Kimberly Raye – Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VIII: The Cowboy Who Never Grew Up (страница 1)

Look what people are saying about these talented authors…

Of Kimberly Raye…

“Kimberly Raye’s A Body to Die For is fun and sexy, filled with sensual details, secrets and heartwarming characters—as well as humor in the most unexpected places.” —RT Book Reviews

“Dead Sexy by Kimberly Raye is funny and exciting—with great sex, characters and plot twists.” —RT Book Review

“Kimberly Raye has done a wonderful job of creating characters that are unique and imaginative!”

—Romance Reviews Today on Dead and Dateless

Of Julie Leto …

“Julie Leto certainly knows how to put the X in sex!

A great and exciting read!”

—Fresh Fiction on Too Hot to Touch

“Get a cold drink when you sit down to read this one; this is one hot book!”

—Fresh Fiction on Too Wild to Hold

“One-of-a-kind writing style … She has made me a reader for life!”

—Fresh Fiction on More Blazing Bedtime Stories

Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VIII

The Cowboy Who

Never Grew Up

Kimberly Raye

Hooked

Julie Leto

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Cowboy Who

Never Grew Up

Kimberly Raye

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author KIMBERLY RAYE started her first novel in high school and has been writing ever since. To date, she’s published more than fifty-eight novels, two of them prestigious RITA^® Award nominees. She’s also been nominated by RT Book Reviews for several Reviewer’s Choice awards, as well as a career achievement award. Kim lives deep in the heart of Texas Hill Country with her husband and their young children. She’s an avid reader who loves Diet Dr Pepper, Facebook, chocolate and alpha males. Kim also loves to hear from readers. You can visit her online at www.kimberlyraye.com or follow her on Twitter.

For my oldest son, Josh,

who is growing up way too fast!

I’m so proud of you.

And for the supertalented Julie Leto,

it was great working with you on this story.

I knew you had a little Texas in you!

1

HE WAS THE PERFECT COWBOY for the job.

Wendy Darlington stared at the man who slid off the angry bull in the middle of the massive rodeo arena in Fort Worth, Texas, and her breath caught. Dust exploded. The crowd roared. The animal twisted and turned as the wranglers tried to get him under control, but the rider wasn’t the least bit nervous. He sidestepped her and headed for the dusty Stetson he’d lost during the most amazing ride Wendy had ever seen. Eight seconds and then some. The buzzer had come and gone, but Pete Gunner had kept at it until he’d snagged bragging rights to breaking yet another world record.

He parked the cowboy hat back on his head and flashed a grin before heading toward the gate and the cluster of reporters waiting to swallow him up.

The scores went up and, sure enough, they were high enough to push Pete into first and solidify a place in the upcoming Professional Bull Riders finals.

Not that she’d had any doubt.

Pete Gunner was the best of the best. An eight-time PBR champion and record holder on the fast track to win number nine.

Unfortunately he had a weakness for loud parties and lots of women, and so he was even more notorious for his behavior outside of the arena. He was a wild child. Unpredictable. Uncensored. Unmanageable.

Trouble. Big, big trouble.

That’s what Wendy had told her boss when he’d come up with the crazy idea of making Pete Gunner the newest spokesperson for Western America, the biggest leatherworks company in the Southwest. They made everything from custom cowboy boots and specialty chaps to one-of-a-kind hand-tooled saddles. The company was launched during the late seventies at the height of the Urban Cowboy craze, with their products targeted toward the sophisticated, professional types eager to jump on the chuck wagon and play weekend cowboy.

They’d managed to maintain a decent profit share over the years, too, although their early heyday had long since faded with so many competitors flooding the marketplace.

Wendy had come to Western straight out of college as an intern and had slowly worked her way up from administrative aide to senior marketing representative. She’d put in nine years at the company and managed to keep up sales in an economic downturn. She’d fought tooth and nail to make a name for herself within the company, and she deserved to be moved up for it. She’d even told her boss, Fred, as much when she’d asked for a promotion last year.

But the man didn’t want to maintain his company’s position. He wanted to sell the company for a hefty profit and buy his own private island in the Bahamas. Something that wasn’t going to happen, at least for the kind of money he wanted, if he didn’t get his market share up by twenty percent.

At least that’s what a private-business consultant had told him six months ago. Hence the creation of Outlaw Outfitters, a line of modestly priced products geared toward the younger segment, and the brainstorm to have Pete Gunner as the front man.

A real cowboy backing the new line would up its credibility and get the attention of the multitude of younger rodeo fans. As the senior marketing rep, it was Wendy’s job to make it happen. Or else.

Those had been Fred’s exact words.

Make this happen and I’ll make sure you stay on with the company after I sell. Or else you can find a new job.

Which meant moving on, starting over.

The story of Wendy’s life.

Growing up the only child of single parent and baseball legend Mitch Darlington, Wendy had become an expert in new. During her childhood, she’d spent the season headed to a new city every week and the off-season living in a condo near the training camp for whatever team her dad had been signed with at the time. Thanks to a huge ego and a know-it-all attitude, he’d been traded eleven times over a fifteen-year period, during which Wendy had zigzagged across the country with him. She’d even lived in Toronto for six months while he’d played with the Toronto Blue Jays.

No more.

The moment she’d graduated college, she’d promised herself that her days of moving from place to place were officially over. She’d accepted the job at Western America, bought a house in Houston, and she’d been settled ever since. She’d made friends and built a life for herself. And while the actual day-to-day could be boring at times, she still preferred it hands down to the nomadic lifestyle she’d grown up with.

She wasn’t losing her job.

Fred wanted Pete’s signature on the multimillion-dollar endorsement package her company had offered, and Wendy was going to make it happen. Mr. Wild and Reckless had already given them a verbal agreement months ago, but it had been one mishap after the other when it came to getting him to actually sign. They’d overnighted the initial documents as was policy, but then he’d claimed his dog had chewed them up. He’d left set number two in a hotel room in Vegas. Number three had ended up at the bottom of a bull pen. Number four had disappeared in a truck stop somewhere between Nashville and New Mexico.

While Wendy had freaked over each “accident,” Pete had laughed them off as just another day in the life of PBR’s most notorious cowboy.

Don’t get your panties in a wad, darlin’. That’s what he’d told her on the phone in the deepest, sexiest drawl she’d ever heard. Just send out another set.

Not this time.

Numbers five and six—she’d brought an extra—were safe and sound in her briefcase and she wasn’t leaving until everything was signed.

Or else …

She fought down a wave of anxiety, popped an antacid from the roll in her pocket and steeled herself. Briefcase in hand, she made her way around the arena wall until she reached the cluster of bull pens. A security guard stopped her in her tracks, but she flashed a VIP pass at him and he waved her forward. She was just about to turn a corner and head for the excitement when she barreled into the hard wall of a very muscular chest.

Her head snapped up and she found herself staring at her worst marketing nightmare.

She’d seen plenty of pictures of Pete Gunner over the past few months: everything from professional publicity shots of him climbing into a saddle or dusting himself off after a grueling ride, to a papparazzi’s wet dream where he’d been table-dancing at Billy Bob’s honky-tonk or lapping at a watering trough after the PBR finals in Vegas.

But nothing in print could begin to compare with the man himself.

Several day’s growth of stubble shadowed his jaw and circled his sensuous mouth. Whiskey-colored hair framed his rugged face and brushed the collar of his white button-down shirt. Vivid blue eyes peered at her from beneath the brim of a beat-up Stetson.

“Don’t be in such a hurry, sugar.” He gave her his infamous grin, his lips crooked just a hint at the corner, and her heart did a double thump. “It’s always better if you take your time.”