A niggling feeling built up in the pit of her stomach, making her want to vomit, preferably on Urban who’d made her a bundle of raw nerves. And now Bart wanted her to tell him the stories of long ago, especially where exactly the bow was on her bikini, and she wanted no part of strolling down memory lane. She especially didn’t want to tell him that she’d had a terrible crush on Urban once upon a time, and when he’d cut off her braid she’d been heartbroken, and yet the heart wanted what it wanted and every time she saw him after that she was tangled in knots. Presley had attempted for a long time to hide behind her anger toward him.
Those nights he referred to “by the lake” were some of the memories she used her vibrator to on lonely nights. The rare occasion Presley hung with friends was by the water, the place where the teens congregated on Friday nights. All the girls wanted Urban and there wasn’t a time when he didn’t have one, two, three, or four females occupying his time. Presley had been envious when he flashed his sexy smile their way, and what did she get from him? He always had to poke fun at her. Teasing her to no end. Unlike how he had made it seem, she never skinny dipped, especially not when she wasn’t alone. That particular bathing suit that he referred to had been a size too big and once when she was coming out of the water, the tie had come loose and the top floated away. Oh, she was sure Urban and his friends had a good laugh over her humiliation. Another reason why she didn’t like him…
Growing up without a mother to help guide her on proper etiquette, or the current fashion trends, she’d pretty much crawled her way through childhood. Watching what her friends were doing to gain knowledge, she always turned out being a tomboy, loving the outdoors, getting dirt under her fingernails and wearing her hair in simple braids. She hated the freckles on her face and would always try to cover them, but over the years she’d grown to like them. Including the color of her hair. She’d never considered herself feminine, or like most girls who could bat their lashes and have any boy they wanted, so when Hugh Jericho had asked her out, she’d been floored. A Jericho wanting to go out with her? Certainly, all her friends were just as surprised.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t Hugh that she’d had nightly dreams of.
She often wondered if Urban remembered when he’d kissed her one moonlit night down by the lake during a game of truth or dare? Sure, he’d had a few too many and she’d been as sober as a church mouse. She didn’t drink, smoke, or do much—too scared of her dad’s punishment. Urban, on the other hand, should have had the nickname Trouble. He’d spun the bottle and when it landed on her, she’d almost fainted. The kiss…well, she almost puked because she was so nervous. So much for making a good impression.
Urban and Hugh sauntered by her table and she didn’t want to watch. She wasn’t a teenager anymore with an undying crush on the wild, dashing cowboy. She was an adult and liked her men less obnoxious. Hugh dipped his hat and mumbled, “Good evening.”
She smiled, until she landed her gaze on Urban who was still entertained like he’d won the lottery. She knew he very well didn’t because he’d lost big-time today at the event. So then why was he looking at her as if he knew something she didn’t and what should have been irritation wasn’t. Instead, she felt her inner thighs warm and she could barely breathe. Something in his stare ignited parts of her she’d forgotten were womanly and needed a man.
“Thank you for noticing, Pres,” he said to her, then mumbled something about the lake. She didn’t hear because she was too busy studying his lips.
Damn. What she’d written on his cast had backfired because just as he suggested, she’d looked at his crotch and saw that his zipper was down. She reached for her beer and downed it.
Bart was staring at her in question.
“You know, I’m suddenly not feeling so well. I think I’m ready to go.”
The area around his eyes creased in disappointment. “I’m sorry. Sure. I’ll settle the bill and take you home, unless you think a nice long walk at that lake would help?” Mischief shone in his eyes.
Not happening. Bart was a nice enough guy, but for some reason, she didn’t feel the spark that she needed to date a man…and especially marry. She’d almost forgotten she was on a timeline, which made her angrier at her father.
After Bart took care of the bill, she met him in the lobby of the restaurant and automatically searched the parking lot when they stepped out. Had she expected to see Urban still lingering? Well, he wasn’t, and that was a good thing. He’d rattled her nerves enough, especially now that he knew the ultimatum her father had given her to find a husband. She flushed from the tip of her toes to the roots of her hair.
Her date was kind enough to open the passenger door for her to his shiny silver BMW. He climbed into the driver’s side and she couldn’t help but think he was almost too tall of a guy to fit behind the wheel. Once they were on the main road, he popped a CD into the disk player and Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing came on.
Presley turned to look out the side window and bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.
She was glad when they pulled in front of her house. Sliding off her seatbelt, she had her hand on the door knob. “Thank you, Bart, for a lovely evening.”
“I’ll call you.” He leaned forward, but she was fast. She pushed the door open and climbed out.
“Have a safe drive.” She got a glimpse of his frown as she closed the door.
Presley walked up the steps to the porch, ready to take off her new heels and slide into a long soak in the tub.
“No goodnight kiss?”
She almost jumped out of her heels at the sexy voice. Scanning the porch, she found the culprit. Urban was stretched out on the cushioned wicker loveseat, his Stetson pulled low on his forehead and his booted feet were crossed at the ankles. His shirt was unbuttoned partway, showing off a smooth, broad chest. Gulping, she dragged her eyes back to a safer region, although nothing was safe about this cowboy.
“For the second time tonight, are you lost?” She crossed her arms over her chest, more to hide any signs of her hard nipples than anything because she didn’t want him to get any ideas.
“Nope. I didn’t think you’d be home so soon so I decided to stretch out and take a nap.”
“What’s wrong with the porch at your house?” she mumbled.
“You’re not there,” he said in a husky voice that sent tremors through her.
Moistening her lips, she sighed. “Urban, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but—”
“No games.” He sat up and dropped his booted feet to the porch. He stood and the large porch suddenly became much smaller. When she inhaled, she caught the most amazing musk, leather scent on the breeze and her nipples tingled. Why-oh-why did she allow him to do this to her? Hell, she didn’t have any control when he was near. He didn’t bother buttoning his shirt so it became her mission to keep her gaze on his face and not the masculine dip of each twelve-pack ab.
For heaven’s sake. She was acting like a naïve teenager again.
“Well, I’m assuming your safe to drive back to Second Chances.” She pulled her key from her purse and stuck it into the knob.
“I thought I might get you to look me over.”
She swung her chin up, breathing heavier. “Look you over?” Oh, I did. Not just once.
“My ribs are hurting.” His sleep-hazed voice swirled through her body like cotton candy.
“Unless you’ve grown fur, which doesn’t look like it to me,” she quickly dropped her gaze to his tanned chest before bringing it back into place on his face, “and fangs, I’m afraid I’m not any good for you.”
“You’re a doc, so doctor me. Hell, you’d know a broken rib if you felt one, right?”
That was the problem. Just thinking of feeling him almost made her faint. She practically had to press her inner thighs together to settle the trembling there. And this was all over her imagination. If she touched him, she might be forced to lick. Nibble. Suckle. Holy fuck! Sweat beaded between her breasts. “I-I…”
What could she say? “Fine, Urban. Come in and I’ll take a quick look.” She hoped he caught the emphasis on “quick”. He needed to be on his way fast and leave her to her battery-operated sex partner for the night.
Stepping inside, she was greeted by Pixie, her small shaggy dog that had been abandoned by someone who brought her in for a checkup and they never came back. Presley had fallen in love with the dog’s kind, sweet nature, and brought her home. The dog was forever loyal. She nuzzled Pixie behind the ears who quickly realized they had company and darted for Urban’s leg.
“No worries, she won’t bi—” before the words were out, Urban was on his knees at the dog’s level, rubbing her head and the dog, just like any other female, was unabashedly melty eyed. Presley sighed and dropped her purse and keys on the table, clicking on the lamp for more lighting. “Pixie, control yourself.”
The dog looked up at Presley as if to say, “Suit yourself.”
“Come and have a seat on the couch, cowboy. And take off your shirt.” Yeah, she threw that part in because she couldn’t count the number of times she’d craved to use those words with Urban. She almost felt a sudden rush of excitement.
After he dragged himself away from the excited Pixie, he strolled into the dimly lit living room, pulled out the ends of his shirt, and unbuttoned the last three buttons as he swiveled on his booted heels, scanning the room. “I haven’t been in here for years.”
“You were here before?” She had no clue.
“A few times. Once when we were kids and the other when you were in college. Harris sold me a part for my tractor.”
“Oh, okay.” She tried not to stare as he dragged the shirt off, revealing wide shoulders, broad chest and a thin trail of crisp hair from his belly button disappearing inside the waist of his low jeans. He wore a large silver buckle that announced the fact that he was a Jericho.
He sauntered over to the mantel above the fireplace and reached for a framed picture. “Hey, is this you?” He turned it around and tapped his finger against the glass.
“Who else would it be? My invisible red-headed sister?”
He chuckled. “True. Were we in kindergarten together?”
“Yes.” Not that he would remember.
“Damn, imagine, you and I have known each other for over thirty years. Sometimes, two people can live this close and completely miss one another.”
She blinked. “Are you drunk?”
“No. Just feeling good. Want me to sit right here?” He patted the cushion on the couch and her heart kicked up.
“Yes. There.” Her voice was squeaky.
He laid his shirt over the arm of the couch and sat down, stretching his long legs in the dusty jeans. He hadn’t changed from the rodeo, and although she liked a well—dressed cowboy, she had to admit, there was something very raw and exciting knowing he’d slid—or rather fell off—the bull hours ago. “The medic checked me out, but I’m feeling a pain in my side.”
“Didn’t you go to the hospital to have x-rays and the wrist casted?”
“Yeah, but I was hurting all over then. Didn’t want too many x-rays or I’d be lighting up like a Christmas tree.” He smiled and she swore he had diamonds in his eyes.
Swallowing against the ache in her throat, she joined him on the couch, keeping at least a foot of space between them. Up closer, she could see the purple bruising along his ribs. “I’ll have to touch you.”
He laughed. “I didn’t figure you had x-ray vision.” She found herself smiling too, and quickly bit back the expression. He must have understood her vulnerability. “It’s okay to smile, darlin’. You have a nice smile, although I don’t see it often.”
Her nipples went from tingly to throbbing, along with other secret parts. “Well, I don’t usually laugh at immature jokes.”
He blinked. “Ouch! I guess I deserved that, ruining your date and all.”
She looked at him and shook her head. “You didn’t ruin my date. We had a fabulous time.” Before she ran away from the nerves screaming in her body, she lowered her hands and skimmed her fingers along his rib cage, gentle yet firm enough to feel the bones.
“Liar. You hadn’t even gotten through the first course before I left. I wouldn’t call that a fabulous date. And the fact that Bo didn’t get his kiss, yeah, that was a bummer.”
She didn’t even look at him and focused on her fingers against his smooth skin. “Stop speculating. And his name is Bart.”
“Okay. Sorry. I guess I’m out of line.”
“That never stopped you before,” she mumbled.
“Tell me why you hate me so much, Presley Dean?” His voice turned softer, tantalizing.
Realizing he wasn’t going to stop talking, she straightened her spine and dropped her hands to her lap, her fingertips still tingling from touching him. “Why are you here? It’s not for your ribs because although they are bruised, they are fine. You know that.”
He shrugged, dragging off his hat and placing it next to his hip. His hair, an ebony cloud of waves, was a bit longer than he normally wore it. His blue eyes were a bright contrast against the dark tuft of hair that fell across his forehead and the black shadow of his whiskers on his jaw. “Can’t fake the bruises, darlin’, or the fact that damn bull jammed me up against the pen.”
“I’m not saying you faked anything. I’m only suggesting that you didn’t come here tonight to have me take a look at your ribs. Didn’t you pester me enough at the steakhouse?” She popped up a brow.
He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and she had to swallow back a moan. The man was a lethal, seductive weapon. “Fine. You caught me.”
She sighed. “Don’t you get tired of being a pest?”
“No, I mean…I’m not here to pester you. I wanted to wait until morning to speak to you, but I couldn’t help myself. When I see something I want, I can’t control myself.”
She practically swallowed her tongue. “What?”
He reached into his back pocket and dragged out a crumpled piece of paper that looked as if it had been washed with his jeans. He dropped it into her lap. “Take a look.”
Hesitantly, she picked up the folded paper, unfolded it and pressed out the wrinkles. She read the information, then looked at him over the top of the flyer. “Okay. I’m not sure how this has anything to do with me, or you for that matter, and it definitely doesn’t require you to show up here and make up a lie.”
“I’m sorry about that, but on the way here I kept pondering what I’d say to you. How I’d ask…”
“Ask what?” She placed the flyer on the table.
“To do this with me.” He stabbed the middle of the paper with his forefinger
She squinted. “A documentary? On a married couple? I think you are drunk.”
“Fifty grand, Presley. They’re giving the couple fifty grand just to do some twinky-dink minute documentary. This is too good to pass up.”
“Again, how do I fit into this?”
“You need a husband. I heard you, remember?”
She stood, needing space. “That was a private conversation.” She clicked on another lamp.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m here to offer you a proposition.”
Swiveling on her heels, she tried wrapping her brain around what he was saying, ready for the cast of Punk’d to pop out any second. “Proposition?”
“Yeah. You need a husband and I need a wife.”
Her knees wobbled. “You? My husband?” She laughed. “Hilarious.”
“Not the reaction I was hoping for.” He swiped his palm down his cheek.
“Probably not, but I’m confused. You want a wife to get the fifty thousand? Wow. That doesn’t seem enough to marry someone.”
“The money isn’t the only thing, but that’s another story. Anyway, you’re willing to marry some stranger to have the clinic and this land. What’s so different? At least I’m not a stranger.”
Presley got it. He was drunker than he realized and, come tomorrow, he wouldn’t remember an
y of this. In the meantime, she’d play along. “Because the beer anesthetized your brain cells, I’ll explain. First, I wasn’t evaluating Bart as a husband. We were on a date. That’s all. Two, you and I…well…how can I put this nicely. We would do better in a sparring competition against each other than as husband and wife.”
He slid to the edge of the cushion, leaning his elbows on his knees. He appeared completely serious. “You see, you’re wrong. We’d make the perfect partners because we’d go into this without any expectations…outside of the money for me and the business for you. There would be no chance for us falling in love. After all, you can’t stand me and I like my women a little warmer.”
She blinked, feeling his words burrowing deep in the marrow of her bones. “Warmer?” she pushed through tight lips.
“Toward me.”
“I didn’t see you offering Rena this proposition. She seemed ready…and warm.” She rolled her eyes.
“She’s not…”
“Available?”
“No, she’s not you and she’s not looking for a husband.”
This was insane and she wanted to call his bluff and laugh, but he seemed solemn. Crossing her arms over her waist, she needed to calm her nerves. “You’re not a desperate man, Urban. I’m sure if you’re serious about this, you could find anyone to take the leap with you.”
“And then what? You’ll marry a stranger?”
He caught her there. “I-I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Come on, Presley. You’re not thinking this through. This is a win-win situation. Give it some thought.”
Shaking her head, she clicked her tongue. “Thank you, but no thank you.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day and I want to go to bed.”
Urban's Rush (Saddles & Second Chances Book 4) Page 5
