for the homemade honey butter. She was petite, small but sturdy. There was nothing fragile about her. Her jeans molded to her curves and …

  She straightened, butter dish in hand, and turned to catch him ogling her. She arched a jaunty, you-are-so-busted eyebrow.

  He chuckled.

  “What?” she said.

  “My corn has gone warm.” He held up the limp bag of corn still wrapped in the cup towel.

  “Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

  “Smart aleck.”

  They stood there a moment staring into each other’s eyes again.

  “I better get back out there,” she whispered. “The Alzates do love their honey butter.” She ducked her head, clutched the butter dish closer to her chest, and stepped to the right.

  He moved at the same time she did, unintentionally blocking her way.

  Simultaneously, they both corrected and scooted to the left. Blocking each other a second time.

  “Um …” She grunted, dodged right.

  But so did he, drawn as if by an invisible source to match her move for move.

  She snorted. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

  “Hand to God, I’m not.”

  Her upper lip twitched.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, felt an instant zap of electricity. It was all he could do not to jerk away in response to the heat. “You stay put,” he said. “I’ll go left.”

  “Having trouble finding the butter?” Casey called from the dining room.

  “Got it!” Kaia said. “On my way.”

  But she didn’t move.

  Ridge shook his head, listening to his heart gallop, holding a package of warm, soggy corn. Good thing he was only in town for three days. If he was around this sexy nymph for any longer than that … well, there was only so much temptation a man could resist.

  He leaned over Kaia, reached for the freezer door above her head. Caught a whiff of her fragrance that smelled so sweet and good that he almost buried his face in her hair, but instead wrenched open the freezer door and let the cold air blast him in the face.

  Wake up!

  Blindly, he grabbed at a bag of frozen peas, exchanging it for the corn, and stepped back, realizing belatedly he was keeping Kaia from going back to the dining room.

  Her gaze was on his and she looked a little uncertain. “You okay?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve got an odd expression on your face. Are you sure you didn’t pass out when Majestic kicked you?”

  Not the kick to the head that stunned him. It was she. “Don’t worry about me. Better get back to the dining room. They’re a tough crowd when they’re honey butter deprived.”

  “Right. Thanks.” She stepped forward, but crunched down on the toe of his boot. She jumped back and, in the process, her hip made contact with his crotch.

  They sucked in tandem breaths, and every ounce of blood in his body drained straight to his dick.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Ridge,” Archer called. “What in the hell are you doing in there with my little sister?”

  “Nothing!” Kaia hollered, eyes widening with awareness and alarm.

  Yeah, babe, me too. Me too.

  “Oh snapdragons,” she muttered, looking as dazed as he felt. “Stay in here until I get settled.”

  “Gotcha,” he said, but she was already gone, leaving him reeling.

  Stunned with the full knowledge that whatever was going on between them, he was in it up to his neck.

  Chapter 9

  It the end, it turned out to be the bachelor party from hell.

  At seven that evening, Archer, Ridge, Ranger, Ned, Herb, Armand, Duke and Zeke and Kip loaded up in various vehicles and headed for Chantilly’s Bar and Grill.

  On the way to the venue, Ridge noticed little had changed. Cupid was a town trapped in time; a small-assed place where they rolled up the carpets as soon as it got dark, no sushi restaurants within three hundred miles, too many freaking eccentric artists running around sketching desertscapes.

  One by one, he listed the town’s shortcomings. Tried to convince himself that he did not miss it, even when his heart tugged as they passed landmarks and landscapes etched into his memory.

  The water tower he and Archer had graffitied. The old Palace Theatre—now closed and boarded up—where he’d lost his virginity at sixteen with a college girl. The Grab N Go where he’d bought his first beer with a fake ID, only to get caught by a deputy who was good friends with Duke.

  Nope. Not happening. He wasn’t going to be seduced by nostalgia. He was glad he’d left. Happy. Thrilled. Lucky. Best thing that ever happened to him. Especially in the summer, when everything went so bone-dry a man couldn’t even work up spit, and going outside without sunscreen put you in imminent danger of skin cancer.

  Who could miss that?

  As part of his best man duties, Ridge had gotten his secretary, Gilda, to reserve the party room and arrange for food and gag gifts. Archer had said specifically that he did not want strippers and Ridge honored his request.

  He’d always thought strippers at bachelor parties were immature anyway. Come to think of it, bachelor parties were juvenile in general, but hey, it was tradition and Archer was getting married. He deserved a proper send-off.

  The bar hadn’t changed much in the past ten years. Same colorful Christmas lights were still strung from the rafters like a south-of-the-border cantina. Same oversized margarita glasses, same mosaic tile on the floor. There were new tables and chairs and a fresh coat of bright orange paint on the walls, but that was the extent of the facelift.

  A perky, ponytailed hostess led them to the back room, an
d she was openly staring at Ridge.

  Did he know her? He hoped not. He’d sown some wild oats in his day. Broken hearts. Not proud of it, but there it was.

  It was another downside about returning home. Chickens roosting. History biting a guy in the ass …

  The room had been decorated in typical trashy bachelor party fare—inflated love dolls, one of the walls set up for bra pong, sexy lingerie clothes-pinned to rope strung from the ceiling.

  The dessert spread was equally bawdy. Cookies in the shapes of lush fannies, chocolate-covered frozen bananas on a stick, cupcakes that looked like breasts with nipples. Libations consisted of multicolored Jell-O shots molded in condoms, cans of Coke with mini bottles of Jack Daniel’s attached for mixing, and black lager beer representing the death of Archer’s freedom.

  Party favors included shot glasses engraved with the bride’s and groom’s initials. Beer koozies emblazoned with BYE-BYE BACHELORHOOD. Emergency hangover kits that included breath mints, Alka-Seltzer, and mini-bar-sized bottles of vodka.

  And the games—AstroTurf putting green, a roulette wheel, darts, and a poker table.

  His secretary had outdone herself. Gilda deserved a bonus for pulling this off long-distance. If the party wasn’t a success, it certainly wasn’t her fault. Now it was up to him to make sure everyone had a good time and got home safely. No drinking for him. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to end up the best man with a black eye and a hangover.

  At first, the conversation was stiff. Everyone feeling their way into the party. Guys unaccustomed to hanging out with each other stuffed in a small room filled with a sexuality-oriented theme. It took a few minutes, and a few shots of liquor, to get things lubed.

  Ridge fed money into the old-fashioned jukebox, and got some tunes playing. Soulful ballads. Country classics. Hank Williams. Johnny Cash. George Jones. Merle Haggard.

  With his pocketknife Duke split open the condom mold of a tequila-laced lime Jell-O, sucked it down, and followed that with a shot of red-hot cinnamon schnapps. His father looked fierce in his black Stetson, dinner-plate-sized silver belt buckle and freshly starched, sharply creased blue jeans.