KILLER COWBOY CHARM Read online

  Clint said nothing. He couldn't very well deny he was in a sour mood. He'd work on it before he saw Meg again.

  "She's pretty."

  The comment had been made so quietly that Clint had to glance over and see if Tuck had actually spoken. "You say something?"

  "I said she's real pretty. Can't believe that point is entirely lost on you."

  "I suppose not." Clint returned his attention to the view out the windshield. Pretty didn't even begin to cover how he saw Meg. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, and that was both with or without her clothes. He might have been better off without that knowledge, but he didn't regret one second of the time he'd had with her.

  "You two looked mighty fine together when you came walking down the hill to the bunkhouse this morning."

  "So what?"

  "Nothing." Tuck found a parking spot in the dirt lot in back of the grandstand. "Just making an observation."

  Clint found it ludicrous that Tuck seemed to be in a matchmaking frame of mind, but that was how he was coming across. That whole business with the cushion placement the night before might have been part of some harebrained attempt to create a romance.

  But they'd had sex, not romance, and that was all they'd ever have. Tuck needed to back off. Clint turned to him. "Let me make an observation, then. Meg and I have absolutely nothing in common. She's a big-time TV celebrity and I'm just … a cowboy. So whatever crazy things are going through your mind, forget it."

  Tuck held up both hands. "I'm not thinking anything!"

  "Good. Thanks for the ride." Taking a deep breath, Clint got out of the truck. No matter how much effort it took, he would be cheerful for the rest of the day. Anyone he met from now on would be greeted with a shit-eating grin, even if it killed him.

  Four hours later, he'd concluded that it just might. He had grinned so damned much his jaw ached. They'd finished at the rodeo grounds and most of the people had come back to the Circle W for a picnic lunch Jose had thrown together. Then Meg had set up in the living room so that she could do individual interviews with the cowboys. They each had fifteen minutes with her.

  Clint had helped Jose clean up after lunch, and he was constantly aware of Meg in there talking quietly with the contestants. He told himself that being jealous served no purpose whatsoever, but those interviews were too damned cozy to suit him.

  The living room belonged to him and Meg. It was their special place, and nobody else should be in there alone with her. Then he had a horrible thought—that Meg might have propositioned any guy she'd been stuck with last night, considering that she'd finally had a chance to escape her role of wholesome TV personality for a few hours. No, he couldn't believe that. They'd shared something special.

  Yet that something special seemed to be slipping away with every minute that passed. When he overheard Meg telling Denny she was looking for that "killer cowboy charm," he decided to head for the hills. On top of battling jealousy, he'd rather not listen while Meg commercialized everything he held dear. He needed to take his gelding Nugget for a long ride instead of hanging around the ranch house.

  The weather had turned cooler, so he went back to his bedroom, once again ignoring the rumpled bed, and took his denim jacket out of the closet. Adjusting the lamb's-wool collar, he walked through the living room on his way out the back door. He hadn't intended to speak to Meg, because she seemed involved in her interview with Denny.

  But as he was leaving, she called after him. "Um, Clint, you look as if you're taking off somewhere."

  He turned back. "Thought I'd go for a ride and check the fence." It was a lame excuse, which Denny would realize but she wouldn't. Now that they weren't running cattle, the condition of the fence wasn't nearly as important. He still checked it out of habit, but not often, and he'd been around the perimeter just last month.

  "Oh." She cleared her throat. "Well, I don't want to interfere with the running of the ranch."

  "Is there something you need?" How dumb that they were standing there talking to each other like polite acquaintances when the night before they'd been moaning in the grip of mutual pleasure.

  "You probably remember that I'll be announcing the finalists tonight."

  "I know." And after the broadcast tomorrow morning, she'd be leaving. He was trying not to think about that.

  "We're going to have a pre-announcement party at the bar in the Steak Out. I wondered … if you'd be going."

  He couldn't tell from her expression if she wanted him to or not. One thing was certain—they wouldn't be repeating their intimate dinner of the previous night.

  "If you have other things to do, I understand," she said, eyeing him with those big brown eyes. "I just thought, if you weren't busy, that—"

  "Of course I'll be there." And he'd drink soda. Alcohol wasn't a wise idea when he had to watch everything he said and did.

  "Thanks." She sent him her megawatt smile.

  His heart pounded faster, just from the electricity of that smile. He looked away before Denny had a chance to see something more than polite interest in his eyes.

  "We've planned to start around six," Meg said.

  "I'll be back before then. Have fun." He left quickly, eager to saddle up and ride off his frustration. Tonight would take all his resources, and he needed some solitude to fortify himself.

  * * *

  Meg didn't dare allow herself the luxury of watching Clint walk away. Instead she flipped on the tape recorder and turned to Denny. "So you've competed in how many rodeos?"

  Although Denny had seemed intimidated by her at first, she'd worked him through that, and now he was Gabby Gus. He described his bull-riding experiences in great detail, and because the tape recorder caught it all, Meg could daydream about Clint.

  He was killing her. He'd started the process this morning when he'd nearly collided with her in the hall. Once she'd seen him in boots, jeans and a chambray Western shirt, she'd worked hard not to drool.

  Then he'd added the hat, and the effect of seeing him as a full-fledged cowboy had stopped her in her tracks. With time at a premium and Jamie waiting impatiently down by the van, she'd ignored everything except the picture Clint made decked out in his cowboy gear.

  She'd borrowed his hat to hide her bad hair, but she'd also snagged the hat in self-defense. She was ready to do nearly anything to lessen the impact of his cowboyness and save her sanity. Then he'd found another hat, and now he'd added a denim jacket with a lamb's-wool collar. And he was going out to ride his horse. She was ready to attack him.

  Instead she'd casually asked him to have drinks with her and a cast of thousands. At least it would seem like thousands when all she wanted was another night alone with her fantasy cowboy. No denying it—if she put in a special order for the man of her dreams, he would look exactly like Clint.

  What a shame that he'd turned up his nose at her contest. Tuck had been great to have on the morning's segment, but interviewing Clint would have taken ratings through the roof. Then, if he were a contestant, he'd generate even more interest in the contest. She felt it in her gut, knew it would be good for the show.

  And she thought it would be good for Clint, too. Even though she'd seen only the Arizona candidates so far, she didn't have to travel to the other states to know that Clint would have an excellent chance of winning. He had it all—rugged good looks, ranching skills and sexual charisma.

  If he would only enter the contest, magical things could happen. Reality TV had shown how the public embraced the finalists in a contest like this. Even if Clint didn't win, simply being on television would bring offers for commercials, appearances, maybe even a movie role.

  She would be there to guide him through unfamiliar territory, and they might even figure out a way to continue their relationship. But even more important, he might earn enough to buy back his beloved ranch.

  "So do you think I have a chance?" Denny asked after he'd run out of bull-riding stories.

  "Absolutely." She switched off the tap
e recorder. Denny was adorable. A rakish grin along with his All-American freckles and red hair would make him a fan favorite, although personally Meg thought he wasn't quite sexy enough to take the title of Hottest Cowboy in the West. He might be a finalist, though, whereas Jed probably wouldn't make it. Jed threw a mean rope in the arena, but he'd indulged in too many beers and had the belly to show it.

  Cowboys had arrived from all over Arizona, and if she could, she'd pack up every last one and give them a shot at fame and fortune. She hadn't planned on letting her emotions get involved in the contest. Here she was at the beginning of the competition and already she didn't want to disappoint anyone. Tonight she'd have to pick three finalists, and that would be much tougher than she'd imagined.

  "I'm glad you thought up this contest," Denny said. "When Mel said on TV that there weren't any more real cowboys, me and the guys wanted to head to New York and prove him wrong. But right away you set this contest up, which will show him we really do exist."

  "The contest wouldn't have worked if all of you hadn't turned out. I appreciate that. I realize that some people think the idea's … silly." And if everyone had taken Clint's attitude, she would have been dead in the water.

  "You mean the boss. He's a private kind of guy, sort of a throw-back to the old days. Asking him to compete for a spot on a television program would be like expecting a wild stallion to wear ribbons and prance around a show ring."

  "I suppose." But she'd love to find a way to get him into the contest, and she was running out of time. Being part of the process might give him his ranch … and her. Twenty-four hours ago she'd thought marriage was a distant dream, one to be postponed until she'd solidified her position as a celebrity. Her thinking was changing in light of what she'd found with Clint. She hoped he felt the same.

  The front door opened and Bill, a contestant from Prescott, walked in. "Okay, Denny, get on outta here and let a real man have some time with the lady."

  "Who?" Denny stood and glanced around. "What real man? All I see is a broken-down, bandy-legged cowpoke making way too much noise."

  Bill grinned. "Yeah, and all I see is a sad-looking saddle tramp who'll be mucking out stalls while yours truly is taking a bite out of the Big Apple. Isn't that right, Meg?"

  "My lips are sealed until tonight." But she thought both Bill and Denny would end up making the top three. Bill had a little too much swagger to suit her, but his blond good looks would play well on camera, and he did great things for a pair of jeans.

  "Come on over and sit down, Bill," she said. "And tell me all about yourself. And thanks, Denny."

  "My pleasure." Denny left, giving Bill a good-natured punch on the arm on his way out.

  Meg settled in for her next interview. But all through it, and the six that followed, she thought about Clint, the perfect candidate. She had to talk him into it.

  Then, after the last contestant had left, and she was headed to her bathroom to take a shower, inspiration hit. She ran for her cell phone and dialed Sharon, catching her out having a drink with some girlfriends.

  "I'm sorry to bother you." Meg had to raise her voice so that her executive producer could hear inside the noisy bar. "But I need permission to add something to the contest."

  "Like what?"

  "In case I come across a situation when I can't narrow the field to three, I want permission to add a fourth. I'll only do it once, and he'll be called Meg's Pick. Can I do that?"

  "Sure, why not?" Sharon sounded in a good mood, as if the ratings news had been good.

  "Thanks. Talk to you later!" Meg hung up feeling as if she'd saved the day. Clint wouldn't have to compete, wouldn't have to be a stallion forced into parading around a ring with ribbons in his mane. He could simply become Meg's Pick. How much easier could it be than that?

  * * *

  Clint walked back into the house at five. The living room was empty, and the only noise came from the shower in the second bathroom. He didn't have to think very hard about who was in there.

  He'd known they would likely end up alone in the house again, probably tonight after the shindig at the Steak Out. After three hours of riding across the foothills of the Mustang Mountains, he still didn't know the best way to handle whatever time he had left with Meg. Part of the answer was up to her, of course, but if she asked for more of what they'd had the night before, could he handle that?

  He wanted her desperately, and that scared him. One more night in her arms would probably make him feel worse when she left. And they continued to run the risk that someone would find out.

  But as he stood listening to the shower run, knowing she was in there naked, he realized he wasn't strong enough to turn her down. If she wanted to crawl into his bed again tonight, he'd welcome her there and deal with the consequences later.

  For now, he'd head for his own shower. With only an hour before they had to be at the Steak Out, he'd be a fool to go into that guest bathroom. But how he wanted to. How he wished that he could shuck his clothes, step into that tub with her and do what he'd been thinking about all day.

  Instead he walked into his bedroom, peeling off clothes as he went. Damn, he was hard already from the knowledge that the only thing separating his naked body from hers was willpower. He was running low on willpower.

  But he forced himself to climb into his shower. The shower head still dangled free, and he reattached it to the bracket before turning on the water. The pulsing jets came on, and he twisted the outer ring until he had a fine spray again.

  Tough guys with an erection were supposed to take cold showers. At least that's what he'd heard. He hated cold showers, so he reached for the soap and tried to ignore his very stiff buddy.

  Instead of the soap, he touched the condom packet he'd laid there the night before and never used. With a snort of frustration, he threw the packet out onto the bath mat. Now he was harder still.

  Hell, this was no way to take a shower, with one very sensitive part of him sticking out like a riding crop. He had an option, but he hesitated to take it. He hadn't locked his bedroom door, and he couldn't be positive that she'd have sense enough to stay in her part of the house until they were safely on their way to the Steak Out.

  However, with the pressure he felt down below he could finish himself off in no time. And if he didn't do something to remedy the situation, he wouldn't be able to get his jeans buttoned. He gave up and took a firm grip on the problem.

  "Clint?"

  His hand stilled. She sounded as if she might be standing right outside the shower. "Uh, yeah?" Life didn't get much crazier than this.

  "I came out of the bathroom and heard your shower going."

  He took a breath and tried to forget about orgasms. "I needed to get cleaned up for tonight."

  "Me, too. But I … had an idea."

  "What's that?"

  "I can't speak for you, but I'm feeling a little bit on edge."

  You want to talk about feeling on edge? Try teetering on the brink of a climax while trying to carry on a normal conversation.

  "So I wondered if you might be in the same fix." He swallowed. "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "Well, I found this." The condom packet came sailing back into the shower and landed at his feet. He turned to find her standing at the entrance to the shower, her hair slicked back from her face and not a stitch on.

  Her glance moved downward and she smiled. "It's nice to know I'm in good company." Then she joined him in the shower.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  «^»

  Although they had no time to waste, Meg cautioned herself to let Clint make the next move. His body was doing plenty of talking, but he hadn't said a thing out loud. If he told her this was a bad idea, she'd accept that and leave the shower.

  She hoped he wouldn't. Being in this shower aroused her like an intimate caress, and she trembled with longing. The familiar scent of soap and desire stirred memories of a fabulous orgasm. The rush of water had become a sexual signal, as had th
e smooth tiles beneath her bare feet and the riot of colorful flowers painted on the clay.

  He held her gaze. "We can't forget the time. People will get suspicious."

  "I won't forget the time." She mentally crossed her fingers. "This won't take long … for either of us."

  He was breathing hard, staring at her with heat in his eyes. "So you want efficiency."

  "Something like that."

  "All right." He broke eye contact long enough to reach for the condom packet at his feet. Then he pinned her with his gaze, not bothering to look at what he was doing as he tore open the packet and rolled on the condom. Now that was talent.

  Then he grasped her hips, his grip firm with purpose as he backed her up against the wall. "Put your hands on my shoulders."

  Looking deep into his eyes, she rested her hands on his shoulders as if they were about to execute a complicated Latin dance step. His skin was wet and warm. She loved feeling his muscles move as he tightened his hold on her hips.

  "When I lift you, put your legs around my waist."

  She nodded, her heart beating furiously, her body aching and quivering with anticipation. Then he picked her up, and in one fluid motion she wrapped her legs around him. At nearly the same moment he slid smoothly inside her.

  Oh, yes. She vibrated with pleasure, and a soft hum of delight rose from her throat.

  His pupils dilated until his eyes were more black than blue, and his voice shook with emotion. "I've thought about this all day." He adjusted his stance, which allowed him to probe even deeper.

  "Me … too. Oh, that's good."

  "Meg, you turn me inside out."

  "Sorry."

  "Not your fault. Now hang on."

  She tightened her grip on his shoulders. "I'm ready."

  "Yeah, you are. I've never felt so welcomed." His fingers flexed against her bottom as he began to thrust, slowly at first, then faster.

  Propped against the hard tile, she became pliable dough he kneaded and shaped into the perfect receptacle for the rhythmic motion of his penis. Her body responded to each stroke with another layer of delicious pressure. Soon. Very soon.