Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VIII: The Cowboy Who Never Grew UpHooked

by Kimberly Raye

  Pete held tight to the thought, ignored the crying in his shoulder that told him he wasn’t going anywhere except into another hot shower and arched an eyebrow at his brother. “Does J.R. know his pride and joy is coming out to our place tonight?”

  Wade frowned and handed Pete a blanket for DeeDee. “Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. Ginny’s almost eighteen. She can do what she wants. And James will be here.”

  James was J.R.’s oldest son, Ginny’s older brother and a once-upon-a-time bull rider. Pete had trained with him way back when and they’d actually forged a friendship based on mutual respect. A fact which made J.R. hate Pete that much more.

  “Besides,” Wade went on, “the sheriff might not like me now, but that’ll change. Once Ginny and I get married and have kids—”

  “Wait a second,” Pete cut in. “You’re not telling me—”

  “No, no. We’re not getting married now, and we sure as shootin’ ain’t having a kid. But after she graduates college and I win the PBR finals, it’ll be time. We won’t let anyone stop us then.”

  “After you go to college and then win the PBR finals,” Pete added, relief washing through him.

  “Ain’t that what I said?”

  “No, you said Ginny was going to college and you were going to the PBR finals.”

  Wade shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

  “It makes all the difference in the world. I already told you, you’re not climbing onto a bull in a professional arena unless you’ve got a degree under your belt. That was our agreement. I’ll teach you everything I know while you go to school, but you’re not hitting the circuit until you graduate.”

  “About that...” Wade started and Pete shook his head.

  “There’s no ‘about that.’ You’re going to college, Wade. We already talked about this.”

  “I’m much better with bulls than I am with calculus.”

  “All the more reason to stick it out. Just because something’s tough doesn’t mean you quit.” Their mother had quit on them by drowning herself in a bottle, an example Pete never intended to follow. “We don’t quit.” He eyed his brother. “You and me, we never quit.” Not back when he’d been dirt-poor with a six-year-old depending on him, and not now that he had his own spread and a great career.

  When his little brother didn’t look half as certain as Pete felt, he added, “I bet Hooker would be even more inclined to come around if his daughter was settling down with a college-educated bull rider.” Not that J.R. would ever come around as long as Wade’s last name was Gunner, but Pete didn’t want to say that. Not when Wade looked so hopeful.

  “You think so?” Wade asked.

  “It’s worth a shot. That is, if you really like this girl.”

  “I don’t like her, Pete. I love her.” Wade said the words with such conviction that Pete almost believed him. Except that Wade was young, his hormones raging, and it was too damned easy at his age to mistake lust for love.

  What’s more, Pete didn’t necessarily believe in love. Not the give-it-all-up, do-anything-and-everything-to-hold-on-to-it kind that people wrote about in books and bad country songs.

  Lust?

  Now that he believed in.

  He pictured a certain stubborn marketing executive and his groin tightened. Okay, so maybe he was lusting after her. How could he help himself? They had chemistry. Fierce. Immediate. Inexplicable.

  While he couldn’t begin to understand the pull, it was still there. Burning him up from the inside out and making him want to forget everyone and everything and take her to bed right here and now.

  If only Wendy was a here-and-now kind of hookup. She’d watched her father live in the fast lane, however, and so she’d put the brakes on in her own life. She was settled now, and he wasn’t. Settling down meant slowing down in Pete’s book, and that was the last thing he ever intended to do.

  Even if his aching shoulder had other ideas.

  No, as much as he wanted to, he wasn’t sleeping with Wendy Darlington.

  “We’ll talk about all this later,” he announced, eager to get out of his own head and forget the damned heat licking at his nerve endings. He finished covering DeeDee with the blanket and pushed to his feet. “Right now we need to get cleaned up.” He grinned and winked at his younger brother. “It’s time to party.”

  5

  THIS WAS CRAZY.

  Wendy glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time as she paced the front porch of the massive ranch house. She’d been waiting for Pete Gunner for hours and he still hadn’t come out of the monstrous red barn sitting just beyond the corral.

  And when he eventually did make it out, she had the gut feeling he wasn’t coming out with the signed contract in hand.

  Which was why she’d come prepared with an extra copy.

  She’d almost marched number two down there after the first hour had ticked by, but Eli had stopped her. He’d insisted she join him for breakfast in the big kitchen. Then he’d taken her on a tour of the ranch. Then he’d forced her to play dominoes. And throughout it all, he’d told her story after story of how he used to ride the rodeo circuit and how he could still rope with the best of them. And how she really ought to consider signing a more seasoned man to represent Western American.

  They were parked on the porch now, watching a massive truck unload dozens of picnic tables just beyond the corral. The barbecue pits had started hours earlier and the musky scent of mesquite filled the air. A stage had been erected and the band had already started setting up. In the far distance, a John Deere front loader stacked wood into what she guessed was going to be a massive bonfire.

  “Modesty aside, y’all put too much emphasis on selling stuff to these wet-behind-the-ears young ’uns.” Eli’s voice drew her around. “Why, they ain’t got a nickel in their pocket to spend on all that expensive hoorah that you all sell. Now a man like me is a different story. I got a nice chunk in the bank, an even nicer chunk under my mattress. I can appreciate the finer things. There’s a load of folks my age who buy from Western. I’m sure the female customers would break open the piggy bank if they saw a fella like me all decked out on some big poster hanging over the cash register.” He sipped the glass of tea in his hand. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’ve been waiting here long enough.” She paced the length of the porch yet again.

  “Slow down there, girlie. This ain’t the big city. We like to take our time out here. Kick back. Relax. You ought to try it. It might help those two pinch lines between your eyebrows.”

  She came to an abrupt stop and touched her forehead. “I don’t have pinch lines. Do I?”

  “All’s I’m sayin’ is a woman your age has to be careful about stuff like that.” He shrugged. “Say, did I tell you about the time I roped this nasty sumbitch horse called Smoochey over in New Mexico?”

  “Yes and can we please stop talking?” Eli grunted and she started pacing again. Two steps this way. Two steps that way. Three steps this way. Three steps that way. Her temples pounded and anxiety rushed up and down her spine. The seconds crept by.

  “So where do you live?” she finally asked after several silent moments that made her even more nervous than his constant bragging.

  “I thought you wanted to stop talking?”

  “I changed my mind. So where do you live?”

  “Nearby.”

  “A neighboring ranch?”

  He nodded toward the front door of the massive house. “You’re looking at it.”

  “You live here? With Pete?”

  He nodded. “And Wade. And Tinkerbell, here,” he scratched the tiny Yorkie behind her small ears. She licked frantically at his hands and he fed her a tiny bit of sugar cookie. “And the Lost Boys, too.”

  “The Lost Boys?” Her mind rifled through the various articles she’d read about Pete Gunner. The Lost Boys, so-called because they all hailed from the same small town of Lost Gun, were his protégés. They weren’t champion status yet, but they were ga
ining serious momentum on the rodeo circuit. She’d read that Cole Chisholm, a twenty-year-old bronc rider and one of the infamous Lost Boys, had caused an uproar in Phoenix when he’d unseated the reigning champion. Rumor had it he was good. They all were.

  Rumor also had it that they were the wildest bunch of riders on the circuit. Now she knew why. They had Pete Gunner, the king, as a daily example.

  The hum of an electric guitar sizzled through the air as the band started its sound check and she glanced yet again at the big red barn.

  “Just ’cause you keep starin’ don’t mean he’s going to come out of there.”

  “He has to come out sooner or later.”

  “I wouldn’t lay any bets on that.”

  “What are you saying? That he’s never coming out?”

  “I’m saying, sugar dumpling, that he already came out. About a half hour ago.”

  “What?” Her gaze swiveled to the barn, then back to Eli. “No way. I’ve been standing here for the past hour. I would have seen him.”

  “Not if you’re too busy yapping.”

  “I wasn’t yapping. That was you.”

  “Oh, yeah. Let me rephrase that—” He fed Tinkerbell another bit of cookie. “You probably didn’t notice on account of you were too busy being captivated by all my yapping.” He seemed to stop and listen. “So much so that Pete made it all the way into the shower and you didn’t notice a thing.”

  “You’re saying he’s in the house?” She pointed to the massive structure. “This house? In the shower?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She snatched up the second set of contracts and marched inside.

  Upstairs, she followed the sound of spraying water down the massive hallway, into the far wing of the house. Sure enough, she soon found herself in a man’s bedroom, a familiar pair of boots kicked into the far corner.

  Pete was in the shower, all right. Meanwhile, she’d been standing around outside, waiting for him.

  The man had no manners. Worse, he had no sense of responsibility.

  That’s what her head told her. He was a wild child who had his priorities twisted.

  Her heart, however, said something altogether different. Like, maybe, for whatever reason, Pete Gunner was dodging her on purpose because he really didn’t want to sign.

  She remembered the way he’d eyed the contracts, the push-pull of emotion in that split second before his it’s-all-good mask had slid back into place.

  Not that it mattered. She hadn’t come all this way to go back empty-handed. If he didn’t want to sign he should never have accepted in the first place. He’d done just that and she meant to see that he followed through.

  The sound of running water pulled her closer until she stood inches away from the bathroom door.

  She thought about knocking. She really did. But judging by what had been happening, she couldn’t help but think that he might crawl out the window if he got any advance notice that she was on to him.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pushed open the door and walked inside. The bathroom was huge with wall-to-wall tile and an open shower in the far corner. Steam filled the bathroom and coated it with a mist that made her feel sticky and hot.

  She opened her mouth, but the words lodged in her throat as her gaze riveted on the very naked backside of Pete Gunner.

  Water sluiced over his shoulders, running in rivers down his corded back, his toned buttocks. Her brain registered the absence of tan lines and immediately she had a vision of him completely naked, riding a single rope out over a cool lake on a hot summer’s day.

  He turned to the side and gave her a magnificent view of his profile.

  Rubbing a bar of soap between his hands, he spread the lather over his chest, his six-pack abs and down over the sprinkle of hair that led to his crotch. His penis was thick and strong, surrounded by a swirl of silky hair.

  Her mouth went dry and her heart stalled. She should say something. He was naked, for heaven’s sake! Even more, she wasn’t the kind of woman who stood around lusting after naked men.

  Then again, she didn’t get the opportunity very often, and as much as she tried to remember this wasn’t what she’d come for, she just couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away.

  He was all hard muscle and raw strength and she could feel her body responding in ways that had nothing to do with her eagerness for him to sign the papers and everything to do with raw desire. Her heart pounded and her hands trembled.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  At the sexy drawl, her attention snapped back to his face and her gaze locked with his. A lazy grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “I...” She swallowed, desperate to find her suddenly shy voice. Get a grip, Darlington. “You still need to sign these...” The request didn’t come out nearly the way she’d rehearsed over the past several hours. There was no commanding note in her voice. No air of authority. Not even a plea of desperation. Instead, the words were choked and soft and almost an afterthought.

  “You are enjoying the view.” He grinned. “Don’t worry. So am I.”

  “But I’ve got my clothes on.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” His gaze fixed on her chest and she glanced down to see that all the steam had made her white silk blouse practically transparent. “You’ve got beautiful nipples, sugar.”

  A rush of heat went through her and she glanced down to see one traitorous bud peaking through the lace of her bra, perfectly outlined by the see-through silk.

  She stiffened, determined not to turn tail and run despite the fact that he was staring at her as if he wanted to take a great big bite.

  And even more, she was feeling as though she wanted him to do just that.

  She stiffened and tried to gather her control. “I need the contracts signed.”

  “I’m afraid we had a little accident.”

  “I thought as much.” She held up the second set. “Just sign already and let’s get this over with.” She swallowed. “Please.”

  “And what if I don’t?”

  “You don’t get your money.”

  “I doubt concern for my financial well-being brought you three hundred miles out of your way.” His gaze darkened. “And straight into a naked man’s bathroom. What really happens if I don’t sign?”

  She wasn’t going to tell him. It wasn’t his business. At the same time, the words sprang to her lips and she couldn’t help herself. “I lose my job.”

  He killed the water and reached for a towel. Before she could take a much-needed breath, he was standing right in front of her. “You should stop worrying so much. It ages you.”

  The teasing light in his eyes made her forget all about the papers and the pink slip waiting for her should she fail. “You’re the second person who’s told me that today.” He arched an eyebrow and she added, “Eli said the same thing.”

  “Great minds,” he murmured. “It’s just a job.”

  “It’s my job and I happen to like it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve been there for nine years and I want to be there another nine years. I like Houston. I like being in one place. I like having friends.” Now why had she said that?

  Because it was true and there was just something about his compelling gaze that drew the words from her.

  “Houston’s nice,” he murmured, “but I like Dallas better. And Vegas. And Nashville.”

  “You really like being on the go that much?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, something flitted across his expression and she got the instant feeling that he wasn’t half as content with his lifestyle as he wanted everyone to think.

  “I like being a rodeo cowboy,” he finally said.

  “An irresponsible rodeo cowboy.” She held up the extra copy she’d brought. “Or so you want everyone to think, which is why you don’t want to sign these papers.”

  His brows drew together into a tight frown. “What are you talking about?”

  “You let me believe you were drinking margaritas t
his morning.” She wasn’t sure why she called him out except that she was tired of playing games. “It was a vitamin slushie.”

  “Like hell.”

  “You also didn’t want to tell me that you had a Yorkie named Tinkerbell. You’re this big, bad, supposedly irresponsible guy who doesn’t care about anyone or anything, yet you’ve got a house full of guys living here and you keep Eli gainfully employed when he has to be the most annoying man I’ve ever met. You’re also getting your ass kicked up on that bull, but you don’t want to admit it—or any of the above—to anyone because you’re afraid it’s going to kill your image. That’s why you don’t want to sign. Because signing would be the responsible thing to do.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “Prove me wrong, then,” she countered. “Right here and now.”

  Just like that, his gaze darkened as if she’d stripped off her clothes and pressed herself up against his wet body.

  “What do I get if I do?”

  “Fame and fortune.”

  “I’ve already got both.”

  “You’ll get more.”

  “What if I want something else instead?”

  “As in?”

  The seconds ticked by as he stared down at her. He looked almost hesitant. A glimmer lit his eyes as if he wanted to say something. But then the light faded into a dark, smoldering blue as his attention settled on her mouth. “A kiss might just do the trick.”

  “You want me to kiss you and then you’ll sign?”

  “That, or I can just kiss you.” And then he did just that.

  He dipped his head. His mouth caught hers in a plundering kiss that took her breath away. His deep, musky scent filled her nostrils. His body heat drew her closer. Her nipples tightened and an ache started between her legs. And she couldn’t help herself. She leaned into him, molding herself to his hard frame despite the fact that he was soaking wet. The alarm bells in her head faded into the pounding of her own heart, and suddenly there were just the two of them and the kiss.

  A kiss that quickly morphed into something softer and more persuasive when she wrapped her arms around his neck and angled her head to give him better access. His arms slid around her waist, drawing her even closer. His tongue swept her bottom lip and dipped inside, stroking and coaxing and drawing a raw moan from deep in her throat.