KILLER COWBOY CHARM

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  José placed two tin candlesticks from Mexico on the coffee table and stuck tapers in them. Clint recognized the candlesticks from years ago, but they'd been in storage for a long time. He was surprised José had candles. Or maybe not so surprised. José had been anticipating this visit for weeks. He'd had plenty of time to buy candles.

  "And to drink?" José asked. "Cerveza?" he added hopefully.

  "Maybe. I don't know what that is," Meg said.

  "Beer," Clint said. "Usually José serves Dos Equis with this meal, but you're probably more of a wine drinker."

  "Diet Coke."

  "Ah, señorita, I beg your pardon. We have no Diet Coke."

  "Diet Pepsi?"

  José shook his head sadly.

  "I could make some more coffee," Clint said. José glanced at him in alarm. "You made coffee for her? Your normal coffee?"

  Meg laughed. "Perked me right up."

  "Señorita, after a cup of the boss's coffee, you'll be awake for three days. And you'll be lucky if you have enough taste buds left to appreciate my enchiladas. If you want coffee, I'll make it."

  "You know what? I'll take some of that cerveza, after all. I'll do jumping jacks later on to make up for it."

  José's dark gaze swept over her. "You are perfect, señorita. No jumping jacks necessary."

  "Thank you, José. Trust me, the jumping jacks are absolutely necessary, but I'll worry about that later. Right now I'm ready to eat, drink and make merry."

  It was that last part that worried Clint. He could handle a little eating and drinking, but making merry could spell disaster.

  "Then sit, sit!" José gestured to the cushions. "I'll bring the cerveza."

  "Sounds good to me." As José bustled out of the room, Meg walked around the table and sat cross-legged on one of the cushions. "Clint? Care to join me?"

  "Right after I put on another log."

  "Already?"

  "If you let it burn down too low, you have a devil of a time getting it going again."

  "So you have to keep it constantly aroused." Clint thought he might have misunderstood. Surely she hadn't just said what he thought she'd said.

  She gave a little gasp of laughter. "Did I really say that out loud?"

  He kept his back to her. "Did you say what out loud?" He'd pretend he hadn't heard her.

  "Um, nothing. I'm glad you … know so much about tending fires."

  "It comes in handy." Heat came at him in waves as he carefully set a fresh log on the blaze. It was nothing compared to the furnace glowing low in his belly.

  "I'll bet."

  He stood and turned to find her gaze resting firmly on his crotch.

  Slowly she lifted the level of her attention until she arrived at his face. "We need to talk."

  His pulse galloped like a runaway stallion. "Is that what you have in mind? Talking?"

  "To begin with, yes."

  "Cerveza is here!" José had unearthed a champagne bucket from God-knows where and filled it with ice and four bottles of Dos Equis. He set it, along with two glasses and an opener, in the middle of the coffee table. "Should I serve the enchiladas?"

  "We can—" Meg began.

  "Yes, please," Clint said. The longer José hung around, the longer Clint could consider what to do about the proposition he suspected was coming once José was out of the picture.

  Life sure had a funny way of tripping him up. He never would have guessed that he'd find this kind of chemistry with a television personality from New York City. She might be just as surprised that she craved a hick from the sticks of Arizona. Yet there it was. They wanted each other.

  That didn't mean they had to act on it. And while José made a big production of serving his precious enchiladas and his carefully concocted salad, Clint stared into the fire and came to a difficult decision. He would not take Meg up on the offer she was about to make.

  He couldn't risk the possibility that someone would find out. The tabloids would be the least of his problems, although losing his privacy would be a horrible price to pay. But if the word got out, George could retaliate by firing him and that would end any hope of Clint holding onto the Circle W. Clint needed the ranch and Tuck in order to keep training Gabriel, the key to his future earnings.

  Meg was almost more temptation than he could stand, but he'd resist, both to preserve his privacy and to maintain his shaky grasp on the ranch. She had goals of her own. She would understand his reasons, so there shouldn't be any bitter feelings.

  "The feast is served!" José actually bowed.

  Clint was beginning to think José was wasted on a no-frills outfit like the Circle W. He should be running a trendy Mexican restaurant in Tucson or Phoenix, where he could ham it up for the patrons. Of course, José had no start-up money for that.

  "I'll leave you to enjoy," José said. "Leave the dishes for me to wash in the morning. I'm taking food down to the bunkhouse and won't be back up tonight."

  If that wasn't an engraved invitation to sin, Clint had never heard one. No one would disturb them tonight. He'd be alone for the next twelve hours with a woman most men could only dream about. And he planned to give that golden opportunity a big fat miss.

  He turned away from the fire. "Thanks, José. Everything looks great."

  "Sure does," Meg said.

  "We're honored to have you with us, señorita." With another bow, José left the room.

  Meg smiled at Clint. "I'm going to guess he doesn't act like that all the time."

  "No, he doesn't."

  "You're not sitting down. Did I scare you?"

  That got to him. "I don't scare easy." He walked over and sat on the cushion that had somehow ended up closer to hers than he remembered. He wondered if she'd moved it when he'd been busy staring at the fire.

  "I think we should eat this food while it's hot, don't you?"

  "Absolutely." He pulled a cold beer out of the ice bucket, determined to erase any impression that he was a sexual coward. He had to make it clear that he wasn't afraid of her, only the potential consequences. Ignoring the bottle opener, he twisted off the cap. "Cerveza, señorita?"

  * * *

  Watching Clint squirm, Meg had to work hard to keep from cracking up. Well, the poor guy was nervous, whether he'd admit it or not, and she understood that. He didn't know that he could trust her to be discreet, for both their sakes.

  She understood the stakes better than he did. He might be worried about his privacy, but she had a public image to preserve. She wouldn't take the risk of fooling around unless she could be certain it would remain just between the two of them.

  From her first words with Clint, she'd realized how much he valued his quiet life here. That made him the perfect candidate for a secret fling. She hadn't given him the same sense of security, though, and so she was a threat to his future.

  "I'd love a cerveza," she said. After laying her napkin in her lap, she accepted the cold bottle he held out. A wisp of fog drifted from the open neck of the bottle, and it was slippery from being in the ice bucket. Another phallic symbol. Apparently everything reminded her of sex.

  She hadn't poured herself a beer in well over a year, but she still remembered the technique. Tipping her glass, she poured the amber liquid down the side to keep the foam under control. That way it wouldn't spill over onto the table and make a mess. Maybe he'd take that as a small sign that she could be as careful as he was.

  When she put the glass down it had exactly the right amount of foam at the top. She glanced over and discovered Clint was concentrating on pouring his own beer with the same amount of precision, as if they were in some kind of contest for beer skills.

  She picked up her glass. "Here's to new experiences."

  "To new experiences." Touching his glass to hers, he looked into her eyes, as if still trying to decide what she was up to.

  She held his gaze as she took her first sip of beer. But when the mellow taste hit her tongue, she closed her eyes in pleasure. Beer was fattening, so she'd denied herself
for months. She'd denied herself too many things. Tonight would be different. She'd play hooky from her celebrity role for one night—if she could coax her hunky dinner companion to come along for the ride.

  When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her with naked lust. Immediately he looked away and grabbed his fork. "José makes the best enchiladas I've ever tasted." Then he dug in.

  "I'm sure he does." She wondered what Clint would do if she stood up and starting peeling off her clothes. She'd bet José's enchiladas, good as they were, would take a back seat.

  Oh, yeah, she could seduce him, but he'd be on the verge of panic the whole time, not knowing if his world was about to crash and burn. So she'd assure him first that it wouldn't. Right after she tried the enchiladas.

  The first mouthful made her moan with ecstasy. Either sexual arousal heightened all her senses, or José was a culinary genius.

  "Good, huh?"

  She swallowed and forked up another bite. "The word good is too mild for something this incredible."

  Clint seemed only too happy with food as a safe topic. "This is the real deal, all right. He starts with his own tortillas and uses extra-rich sour cream and his secret guacamole recipe."

  She swallowed her second mouthful. "It's wonderful." But she didn't want him to get too comfortable. Even though they hadn't had their talk, she still needed to keep a steady flame under that fire.

  "Glad you like it. José will—"

  "Positively orgasmic."

  Clint made a strangled sound deep in his throat. She turned to him, all innocence. "Are you okay? Did something go down the wrong drain?"

  "I'm fine." He grabbed his beer and took several swallows.

  "I guess it's time we had our talk."

  He set down his beer and hopped up from his cushion. "The fire needs another log."

  "I want to have sex with you."

  He froze in the ad of reaching for another piece of wood. Slowly he turned to stare at her. "Did you just say…"

  "Yes. I don't have time to be coy. I can tell from your expression that you want me, too."

  "I want lots of things. That doesn't mean I allow myself to get stupid. And getting involved with you would be very stupid."

  "Not if we both promise to keep our mouths shut."

  He was breathing a little faster. "It's not me I'm worried about on that score."

  "I realize that. You don't know me very well, yet. But I have as much to lose as you do. I can't afford to let anyone know I got it on with my host at the Circle W."

  "I don't see what difference it would make. The tabloids are always printing stuff like that. It creates even more interest in the celebrity, doesn't it?"

  God, he was gorgeous. Worth spilling her guts for. "In my case it would be the wrong kind of interest. I'm supposed to come across as the girl-next-door type. Mel's a very conservative guy, and he wouldn't want to co-host with a woman who had a reputation for being easy. A fling with you could backfire on me, big-time."

  "But you're out here to find a hot cowboy!"

  "Yep, and once he's chosen on the show, I could be seen dating him—briefly. I'm not interested in marriage at this stage in my career, and a torrid affair wouldn't be good for my image. A girl-next-door type doesn't have a lot of latitude, I'm discovering."

  He nodded. "Okay, I didn't understand that before, but it makes sense. And the last thing you should consider is taking a chance while you're here."

  That's why she felt so safe with him. He wasn't reckless. "It's not a big chance, because I know you wouldn't tell." She pointed to her plate. "As for me, this is the first fattening food I've had in well over a year. I don't drink beer and I don't eat candy. And my sex life is dead, too— I've never dared indulge in a wild affair in Manhattan. So you can see how careful I am."

  A hint of a smile touched his mouth. "You must really want that career of yours."

  "I do! I've sacrificed for years to get to this point! And even though I'm where I dreamed of being, the ratings are slipping, and now Mona the Vulture is sitting in my seat, so I could lose it all!" There. She'd revealed fears she'd only admitted to Jamie. Mona was no girl-next-door type, but the conniving witch had created that persona for herself and everyone on the show believed it, especially Mel.

  "Sounds kind of scary."

  "It is." She took a long swallow of her beer and set the glass back on the table. "Rumors are flying that I'm not right for the show. If the ratings are slipping, they have to blame someone, and they sure as heck won't blame Mel. He's untouchable."

  "I can't believe you're in danger of losing your spot. The guys in the bunkhouse think you're h—" He coughed and didn't finish the sentence.

  "What?"

  "They watch all your shows. Well, except when the reception is lousy. They think you're great."

  "Well, sure they started watching when they found out I was coming to Arizona." In the past few days the ratings had spiked all over the West, which had pleased the producers. But Meg was afraid she might win the battle and lose the war to Mona.

  "No, they watched before that. And if they couldn't be around to see it, they had José tape it."

  "That's nice to know. But unfortunately, lots of people have been switching over to Breakfast with Jack and Jenna. The producers hope this Hottest Cowboy promotion will bring them back. That's why they sent me out here. Believe me, it wasn't my idea."

  "I thought it was your idea," he said quietly.

  "I was kidding when I came up with it. I admitted that I love cowboys, and Mel told me there was no such thing as a real cowboy anymore. I insisted there was, and that maybe I should go find him. It was a joke, but then people started calling in, wanting me to do it. So I had to do it."

  "And you don't really want to be here."

  She gazed up at him, enjoying the picture of his powerful body surrounded by the glow from the fire. "I didn't want to be here, at first. That was before I met you."

  "Except I'm not a real cowboy."

  "I'll tell you the truth. I'm a city girl in love with a fantasy. If I found a real cowboy, complete with all those manly rough edges, I probably wouldn't know what to do with him."

  "But you think you know what to do with me?"

  She looked him over, anticipation making her tremble. "Oh, yeah. I know exactly what to do with you."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  Clint wondered if Meg realized she'd given him a challenge any cowboy worth his spurs had to accept. She was a damsel in distress, and she'd asked him to save her. In the larger sense, she needed his help for the Arizona segment of her TV show so that she could save her career.

  But her needs included something more immediate and more personal than that. Because of the demands of her career, she was sex-starved, and he was the only man who could relieve that situation. That put a whole different light on the situation.

  He no longer saw her as a woman seeking thrills wherever she could find them. Instead she was a slave to the girl-next-door image she was required to maintain. He could remove that burden from her shoulders for the next few hours. Suddenly it seemed like the most noble task in the world.

  An hour ago the evening had stretched ahead of him as a long, uncomfortable ordeal. Now it seemed way too short. If she'd been celibate for more than a year, she must be ready to explode.

  "So, what do you think, Clint? Care to do me a little favor?" Light from the candles flickered in her eyes.

  He'd never been asked by a more beautiful woman. And she thought he'd be doing her a favor. His heart thudded with eagerness.

  But he couldn't just drag her off to the bedroom. He'd built one hell of a fire, one that would last several hours. The fireplace was old and the screen couldn't be trusted to hold back the sparks. He couldn't burn down the house that he'd been born in.

  "The thing is, I have to…" His voice was hoarse and he stopped to clear his throat. "I can't leave the fire."

  "Who said anything ab
out that?"

  "I thought … I thought you wanted to go back to the bedroom."

  She smiled. "That would be nice, too. But we don't need a bedroom." After getting to her feet, she picked up the cushion she'd been sitting on. "We can improvise."

  His brain reeled. She was into spontaneous sex. He'd longed for a woman who was into spontaneous sex. He took a shaky breath. "Guess we could."

  "Got condoms?" She sashayed over toward him.

  Damn! Were there any left in the box? "Um, yeah. In the—"

  "Better go get them. I'll be waiting for you." Then she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips over his.

  For a second he stood there, dazed by that drive-by kiss. He and Meg were really going to do this thing, assuming he wasn't out of condoms. Okay, if he was out, he'd do what she just said. He'd improvise. But condoms would make everything so much easier.

  But before running off to the bedroom like an errand boy he needed to take command of the situation. That was especially true if he ended up coming back empty-handed. Her quick peck on the lips lacked the intensity he wanted to establish so they could move past the lack of condoms, if necessary. As she walked by carrying the cushion she intended to plop down in front of the fire, he grabbed her wrist.

  She glanced at him in surprise. "I thought you going to get the—"

  "First things first." He pulled the cushion out of her arms and dropped it to the floor with a thump. Then he grasped the back of her head and held her steady while he gave her a kiss that would, he hoped, turn the condom issue into a minor problem.

  He should have known what to expect, should have been prepared for the rush of pleasure. She'd been telegraphing potency ever since she'd arrived. And the urge to kiss her had been lurking in his subconscious from the moment she'd set her pointed red leather shoes on Circle W property.

  But the lust that gripped him as he settled his lips over hers knocked him for a loop. Once he started kissing her, he couldn't seem to stop. She had the most delicious mouth he'd ever explored, and it had very little to do with Jose's enchiladas. Mostly it had to do with her, a forbidden-fruit-flavored woman if he'd ever tasted one.