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With the wine numbing her senses and her mother a safe distance away, the only thing she could think was that he was the most scrumptious thing she’d seen all day.
And boy, oh, boy, would she like to take a bite.
But then he opened his mouth, his deep Southern drawl sweet and dripping with charm, and the moment faded as she remembered why she’d opted for culinary school in lieu of burning the midnight oil at the honky-tonk.
Because it kept her far, far away from men like Cole Chisholm. The sexy, charming, let’s-get-naked-in-the-backseat types that oozed sex appeal and sweet compliments. The ones who were here today, gone tomorrow. The exact type her mother specialized in.
His sensual lips hinted at the most heart-stopping grin. “I knew it was just a matter of time before some pretty young thing followed me up here.” He patted the seat next to him. “Plant one right here, sugar. I’m all yours.”
2
COLE UNGER CHISHOLM wasn’t the kind of man to let a little misfortune ruin his entire day.
Hell, no. He was an optimist. A the-beer-bottle-is-half-full kind of guy. He just dodged the bullets of bad luck that fate aimed at him and kept moving.
The ordinary .22 kind. One shot. One hit.
But damned if it didn’t seem as if he was dodging a spray of buckshot tonight.
Sure, they’d found the last of the money out at Big Earl’s, but it would be another week and a half before they could actually turn it over to the sheriff. It seemed the man had been called out of town on a statewide manhunt that had started in Beaumont and was currently making its way toward Brownsville. All available law enforcement within a hundred-mile radius had been summoned to the scene. Since the most action Sheriff Hooker usually saw was the occasional Friday night drunk, he’d been more than ready to pack up his car and head for the real action, leaving his deputies in charge. Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Needless to say, Jesse had decided to wait until the sheriff returned to hand over the bank-heist money. Which meant Cole would not be rolling out of town tonight.
Even worse, he was stuck at the wedding for the next several hours until Jimmy and Jake tossed the garter and headed for the airport. Three more freakin’ hours. Why, Millie Van Horten had already cornered him twice to ask him to dance. Shae Rigby had brought him not one, but two slices of cake. And Jamie Lee Milburn had offered to give him a back rub.
And the really bad part was that he’d been this close to taking her up on her offer. His shoulders hurt like a sonofabitch after all that digging and a few magic fingers might actually make things bearable.
Thankfully, he’d come to his senses and told her he’d already promised his own back rub to Mary Lou Canter and Sharon Jenkins. And Christie Somerville. The idea? To show her what a disreputable guy he was and discourage her.
Like hell.
The more he played the wild and wicked player, the more determined each woman became to be the one to rope him in. It made sense. He was smack-dab in the middle of a wedding, for heaven’s sake. Every man in his right mind knew that women got a little crazy at weddings.
They saw the cake and bam, they wanted to be right there, cutting into the decadent layers, feeding it to the man of their dreams—that is, the nearest available bachelor.
Since his two brothers and every other member of the notorious Lost Boys were now officially spoken for, Cole was the only one still on the market.
The biggest catch this side of the Rio Grande or so the local About Town reporter had just scribbled on her pad during an interview a few minutes ago. No doubt tomorrow’s headline in the local Sunday paper. As if things weren’t bad enough already. Once tomorrow hit, he would be even more sought after than a hot, fresh-from-the-oven biscuit at a no-carbs convention. Every woman in town would be trying to drag him to the weekly church picnic.
While he liked a good barbecue as much as the next guy, he had no intention of showing up with any woman. That would be like hanging a sign on his back. Ready, willing and marriageable. He was none of the above, especially with less than four weeks until the national saddle-bronc championship. He was this close to winning another title—the title that would put him in the record books and solidify a spot in the saddle-bronc Hall of Fame—and he didn’t need any distractions. Even more, he wasn’t the marrying kind any more than his no-good, no-account father had been. The difference was, Cole had no problem admitting it.
Not that anyone seemed to believe it.
Despite the fact that he’d spent the past hour doing his damnedest to beef up his bad boy image and kiss goodbye his husband potential. He’d sucked down a few shots and danced it up with as many women as possible. But then his calves had started aching and his stomach had grumbled, and so he was here.
And so was she.
Nikki Barbie wasn’t wearing her usual black leather miniskirt or tight T-shirt, but she still looked every bit as sexy. She had long blond hair, bright blue eyes and a curvaceous body that did the Barbie name justice. Dark eye makeup emphasized her blue eyes and gave her that “come and do me” look. Pale pink lipstick plumped her already full lips. Everything about her screamed sex, which suited him to a T.
When he had his game face on, that is.
But he wasn’t beefing up his image at the moment. He was hiding from it.
Cole pasted on his most charming grin and hid the cake plate behind his back.
“Hey there, sugar.” He summoned his best panty-dropping drawl. “Nice dress.” He winked and went the extra mile to lay it on thick. “Or it would be if there was a lot less of it.”
“In your dreams.”
He grinned. “Every night.”
* * *
If only.
The thought struck Nikki just as Cole smiled again, and heat spiraled through her.
A crazy reaction considering Nikki was an ice queen when it came to men like Cole Chisholm. He dropped lines faster than a cow dropped patties. She knew it because she dropped a few of her own when she was out in public. Just to keep her image in check and her mother at arm’s length.
But it was useless flirtation that didn’t really mean anything, and no way should she actually be blushing because of it.
Because of him.
“Are you eating cake?” Nikki noticed the speck of frosting at the corner of his mouth.
He looked as if he wanted to deny it, but instead he finally shrugged. His right arm came around, revealing a crystal plate and a half-eaten piece of fluffy white cake. “Nothing wrong with a man enjoying a good dessert.”
Her gaze shifted to what looked like a large glass of chocolate milk sitting on the hay bale next to him. She arched an eyebrow. “A Back Burner? A Brown Cow? A Russian Six Shot?” She ticked off a few alcoholic drink possibilities because this was Cole Chisholm, of all people.
Wild.
Wicked.
Reckless.
He grinned. “You know it.”
“Which one?”
“The first one.”
Something about the way he said the words roused her suspicion. She stepped toward him, grabbed the glass before he could snatch it out of her reach and lifted it to her lips. “You’re drinking plain old chocolate milk,” she said after a quick whiff.
“Says you. I’ve got a ton of Everclear in there, sugar. That’s why you can’t smell it.”
“No, you don’t.” Understanding dawned. “You’re hiding in here so that no one will see you drinking chocolate milk and eating plain old wedding cake.”
“Darlin’, there’s nothing plain or old about this cake.”
“It’s vanilla. No filling. Plain.”
“And just what would you have done differently?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a chocolate ganache with a raspberry-liquor filling. A little crème fraîche on the side.”
“You’re a food snob.”
“I am not.” She averted her gaze. “I like a plain old piece of cake as much as the next person. I’m just not hungry right now.” Her gaze met his again. “Stop trying to change the subject.”
“Which is?”
“You’re hiding.”
“Says you.” He glanced past her. “No one saw you come out here, did they?”
“You are hiding.”
“It’s called self-preservation. There’s something going around out there and I don’t intend to catch it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Strep? Flu? Meningitis?”
“Mary Lou Harwell.” He shook his head. “She won’t leave me alone.”
“She’s young and nice and pretty. Trust me, you could have worse problems.”
“She wants me to father her children.”
She shrugged. “No one’s perfect.”
He grinned and her stomach hollowed out again. “So what’s the big deal with the cake and the milk? I could see if you were eating bean sprouts or quiche or something equally unmanly, but it’s just cake.”
“It’s cake and whole chocolate milk. As in wholesome.” His mouth drew into a thin line and he shook his head, as if he’d already said more than he wanted to.
“And Cole Chisholm can’t be wholesome?” she heard herself ask. As if she didn’t already know the answer. She’d spent more than one night with a beer bottle full of ginger ale back at the honky-tonk.
Cole didn’t seem as if he wanted to talk, but then he finally shrugged. “I’ve got an image to think of.” He walked back over to the hay bale and retrieved his plate.
“So chase the cake with a few whiskey shots and you’re good to go.”
He looked at her as if she’d grown two heads. “A man can’t eat cake with whiskey. Do you know how awful that would taste?”
“Apparently you’ve never had a good whiskey sauce poured over buttered pound cake.” Did she just say that out loud? “Not that I’ve ever tried anything like that. I’m more of a Twinkie girl.” Her hands tightened around the wine bottle and she barely resisted the urge to take another swig. But she’d already destroyed enough brain cells. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be spouting nonsense about whiskey sauce and crème fraîche, or any other dead giveaway that she was more than just a bar cook at the local honky-tonk. No, if she’d been thinking clearly, she would have kept her mouth shut. Even more, she would have turned on her heel and on Cole without so much as a backward glance.
At the moment, however, she couldn’t not look at him as he forked some cake and took a bite. The speck of sweet, decadent frosting still sat at the corner of his mouth as he chewed.
Nikki had the sudden urge to cross the few feet between them and taste the sweet icing. Her mouth watered and she tightened her fingers against the fierce hunger.
This is totally whacked. He’s not your type, remember? Even more, she had a refined palate. She’d sworn off any and all nongourmet when she’d registered for her first culinary class two years ago. She didn’t do cake. And she certainly didn’t do men like Cole Chisholm.
Unfortunately, her hormones had a very short memory and they couldn’t seem to get past the warmth in his smile and the twinkle in his violet eyes and the fact that she’d been totally celibate for much too long—since her one and only one-night stand with Mitch Schaeffer. The one-night stand that had simply confirmed what she’d already known in her heart. He’d been her first and her last.
Because Nikki wanted more than a few hours of hot, breath-stealing sex. She wanted a real boyfriend. A man to bring her flowers and make her breakfast and make her feel like more than just a sex object.
Not right now, of course. The last thing she needed was to tie herself down.
She had a future waiting for her, one well beyond the city limits of her desperately small town.
But someday...
Someday she would meet a good man, a faithful, honest and true sort who didn’t spend his Friday nights lighting it up at the local honky-tonk. She saw too many of those every weekend and it didn’t bode well for a healthy, monogamous relationship. No, when she settled down, it would be with a solid, dependable, tame man.
Cole Chisholm, with his womanizing reputation and his “here today, gone tomorrow” mentality, did not make the grade. Even if he did like whole chocolate milk.
Still, wrong or not, Cole Chisholm did smell terribly nice. Her nostrils flared and the butterflies in her stomach did a few somersaults.
She drew a deep breath and tried to ignore the crazy tilt to the floor. “I think I need to sit down.”
Cole grinned and patted the seat next to him. “Take a load off.”
She hesitated. “I’m not having sex with you.”
“See?” He held up the glass of milk. “I told you this stuff kills the old image.”
“I’m not having sex with you because I’ve had way too much sex tonight and I’m really tired.”
“Is that so?”
She shrugged. “A girl has to have some down time. Not that I don’t want to have sex with you. I totally would if my feet weren’t hurting so bad.” She wasn’t sure why she kept rambling except that with the music playing in the distance and his close proximity there seemed something oddly surreal about the moment. “I’d be all over you.”
“Ditto,” he murmured, downing a huge swallow of milk. He took a bite of cake and his eyes closed as if savoring the medley of flavors.
“It’s got real vanilla bean,” she blurted.
His eyes opened and collided with hers. “What?”
“The cake. That faint hint of flavor is vanilla bean. It’s April and Crystal’s favorite. They commissioned a baker in Austin to do it.” Even though Nikki could have totally nailed it herself. Her flavors had all been there, but she’d been nervous about her decorating skills. We’re talking a wedding cake, for heaven’s sake. That, and the last thing she needed was to tell the world that she’d been cooking up more in the honky-tonk’s kitchen than crispy fried pickles. “I’m working on my culinary degree,” she heard herself add when he kept staring at her.
What was she doing?
She wasn’t supposed to be blurting out her life story. She had an image to protect. A facade to perpetuate. She had to keep her game face on.
In front of a man drinking whole chocolate milk?
The truth registered and while she knew he was all about lovin’ and leavin’, he wasn’t going anywhere at the moment. No, he was looking at her as if he wanted to hear what she had to say. As if he wasn’t half as surprised as he was interested.
“I didn’t know you were going to culinary school.”
“No one does.” When he arched an eyebrow, she added, “My mother would freak. She thinks women have fought too hard to get out of the kitchen. She hates to cook. She watched my grandmother cook and clean herself into an early grave and she swore she wouldn’t make the same mistake. Cooking is right up there with being barefoot and pregnant.” A big no-no in Raylene’s book. Which was why Nikki and her sisters had grown up eating fast food.
Her mother would never understand her career choice any more than she would accept the fact that Nikki was breaking Barbie tradition and leaving home after finals.
