Kimberly Raye – Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VIII: The Cowboy Who Never Grew Up (страница 7)
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.”
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.
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 gaining 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.”
“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.
“You
“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.”