Big City Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance)

by Benson, Julie

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve anticipated someone recognizing you from the billboard. If I had prepared you more, the situation wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand.”

  “Next time I head out I’m either taking a guard dog or going on horseback for a quick getaway.”

  When she laughed, the warm rich sound filled him, evaporating the last of his irritation. “I’m sorry there’s no room in the campaign budget for those items.”

  “If I’d known the risks, I’d have added them to my contract demands.”

  His gaze locked with hers. Something passed between them. Something Rory hadn’t expected and didn’t want to examine. Lizzie was wrong for him in so many ways, and the timing couldn’t be worse.

  Her cell phone rang, thankfully breaking the spell. He’d been just about to make a very wrong turn.

  Elizabeth could barely contain her excitement when caller ID revealed her contact from Wake Up America on the line. While she wouldn’t have planned a scenario like the one in Times Square, she certainly planned to make the most of the free publicity.

  “I heard your new model is so hot he caused a riot,” Brooke said.

  “I told you he was going to be big. What can I say? Women go wild for this guy.”

  “We’d love to interview your cowboy. Have him at the studio by 5:00 a.m.”

  Between prepping him and proofing the material for the print ads that had to go out first thing in the morning, Elizabeth would be up all night. The things she gave up for the job. But who needed sleep, anyway? Getting more than four hours a night was highly overrated.

  “He’ll be there.” She ended the call. “Wake Up America wants to interview you. Their studios are at Times Square. It seems everyone’s talking about you.”

  “Will they expect me to talk about what happened? If they do, I’m not too clear on things. All I remember is all these women surrounding me, and let me tell you, there’s nothing scarier than a herd of angry, grabby women. My whole life flashed before my eyes.”

  “My first tip is not to refer to the women as an angry herd, or you might find yourself facing another one.” For the first time since she’d met Rory, uncertainty briefly flashed in his eyes. How surprising that a group of women put a kink in his armor. “Just remember to utilize that cowboy charm I’ve seen you wield so often.”

  “Cowboy charm?” He flashed her a grin that could sell whiskey to a teetotaler.

  “Give Brooke that look that mesmerizes a woman, and makes her think you’re going to grab her, toss her on your horse and ride off into the sunset.”

  “Do I do that for you?”

  His warm, husky voice rippled through Elizabeth as he leaned forward in his chair and peered into her eyes. He had the slightest smile on his face. Oh, yeah, that was the look.

  Horse and sunset, here I come.

  “Apparently I have cowboy immunity. Must’ve been included in my childhood shots, because I don’t get why women go all wild for you cowboys.”

  “If you took a chance, you might be surprised.”

  Her mouth went dry. Her mind went blank. Her heart raced. This man was dangerous. He could get her to forget everything, including her own name.

  Sometimes in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, she imagined letting go, of not living her life so tied to rules. She dreamed of finding a man—lately more often than not, Rory—to love her, but then reality crashed down.

  “It takes a lot to surprise me.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  Sirens blared in her head. This game had gotten way out of control. The last thing she wanted was him thinking she’d challenged his manhood. Talk about waving a red cape in front of a bull. “We have a professional relationship, nothing more.”

  Maybe if she told herself that enough, she’d believe it.

  He grinned. “If you say so, Lizzie.”

  “It’s Elizabeth,” she snapped, angry more over his comment than the use of his nickname for her. But the way he said it, combined with the way he looked at her, as if she were the scoop of ice cream on a slice of apple pie, made her toes curl. “Why do you persist in calling me Lizzie when I’ve asked you repeatedly not to?”

  “It lights a fire in you, and puts the prettiest pink color in your cheeks.”

  Lit a fire in her? More toe curling. How could she be mad at him when he said that? “Of course it puts color in my cheeks. Calling me Lizzie makes me angry, or haven’t you noticed?”

  “I’ve noticed. It just doesn’t bother me.”

  This man refused to be put in his place, scaring the hell out of her.

  She stiffened, and reached for a file on her desk to keep her hands from shaking.

  He stood and moved closer to her desk. His large body filled her vision. His musky scent wrapped around her. She inhaled deeply, then stopped herself, remembering that Rory didn’t fit any of the criteria on her ideal-man checklist. In fact, he’d top her don’t-date-this-kind-of-man list. So why did she find herself thinking about him way more than she should, and not in a businesslike manner, but in a very intimate way?

  “You know what John Lennon said?” he asked.

  “No, but obviously you’re dying to enlighten me.”

  “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” Rory braced his hands on her desk and leaned close enough for her to notice he had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen. “You’re so busy making plans that you’re missing out on life, Lizzie.”

  “I am not,” she insisted lamely.

  Terrific comeback, Elizabeth. That’ll put him in his place.

  “Saying it doesn’t make it so.”

  “We need to prep for your interview tomorrow on Wake Up America,” she said, pointedly ignoring his comment and desperately needing to reclaim control of the discussion. “What I think is—”

  He straightened. “I need a hot shower after all those women pawed me.”

  “This can’t wait—”

  “Sure it can. Meet me at my hotel room at six. We can order room service and deal with the interview stuff over dinner.”

  “Meet me in front of your hotel at six. I’ll drop by in a taxi. We can pick up dinner and then head to my house to work.”

  No way would she be alone with him in a hotel room, where the only furniture would be a couple of tiny desk chairs and a king-size bed. Talk about risky business.

  AS ELIZABETH AND RORY SAT in the cab on their way to her neighborhood deli, she questioned the wisdom of taking him to her town house. That was her personal space, her haven, and while she worked at home a lot, this felt like crossing the streams in Ghostbusters—something unknown and probably not good.

  “How about we pick up takeout and head back to the office to work?”

  “I’ve had enough of that place. If I’m working tonight, I want to kick back and relax.”

  “My office is—”

  “It’s your place, my hotel or nothing.” He crossed his arms over his chest and flashed her the stubborn look she’d come to detest.

  “My place it is.”

  She could handle the situation. They’d eat and discuss tomorrow’s interview. She’d talk to him about what to expect and how he should respond. Same business meeting, just different location.

  By the time the cab let them off in her neighborhood, she felt more relaxed, more under control.

  “Guess I can say I now know how sardines feel,” Rory said when they walked inside the deli and the cluster of people closed around them.

  “The crowd’s actually a little light tonight.”

  “I’d hate to see the place on a busy night. How do people keep from getting trampled?”

  “There’s an elaborate set of rules guiding traffic flow. I had to take a course when I moved to the city.”

  Rory froze and stared at her wide-eyed.

  “What?”

  “Was that a joke?”

  She nodded. “Why is that so surprising?”

  That right eyebrow rose.
“I’d begun to think you had your funny bone surgically removed.”

  A woman bumped into Rory and mumbled a hasty apology. He cringed. “I’m having flashbacks.” Then he sniffed the air and held out his arm to Elizabeth. “Do I smell like women’s perfume?”

  She stepped closer, careful not to get too close, and inhaled. Nothing but clean, musky, intoxicating maleness filled her senses. Now that was a fragrance to drive women crazy.

  “You definitely don’t smell like perfume. Why?”

  “Some of those grabby women must’ve bathed in the stuff. Even though I’ve taken a shower, I can still smell their perfume on me.”

  Visions of Rory in the shower, his hard body wet and glistening, flashed in Elizabeth’s mind. Fantasies bombarded her. So much for being in control.

  The man behind the counter asked what they wanted. What a loaded question, with Rory standing beside her and desire thrumming through her system. She couldn’t think.

  She’d thought being alone with him in his hotel room was risky business. As they walked out of the deli, Elizabeth realized she had no idea what she’d ordered for dinner. Apparently just being with Rory was dangerous, and she was taking him home.

  Chapter Eight

  Elizabeth had never thought of her town house as small until Rory walked in. He more than physically filled the space; his essence overwhelmed it. And he looked so comfortable, so at ease.

  So much for her town house feeling less risky than his hotel room.

  Trying desperately to harness her raging hormones, she headed for the safety of her kitchen. “You’ll have to excuse the mess,” she said as they entered. “I’m in the process of remodeling.”

  She deposited the deli sack containing their dinners on the black granite counter, and shook her head in disgust. Only half the glass-and-stone backsplash had been installed. Except for the top one, the boxes of slate flooring hadn’t been opened, and that was to have been installed today, as well. The project was already a week behind schedule. What had the tile guy done all day? Watch ESPN? “I can’t believe it. They told me the backsplash and the floor would be done by now.”

  “You hired someone? They charge a fortune. Tiling isn’t tough. You could’ve done the installation yourself.”

  No way would she do that kind of physical labor. “I went to college so I could make a good salary and pay people to do things like this for me.” She stopped, embarrassed over what she’d said. Could she sound any more condescending to someone who worked with his hands? How much did ranch hands make, anyway? Probably not much. Maybe he only earned enough to scrape by. “That didn’t come out right. I’m no good with power tools, and there’s the whole learning curve thing, and time’s an issue for me. I hired someone so the project would be done in a timely manner.”

  “If you did the work yourself you’d save a ton of money.”

  “You’re obsessed with money,” she countered. “I see it as my way of helping the economy by creating jobs.”

  Maybe Rory had grown up poor. People with his kind of money obsession often had. Even when they crawled out of poverty, they worried that one misstep would send them tumbling back.

  “Your contractors left the tile adhesive.” Rory pointed to a tub in the corner of the kitchen. “I could finish the backsplash in no time.”

  “I’m paying someone to do this.”

  “Fire him. He said he’d have the work done today, and he didn’t. Did he call to say why he didn’t finish?”

  “I’m capable of managing this job.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Okay, so I need to stay a little more on top of things. I’ll call the tile man tomorrow and find out what happened.”

  She pulled a bottle of cabernet out of the metal wine rack on the corner of her counter. “Want a glass of wine?” She definitely needed one. The man was driving her crazy, and she hadn’t even started prepping him for the interview.

  Rory nodded.

  After opening the wine, she filled two crystal wineglasses and handed one to him. She took a big swallow before setting her glass on the counter. Scanning the directions on the lid of their entrées, she discovered they were having chicken Parmesan and bowtie pasta. “I don’t cook much.”

  “Technically, you’re not cooking now. You’re reheating.”

  “I’m using the oven. As far as I’m concerned, that constitutes cooking.” Elizabeth turned the dial to Bake and set the temperature for three hundred fifty degrees. “Do you want dinner or not? Keep in mind, those who criticize don’t eat.”

  “Cooking it is.”

  A strange metallic odor filled the kitchen. “What’s that awful smell?”

  Rory smiled. What did he know that she didn’t?

  “Have you used the oven before?”

  “No, it’s new.” Or was, three months ago.

  “The oven gives off that smell the first time it’s turned on.”

  She glared, annoyed at him for pointing out her ignorance. “How do you know that’s what it is? Maybe I’ve got a gas leak or something.”

  “We bought my mom a new oven a couple years back. It gave off the same awful smell the first time she turned it on.”

  He had Elizabeth there. Her only culinary experience had occurred before the age of thirteen, with her grandmother, and those appliances had been ancient.

  “Is it okay to use?”

  “It’s fine, but it’ll stink for a while. Did you take the instruction manual out?”

  “Damn.” She grabbed the oven door and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. She tugged harder. Nothing. Now what?

  Rory materialized beside her and peeled off the clear tape that held the oven door closed. Then he pulled out a plastic bag of paperwork. After tossing the packet into the sink, he stepped back.

  Feeling like a complete fool, and thinking she should try out for the Food Network show Worst Cooks in America, she tossed the aluminum containers holding their dinners into the oven and slammed the door. “I’ve never gotten new appliances before.”

  “It sounds like you’ve done a lot to the place. How much of an equity boost will you get?”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “I know you have to make sure you don’t put more money into a house than you’ll get out when you sell it.”

  “I’ll check with my designer on that.”

  “Check with a Realtor. The designer makes money off your remodeling. The more renovations, the more money she makes.”

  As Elizabeth moved around the kitchen, setting the table, the fact that he’d considered things she hadn’t stung her pride. She was smart, and yet hadn’t considered how much she was raising the value of her town house versus the renovation costs. She hadn’t shopped around to get the best price on materials, either. How had she strayed so far from her usual thoroughness?

  She’d forgotten those things because she’d been so desperate to make a home, a place that reflected her personality. A sanctuary that soothed her soul after a long day, and was truly hers. Something she’d missed since her grandmother died.

  “You’re so organized and in control in your job,” Rory said. “You need to be the same with this project.”

  She smiled. “Was that a compliment?”

  “Guess so.”

  Despite downplaying his praise, she found his words set off a warm glow inside her. He admired her as a businesswoman, but what did he think of her as a woman? Don’t go there. Doing so would be like the dumb blonde in every horror movie that heard a funny noise, went to investigate and got killed by the psychopath. “Thank you. That means a lot to me, especially after today.”

  The oven timer beeped. She opened three drawers before locating the oven mitt Chloe had given her three years ago as a housewarming gift. Carefully, Elizabeth removed their dinners, plated them and placed them on her kitchen table.

  “I thought we’d go over strategies for your interview while we eat.”

  “Woman, don’t you ever take time off?
”

  “Tomorrow is important.” She forced her voice to remain level and not to go into lecture mode, despite her annoyance. “It’s your first national TV appearance. You need to be prepared.”

  “There’s more to life than work. When do you loosen up and have fun?”

  “I enjoy what I do.”

  “It’s not the same thing. What about going out with friends? Spending time with family?”

  His simple question unleashed that nagging little voice that had plagued her way too often lately. A picture of Nancy’s tear-streaked face flashed in Elizabeth’s mind. No, she wouldn’t end up alone like that. She had time to find a good man, and weren’t a lot of women doing just fine waiting until their late thirties before having children? So if that was true, why had his words caused her chest to tighten up?

  “I have friends I socialize with,” she insisted, though the words sounded hollow even to her.

  She raised her chin in defiance, refusing to allow him to make her doubt her life. Two could play twenty questions. Time for Rory to be on the defensive. “You say all I care about is work, but all you seem to care about is money. What about that?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “Hurts to look in the mirror, doesn’t it?”

  “Since neither of us is perfect, how about we call it a draw?”

  “Deal.” She smiled. How could he so effortlessly pushed her buttons, and then equally as effortlessly deflate her irritation? Shaking herself mentally and remembering her goal for tonight, she said, “I know the situation today was hard for you personally, but don’t you realize how amazing it was?”

  Rory visibly shuddered. “I think what happened is going to give me nightmares.”

  “The reaction today means we can create an association in people’s minds between the product and you. When people see your face they’ll think of Devlin jeans.”

  “Kind of like when people see Morris the Cat they think of Nine Lives cat food.”

  She laughed. “That’s an interesting comparison. Wonder what that says about you?”

  “I didn’t say I was like Morris the Cat.”

  No way would she compare him to anything as tame as a house cat. A panther maybe, because all stretched out he appeared disinterested in the world, but in reality was keenly alert and ready to strike.