His Enemy's Daughter

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“Chloe...” Pete spoke the moment before his hands came to rest around her waist.

Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of his strong hands touching her. Had they ever touched before?

Ten years they’d been dancing around each other, slinging insults and innuendos in a never-ending attempt to come out on top—but had they ever actually touched?

She didn’t think so because she would’ve remembered the electric feel of his fingers on her body, the rush of heat that flowed out from this connection.

How would his rough, calloused hands feel against her bare skin?

“Yes?” Her gaze caught his in the mirror. She wanted to cover his hands with her own, lace their fingers together. She wanted to pull him closer.

She had lost her ever-loving mind.

But even that realization didn’t make her move. She couldn’t. She had to know what he was going to say. His mouth opened and she held her breath.

Bam bam bam. The crappy door to this closet practically bowed under the force of the pounding as Flash called out, “Chloe! You in there?”

Pete dropped his hands and backed up so fast he tripped over her rolling luggage and all but fell into the far corner of the tiny space. Chloe tried not to groan out loud. There was no situation her brother couldn’t make worse. “Yeah, I’m almost ready.” To Pete, she hissed, “Here’s the deal, Wellington. I know whatever you’re doing is a trap, but...”

“But?” he replied, almost—but not quite—pulling off a nonchalant look. He was breathing too hard to look casual about anything.

She didn’t miss his lack of a denial. Right. Nothing like a confirmation that he was completely untrustworthy to help squash her rampant desire.

She took a deep breath, inhaling more of his scent, and did something she’d sworn she’d never do. She admitted weakness to Pete Wellington. “But you’re not wrong that I need a little help handling the stock contractors and the cowboys. Do you legitimately want to work with the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo?”

He had the nerve to look indignant. “Isn’t that all I’ve ever wanted?”

“No,” she whispered furiously. “You’ve always wanted to put me in my place.”

“Did we determine if that was above me or below me?” he asked with a sly grin.

And just like that, they were right back to the same place they’d always been. She ignored his question. “I will tolerate your presence as long as you do what I say, when I say it. If you can convince the locals to get on board with my ideas, then you can stay. But the moment you undermine me, you’re gone and I’ll see to it you never set foot at an All-Stars event ever again. Understood?”

Flash banged on the door again. “Chloe? Is everything all right? I heard Pete Wellington is here. Do you know what that asshole wants?”

Irritating little brothers would always be irritating, even if they weren’t little anymore. She had no idea if she was pissed at Flash or thankful that he’d interrupted the madness she and Pete had been barreling toward at top speed. “One second, for God’s sake,” she snapped. She jabbed a finger in Pete’s direction, but she made sure not to touch him. “Understood?”

It took him a while before he responded. She could practically see the lust fading away, replaced with his usual condescension. “Understood, boss.”

“Can you handle leaving my dressing room without getting caught?”

He gave her a dull look. “Go before he breaks down the damned door.”

She threw the door open—which conveniently slammed into Pete’s chest. She gave him one last warning look and then had to dodge Flash’s next knock as she quickly walked away from her dressing room. “What?”

Thank God Flash followed her. He already had his chaps belted on, but unlike hers, Flash’s weren’t all that flashy. Dirt and muck from the arenas he’d been riding in for the last six years had permanently worked into the creases. Chaps that had once been a light brown with a darker brown diamond pattern down the leg were now just...dirty brown. “Who’s the act tomorrow night?”

“You had to interrupt me getting ready to ask me a question you could have looked up on the internet?”

She was so done with this day, honestly. She needed a stiff drink and maybe a video call with her sister-in-law, Renee Lawrence. She and Renee had been best friends back when Chloe had grown up in New York City, before Milt Lawrence had won the All-Stars in that ill-fated poker game and relocated his entire family to Dallas.

A few months ago, Renee had gotten into a little trouble—which was the nicest way anyone could say her husband had committed suicide rather than face charges for his part in what the newspapers had dubbed the Preston Pyramid, the largest financial con in American history. Renee had come to Dallas looking for Chloe but had found Oliver, the oldest of the Lawrence children and somehow, two people who had driven each other crazy as kids had absolutely clicked as adults. Now one of Chloe’s oldest, dearest friends was her sister.

She could use some girl time, frankly, away from the overwhelming masculinity of the rodeo. Renee had no history with Pete Wellington either, so Chloe could work through her suddenly complicated feelings.

But instead she had Flash.

Her brother scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just wondering...you know, if the act had changed.”

Flash was many things—a cocky pain in the butt, mostly—but hesitant wasn’t one of them. To see him hemming and hawing was unsettling, frankly. “What? Were you hoping to see someone else?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

She stared at her brother. Why did she think this was about a woman? When it came to Flash Lawrence, he only cared about two things—women or earning his place at the All-Stars table.

Then it hit her. “Is this about Brooke Bonner?”

“No,” he answered quickly, but his cheeks shot red.

“Uh-huh.”

At the All-Stars rodeo in Fort Worth early in the season, Brooke had been an up-and-coming country star. And it hadn’t escaped Chloe’s notice that Flash and Brooke had both disappeared about the same time after the rides and before Brooke’s show. They’d had to delay the start of the concert for twenty minutes before Brooke had reappeared, claiming she’d gotten lost backstage.

If Chloe had the time or mental energy, she’d go for Flash’s jugular over his country-star crush because the man had earned more than a little crap for all the times he’d made Chloe’s life that much more complicated. But today, she didn’t have it in her. She was late, still flustered from whatever the hell had happened between her and Pete and still furious that none of the stock contractors were willing to agree to her ideas until Pete declared them okay. So instead of ribbing her brother, she only said, “If there’s any change in the music lineups, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks.” Her baby brother smiled at her, the good smile that drew buckle bunnies to him like moths to a flame. But underneath that cocky grin was relief.

“But,” she went on, “you owe me.” Before Flash could interrupt her, she went on, “Yes, Pete Wellington is here. And I’ve hired him—on a trial basis,” she practically had to shout over Flash’s holler of disbelief. “He’s going to run interference with the stock contractors. I’m asking you as a sister and ordering you as your boss not to start anything with him. Okay?”

“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” Flash demanded, scuffing the toe of his boot into the dirt. “You can’t trust that man. He’s out to take us all down.”

“Who said I trusted him?” No, she didn’t trust Pete at all. But aside from Flash, she was alone in that judgment. Everyone else here had made their feelings crystal clear—they’d pick Pete over her every day of the week.

She just needed a little help while she pushed the All-Stars through this transition phase, that was all. She’d make full use of Pete’s ability to get cowboys to shut up and go along with the plan and then, when she had the All-Stars positioned properly, she’d cut him loose.

All there was to this...relationship with Pete Wellington was a calculated risk. He was betting he could trick her out of the rodeo, somehow. She was betting he was no match for her. He might be gorgeous, wealthy and awfully good with a rope, but she was a Lawrence.

Flash looked doubtful, so Chloe went on, “Look—trust me. I know what I’m doing and I know what he’s trying to do—but I can handle him. Just don’t pick a fight with him, okay?”

“If you need someone to run interference, why not just ask me?”

The hell of it was, Flash meant that. He hadn’t seen the messes she’d had to clean up after all his other attempts to “help.” Flash would always be a big bull in a very tiny china shop.

“Because,” she explained, “you want to be a rider, not a Lawrence. You start meddling in the show management and no one will ever believe you’ve earned your ranking.”

Flash was hell-bent on being one of the best all-around riders in the world, which meant riding with the All-Stars. But the problem with riding the rodeo circuit your family owned was that no one believed he hadn’t just bought his way into the rankings. Everyone—even the competitors who watched him ride night after night—believed he was here only because he was a Lawrence.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “You’re right. But why does it have to be Pete?”

Chloe grit her teeth. “Because everyone else already respects him. They listen to him.” And not to her.

She pushed that thought aside and went on, “If I bring in someone new, it’ll take months—maybe years—before they’re willing to try something different and I have plans, Flash. I want them in place before the next season starts.” That was the one area where Pete had her up against a wall.

No, no—wrong mental image. Because Pete would never have her up against a wall.

But she needed his connections and goodwill now.

Flash scowled. “If Pete gives you any crap at all, I’ll beat the hell out of him.”

“Agreed,” she said and then pasted on her big smile as a family with two little girls spotted them. “Well, now—who are these two beautiful princesses?”

The girls squealed and hugged her and Chloe posed for pictures with the mom and her daughters and then, with surprisingly good humor, Flash posed with the dad.

By then, other people had noticed the Princess of the Rodeo and a crowd formed. As Chloe posed for another picture, she saw Pete Wellington in the distance, talking with a few of the riders. As if he could sense her gaze upon him, he turned. And tipped his hat in her direction.

Another thrill of pleasure went through her at the gentlemanly gesture. No, she didn’t trust him. Not a damned bit. But it looked like they were working together from here on out.

This was a bad idea.

After what had almost happened in the dressing room? It was a horrible idea, one that almost guaranteed failure.

But as long as she kept her fantasies to herself and Pete’s hands off her body, it’d be fine.

No problem, right?

Four (#u5b66ceac-f706-54fa-8d40-4d5116ca917e)

Pete watched the opening procession from the top of the bull chutes. God, he’d missed being up here.

Chloe was, predictably, first in line. His gut tightened as he looked at the way she sat in the saddle and remembered the way she’d looked in nothing more than a pair of skin-tight jeans and a bra, for God’s sake, acting as if that were the most normal thing in the world. To say nothing of the way her nimble fingers had worked at the buckles of those ostentatious chaps as she strapped them on over her long, lean thighs...

He cleared his throat and shifted his legs, trying to take the pressure off his groin as Chloe stood in her stirrups, her ass cupped by those chaps.

When she’d first started this princess crap, Pete had been twenty-three. That he remembered clearly because his dad had stopped by for his birthday and...well, Pete wasn’t proud of what he’d done. But he’d been twenty-three and pissed as hell that the Lawrences were making a mockery of his rodeo. He couldn’t take out his anger on a cute teenager like Chloe and her dad would’ve pressed charges if Pete had punched him. Besides, it’d been Davey Wellington’s fault that Pete had lost his whole world in one drunken bet.

Even now, the betrayal still burned. The All-Stars had been the one thing he’d shared with his father and yet, Davey Wellington had just drunkenly gambled it away like the circuit hadn’t meant anything to him. Like...like all the time he and Pete had spent together at rodeos hadn’t meant anything.

When Pete had come into his oil money, Dad had been sick, with just a few months left. Pete had sucked up his pride and made Milt Lawrence an offer to buy back the All-Stars so that Pete and Davey could have a chance to relive those happier times. Pete had been determined to make things right. He’d even offered to let Chloe keep riding as the Princess of the Rodeo, if it would’ve made her happy.

Only to have the old man laugh in his face and have security escort Pete out of the building. Then he’d promptly kicked Pete off the All-Stars circuit.

After that, it was war.

Pete looked at the arena, at the families having a good time. His gaze traveled back behind the chutes, where riders and cowgirls were all humming with energy for the competition and he felt it again—that sense of homecoming. This was where he belonged. All of this should’ve been Pete’s. Now that Dad was gone, this should’ve been his family because rodeo was family.

Instead, it was Chloe’s.

But not for much longer.

Chloe was announced and she kicked her horse into a gallop, an enormous American flag billowing above her head. Pete followed her with his gaze. He wasn’t staring. Everyone was watching her circle around the arena at top speed, expertly guiding her borrowed mount through the curves.

Huh. He didn’t remember her riding quite so well. It’d been a while since he’d been able to bring himself to watch this farce. The last time he’d suffered through Chloe riding had been...a few years ago. Four, maybe?

She looked good up there.

She’d looked good in that closet, too, buttoning her shirt over her breasts, her breath coming hard and fast when he’d stepped in behind her and rested his hands on her waist. If Flash hadn’t interrupted them...

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you if you screw with my sister?”

Speak of the devil. Pete refused to cede any space as Flash Lawrence squeezed in next to him at the top of the chute, his big black hat pulled low over his head. A nervous energy hummed off Flash, which made him a decent rider in the arena and a loose cannon out of it.

Pete gave it a second before he replied and he made damned sure to sound bored as he said, “I imagine you’ll talk a big game, throw a few wild punches, then get drunk and stumble off with the first buckle bunny who catches your eye. As usual.” He was speaking from personal experience with Flash. The kid had caught him by surprise one night and given him a hell of a black eye.

Of course, Pete had returned the favor. Anyone who was old enough to get drunk and start a fight was old enough to finish one—on the floor, if need be. Which was where Flash had wound up after Pete had started swinging. It hadn’t been a fair fight—Pete had a solid ten years on the kid and at least forty pounds. But Flash had started that one.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw Flash’s shoulders rise and fall. Pete couldn’t tell if that was a sigh of resignation or a man fighting to keep control. But then Flash tilted his head and looked at Pete from underneath the brim of his hat. “You just can’t let the past go, can you?”

Irritation rubbed over Pete’s skin. “Sure I can. I don’t hold it against you that you jumped me at a honky-tonk, do I?”

Flash snorted. “Yeah, you’re clearly over it.” He shifted, angling his entire body toward Pete. “We both know you’re not here because you’ve moved on, Wellington.” His voice dropped as the music shifted and the local rodeo queen led the rest of the procession out. He was quiet until the music hit a crescendo. “You hurt my sister and you won’t have to worry about a barroom brawl.”

“That sounds like a threat, Lawrence.” But Pete was almost impressed with the bravado the kid was pulling off. Chloe wasn’t the only one who’d grown up, it seemed.

Flash cracked a grin but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those were hard with something that looked a lot like hatred. Pete recognized that look all too well. “Of course not, Wellie.”

Pete gritted his teeth but otherwise didn’t react. No way in hell he’d let someone who willingly chose to go by Flash get under his skin for a stupid nickname.

Flash slapped him on the shoulder and leaned forward. “It’s a promise,” he whispered and damn if a chill of dread didn’t race down Pete’s back because Flash Lawrence was doing a hell of a good job at pulling off menacing. He moved to walk past Pete but paused and added, “We’ll be watching.” Then he was gone.

The national anthem began to play and Pete whipped off his hat as Flash’s words echoed around his head. Had the kid caught wind of Pete slipping out of Chloe’s dressing room? Or was he simply fulfilling his brotherly duty?

Didn’t matter. Either way, Flash hadn’t told Pete anything he didn’t already know.

The Lawrences didn’t trust Pete.

They’d have to be total idiots to do so and, sadly, they weren’t that stupid. But Pete knew that’d be the case going in. For his plan to work, he didn’t need them to trust him.

He just needed a foot in the door and, for the time being, he had one.

He had to make the most of it because if he screwed this up, he’d never get his rodeo back.

* * *

The last of the crowd was filtering out under the starlit sky and the last chords of the last song were fading from the air when Chloe finally dragged her boots back to her dressing room, where Pete had been waiting for her for at least forty minutes. The sound from the concert back here had been distorted something awful, but he hadn’t wanted to risk Chloe trying to give him the slip.