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“So they say.”
Her gaze narrowed for a split second. “You look different than you do in your poster.” She licked her full lips. “Better. Much better.”
He tipped his hat and gave her the famous Gunner Grin. “You’re not so bad yourself.” And then he did the one thing he would never have done if it had been any other night. He took a step forward and retrieved her tank top and jeans that were draped across a nearby chair. “As much as I’d like to take you up on the offer, I’m afraid now isn’t a good time.” He set her clothes on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll get my bus driver to fetch an autographed picture and a few rodeo passes for you?”
A pout tugged at her lush bottom lip. “But I’ve been waiting all this time for you.” She pushed up on her knees and the sheet fell to the bed. “I thought we could have a little fun. You do like to have fun, don’t you?”
Hell, yeah. Fun was his motto. He’d been wild and reckless from the get-go, hitting the rodeo circuit hard at the age of seventeen, and the local bars even harder after that. He lived to cut loose and live it up. Damn straight, he did.
At the same time, it was already this close to midnight and he was more than six hours away from home. That meant he would be on the road all night if he intended to reach Lost Gun by sunup.
He’d figured on leaving right after he’d run into that pretty little blonde wanting his autograph on a certain body part. Hell, he hadn’t even had the chance to imagine which part—her luscious breast or maybe one rounded hip or a tight ass cheek—before he’d been side-swiped by several Wrangler reps wanting to talk to him about yet another endorsement. They’d wasted over an hour and so now he was really pressed. That, and his back was aching something fierce. Jasper, one of the meanest bulls this side of the Rio Grande, had thrown him pretty hard after that last buzzer.
Not that a few aches and pains would have held him back from having some fun with his new bed partner. Hell, no. He would have ripped his clothes off in a heartbeat if tonight had been like any other.
But it wasn’t. His kid brother was counting on him to make it back to West Texas for his eighteenth birthday, and so time was of the essence.
“Thanks for the offer, sugar, but I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“What about that autograph?” Her voice followed him as he turned.
“Get dressed,” he called over his shoulder. “And it’ll be my pleasure.”
He started toward the front of the bus. He was halfway there when a different woman stepped out of the bathroom, a redhead with brown eyes and an interested smile. She wore a leather halter top, a miniskirt and a come-and-get-me-cowboy expression. She blocked his path and waved a Sharpie at him.
“I’ve been waiting for you—” She started the same spiel he’d heard after every rodeo since he’d won his first bull riding championship twelve years ago. She was ready and willing and able to do whatever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. In return for bragging rights and the ever-popular autograph, that is. He’d scribbled his signature on too many places to count—a hand, a thigh, a breast, a butt cheek. He’d even done matching autographs for the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders last year—left shoulder blade. Except for that one cheerleader. They’d needed someplace a lot more private than Cowboys Stadium for what she’d had in mind. And, being the ever-obliging cowboy, he’d gone out of his way to make her happy.
Then and now, he reminded himself. Even if the only thing he wanted to do at the moment was ice down his shoulder and pop a few Tylenols.
“—thought maybe you and I could get acquainted,” she went on. “I’ve been a fan for years and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do—”
“That’s great, sugar,” he cut in, giving her his infamous smile, “but I’ll have to take a rain check.” He sidestepped her and left her staring after him.
He wasn’t trying to be rude. Hell, he loved women. All women. Brunettes. Redheads. Blondes.
Especially blondes with green eyes.
His thoughts torpedoed back to the arena and the woman he’d stumbled into earlier. She’d been all stuffed up with her button-up blouse and stiff black skirt, her hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. Nothing like most of the buckle bunnies who hung out near the chutes. Then again, he’d learned never to judge a long time ago and so he knew the hands-off vibe he’d gotten off her had been just an act. Obviously a damned good one since he was still thinking about her. And her luscious body. And her eyes. She’d had the prettiest he’d ever seen. Rich. Potent. Mesmerizing. Like ripe pastureland after a month of April showers.
Her image haunted him for a few more heartbeats before he managed to tuck it away and focus on the situation at hand.
Women.
Yep, he loved ‘em and he never failed to make time. And he sure as hell didn’t mind signing autographs for each and every one. He loved his fans.
But this was different. It was crunch time. His younger brother’s birthday was tomorrow and Pete intended to be there when Wade rolled out of bed. He’d never let the kid down before and he sure as shootin’ wasn’t going to start now. Wade had seen enough disappointment in his young life. They both had.
“Don’t tell me,” Eli McGinnis said when Pete stepped off the bus and found him standing nearby. “One got past me.” Eli had a head full of steel-gray hair and a mustache to match. He wore a straw cowboy hat, a pearl-snap shirt and a pair of starched Wranglers. Word on the circuit had it that he was seventy-five if he was a day, but to hear Eli tell it he was barely legal. “Dammit to hell, I hate a crafty gal.”
“It was two gals,” Pete told his driver. “Aren’t you supposed to be standing guard until we’re ready to pull out?”
“I cain’t be standing around all day babysitting this big old bus like I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”
“That’s what I pay you for.” Eli had been working for Pete ever since the man had retired from the rodeo circuit himself. Pete had learned the ropes from Eli, so he owed him. He’d given him a job and a place to live after he’d retired. Eli had been a permanent fixture in his life ever since.
“You pay me to drive,” Eli reminded him. “Besides, you ain’t the only rooster in the bunch, you know.” He tugged at his pants and straightened his belt buckle. “Maybe I had a little female company that I just couldn’t turn down. A man like me’s got needs, ya know.”
Pete eyed him. “Bathroom break?” he finally asked.
“Funnel cake.” Eli swiped at the powdered sugar that clung to the corner of his mustache. “But just so’s you know, I surely ain’t lost my touch. That there cake was served up by a mighty nice-looking female named Justine.” He grinned. “Why, she gave me a few extra shakes of sugar and didn’t even charge me for ‘em.”
Before Pete could point out that Justine gave everybody extra shakes because she had a nervous condition that made her hands tremble, his two stowaways came sashaying off the bus. Pete spent the next few minutes signing two autographs—left shoulder blade and right bikini line—and posing for some quick pictures before managing to excuse himself and disappear back inside.
“Are they gone?” he asked when Eli finally climbed back inside the bus and powered the door shut behind him.
“For now, but I wouldn’t go counting my chickens just yet. One of them twittered or tweedled or some such nonsense and I saw a whole mess of females coming around the semi parked just behind us.” He shook his head. “Which means we’d better get the hell out of here ‘afore somebody else crawls up in here. It’s a helluva long way home.” Eli climbed behind the wheel and radioed security to clear a path.
A few seconds later, the bus rumbled forward and Pete breathed a sigh of relief.
Followed by a growl of aggravation when he walked into the bathroom a few minutes later and pulled back the shower curtain. And found yet another woman waiting for him.
The woman.
The stiff, conservative blonde with the pretty green eyes.
As irritated as he was, there was just something about the way she stared up at him that made him smile. Oddly enough, the fatigue slipped away and excitement rippled up his spine. “Determined to get that autograph, are you?”
She was the one to smile this time. A light sparked in her incredible green eyes and his heart skipped a beat. “You have no idea.”
3
“SO WHERE DO YOU WA NT IT?” Pete Gunner’s deep, sexy voice slid into her ears, skimmed along her nerve endings, and for a split second, Wendy forgot all about her job.
Her brain conjured a quick visual of his fingers working at the buttons of her blouse and his rough palm grazing her breast as he branded her with his touch.
She stiffened and reached for her briefcase. “Right here.” She pulled out the stack of papers and slapped them into his palm before she did something really stupid.
Like give in to the sudden heat slip-sliding up and down her spine, then rip off her clothes and press herself up against his hard, hot body.
Besides, she’d meant no matter what as in chasing him down and hiding out in his bus and cornering him when he had no easy means of escape. Not jumping him.
Not yet.
She ignored her crying hormones and steeled herself. “Just sign these and I’ll be out of your hair.”
He stared at the contract, his gaze drinking in the first page before colliding with hers. Surprise glittered in his bright blue eyes. “You’re from Western America?”
“Wendy Darlington. Marketing.” She held out her hand to shake, but he just kept staring at her as if she’d grown two heads.
“Darlington,” he murmured, seeming to turn the name over in his mind. “Wasn’t there a pitcher by the name of Mitch Darlington?”
“Daddy dearest.”
“No way.”
“Way. Now can we—”
“Say, didn’t he pitch for the Texas Rangers at one time?”
“And the Cubs and the Red Sox and a handful of others that have nothing to do with why I’m here. You agreed to sign and I’m here to make sure that happens.” She motioned to the documents in his hand. “There’s only one signature line on the last page, but there are several spots that you need to initial in between. Those are all marked.” She pulled out a pen and handed it to him. “Just sign it all and I’ll be out of your way. You can drop me at the next intersection.”
He seemed to contemplate her words for the next few moments while her heart beat a frantic rhythm. As if she feared he might refuse.
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. They had a verbal agreement and that was as good as gold. This was just a formality.
A formality that would keep her from getting canned.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she rushed on. “No surprises. The money’s all there. The terms are exactly what our lawyer spelled out.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get right on this.” An easy grin spread across his face. “Just as soon as I get cleaned up first.”
“You could just sign it now and be done with it.”
“You wouldn’t want me to sign something I haven’t read, now would you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then it’ll have to wait until after I take a shower.”
The words conjured an image of his hard, rippled, naked body. Water sluiced over him, running in rivulets down his golden skin—
Um, excuse me. You’re here to work, not fantasize.
Especially since Pete Gunner wasn’t even close to her fantasy man. She liked calm, mild-mannered, understated men. Like Jim. He was the staff accountant for Western and he made an amazing lasagna. He’d brought it to the last office party and everyone had oohed and ahed. He’d also invited her out a half-dozen times over the past year. Not that she’d accepted. She’d been so worried over the new line and Pete’s role as spokesman that she hadn’t wanted to spare the time.
That, and Jim was just about the most boring man she’d ever met.
She squelched the thought as soon as it struck.
Boring was good. Preferable to the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.
Then why are you standing here watching rodeo’s biggest womanizer take off his shirt?
Pete undid the last button of his shirt and reality smacked her. “W-what are you doing?”
“Taking a shower, remember?” He grinned and the shirt dropped to the floor, revealing a muscular chest sprinkled with silky hair. “Unless you plan on washing my back, I’d get while the getting is good.” He reached for the button on his jeans and she whirled. His laughter followed her out of the bathroom and into the living area of the bus.
A table stood to her left with a bench on one side and two plush-looking chairs on the other. She slid into one of the overstuffed chairs, plopped the papers down on the marble-topped table and drew a steadying breath.
Okay, so she’d had temporary brain malfunction. No big deal. She would simply reboot.
Pulling out a pen, she set everything out and flipped the page to the first spot he needed to initial. There. The moment Pete Gunner finished his precious shower, he would sign and she would head back to Houston.
Her job would be secure. Her life would be back on track. And she could finally breathe again.
Shifting her attention from the anxiety rippling in her stomach, she took a good long look at her surroundings. The motor coach was top-of-the-line with a rear bedroom, a full-size bathroom and a kitchen. A media center sat just to her left complete with a plasma TV, Blu-ray player and several other pieces of equipment that she couldn’t identify. And then there was her chair.
The softest, most supple leather she’d ever felt. It tugged at her backside, cushioning her tired muscles, lulling her to sink back. Relax.
Not.
She perched on the edge, fully alert, ready for the handsome cowboy to waltz out of the bathroom so she could save her ass.
At least that was the plan for the first five minutes. But then five turned to ten and ten to twenty, and her back started to ache. She braced herself, but it only made her more uncomfortable. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to scoot back just a little. There. That was better.
It’s not like she needed to be ready for a foot chase. She had him cornered. If he wanted to stall, fine. She would kick back and wait him out.
The bus rolled along and the hum of the shower echoed in her ears. Before she knew what was happening, her head started to feel heavy. She slumped forward once, twice. She jerked upright and glanced at her watch. Ugh. It was half-past midnight and she’d been up since six in the morning. To make matters worse, she’d been tossing and turning every night for the past six months thanks to a certain unreliable cowboy. With her job hanging in the balance, sleep hadn’t been a luxury she could afford. Not then and certainly not now.
She had to do this.
She yawned and fought to keep her eyes open. A battle she was destined to lose. The chair was too comfortable and the cowboy too damned slow, and suddenly there seemed nothing wrong with closing her eyes for just one teeny, tiny minute. Just to pass the time.
WHAT THE HELL was she doing here?
The thought echoed in Pete’s head as he stood under the shower and let the hot water beat down on his sore muscles.
Okay, so he knew what she was doing here. Western had been dogging him with those contracts for months now and they’d obviously gotten tired of waiting. He couldn’t blame them. They’d offered him one hell of a deal. One he’d be crazy to turn down. He would make more in one year as the Outlaw Outfitters spokesman than he’d made in the past three seasons on the circuit. Sure, it wasn’t nearly as much fun. But at least it didn’t hurt like hell.
He flexed his throbbing shoulder and tried to ignore the stab of pain that shot through him.
Signing was the best thing for him. He knew that.
Then stop fooling around and sign already.
He would.
He would haul his ass out there, read through everything, sign on the dotted line for the sexy little marketing exec who’d cornered him on his own bus, and be done with it.
With her.
At least that’s what he told himself when he finally climbed out of the shower, dried off and put on a pair of clean jeans.
He found her slumped in a chair, her eyes closed, her lips parted. A steady snore filtered through the air and a smile touched his lips. She was a little thing, but she sure could belt one out.
He didn’t blame her. He’d paid an arm and a leg for those chairs and he’d dozed off in them too many times to count. Particularly after a night like tonight.
He sank down in the chair nearest her and shifted his attention to the papers spread out on the table. Snatching up the copy, he kicked back and turned to the first page.
