High-Stakes Passion

“I don't have any money left,” Mark said.

“Well, I guess you could bet something besides money.”

“Like what?”

Audrey stopped smiling and looked directly into Mark's brooding blue eyes. “If I win…you stop drinking,” she said, “and you shave that awful beard!”

“What the hell kind of bet is that?”

“If you don't think you can do it—”

“Okay, Ms. High-Stakes Player, let's say we up the ante.”

“What do you mean?”

It was Mark's turn to look smug as he clasped his hands behind his head. “I'll see your bet by shaving my beard and I raise it by getting off the booze. Now, see my raise by wagering something
I
want, or fold.”

Surely he didn't want…. “Um, what do you have in mind?”

His smoldering gaze slid down her body. “I think you know exactly what
I
want. Now, do you fold, or play?”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another scintillating month of passionate reads. Silhouette Desire has a fabulous lineup of books, beginning with
Society-Page Seduction
by Maureen Child, the newest title in DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS. You'll love the surprises this dynamic family has in store for you…and each other. And welcome back
New York Times
bestselling author Joan Hohl, who returns to Desire with the long-awaited
A Man Apart,
the story of Mitch Grainger—a man we guarantee won't be alone for long!

The wonderful Dixie Browning concludes her DIVAS WHO DISH series with the highly provocative
Her Fifth Husband?
(Don't you want to know what happened to grooms one through four?) Cait London is back with another title in her HEARTBREAKERS series, with
Total Package
. The wonderful Anna DePalo gives us an alpha male to die for, in
Under the Tycoon's Protection.
And finally, we're proud to introduce author Juliet Burns as she makes her publishing debut with
High-Stakes Passion.

Here's hoping you enjoy all that Silhouette Desire has to offer you…this month and all the months to come!

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor

Silhouette Desire

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

“I'
ve missed you, darlin',” a deep voice mumbled as a large, masculine body pressed against Audrey's back.

She yelped and tried to move, but his hand stole around her waist. His warm lips nuzzled her neck and sent a tingle down her spine. Audrey was too stunned to move.

The man grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “I need you tonight, baby.” The man's words were slurred, and the smell of beer wafted from his breath, but the yearning in his voice kept her from reacting. He lowered his mouth to hers and captured her lips in a deep and thorough kiss.

His firm mouth moved over hers and he pulled her closer. When his hand slid down to squeeze her bottom, she snapped out of her haze. In one swift move she pulled her lips from his, shoved against his chest and kicked his shin.

She grabbed a knife from the block on the counter behind her as he stumbled backward. She was alone in a strange house. The only person who knew she was here was her editor.

“Damn, woman!” the man bellowed as he leaned against the kitchen island. He grasped his right leg with both hands. Long hair covered half his face, but she saw his eyes squeeze shut and his face twist in a grimace of pain.

“Jeez, you didn't have to do that.” His jeans and flannel shirt were rumpled, and his jaw was covered in heavy stubble. Maybe she should rethink this posing-as-a-housekeeper idea. Surely there was a safer way to earn a promotion to staff writer.

Her hands trembled. “You—you grabbed me.” Her voice shook and she couldn't catch a breath. This couldn't be the famous rodeo champion she'd come here to interview.

His eyes opened wide and his brows rose. He scowled at the knife. “Put that thing down. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

With a jolt of disbelief, she recognized his beautiful blue eyes. Her stomach pitched. It couldn't be.

Mark Malone.
The Lone Cowboy.

The reclusive cowboy had been thrown from a bull in Cheyenne five months ago. The last anyone had seen of Mark Malone, he was being carried out of the rodeo arena on a stretcher. His press agent had since refused all interviews. Audrey had pictured him in a wheelchair, or worse.

“You're him! I mean…it's you.”

“I'm who?” Mark rubbed his aching shin as the woman dropped the knife to the floor. Not that she'd needed any weapon besides her lethal kick. She sure as hell wasn't Jo Beth. He should've known Jo wouldn't show up out here.
After the accident, she'd moved on to the next rodeo star. He hobbled to a chair, pulled it out and dropped into it.

“You're the
Lone Cowboy.
”

He sneered. “Not anymore.” Mark took in the woman's stained, baggy sweats and disheveled hair. How the hell had she gotten in? Was she a crazy fan? A reporter? Who else would show up at his ranch uninvited? “Who are you?”

Her brows rose and she pointed at herself. “I'm the new housekeeper.” The last word rose to a higher octave, as if she were asking him.

“Housekeeper? My foreman never mentioned anything about another housekeeper.” He peered at her more closely, taking in the figure her sweatshirt couldn't disguise. Too young, too…

“Maybe you were too drunk to remember the conversation!” She gasped, and clamped both hands over her mouth, eyes widening.

Too interfering! Mark glared through narrowed lids. She was accusing him of being a drunk? Hell, after the news the doctor had given him today, he'd had cause for a few longnecks. “Even if he did hire you, you're fired. I don't want you here.” If he was going to live with pain the rest of his life, he wanted to get drunk in peace.

Her eyes enlarged even further. She stooped to retrieve the knife and turned her back to him, dropping it in the sink with a clatter. “John
did
hire me. You can confirm my employment with him. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but—”

“If? Lady, you damn near—” He'd been about to say she'd crippled him. But he was already a cripple. “You're a menace! Just go back to wherever you came from. I don't need a housekeeper.”

She rounded on him, hands propped on her curvy hips.
“You need more than a housekeeper. You need a miracle!” The spitfire brushed past him and stomped out of the kitchen.

That took care of that. The last thing he wanted was some busybody snooping around. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, headed for the den and slumped in his recliner. Might as well finish what he'd started. His damn leg was killing him.

A half hour later, the whiskey had done its work. Feeling no pain, Mark was half watching some late-night talk show. Out of the dark, someone yanked the remote from his hand.

He looked up as John turned off the TV. “The new housekeeper just called. Said you fired her.”

“I don't want her here. She's too…snippety.” John was more than his foreman. He was the closest thing Mark had to a father.

John sighed. “Mark, when was the last time you ate something decent?”

Mark leaned up and grabbed the remote, snapping the TV back on. “I'm fine.”

“Well, I'm not! I can't stand to see you this way!”

Jaw clenched, Mark stared at the television.

John moved between him and the big screen, folding his arms over his chest. “Look, son. I tried being patient. I know life's dealt you some lousy hands. But you never let it beat you before. You gotta cowboy up.”

“Let it go, John,” Mark said through gritted teeth. The only thing he'd ever been good at, the only thing that made him forget who he really was, had ended. He just wanted to be left the hell alone.

Shaking his head, John cursed under his breath, something Mark had rarely heard him do. “Have it your way. Hide from the world. But if you want me to stay on, the housekeeper stays, too. We've already had two quit, and
you need this place cleaned up if you want to sell. We're lucky this one even walked past the front hall.” John stared at him a minute, threw up his hands and headed for the door.

Mark scowled. Would John really quit? Mark did want to unload this parcel of pipe dreams. He supposed for two weeks, just until roundup was over…

“John,” he called after him. When the foreman turned around, Mark forced himself to meet the look of disappointment in his eyes. “All right. She can stay.”

 

After John called her back, Audrey shed her clothes and fell into bed, only to stare at the ceiling. She'd spent all day scrubbing the kitchen, and every muscle in her body ached. But that's not what kept her awake.

All the fantasies she'd had of her hero had met a quick, painful death. If she hadn't been so desperate to get this story, she'd have turned around and headed back to Dallas.

Disillusionment tightened her throat. She'd arrived at the
Lone Cowboy's
ranch this morning envisioning romantic western decor, but the house had looked more like the scene of a barroom brawl. The odor of stale food, flat beer and cigarette smoke permeated the rooms. The kitchen table had been covered with fast-food trash, overflowing ashtrays and empty beer bottles.

She took a deep breath, turned and bunched her pillow. She couldn't believe that disheveled drunk was the same hero who'd rescued her all those years ago. Closing her eyes, she remembered the night she'd first met him.

She'd been curled up in his stallion's stall to write her article for the school paper…

“Hey, fatso! Aren't you in the wrong building? The hogs are over there!” Raucous laughter followed the taunt.

Audrey flinched and broke the tip off her pencil. Oh, God. Not again. It was the same pack of teenage boys who'd harassed her at the concession stand. She squared her shoulders and stood to face them.

The bullies advanced, making snorting noises.

Audrey clutched her notebook to her chest, forcing herself to hold her ground. “Get lost, losers!”

The leader's eyes flashed and he advanced on her.

“What are y'all doing in here?” a deep voice bellowed from the stall's doorway.

The boys spun around to face a tall, broad-shouldered man.

She caught her breath. It was him. Mark Malone.

His white, long-sleeved western shirt stretched across a strong chest and broad shoulders that only emphasized his slim hips. Leather chaps hugged his long, muscular thighs and drew attention to the very male area covered only by his blue jeans.

Audrey was mesmerized.

“None of your business, man,” the boy in the middle retorted.

Mark Malone's gaze traveled past the group of boys, landed on Audrey for a moment, then shot to the one who'd spoken. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

In a split second he reached out, grabbed the boy's shirtfront and yanked him up, nose to nose. He spoke through clenched teeth. “I make my living riding bulls. You know what that means?”

The boy's eyes bugged out and he shook his head frantically, choking on the tight grip around his throat.

“That means I don't care whether I live or die.” Mark punctuated the sentence by jerking on the boy's shirt. “I'll take you out back right now and whip all five of your butts
without a second thought.” Mark dropped the ringleader and he stumbled back, glaring, but silent. The boys exchanged glances and scrambled away.

The scent of soap and subtle, musky cologne followed him as he approached. “Are you all right?” he asked gently. His black Stetson shaded a strong, square jaw covered with five-o'clock shadow.

Her breathing hitched as she looked up into his deep blue eyes.

He swiped off his hat, revealing chestnut hair that curled just above his collar. Her stomach did a strange flip-flop. He held out his hand, beckoning her as he had in her dreams. “It's okay, they're gone now.”

She'd learned to accept her plain face and pudgy body a long time ago, but right now she desperately wished she were beautiful and thin like her sisters. A familiar dull ache settled in her chest.

When she gathered her wits and took his large, callused hand, electric currents shot up her arm.

“Come on, I'll walk you back to the Coliseum.” The Fort Worth skyline twinkled behind him as they headed for the arena. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.” Way too young for the twenty-year-old rising rodeo star. Audrey looked at the dusty ground and swallowed. “Thank you for what you did back there.”

When he didn't answer, she glanced back up at him. The expression in his eyes was old and weary. “That's what us heroes are for, right?”

She stopped and frowned at his sarcastic tone.

Mark brought his hand up to squeeze her arm and kept it there. The heat from his touch raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “Come on, let's get you back.”

A shrill voice called from a few feet away, “Mark! It's
getting late, sweetie, and you promised to take me to Billy Bob's.”

He dropped his hand from Audrey's arm and glanced behind him at a beautiful brunette. He looked back at Audrey, shrugged and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You'll be all right now?”

At her nod, he pressed her hand once more, flashed a dazzling smile, turned and sauntered off.

This time, the ending changed. Mark came back, scooped her up in his arms and took her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

Audrey raised her arms to draw him closer, but an annoying beeping interrupted her, snatching her out of the sensuous dream. She rolled over to turn off the alarm. Four o'clock. She groaned. Time to start breakfast.

 

Mark woke up sometime close to dawn, stiff from sleeping in the recliner. Damn it! His calf muscle cramped, and he reached down to knead his right leg. He stumbled down the hall to the bathroom in search of aspirin. Flipping on the light caused spears of pain to shoot through his eyelids. He splashed water on his face, ran his hands through his hair and grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. Water dripped off his beard, and his eyes were so red they looked like miniature road maps.

Easy to see why that woman hadn't recognized the
Lone Cowboy.
Guess he had let himself go the last couple of weeks. No wonder John was disgusted. Hell, he disgusted himself.

Mark swallowed the aspirin and left the bathroom. He flopped on the bed, squinting at the daylight filtering through the blinds. A vague memory of luscious lips, a plump, rounded breast and a clean, citrus smell invaded
his mind. He'd never get back to sleep now. He was too restless.

Aw, hell. Had he really groped that poor woman last night? What an ass he'd made of himself. He'd clean up, go find her and then apologize. Rolling over to sit up, he groaned and grabbed his head.

Apologies could wait until the aspirin kicked in.

 

Audrey descended the stairs carefully, exhausted. As she entered the kitchen, the memory of Mark's kiss washed over her. Even drunk, he'd taken her breath away. The memory of his hard body pressing against her sent a wave of desire through her. Mark Malone certainly hadn't seemed injured.

She shook herself back to reality and set an industrial-size pot of coffee on to brew. Frying sausage in a skillet, she concentrated on her mission. Why had he been drinking last night? She'd never heard of him being a wild party animal. Even in his younger days, he'd had a squeaky-clean image. Several early interviews had told of how he used his personal jet to fly foster children to the national rodeo finals, and made a home on his ranch for retired broncs and bulls.

She kneaded the dough for biscuits and popped them in the oven, then opened the refrigerator. A case of beer sat front and center. She shoved it aside and reached for the carton of eggs. At twenty-nine, he'd had a long career for a bull rider. He could have retired even without the accident. What kind of injuries had he sustained?