His Enemy's Daughter

by Sarah M. Anderson

  She turned and gave him a long look—such a long look, in fact, he began to squirm. He hid it behind scrounging for fries in the bag.

  “That begs the question, doesn’t it?”

  She was setting him up for something but damned if he could see where this was going. Was she about to remind him he was a man again? “What question?”

  “How would you go after me?”

  He almost choked on a fry. So much for changing the subject to something safer. “Pardon?”

  There was no way she meant that question in a sexual sense and it definitely wasn’t a come-on. Even if he’d like it to be.

  She set her empty container aside and swung around, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back against the side of the truck. With the ice and her wounded hand in her lap, she stared at him. “How are you going after me? Like, right now? Because we’ve danced around each other for a decade, Pete. Ten years of push and pull and not once—not once—have you ever been nice to me, much less defended me twice in one day.”

  He was thankful it was dark because his cheeks got hot with something that felt like shame and he’d rather take a punch than let Chloe Lawrence see him blush.

  “And don’t you dare try to pass it off as if you haven’t been that bad or that mean because I’m not in the mood for bull tonight, Pete.”

  “How about tomorrow? We could have this talk tomorrow.”

  Light from the street lamp across the way shone off her smile. “I’ve recently discovered that my tolerance for BS has lowered significantly. Why are you here, Pete? Why are you defending me? Why, after all this time, are you treating me like a person? Like—” she swallowed but didn’t look away “—like a friend?”

  Man, it was tempting to protest his innocence. The phrase you never could take a joke danced right up to the tip of his tongue before he bit it back.

  She was right. Trying to blow off all the ways he’d attacked and undermined the Lawrence family and their management of the All-Stars over the years would be complete BS. Because he’d thrown everything he had at them—including but not limited to lawsuits—and nothing had worked.

  But what was he supposed to say now? She knew why he was here and he knew why he was here. But he couldn’t come right out with the truth, not before he and Chloe had the terms of his new position in writing.

  “Maybe things changed. Maybe...” He said something that was supposed to be a bald-faced lie. “Maybe I changed.”

  Funny how that felt a lot like the truth.

  But it wasn’t, not really. The Lawrence family still owned the All-Stars and Pete wouldn’t stop until he got it back. Chloe was just an obstacle Pete had to work around.

  He looked at his obstacle. She was watching him from under her lashes and Pete had the sinking feeling she could tell what color his cheeks were.

  “It won’t work, you know.”

  “What won’t?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Wellington,” she scoffed. “It’s beneath you and it’s beneath me. This scheme you’re working on—it won’t work. You’re only here for one reason. You want your rodeo back.”

  What he wanted was to lean forward and kiss her. Not just because he wanted to get her to stop talking—although he did. He wanted to know if things really had changed between them or if it was all just smoke and noise, like the fireworks they set off at the start of every rodeo.

  He looked out at the night sky. The bar wasn’t too far away from the highway but, aside from people coming and going from the bar, the rest of the street was quiet, with only the occasional semi rumbling over the overpass.

  “Did it ever occur to you that you’ve won?” he heard himself say. “That you’re right?”

  “There, was that so hard?” She spoke softly, but he could hear the amusement in her voice.

  He shot a hard look at her. “You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, Chloe Lawrence.”

  It wasn’t right, how much he liked that grin on her. “Don’t change the subject. You were telling me I was right?”

  “Yeah.” He swallowed and had to look away. These words, they weren’t the reason he was here but...did that make them any less honest? “It’s been ten years and nothing’s changed. I’m never going to pry the All-Stars away from your family. God knows I’ve tried everything, but you people are worse than deer ticks during a wet spring.”

  “There’s the Pete Wellington I know,” she muttered, but at least she didn’t sound like she was going to punch him when she said it.

  “I can either keep beating my head against the same brick wall that is Chloe Lawrence and her irritating brothers or...”

  “Or you can get hired on to run the rodeo?” Yeah, she wasn’t buying this.

  But was he lying, really?

  The darkness of midnight in Missouri blurred the hard edges around them, making buildings indistinct lumps on the landscape and he wasn’t sure where one parked car ended and the next began. “The All-Stars is everything to me and I’m never going to get it back. I’ve lost more than one lawsuit and you won’t sell. I’m running out of options.”

  That was the unvarnished truth and it hurt to admit it.

  “So I can either cut my losses and walk away from the one thing I love in this life or I can suck up my pride and ask you to hire me on as a show manager. I won’t try to undermine your authority, and I can keep doing the only thing I love—running the rodeo my father started.”

  He looked back at her. Had she bought that last bit? Because, yeah, some of that was the truth. But the part about not working against her was the mother of all whoppers.

  She sat forward, her head tilted to one side as she studied him. Could she see where the truth ended and the lies began? Or had the darkness obscured the difference?

  Chloe shook her head and swung her legs off the back of the truck. “And I’m supposed to believe that a man whose middle name might as well be Grudge is just going to turn over a new leaf and work under me?” She hopped down, cradling her hand, and began to walk away. “That you’ve decided my family hasn’t ruined your life after all?”

  He scrambled after her and caught her by the arm, spinning her around to face him. “Chloe, stop.”

  “I don’t buy it, Pete,” she said, her brows furrowed as she stared up at him. But she didn’t pull away from him, so that was something. “It’s a great story, a real heartbreaker. It’d make a hell of a country song but you’re asking me to believe that you’re going to back me up when I want to do things differently in your beloved rodeo? Because you’ve changed?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his tone gruff as he lowered his head to hers. “Yeah, I am.”

  Kissing Chloe Lawrence was not part of the plan but was that stopping him as he brushed his lips over hers? No, it wasn’t.

  Because he was kissing her anyway, dammit. Not the rodeo, not the princess—her, Chloe with the smart mouth and the right hook and it felt so right.

  She sighed into him, one arm going around his neck as the ice bag landed on his boot with a thud. He didn’t care because Chloe opened her mouth for him and Pete got a little taste of heaven when her tongue tested the crease of his lips.

  Holy hell, this woman. Why hadn’t he kissed her before this? He could have been doing this for years!

  He groaned, pulling her into his arms as he took what she gave and came back to ask for more. Greedily, he drank her in, shifting until he had her backed against the side of the truck. “Chloe,” he whispered against her skin as he trailed his mouth down her neck. “God, Chloe.”

  She knocked his hat off his head and dug the fingers of her good hand into his hair. “Don’t talk,” she said, sounding almost angry about it. But then she lifted his hand to her breast and even the touch of her chilled skin wasn’t enough to cool him off. “Just don’t talk, Pete.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” But that was the last bit of
thinking he was capable of as his fingers closed around her breast. The warm weight filled his palm and he moaned at the feeling of her nipple going tight between his fingers. He went rock hard in an instant and suddenly, he needed more.

  He needed everything. From her.

  “Yeah,” she breathed, which was all the encouragement Pete needed. He shoved his knee between her legs and ground his thigh against her sex. She gasped and bore down on him.

  Her heat surrounded him and he grunted, shifting back and forth while she rode his leg. She threw her head back, which seemed like the perfect time to explore her breasts. He had to keep one hand braced on the truck so he didn’t lose his balance, but he slipped the other one under her loose tee and cupped her breast again, teasing her nipple through the thin fabric.

  “Lace,” he murmured as he tugged the bra cup down and finally, finally got a handful of nothing but Chloe. “I wondered.”

  “Shut up and kiss me,” she growled, pulling his mouth down to hers and kissing him with such raw desire that he almost lost control right then.

  He couldn’t let her unman him—at least, not without returning the favor. So he kissed her back as he stroked her breast and tormented her nipple and swallowed the noises she made because he couldn’t bear for a single one of her gasps and moans to escape.

  She broke the kiss to thrash her head from side to side, her weight heavy on his leg. She was close, he realized.

  He jerked her loose tee to the side and lifted her breast to his mouth, sucking hard on her tight nipple. Once he had her firmly in his mouth, he used his free hand to reach down between her legs and rub until he found the spot that made her back arch into him.

  “Come for me,” he growled against her, pressing hard against that spot as he scraped his teeth over her skin.

  For once, Chloe Lawrence—the woman who’d never listened to him—did as she was told. With a shudder that was so hard she almost knocked him off his feet, she came apart in his arms. Pete looked up just in time to see her face as the climax hit its peak.

  Jesus, she took his breath away. Had he ever seen a woman as beautiful, as vulnerable as she was right now?

  He held her as the aftershocks swept over her and then she slumped in his arms, her forehead against his shoulder as she panted against his neck. His body was screaming for release, but he couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to—and he didn’t want to.

  She felt so good in his arms that, for an exquisite moment, he wondered if maybe his old plan sucked and he should come up with a new one—one that involved a whole lot more Chloe and much less clothing. One where they spent the rest of the weekend in bed, learning every story their bodies had to tell.

  What if...what if he’d told the truth earlier?

  What if it hadn’t been a lie, any of it?

  “Chloe,” he began, but then stopped because what the hell was he even thinking? He wasn’t.

  Sweet Jesus, he’d just brought Chloe Lawrence, of all people, to orgasm, which was bad enough. But he’d done it in the parking lot of a bar, out in the open where anyone could walk by and see them tangled together.

  Before he’d gotten a job contract in writing.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  It only got worse when she pushed him away. He had no choice but to take that step back, no choice but to look away as she fixed her bra. “Well. That was...” She cleared her throat. “Well.”

  That was bad, that’s what that was. And he had no idea what he could say that wouldn’t make things worse. All of his blood had abandoned his brain for his groin, clearly. Best laid plans and all that crap.

  He adjusted his pants and winced. “Yeah.”

  “Right.” Then, without another word, she turned and walked off into the darkness.

  Hell. He couldn’t have screwed this up worse if he’d tried.

  He better start hoping for a miracle.

  Seven

  By the time Chloe arrived at the rodeo the next afternoon, she was on the verge of throwing up the half cup of yogurt she’d managed to choke down that morning.

  She hadn’t slept. Every time she closed her eyes, Pete appeared before her, his body pressing hers against the truck, his hands everywhere.

  She’d let him do that.

  Let? Hell. She’d practically ordered him to do that.

  Him. Pete Wellington. In public.

  Christ.

  She’d played right into his hand—literally. Short of doing a striptease for him on the bar, she’d given him everything he needed to either blackmail her for her silence or oh-so-publicly cut her to shreds and honestly, Chloe had no idea which one was worse.

  Because they both led to the same place—her losing control of the All-Stars.

  The only question was, how would he play his hand? Because he held all the cards. And Chloe could barely move her fingers on her right hand.

  She walked around the arena, forcing herself to say hello to the people she passed. Years of smiling big while galloping around the arena paid off. But it wasn’t easy because no one met her gaze or returned her greetings. What the hell? So she smiled harder, made sure to say good morning a little louder, but people’s gazes still cut away from hers.

  Great. Wonderful. Pete had fed her a sob story about how he’d seen the light and become a better man and then he’d gotten her into a compromising position and there would be no grace period. He’d already run his mouth and told everyone about last night. As plans went to turn her crew and riders against her, it was brutally efficient.

  She made it to her closet and got the door shut before her face crumpled. She needed a counterattack here. So he’d gotten her off? So what? She enjoyed orgasms as much as the next girl and heavens knew it’d been too long since her last assisted one. And who could blame her for taking advantage of what Pete had offered? He was ruggedly handsome and so damn good with his hands.

  But she would not be ashamed of her sexuality, by God. And anyone who tried to make her feel that way would live to regret it.

  Yes, she could do this. Pete had used her? Two could play at this game. She’d used him. She’d been in the mood and he’d been convenient. Simple as that. It was his problem if he couldn’t tell the difference.

  Yeah, that was a good attitude going forward but this was still going to be the most awkward day ever. To say nothing of what Flash would do when he found out. God, she hoped the police wouldn’t have to get involved.

  A knock on the door made her start, but not as much as Pete’s voice saying, “Chloe? Are you dressed?”

  She shuddered. Okay, so they were doing this now.

  Taking a deep breath, she spun and threw the door open, glaring at him. “Does this meet your high standards?” she snapped, waving her hand over her favorite pair of leggings, the ones where the pattern looked like a cozy fall sweater in purples.

  “Whoa,” he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. Again. He did that a lot around her. “Easy.”

  “I am not your freaking horse, Pete, and there is nothing easy about this.”

  He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Okay, that answers one question. But,” he hurried on before she could dissect that statement, “we have bigger problems.”

  “Bigger than you telling everyone you got me off in a parking lot?”

  “For God’s sake,” he hissed, pushing her back into the dressing room and kicking the door closed behind her, “keep your voice down! What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m trapped in a closet with a serial liar and con man?” She retreated back against the dressing room table, which was as far as she could go. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. “Why the hell did you tell everyone about what happened last night?”

  He goggled at her. “What? No—that’s—where did you get the idea that I’d ever do something like that?”

  �
�Oh, I don’t know. Maybe by the way no one would even look at me this morning? I don’t enjoy being treated like damaged goods, thank you very much.”

  The words shouldn’t hurt, but they cut their way out of her throat and she had to look away before she did something stupid, like get all teary. She wasn’t going to cry over this man. Not in this lifetime or the next.

  Pete’s features hardened. “I know you don’t need me to defend you, but I swear to God, I will destroy the first person who treats you like that. For the record,” he went on, almost shouting over Chloe’s protests, “I didn’t tell anyone anything about you and me because that was private and perfect. Jesus, Chloe—what kind of asshole do you take me for?”

  Wait, what? Had he just said...perfect?

  “Because,” he continued, glaring at her, “whatever you think of me, I’m not that kind of jerk. I would never kiss and tell and I would never use sex to hurt a woman. For God’s sake, Lawrence, give me a little credit.”

  She got the feeling that, if he had the room, he’d be pacing. How much of that was true? But he did look truly offended that she’d even suggest he’d do such a thing. “Did someone see us or something?”

  “No,” he ground out. “No one saw us. No one is talking about us at all.”

  “Okay...so, if that’s not the problem, what is?” Because something had to have happened.

  He stopped and gave her a look and she realized it wasn’t a something, but a someone right as he said, “Flash got into it at the bar last night.”

  Her shoulders slumped. Of course. Because that was what Flash did. “With a local or with another rider?”

  “Another rider.”

  Today was just full of surprises. Was it too late to go back in time? She’d like to restart this weekend completely.

  She didn’t have to ask what the fight had been about. It was always the same fight. Someone would suggest the only reason Flash did well in the rankings was his daddy owned the circuit or his sister ran the show. That was all it ever took for him to come up swinging and go down kicking. “Police?”