Twelve Nights of Temptation

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Kirby sent you here?” Matt flinched, his amber eyes flashing beneath the brim of his straw Stetson.

  She nodded. “He asked me to come. He wants to reveal your parentage in the book and wants to give you the opportunity to tell your side of the story.”

  Anger edged his voice. “So you’re here to interview me?”

  She nodded again, maintaining a professional air. Libby wasn’t going to let Matt’s frustration affect her. She had a job to do, a biography to write, possibly even bringing him and his father together. “I’d like the chance to get to know you, to spend as much time with you as I can. Kirby told me—”

  “He told you what?” Those eyes flashed again. “That his bastard son wants nothing to do with him?”

  “He didn’t word it like that, but yes, he said that you were estranged from him. But he also admitted how he’d done you wrong. How he was never really there for you when you were growing up. He wants to atone for his mistakes.”

  A cynical smile thinned Matt’s lips. “So it’ll make him look good in the book you’re writing? So his fans can worship him more than they already do?” Tall and handsome and lethal, he took a step closer to her. “You can tell my arrogant, womanizing daddy to go straight to hell. That I’m not impressed with him or his half-assed biography.”

  Half-assed? Libby set her chin. “I’m going to write a true account of his life, his loves, his mistakes, his music. His children,” she added. Kirby had two other sons, legitimate heirs with his former wife, the woman to whom he’d been married when Matt’s mother had tumbled into an affair with him. “From my understanding, you’ve never even met your brothers.”

  “My half brothers,” he reminded her. “And I’m not any more interested in them than I am in Kirby.”

  “They’re interested in you.”

  He shifted his booted feet. “They told you that?”

  “Yes, they did.” They were willing participants in the book. “I haven’t interviewed them yet, not extensively, but we’ve had a couple of nice talks where they expressed their desire to meet you.” He was the lone-wolf brother they couldn’t help but wonder about. “Brandon is an entertainment lawyer who represents the family, and Tommy...” She paused. “Well, he’s a lot like Kirby.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “You think I don’t know that? I’m familiar with Tommy Talbot’s music. I know how he followed in our old man’s footsteps.”

  Yes, she thought. Tommy was as wild as their father. Or wilder, if that was possible. Whereas Kirby had been dubbed the bad boy of country, Tommy was now known as the baddest boy of country, surpassing his father.

  She said, “If you agree to do this, I promise that I’ll quote you accurately, that I’ll present you in a deep and honest light. Your words matter. Your thoughts, your feelings. I’m hoping to interview your mother, as well.” Libby knew that his mom lived on the ranch. “She just got married, didn’t she? To a man who works for you?”

  “Yes, but they’re out of town right now.” He moved even closer to her, so close their boot tips were almost touching. “So you can’t go chasing after her for an interview.”

  “That’s okay. I can wait.” He towered over her and Libby lifted her head to get a better look at him. This close, he was even more appealing, his features etched in masculine lines and candid emotion. He smelled good, too, his cologne a tantalizing blend of woods and musk.

  “Has he hit on you yet?”

  She started. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Kirby. Has he tried to get you into bed?”

  “Oh, my goodness, no.” Discomfort blasted through her blood. It was the son who stirred her, not the father. “He’s been nothing but respectful to me.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice going a tad too soft. In it, she heard a gentle concern, a protective tone.

  “I’m positive.” She knew that Kirby wasn’t interested in her. If anything, he’d been paternal toward her. But she decided not to mention that to Matt, given how easily Kirby had once walked away from him.

  He went silent, and his gaze locked onto hers. Then, as if suddenly realizing how close he was standing to her, he stepped back.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “You don’t have to apologize. I rather liked it.” She tried for a goofy smile. “This noble side of you.”

  He remained serious. “If my dad got a hold of you, he would destroy your soul. You and your naive ways.”

  And what would Matt do if he got a hold of her? “There’s nothing going on with your father and me. I don’t feel that way about him.” She closed the gap between them, wanting to be near him again. “And I’m not as naive as I look.”

  “Oh, yeah. So what are you going to do, little girl? Seduce me for the sake of your book?”

  Mercy, she thought. Were they actually having this conversation? Was it really going in this direction? Struggling to breathe, to keep the air in her lungs from rushing out, she said, “If I seduced you, it wouldn’t be for the sake of the book.” She quickly clarified, “But I’m not here to seduce anyone. And for the record, I’m not a little girl. I’m twenty-nine.”

  His gaze didn’t falter, not one whiskey inch. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He would keep what in mind? Her self-proclaimed maturity? Or her unwillingness to seduce anyone? Either way, she was still feeling a bit too breathless. “Are you going to grant me an interview? Are you going to agree to spend some time with me? Or am I going to have to keep trying to convince you to be part of my project?”

  “You’ll have to keep trying. For all the good it will do you.”

  “It’ll do me plenty of good.” This was her first book, and she intended to do it right.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you around.” He sent her a pulse-jarring look, right before he walked away, leaving her staring after him.

  Like a fresh-faced schoolgirl with a crush.

  * * *

  Matt cursed the situation he was in. Of all the beautiful blondes who could have shown up at his ranch, did it have to be someone who was working for his dad? Someone who was prying into the past? Who was writing a book that was going to unmask the chaos in his life? The last thing Matt wanted was to be publically identified as Kirby Talbot’s son. Damn his dad all to hell.

  And damn Libby, too.

  Yesterday when she arrived, Matt had gotten a hot, sexy, zipper-tightening reaction to her. So much so, he’d given her the cabin next to his. Normally he didn’t work the front desk or place his guests. But he’d just happened to be there when she’d come in, so he’d handled the transaction.

  Honestly, though, he didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish by putting her next to him. For all he knew, she could have been in a relationship. Sure, she seemed single from the way she’d been checking him out, but he knew better than to lust after one of his guests.

  Cripes, he thought. Besides being his father’s biographer, she was widowed with a kid. This was the nightmare of nightmares. He’d gotten his heart broken by the last widow, the last blonde, who caught his eye. He missed Sandy. He missed her children, too. Two adorable little twins girls.

  Matt had wanted so desperately to be a father—a good, kind, caring dad to Sandy’s girls. He wanted to give them what his old man had never given him.

  Love. Affection. Attention.

  But after the divorce, she’d taken the twins and moved out of the area. She didn’t think it would be healthy for her or the girls to keep seeing him. Sandy had only married him to soothe the loss of the man she really loved. The guy she’d buried.

  How was he supposed to compete with that? Sandy’s memories of her other husband had always been there, floating like a ghost between them. Matt’s mixed-up marriage, which lasted all of six months, had been a crushing failure. He thought that he could help Sandy through her
grief, that he would become her hero and the new husband she couldn’t live without.

  A year had passed since the divorce, and just as he was starting to lick to his wounds and move on, in walked another young widow, except she was working for his dad.

  Oh, yeah. This was a nightmare, all right. Was he supposed to avoid Libby while she was here, to walk away from her at every turn? Considering how long she would be hanging around, that wasn’t going to be an easy feat.

  He could ask her to leave. This was his ranch, after all—he’d started the business from a trust account Kirby had set up for him. Of course, it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as that. After Matt got the ranch established, making it a tremendous success, he returned the money to the trust, making sure his dad knew that he no longer needed or wanted it. By now, Matt was wealthy in his own right.

  Initially, he’d acquired a lump sum on his twenty-first birthday, based on a deal that had been negotiated when he was a baby, as part of a child-support settlement. His mom had agreed to the terms, which required her to keep Matt’s paternity a secret.

  Disturbing as it was, the contract had never restricted Kirby from speaking out. Only Matt’s mother had been silenced, and she’d taught Matt to stay silent, as well, to never tell anyone who his father was. And now, all these years later, Kirby wanted to blow all that out of the water.

  Matt headed to his private barn, preparing to saddle one of his horses and ride into the hills, taking a trail that was unavailable to his guests. He often carved out time for himself, and today in particular he wasn’t in the mood to socialize, not with what Libby had sprung on him.

  Unfortunately, when his mom returned from her trip, she would probably support this damned book. She’d already been encouraging Matt to make peace with his father, to accept the olive branches Kirby had been offering.

  He kept walking, and just as he entered his barn, he turned and saw Libby strolling up behind him.

  Holy hell.

  Half annoyed, half intrigued and a whole lot confused, he let his gaze roam over her. She’d actually followed him out here, and without him even knowing it. “When I said that I would see you around, I didn’t mean this soon.”

  “Really, you didn’t? Oh, silly me.” She grinned, two perfect dimples lighting up her face.

  He wanted to grab her by that fringy top of hers and shake her till those dimples rattled. But he wanted to kiss her, too, as roughly as he could, curious to know if she tasted as feisty as she looked.

  “Yeah, silly you,” he shot back.

  She was still grinning, still being cute and clever. “I’m prone to getting the last word, and you left me standing there like a dolt.”

  He had no idea what that meant. “A dolt?”

  “A stupid person.”

  Matt was the stupid one, wishing he could kiss her. “Working for Kirby doesn’t exactly make you the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”

  “Funny, I’m wearing chandelier earrings, and they’re pretty bright.” She tapped the crystal jewels at her ears. “I made them myself.”

  Way to change the subject, he thought, enticed by how sparkly she was. “Okay, so you got the last word. Will you leave me alone now?”

  “Nope.” She spun around in a pretty little pirouette, making her fringe fly. “I think you should dance with me.”

  He blinked at her. “You want me to two-step with you? Here? Now?”

  “No. Tomorrow night.” She glanced down at her feet. Her silver glitter boots were as flashy as her earrings. “At the hoedown.”

  Right. The weekly barn dance at the ranch. “I don’t always go to those.” Sometimes he preferred to stay home, letting his guests kick up their heels without him. “And dancing with you sounds like a dolt of a thing to do.”

  “Come on. Take a chance.”

  He wasn’t making any promises, especially to her. “I might show up, and I might not. But just so you know, the house band isn’t allowed to play Kirby’s music. Or Tommy’s, either. So don’t get smart and make any requests.”

  “I won’t. But doesn’t the band wonder why the Talbots are off-limits? Or why they have to turn down requests for their songs?”

  “My ranch. My rules. And there are plenty of other artists they cover. Traditional, bluegrass, honky-tonk, alternative, outlaw. They play it all.” Except for the badass Talbots. Their brand of outlaw twisted Matt’s gut.

  She bounced in her boots. “Dancing with you is going to be fun. Think how easily we’re going to become friends.” She teased him, “Or frenemies, if you prefer.”

  “I just told you that I might not be there.”

  “Personally, I don’t think you’re going to be able to resist. I’m the most persuasive cowgirl you’re ever going to meet.”

  “You’re not a cowgirl. You’re a chick from Hermosa Beach who wears fancy Western clothes and dotes on my ass-hat of a father.”

  She laughed, obviously amused by his assessment of her. He knew where she was from because when he’d checked her into the ranch, he’d seen her driver’s license, with her name, her address, her birth date. He already knew she was twenty-nine, even before she told him how old she was.

  “You have a wicked sense of humor, Matt.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  “That’s just my point.”

  He squared his shoulders. “I’m going riding now, and you’re not coming with me. So whatever you do, don’t follow me into the hills.”

  Her dimples twitched. “We’ll save that for another time. Only I won’t be following you. You’re going to like me enough that you’ll be inviting me to join you.”

  “Gee, humble much?” This wannabe cowgirl was hell on wheels. And the crazy part was, he already liked her, even if he didn’t want to.

  She laughed again. “See, there you go. Funny, but not trying to be. Enjoy your ride, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  One last smile, and she exited the barn, taking her last words with her. And damn if he wasn’t tempted to teach her a lesson. And leave her dancing all by her beautiful self.

  Copyright © 2017 by Sheree Henry-Whitefeather

  ISBN-13: 9781488011979

  Twelve Nights of Temptation

  Copyright © 2017 by Barbara Dunlop

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