Tex Appeal (11 page)

T
ESS
watched him struggle to find a response he could live with. Then again, he could have been struggling to get out of answering at all, not wanting to share something that personal. But somehow she didn’t think so.

Something made her think that he’d kept himself bottled up in solitude for so long that he wasn’t comfortable letting anything of himself out. And that couldn’t do anything but put off a woman’s interest.

What she hadn’t expected was for him to turn the question around on her. “What about you? You’re degreed, successful, an amazing kisser and that car you drive speaks clearly about the money you come from—”

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “That car is all about the money I make, cowboy. Remember the degreed and successful part?”

Again with the tactical evasion. “Mostly I remember the kissing part.”

Well, if he insisted on bringing it up…

She didn’t think she’d dreamed or imagined how good he’d tasted, the wonderful movements of his mouth over hers, his tongue doing all the things a tongue should do. But knowing that what they’d shared stuck in his mind as well thrilled her beyond reason.

She looked down, stared at spots worn through the speckled flooring. “The kissing part was not the smartest thing in the world we could’ve done. If I want to present an unbiased look at the cowboy’s side of the story, I need to maintain a certain detachment.”

His boots scuffed against the vinyl as he shifted his stance. “You’re not allowed to feel passionate about your subject?”

“Subject matter, sure. Not the subject himself.” Though how easy had it been to do just that? And, oh, how much more passion did she have to give.

“Ah, but you’re not interviewing me, remember?” he reminded her with no small hint of how he enjoyed his upper hand. “The deal was that you only talk to my men.”

An agreement she regretted making, but how could she have known he’d be the one to rouse her curiosity the most?

Sidestepping the topic of the kiss, she queried him about more of last night’s conversation. “Then since you’re not a part of my column, there’s no reason for you not to tell me what turned a high-profile guy into a loner.”

She wanted to know. She really wanted to know. She didn’t believe for a minute it was only about the women who wanted to mount him as a trophy…so to speak.

He walked across the room to the coffeemaker and sniffed at the liquid in the stainless-steel carafe. She knew Buck had put the pot on to brew before they’d talked, so when Wyatt offered to pour her a cup, she accepted.

Tess didn’t need the caffeine; her stomach was already in knots, her energy wired high. But fixing the cup the way she liked it kept her from pressing him for a response. She had to give him time. Time and patience would get her what she wanted.

Once they’d both added cream and sugar and were sitting across from one another at the end of the table, he began. “I haven’t made a conscious choice to be a loner. I don’t even think of myself as one, though I can see why you might.”

She didn’t say anything to that, just wrapped both hands around her mug and lifted it, blowing across the surface as she waited for him to go on.

“We deal with stock contractors, event coordinators, others with a vested interest in rodeo. For the most part, they’re good people, but like with anything, a few bad apples spoil the barrel for the rest.” He spun his cup back and forth on the table, from one hand to the other. “They want favors and perks, and they’ll use any connections they have to get things to go their way.”

“And you don’t want them coming to do business with the Lawman. Or looking to be given any advantage for old times’ sake,” she said, beginning to understand more of what he probably faced on a regular basis—or would have faced had he not taken steps to remove himself from the picture.

He nodded, still toying with his mug. “I want them to come here to do business with the ranch, not with me. Our reputation needs to be based on the quality of the work we do here, and that of the stock we provide.”

“Just to play devil’s advocate—” because it was what she did often in her line of work “—wouldn’t your old reputation bring you legitimate customers and inquiries as well? From people who would trust your judgment and prefer to do business with someone who has an inside track?”

He drank, then returned his mug to the table, shaking his head. “It would, but this way has worked well for us. I don’t need the ego stroke of having my name attached to the ranch. Running things the way we’ve been doing seems to be the best solution all the way around.”

“Plus, it does keep the hard-core bunnies from stalking you,” she said, digging a bit deeper, a bit more pointedly, hoping he didn’t shut down since she’d agreed not to include him in her interview.

He clamped his mouth shut as if there were a story in there wanting to get out. So, of course, she pried further. “Did it make you feel like a rock star? Knowing they’d be waiting for you after every performance?”

Even though he had to know exactly what she was doing, he answered her seriously, surprising her by not dodging her questions. “For a while, sure. But there’s a point where it gets…eerie, I guess.”

Eerie? “How so?”

“It feels like you’ve picked up a stalker instead of an admirer. Most of the women know the score. They don’t want anything but to have a good time. Others don’t understand the way the game is played.”

He was talking about the ones who wanted more than a night or two in a champion’s bed. Tess had met them. They thought sleeping with a cowboy was more than an exchange of sexual favors. They thought they were giving the men something they couldn’t live without, couldn’t get from anyone else, were on the road hoping to find.

They formed wrongly motivated emotional attachments. They role-played, forgetting the line between real life and make-believe. Some grew obsessive, and obviously Wyatt had run into the type who didn’t want to let him go.

From where she was sitting, Tess had to admit she wouldn’t have a lot of trouble walking a mile—or ten—in those women’s shoes, and she hadn’t yet spent time in his bed—a thought she cut short before it got her into trouble.

Then he surprised her by adding, “And there are some who’ll drop a cowboy the minute he loses a title or an event. That’s all they want. His limelight.”

Well, now. That was unexpected. She’d hadn’t thought about the possibility that his retreat, his reclusiveness was about being hurt emotionally as much as physically. “What do you do now for companionship?”

He snorted. “By companionship I’m assuming you’re talking about sex? Not the camaraderie I share with the guys?”

She forced a careless shrug and stared at her coffee, trying to make less of the subject than it seemed to be. But now she had to admit to wondering whether his heart was as free and clear as his body. “Not that it’s any of my business…”

“It’s not.”

Arrogant man. “And not that I’m going to use the information in my article…”

“You’re not.”

Bossy man. “It’s just that I was wondering…”

“You were wondering if you’d be stepping on anyone’s toes if we slept together.”

Intuitive man. “Not that it’s going to happen…”

“Sure it is. We both know it is.”

“Oh?” The way he said it, as if there was no question that they’d end up in bed, was as intoxicating as last night’s rum, as warming as the fire she’d watched flicker and spark while she’d sat beside him.

He went on, “It’s been coming on since the road. That’s where it started. You watching me. Me watching you. Or before that, with the phone call, and you telling me that celibacy was for the birds.”

He paused as if giving her a chance to deny the obvious, continuing when she remained mum. “C’mon, Tess. Isn’t that how most of these things work?”

She loved hearing him speak her name. Loved the gritty edge to his voice, how he used the one word, rawly spoken, to take this conversation from impersonal to intimate. Then again, she’d gone there when she’d asked about his sex life, and told him about hers.

Her stomach tumbled. “You’ve had a lot more experience with being watched than I have. You tell me.”

“That’s not the sort of watching I’m talking about,” he said, his tone low, potent, intense. “Not performing. Not in an arena. Not with an audience.”

“Then what?” she asked, because as much as she loved listening to him, she loved even more the way he was looking at her, watching her now.

“In a bar. You’re sitting on a stool, or at a table with your girlfriends. Especially with your girlfriends, talking, laughing. You attract a man’s attention. You make eye contact. Now
your
attention is divided.

“You can’t keep up with the conversation at the table because you’re wondering what he’s thinking, if he wants to meet you, maybe have a drink. But neither one of you make a move. You’re both caught up in the watching.”

When he stopped, she was finally able to draw a breath. Her skin beneath her sweatshirt was hot and damp. Her heart was spinning in her chest. Oh, what was he doing to her? “How would you know I’d be thinking any of that?”

His eyes flashed, the color that of stormy skies. “A woman I once knew. She told me that’s how it was.”

That woman he’d known—she’d been pretty damn on the mark. Tess hadn’t experienced it often, but there were a couple of incidents she’d often looked back on, wondering what might have happened had she made a move, left Claire, Alexandra and Windy behind and met the man watching her from his table.

But all of those memories paled in the face of having Wyatt watching her now. And she couldn’t deny her curiosity, her arousal, or keep from asking him, “What about from the man’s point of view? What’s going on in his head all this time?”

Wyatt set his mug on the table, placed his hands on either side as if the contact with the wooden surface was the only thing keeping him in his chair, the only thing keeping her safe.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he finally asked, and Tess didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

W
YATT LOOKED
into her eyes. He had to know, had to be sure she knew what her answer meant. He wasn’t going to hurt her or frighten her or force her to do anything except to face the truth of his wanting her. Anything that might happen between them because of it would be her call.

He started slowly. “I would be thinking about walking over to you and offering you my hand.”

“And if I took it?”

“I’d pull you to your feet. What happened next would depend on whether or not we’re really in public or whether we’ve moved into my fantasies.”

“What if it’s the here and now?” she asked, her voice breathless and husky, as if her anticipation of his response had taken her into a fantasy world of her own.

Ah, hell,
he thought, realizing she’d just given him the go-ahead he’d wanted. She was smart and sexy and easy to talk to, and the minute they took things any further, he’d be in over his head.

And after all he’d done to protect himself and his privacy, to keep from getting involved and ending up plastered face-first in the dirt…after all of it, he was falling for a woman who wasn’t going to be around but four days.

Four days.

And he’d been worried about
her
wanting more time.

Wyatt reached across the table for Tess’s hand, and once her palm was flat to his, he closed his fingers and got to his feet, holding her while he circled around to her side and drew her up against him.

She didn’t resist when he moved his hands to her waist and lifted her to sit on the table’s edge, but instead parted her legs, inviting him between, and hooked her heels behind his thighs to make sure he stayed.

He had no intention of going anywhere unless he dragged her out of the kitchen to bed. But he didn’t mind at all that she wanted him close. Or that she slipped her fingers through his belt loops, refusing to let him go.

“For being all about the here and now, I gotta say this is a hell of a fantasy,” he said, his voice tight and raspy, an ache in his throat. He rested his hands on her thighs just shy of the crease at her hip.

“I’d say it’s a hell of a reality,” she told him, doing that thing with her lip and her teeth and her tongue, that thing that made him ache. “You’re certainly not what I was expecting to find during my visit.”

He let her words settle, surprised that his first reaction wasn’t to close down, that his second wasn’t to bolt. Still, he had to know—“What do you think you’ve found?”

“I don’t know. A kindred spirit, maybe? You get what it’s like not to trust easily, to wonder what’s behind someone’s interest, whether their motives for being with you have anything to do with who you really are, or if it’s only about what you can give them.”

It was the truth, all of it. He appreciated that she understood. “You know you haven’t once questioned mine. I told you I’d looked into you. Aren’t you worried that I might be after more than getting you into bed?”

“No,” she said, tugging his belt loops. “You agreed to let me come before you knew any of that. And you have no reason to need my family’s name and social connections.”

“What about your money?”

She knew he was teasing her. He saw it in her quirky smile. “I’m only guessing here, but I doubt you have need of that either.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“With the rest of today, tomorrow and Monday to enjoy this fantasy,” she said, suddenly pragmatic.

He frowned. “I thought you said it was reality.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because if it was real, we wouldn’t be dealing with a time limit.”

“We don’t have to.”

“Even though you set it?”

“I changed my mind.” Four days wasn’t going to be enough time.

“Maybe you should wait and see if I’m any good in bed before you do that.”

“No need,” he said, shaking his head and sliding his hands beneath her sweatshirt, settling his palms on her rib cage just beneath her breasts. “A man doesn’t have to get a woman into bed to know if she’ll be a good time. At least the kind of good time worth having. One that’s about more than a handy warm-and-willing body.”

She sighed, shivered. “The best sex really is between the ears?”

“Like I said. The kind that’s worth having.”

“And you like what goes on in my head?”

More so that she could possibly imagine. Talking to her had given him more pleasure than any exchange—physical or otherwise—he’d had with a woman in a while. He nodded, then dropped his head close to her shoulder, his mouth to her neck at the band of her shirt.

She moaned, tilted her head to the side as he nuzzled, giving him more access and more reason to go on. “I’m not sure we have much in common. I don’t know a thing about rodeo.”

“I can teach you.” He nibbled her skin, bathed the spot with his tongue. She tasted like early-morning mist and water, clear and pure.

She moved her hands from his belt loops to his waist, gathering the fabric of his shirt in her fists. “What if I don’t really care about rodeo?”

“I know enough for both of us.”

“It won’t work. My practice is in Houston.”

“You can commute.”

“It’s too far. And I love my condo.”

“I can commute.”

“No you can’t. You live and breathe this place.”

“Right now, I want to live and breathe you.” He wanted it more than anything he’d wanted in years, more than he’d imagined wanting it when he’d seen her on the road that morning.

“That’s fine. It’s just a fantasy, remember?” she said, her hands creeping up his sides, her fingers walking along his ribs, his chest, reaching for the snaps on his shirt, popping one, then another—

Steps sounded on the porch outside.

Wyatt jumped back as if dodging the horns of a bull. Tess leaped off the table, straightened her sweatshirt, patted down then fluffed her hair. Wyatt picked up their mugs and carried them to the sink.

He was rinsing them and willing down his erection when Teddy Jacobs opened the door. The young cowboy had been a champion steer wrestler until one of the animals had taken a liking to his boots and tried to make room for his own hoof by slamming Teddy’s ankle out of the way.

“Want a cup of coffee, Teddy?” Wyatt asked. “I was just going to get another for Dr. Autrey here.”

“It’s Tess, please. Just Tess.”

“Sure,” Teddy said, pulling his hat from his head and worrying the brim in his hands. “Sorry if I’m early. I finished up with the stirrups needing mending and decided to head on over.”

“Your timing is perfect,” Tess told him. “Besides, this needs to be convenient for you more than for me. I don’t want to get in the way of your work schedule. Your boss was just checking to make sure I kept that in mind.”

Wyatt set the freshly poured cups on the table, slapped Teddy on the shoulder and headed for the door. He turned to Tess before leaving and said, “I may not make it to supper tonight, but I’ll check in with you when I get back, see if there’s anything you need before calling it a night.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer. He saw all he needed to see in her eyes.

I
T WAS
almost ten by the time Wyatt finished for the day, got Fargo brushed down and bedded, and began making his way from the barn to the house.

He’d spent a lot of hours this afternoon thinking about what had happened in the kitchen with Tess, how they hadn’t crossed a single line of impropriety, yet how he couldn’t get the heat of the moment off his mind.

Yeah, he’d nuzzled her neck, breathing in that fresh springtime smell that he thought was just her scent rather than any soap or shampoo or perfume. And, yeah, her fingers had teased him, had reached to undress him, but she hadn’t done anything more than play with his snaps.

He’d had his hands beneath her sweatshirt, and the skin of her stomach had been so warm and beautifully soft, but he hadn’t gone up or down into forbidden territory. And still he couldn’t remember another woman ever bringing him to a boiling point with such innocent contact.

What that said about his feelings for her, he couldn’t be sure. It was too soon, or so he told himself, thinking love at first sight too crazy a concept to possibly be true. Lust, sure. That he had no trouble believing in. So it didn’t make sense that from the bottom of his heart he felt more. He really, truly felt more. And that scared him in ways he couldn’t put into words.

He was halfway across the yard when he caught sight of Tess at the back fence, her feet on the bottom rung, her crossed arms hooked over the top one as she stared off into the darkness. He changed direction midstride, slowing as he closed the distance between them, clearing his throat softly so he wouldn’t frighten her with his approach.

She didn’t turn, but she did step down to the ground, curling her fingers over the fence board and resting her cheek on her hand. She smiled when he finally reached her. “I didn’t realize talking about fantasies was going to scare you off for the rest of the day.”

Wyatt braced a boot on the bottom rung, pushed his hat off his forehead, and held the top of the post with one hand, as close to her as he could get without more than the fabric of their clothes touching. “Believe it or not, I was working. And I didn’t have an easy time of it out there all day knowing you were waiting here.”

He stopped himself from adding, “for me.” He wanted to be sure she was in this as completely as he was, and that she understood he’d been serious when he’d told her he’d changed his mind, but he knew that if he went too fast, pressed too hard, it wouldn’t take much to send her running.

“Me waiting for you. Is that still part of the fantasy from earlier?” she asked, her voice soft, her eyes warm, both inviting him to take her inside.

He would. He wanted to get her out of the cold, into the shower and then into his bed. But he wasn’t going to lie. Not when this was the most important step he’d taken toward starting a relationship in years.

And so he shook his head. “No. No fantasy. It’s one-hundred percent reality. You just have to let me know if you’re ready for that.”