by Erika Kelly
“He’s an artist. Before his dad died and he dropped out of school, he was studying at Parson’s in New York. Not sure how he got into bikes, but I know from Skylar that he still does art.”
“There’s something going on between those two, which I didn’t see coming from a mile away. I wouldn’t think she’s his type at all.” She looked at him like an idea had just popped into her head. “Hey, what exactly is your type?”
Funny, Brodie hadn’t really thought about it. “I don’t think I have one.” He’d been with all kinds of women. For him, it wasn’t about beauty or a certain body shape. He wasn’t specifically a legs or an ass man. He was drawn to…personality. A smile. That rare and inexplicable spark.
With Rosie…damn. It was like the Fourth of July. He thought about the mechanical bull. How, after she’d fallen, he’d expected her to go back to her table and pour another drink. Instead she’d insisted on trying it again. He liked her determination, her passion. Her grit blended with her innate elegance was such a fucking turn-on.
Another thing he really liked was that, even though she felt tremendous loyalty to her family, she stuck to her guns. She wouldn’t compromise herself for some archaic belief system.
He admired the hell out of that.
Emotions swirled in him, thick and hot.
Vanessa had a hand on the door, legs turned, ready to get out, when she cut him a look. “How come you’re not turning off the engine?” She swiveled back into her seat. “What’re you thinking about?”
Rosie.
His pulse kicked up hard and fast. He didn’t have much time left with her, so what was he doing in Bozeman with another woman? Vanessa was beautiful. She was smart and ambitious.
But she didn’t excite him. She didn’t move the needle.
There were no sparks, and there never would be.
He wasn’t the kind of man who settled. He’d rather be alone than with a woman who didn’t get him fired up.
Through the windshield, he took in the hotel. And, suddenly, he knew spending a night with Vanessa was wrong. It wasn’t where he needed to be. “Vanessa…”
“Don’t say it.” She closed her eyes and let out a breath. “God, Brodie, I’m trying so hard.”
That’s the problem. “It shouldn’t be this much work.”
“No, it shouldn’t.” When she opened her eyes, she gave him a sad smile. “I like you so much…well, I think I like the idea of you. I would love to be part of your family. I see you guys at the Tavern or the diner, your brothers with their girlfriends, and you guys just do everything so hard. You play hard, and you love hard. And…I really want you to love me like that.”
“I don’t know about the love hard part for me. I don’t think I’m like my brothers that way.” Except for Rosie, but she didn’t count because he couldn’t have her.
“I think you are. One day, you’re going to turn all that intensity on a woman, and she’s going to be the luckiest girl in the world.” She gazed out the windshield. “But it’s not going to be me.”
Brodie drove fast, the forest a blur of green and brown on either side of him. He made it back to Calamity in three and a half hours and dropped Vanessa at her condo. Only as he drove through town did he slow down. Was Rosie somewhere here on her date?
He thought about parking, storming into every bar, the Tavern, the diner, the ice cream parlor. He wanted to see her, knock the cowboy on his ass. He wanted to bring her home, so it was just the two of them. Just how he liked it best.
But he wasn’t an asshole. She was loving her freedom here, and she wanted to date.
Besides, what exactly did he want from her? He might be racing home to be with her, but nothing had changed. Unless he wanted to be her hot cowboy hookup.
He wanted more than that, but there wasn’t much more he could have. Maybe just to be with her until she left. Would she go for that? If he promised her it wouldn’t compromise their long-term working relationship?
Images assaulted him—his lips on her soft, sweet-scented skin, her hands grabbing his ass and squeezing. Excitement tore across him. Fuck, he wanted that woman.
Maybe he could bring it up. Come up with a contract that made sure both parties got what they wanted, and no one got hurt.
It was pretty much impossible to get hurt, since they both knew ahead of time there was an end-date.
He turned onto the ranch driveway, and as he waited for the gate to open, he nabbed his phone out of the cup holder. Scrolled through a bunch of messages that could wait till tomorrow. Nothing from Rosie. Damn.
He passed through and watched his speed as he veered left at the fork toward the bunkhouse. Had she kissed the cowboy yet? It was only ten-thirty. They were probably dancing, drinking.
Would she get drunk around the guy? Would the asshole try and fuck her if she was?
Yellow lights pierced the darkness. She’s home. Maybe she’d bailed on her date early.
Fuck, yes. He accelerated. Once at the bunkhouse he parked, grabbed his overnight bag, and jogged toward the door.
He’d known that guy wasn’t right for her. Brodie could tell just by his smirk that he was too superficial. He didn’t go deep. Rosie did, though.
You don’t need deep for a hookup.
Brodie threw open the door. “Rosie?”
Her head popped up from the couch, hair all tousled, eyes wide in surprise. One hand clamped her blouse shut where it gaped at her bra.
Adrenaline assaulted him. What the fuck?
She pushed a dude in a blue and white-checkered shirt off her. “Brodie.” She scrambled to her feet. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were gone for the weekend? I mean, it’s your house. Of course, you’re welcome here. I just...I thought you weren’t coming home until Monday.”
Her date lifted off the couch, tucked his shirt back into his jeans, and then reached out a hand. “Hey, man. Dusty.”
Brodie gave him a chin nod, his gaze slicing over to Rosie. Her cheeks were pink, and her mouth looked puffy from some other man’s kisses.
She tried to button her shirt, but she kept fumbling, so he cut around the couch and batted her hands away to finish the job. His fingers were too big, and he wound up skipping a hole and popping off a button. She gazed up at him, and the connection struck the center of his heart like a fist, the jolt reverberating throughout his body.
“I made it worse.” He shook his head, fighting a smile and abandoning the project. “I’ll leave you to it.” He grabbed his bag. “I’ll stay at the main house tonight. Which is good. I can have breakfast with Ruby. Maybe I’ll take her on an early hike. Have our breakfast on the ridge. She loves that. So, you go on and…” Shut up and get out of here.
“Oh, my goodness, no.” Her clap of laughter was completely out of character. “You don’t have to go anywhere. This is your house, and besides Dusty and I—” She giggled, waving her hand in front of her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m…” Then, she doubled over, and Brodie couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Give me a second. I just…I’m only laughing, because I’m so embarrassed. I’ve never been caught making out before.” She fanned her face, now shiny with perspiration. “Oh, God. I feel like I’m fifteen, and my dad just came home. Not that you’re my dad. I just—” Another set of giggles had her reaching for the arm of the couch. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. Dusty, I’m so sorry. I think our date’s over. Let me walk you out.”
Giving them time alone to say goodbye, Brodie tossed his bag against the wall by the hallway and went into the kitchen to grab a water. He could hear Rosie and her date murmuring.
Were they making plans for tomorrow night? He didn’t want her seeing Dusty again. He wanted her for himself. But he couldn’t have that. The only contract she wanted to sign was for their partnership.
He had to face it. This business might be the only one she ever gets to run—and if that means she doesn’t want to sleep with me, then…
Fuck. Then, he’d still spend time with her. Because he wanted to be w
ith her more than he wanted to be with anyone else. So, if they could only be business partners—friends—he’d take it. He’d take whatever she wanted to give.
The door shut, and a moment later she came into the kitchen, the blouse still askew from the way he’d buttoned it. “I am so sorry you came home to that.”
“Not your fault. I told you I’d be gone.” He poured himself some water. “Should’ve texted you.” Before flying like a bat out of hell to get home to you. “Looked like the date was going well.”
“Actually, I was about two minutes from ending it. It, uh, escalated pretty quickly.”
His glass froze in front of his chin. “What’s that mean?” He took in her messy hair, the red lips.
“No, nothing bad. Just that…I pictured the evening going very differently. I was supposed to meet him in town, but he said he’d rather come over, that he had a little picnic for us. Well, he didn’t say picnic. I don’t remember his exact words, but I took them to mean picnic. I figured he’d come over, we’d open a bottle of wine, chat for a while. Instead, he brought a six-pack, cracked open a beer, slapped his knee, and said, “Come on, girl. Let’s get this party started.” Her exaggerated southern accent made him smile.
“No wonder you were laughing so hard.”
“Exactly. It was the ridiculousness of the whole night, not just that you walked in on us.”
“If it was so ridiculous, what were you doing rolling around on the couch with him?” Oh, damn, he shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of your business what she does.
“I’ll tell you exactly why. Because no guy in St. Christophe would ever come over, set me on his knee, and start making out with me, and I liked that. It was thrilling…for about five seconds. But, then…” She crinkled her nose.
“What?”
“He didn’t smell right.”
“Body odor?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. Nothing like that.”
“Wet dog?”
“What? No.”
Her grin, the sparkle in her eyes, made his chest tight. “What then?”
“Like clothes that’ve been worn a couple times in a row.”
“Isn’t that body odor?”
“No, it’s kind of an oily…well, not oil exactly. It’s just a particular smell. And he must’ve had steak for dinner because there was a hint of roasted meat in his shirt. And he just tasted nasty.”
“Bitter? Like tobacco?”
“I don’t know what tobacco tastes like. It was weird because it was mint, which you’d think would be fresh, but it was also bitter.”
“Chew. He tucks a pinch of tobacco between his gums and his mouth.” Brodie would bet the guy had spit it out right when he got out of his truck.
“It was gross. But, also, I didn’t like the way he kissed.”
He kept his mouth shut, because anything he might say would come out wrong. Possessive. She didn’t need that from him. From anyone.
“Fortunately, we’d only just started.”
“He almost got your shirt off.” Which pissed him off. Unless they were swept away by passion, the guy should’ve taken his time with someone as special as Rosie. Made sure she was feeling it.
“I know, but I thought I’d give it another minute to see if it would…you know, ignite or whatever.” She leaned against the counter. “But, now that he’s gone, and I feel so relieved, I realize I was doing it for the wrong reason.”
“And what reason’s that?”
“Marcel wanted excitement. He got off on sneaking around.” And there was that sadness again, dragging on her pretty features. “Whenever I’m alone, I keep playing their conversation in my head.”
“What conversation?” He set the glass down. “You caught them in bed?”
“I caught them in a closet. My assistant was begging him to break it off with me so they could be together, and he said he was still going to marry me, that he loved me…But it wasn’t their words that got to me. It was the drama. My assistant, who’s the most calm and rational woman you’ll ever meet, was tortured and emotional and…”
“Passionate.”
“Yes.” The word shot out of her mouth like a dart. “Exactly. And even Marcel, who’s only ever been polite with me, sounded like he was all torn up.”
Those fuckers had done a number on her. “So, tonight you were looking for payback? With the cowboy?”
She shook her head. “It’s not about that. I wanted to know if I’m capable of igniting.” She faced the counter, moving around a few baggies and shifting some beakers. “What if I’m just flat? Unemotional?” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What if I’m not a passionate person?”
“Fuck that. I’ve never met anyone so passionate.” He picked up one of the beakers. “You light up when you talk about this stuff.”
“Yeah, but that’s work. It’s not…sex. It’s not bodies and hearts and minds. I love my work, but I want to be wild in bed. I want…” She shrugged, tightening the cap on a small bottle. “Never mind. It’s stupid. Do you want to see what I was working on?”
She reached for a dark blue glass jar, when he caught her arm. “What do you want, Rosie?”
The way she looked at him made him feel like she was searching to see if she could trust him with her deepest secrets. You can, his eyes told her. I want to be that man for you.
He saw the moment she relaxed. “It’s not so much that I want to be wild in bed. I want to feel wild. I want sex to yank me under.” She let out a rough exhalation. “That desperation, that yearning I heard in my friend’s voice? I want to feel that. But I realized, after about five minutes with Dusty, that it’s not something that just happens. I can’t close my eyes and feel some guy’s hands on me and suddenly ignite because I want to. Honestly, I don’t know how people do it—have fun, crazy hookups—because I didn’t feel anything except annoyance. And he didn’t do anything wrong. He’s good-looking. He’s got a nice body. But there just weren’t any…”
“Sparks.” He got it. “He’s not right for you.”
“You say that like I should just wait for the right guy, but it’s not going to work like that. When I go home, I’m going to become marriage-minded. It won’t be Marcel, but it’ll be someone I meet in the not-too-distant future. And I’m so afraid of settling again. Maybe it’s just the pressure I feel to get everything in before I leave here, but I’m terrified of going home, getting numb again, and settling for another guy I don’t have any sparks with, and God, Brodie, I just want to feel it once, you know? Just once, I want to have headboard-banging, electrifying sex.”
The way she looked at him, soft mouth and lazy eyes, made him think her thoughts matched his. Bet I’d feel it with you. But, then, with a wave of her hand, she broke the mood. “So, what happened? Aren’t you supposed to be off on a romantic weekend?”
“Romantic? No, I told you. Vanessa wanted to show me a house in Bozeman.”
Rosie gave him a look that said, Really? You’re that clueless?
“Yeah, I mean, obviously she hoped for more. But we addressed it, and we agreed we’re going to stick to a business relationship.”
“Is she devastated?”
“Devastated? Nah. She doesn’t want me. She just likes the idea of marrying a Bowie.”
“Well, I can see why.” He caught her wistful tone, and he hated what her life must be like in St. Christophe, the constant scrutiny, the limitations. The weight of a future that didn’t fit her.
She would come alive in Calamity. She’d become her best self here.
“Have you ever been in love?” She unscrewed the cap on the blue bottle and sniffed it, her facial muscles relaxing.
“And we have a winner.”
She smiled. “We do.”
He could read her so well now. Awareness flashed like sunlight glinting off a mirror. That’s what he liked about her. The way his mom had played him, he’d bought her lies. That was why he didn’t trust. But Rosie was transparent—and it made him feel safe wit
h her.
“So, have you?” she asked. “Ever been in love?”
“Nope.”
“You don’t want what your brothers have?”
He remembered what Vanessa had said. You play hard, and you love hard. The strangest sensation crept over him, like a wand sweeping over his body and activating each cell, until his whole body vibrated.
I could love Rosie that hard.
What a fucking revelation.
The reason he hadn’t understood his brothers’ choices was because he hadn’t met Rosie. “A week ago, I would’ve said no. But now I think I get what they have. It’s not about settling down. It’s about meeting one particular woman. The right one.” You. “And somehow I don’t think that happens all that often.”
“I don’t think so, either. And that’s what scares me.” She screwed the cap back on and set the bottle down. “You know what? Don’t even listen to me. I’m all messed up because you walked in on me while a cowboy was feeling me up.” She headed out of the kitchen. “Well, I’ll leave you be.”
“You don’t have to go on my account.”
“You certainly didn’t come home to hear me whine about my life.”
He had to hold his arm to his side, close his hand into a fist. He had to let her walk away because…why would he ask her to stay?
But, then, at the last minute, right before she turned to go down the hall, he said. “You sleepy?”
“Not at all. Why?”
He checked the rooster clock. They’d make it in time for the second showing. “Come on. Let’s have some fun.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rosalina read the menu on the wall behind the counter. Hot dogs, cheeseburgers, nachos, sodas, candy. “The nobility could learn a thing or two from you about date nights.”
He’d taken her to the Ponderosa Drive-in movie theater, and she hadn’t had this much fun in ages.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her against his chest. “For the record, I don’t date. But, for you, I’d make an exception.” His voice, right in her ear, came out gravelly and one-hundred percent grade A sex.
