One Night in Texas

by Charlene Sands

  Her breathing deepened and slowed, but she didn’t snore. Didn’t go completely lax, either. Hell, he doubted she ever did.

  So much churning wariness probably kept her constantly on edge. He knew it affected him that way. He rarely slept soundly, but then, he didn’t need much sleep.

  With any luck, she’d doze right up until closing time at midnight. Since being a bartender wasn’t really his vocation, he didn’t keep usual hours for the bar. Most in the area were open until 2:00 a.m., but he shut down at midnight and didn’t open again until 4:00 p.m. That gave him plenty of time for other pursuits, and when the two overlapped, he had reliable staff to cover for him at the bar.

  They were only an hour from closing when two strangers entered. The frisson of awareness that settled in his gut told him they were about to have problems.

  Instinctively, his gaze shifted to Star.

  He found her sitting upright, alert, her eyes narrowed dangerously. Well, hell.

  He’d never known a woman so acutely aware of her surroundings. In that, she matched him.

  Didn’t mean he wanted her getting elbow deep in danger, especially not when that danger just walked into his bar.

  Subtly, he drifted his gaze between her and the men—hoping she’d ignore them, that she’d go back to sleep.

  Should have known better.

  While he watched in frustration, she pulled the tie from her hair and let it tumble down over one shoulder.

  Fuck me sideways.

  He’d always known the difference a woman’s hair could make to her appearance. But on Star? This softer look had a near-physical impact on him. The woman had gorgeous hair. Longer than he’d realized, and a rich brown streaked with gold by the sun. He watched as she tunneled her fingers in close to her scalp and fluffed it.

  He would have liked to do that for her. Hands curled loosely, he could almost feel that silky mass.

  When her slender fingers flicked open three buttons on her shirt, he locked his jaw—not that she noticed. Keeping her focus on the newcomers, she parted the shirt until a fair amount of cleavage showed, then tied the shirttails at her waist.

  It took her less than thirty seconds to go from plain and reserved to a total bombshell. The “hands off” signals were gone, and instead her demeanor screamed “up for grabs.”

  Why? What the hell was she planning?

  When she stood, he cursed silently, reading her intent.

  She didn’t spare him a glance. No, she’d forgotten all about him, and that nettled, because she’d been his first thought when he saw the two men.

  The second she stood, she caught their attention. Wearing a flirty smile, she sauntered toward them.

  Cade seriously wanted to demolish them both simply for the way they looked at her.

  When she reached the bigger of the two men, she asked, “Got a cigarette?”

  The guy sized her up in an insultingly thorough way, then pulled the pack from his front T-shirt pocket, shook one loose and offered it to her.

  Maintaining eye contact, she leaned down and slowly slipped a cigarette free.

  Both men looked down her shirt.

  The second guy asked, “Light?”

  “I have my own outside, but thank you.” She sashayed out the door, and it wasn’t just the two new guys watching her. Every man in the place had his fascinated gaze glued to her ass.

  Shit. Cade quickly, but casually, directed others to cover the bar. Pretending he needed a break, he went down the hall and into the private office he’d offered for her use. After relocking the door, he went to the single window in the room, opened it and hoisted himself up and out. It was an awkward fit for a man his size, but he’d practiced before, ensuring he had multiple exits if it ever became necessary.

  He considered watching Star’s back very necessary.

  Circling around the bar on silent feet, he listened. Her boots crunched on the gravel, guiding him. She didn’t go to her rig, but then, maybe she didn’t want them to know which truck was hers.

  Smart—except that they could ask anyone in the bar about her, and that would be one of the first things they learned.

  Cade leaned around the corner, still hidden by shadows but able to see her. She hadn’t lit the cigarette, but she kept it dangling between her lips.

  What are you up to?

  She glanced several times at the entrance, and when the doors finally opened, she made a show of frustration.

  The one who’d offered a light smiled. “Couldn’t find your lighter after all?”

  She shook her head, sending that wealth of thick hair to move around her breasts. Wearing a sexy pout, she asked, “Did you bring one out with you?”

  He produced the lighter, then teased her with, “Say please.”

  Taking the cigarette from her lips, she gave him a tight smile. “Really? Because there are twenty men inside who would be glad to give me a light—without stipulations.”

  “Seems to me you don’t like them, or you’d have gone to them for the cigarette.”

  Her lips curled. “You think you know what I like?”

  “I know you’d like more than a smoke.”

  At that, she laughed, a rich, husky sound that set Cade’s teeth on edge. She played a dangerous game, and he hoped like hell she didn’t push too hard.

  “Maybe you’re right.” The finger she stroked along her cleavage drew the man’s heated stare. “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Smith.”

  She laughed. “Well, Smith, how much are you willing to give?”

  Not for a second did Cade believe she meant to sell herself. No, she had a bigger game in mind, and it made him scared for her.

  Cade knew Smith—what a crock—because he and his brother had kept tabs on the man for more than a month. They knew Smith was involved in plenty of shady deals, but he was just muscle, not brains. Someone else called the shots. Someone with more power.

  Cade wanted them all.

  With her impetuous rush to get involved, Star jeopardized his well-made plans. Never mind that she didn’t know he had plans...

  “Tell you what.” The guy reached to a back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

  Finally, she looked a little nervous, but still, she didn’t back down. Honest to God, she raised her chin.

  Luckily—because Cade didn’t want to blow his cover—the guy offered a card instead of cash. “You want to make a big score, come by Misfits tomorrow night. I have a buddy in need of cheering up and you’d be just the ticket.”

  Restoring that cocky attitude, she glanced at the card, then shoved it into her own pocket. “What time?”

  “Ah, so you don’t mind the idea of being his...entertainment?”

  She shrugged but asked, “Is he a total pig?”

  “Most of the women don’t complain.”

  Most of the women don’t complain. Meaning some did...but it didn’t matter? When Smith’s friend finished with them, were they even able to complain?

  Breathing slow and deep kept Cade from reacting. Somehow he’d ensure Star’s safety, and eventually he’d bury Smith.

  For a split second, she went blank—fear? anger?—before curling her mouth in another credible smile. “I take it you’ve given him other gifts?”

  “He’s partial to those with long legs and big tits.”

  With every beat of his heart, Cade wanted her away from the bastard, but he didn’t intrude. Not yet.

  Toying with a long curl, Star pretended the crude language and dark insinuation didn’t bother her. “How much are we talking?”

  Taken by surprise, Smith reached out, wrapping his fingers in her hair. “Enough, okay? Don’t push me. Just be there at nine.”

  She didn’t flinch, didn’t show any pain and didn’t back down. She actually moved closer to Smith. Too damn
close. “Oh, I’ll be there. And I’ll expect you to make it worth my while.”

  He leaned forward, clearly intending to kiss her, and suddenly she freed herself—minus a few dozen strands of hair. “You pay first, sugar. I don’t give out freebies.” Before Smith could figure out what to do, she walked away.

  To her credit, she went back into the bar and relative safety. But how safe would she be when she left?

  Keeping an eye on the door she went through, Smith dug out his cell phone and pressed in a number. The light from the screen emphasized his twisted smile. “Hey,” Smith said, when the call was answered. “Prep the back room, okay? I have a new one coming out tomorrow.” He laughed. “Yeah, you’ll like her. She fits your preferences to a tee.” He listened, shook his head. “No, I’m sure she’s not, but I’ll follow her tonight just to be safe. One thing, and it’s nonnegotiable.” He waited, then said, “Once you’re done with her, I’m next in line.”

  Don’t miss No Holding Back by Lori Foster, available February 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 by Lori Foster

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  The Rancher

  by Joanne Rock

  One

  Chiara Campagna slipped into her host’s office and silently closed the heavy oak door, leaving the raucous party behind. Breathing in the scents of good bourbon and leather, she held herself very still in the darkened room while she listened for noise outside in the hallway to indicate if anyone had followed her.

  When no sounds came through besides the pop song people danced to in the living room of Miles Rivera’s spacious Montana vacation home, Chiara released a pent-up breath and debated whether or not to switch on a lamp. On the one hand, a light showing under the door might signal to someone passing by that the room was occupied when it shouldn’t be. On the other, if someone found her by herself snooping around in the dark, she’d be raising significant suspicions that wouldn’t be easy to talk her way around.

  As a prominent Los Angeles-based social media influencer, Chiara had a legitimate reason to be at the party given by the Mesa Falls Ranch owners to publicize their environmental good works. But she had no legitimate reason to be here—in Miles Rivera’s private office—snooping for secrets about his past.

  She twisted the knob on the wall by the door, and recessed lighting cast a warm glow over the heavy, masculine furnishings. Dialing back the wattage with the dimmer, she left it just bright enough to see her way around the gray leather sofa and glass-topped coffee table to the midcentury modern desk. Her silver metallic dress, a gorgeous gown with an asymmetrical hem and thigh-high slit to show off her legs, moved around her with a soft rustle as she headed toward the sideboard with its decanter full of amber-colored liquid. She set aside her tiny silver handbag, then poured two fingers’ worth into one of the glasses beside the decanter. If anyone discovered her, the drink would help explain why she’d lingered where she most definitely did not belong.

  “What secrets are you hiding, Miles?” she asked a framed photo of her host, a flattering image of an already handsome man. In the picture, he stood in front of the guest lodge with the five other owners of Mesa Falls Ranch. It was one of the few photos she’d seen of all six of them together.

  Each successful in his own right, the owners were former classmates from a West Coast boarding school close to the all-girls’ academy Chiara had attended. At least until her junior year, when her father lost his fortune and she’d been booted into public school. It would have been no big deal, really, if not for the fact that the public school had no art program. Her dreams of attending a prestigious art university to foster her skills with collage and acrylic paint faltered and died. Sure, she’d parlayed her limited resources into fame and fortune as a beauty influencer thanks to social media savvy and—in part—to her artistic sensibilities. But being an Instagram star wasn’t the same as being an artist.

  Not that it mattered now, she reminded herself, lingering on the photograph of Miles’s too-handsome face. He stood flanked by casino resort owner Desmond Pierce and game developer Alec Jacobsen. Miles’s golden, surfer looks were a contrast to Desmond’s European sophistication and Alec’s stubbled, devil-may-care style. All six men were wealthy and successful in their own right. Mesa Falls was the only business concern they shared.

  A project that had something to do with the ties forged back in their boarding school days. A project that should have included Zach Eldridge, the seventh member of the group, who’d died under mysterious circumstances. The boy she’d secretly loved.

  A cheer from the party in the living room reminded Chiara she needed to get a move on if she wanted to accomplish her mission. Steeling herself with a sip of the aged bourbon, she turned away from the built-in shelves toward the desk, then tapped the power button on the desktop computer. Any twinge of guilt she felt over invading Miles’s privacy was mitigated by her certainty the Mesa Falls Ranch owners knew more than they were telling about Zach’s death fourteen years ago. She hadn’t been sure of it until last Christmas, when a celebrity guest of the ranch had revealed a former mentor to the ranch owners had anonymously authored a book that brought the men of Mesa Falls into the public spotlight.

  And rekindled Chiara’s need to learn the truth about what had happened to Zach while they were all at school together.

  When the desktop computer prompted her to type in a passcode, Chiara crossed her fingers, then keyed in the same four numbers she’d seen Miles Rivera code into his phone screen earlier in the evening while ostensibly reaching past him for a glass of champagne. The generic photo of a mountain view on the screen faded into the more businesslike background of Miles’s desktop with its neatly organized ranch files.

  “Bingo.” She quietly celebrated his lack of high tech cyber security on his personal device since she’d just exhausted the extent of her code-cracking abilities.

  “Z-A-C-H.” She spoke the letters aloud as she typed them into the search function.

  A page full of results filled the screen. Her gaze roved over them. Speed-reading file names, she realized most of the files were spreadsheets; they seemed to be earnings reports. None used Zach’s name in the title, indicating the references to him were within the files themselves.

  Her finger hovered over a promising entry when the doorknob turned on the office door. Scared of getting caught, she jammed the power button off on the computer.

  Just in time to look up and see Miles Rivera standing framed in the doorway.

  Dressed in a custom-cut tuxedo that suited his lean runner’s build perfectly, he held his phone in one hand before silently tucking it back in his jacket pocket. In the low light, his hair looked more brown than dark blond, the groomed bristles around his jaw and upper lip decidedly sexy. He might be a rancher, normally overseeing Rivera Ranch, a huge spread in central California, yet he was always well-dressed anytime the Mesa Falls owners were in the news cycle for their efforts to bring awareness to sustainable ranching practices. His suits were always tailored and masculine at the same time. Her blog followers would approve. She certainly approved of his bl
atant sexiness and comfort in his own skin, even though she was scared he was about to have her tossed out of his vacation home on the Mesa Falls property for snooping.

  His blue eyes zeroed in on her with laser focus. Missing nothing.

  Guilty heart racing, Chiara reached for her bourbon and lifted it to her lips slowly, hoping her host couldn’t spot the way her hand shook from his position across the room.

  “You caught me red-handed.” She sipped too much of the drink, the strong spirit burning her throat the whole way down while she struggled to maintain her composure.

  “At what, exactly?” Miles quirked an eyebrow, his expression impossible to read.

  Had he seen her shut off the computer? She only had an instant to decide how to play this.

  “Helping myself to your private reserves.” She lifted the cut-crystal tumbler, as if to admire the amber contents in the light. “I only slipped in here to escape the noise for a few minutes, but when I saw the decanter, I hoped you wouldn’t mind if I helped myself.”

  She waited for him to call her out for the lie. To accuse her of spying on him. Her heartbeat sounded so loud in her ears she thought for sure he must hear it, too.

  He inclined his head briefly before shutting the door behind him, then striding closer. “You’re my guest. You’re welcome to whatever you like, Ms. Campagna.”

  She sensed an undercurrent in the words. Something off in the slight emphasis on her name. Because he knew she was lying? Because he remembered a time when that hadn’t been her name? Or maybe due to the simple fact that he didn’t seem to like her. She had enough of an empath’s sensibilities to recognize when someone looked down on her career. She suspected Miles Rivera was the kind of man to pigeonhole her as frivolous because she posted beauty content online.

  As if making women feel good about themselves was a waste of time.

  “You’re not a fan of mine,” she observed lightly, sidling from behind his desk to pace the length of the room, pretending to be interested in the titles of books on the built-in shelves lining the back wall. “Is it because of my profession? Or does it have more to do with me invading your private domain and stealing some bourbon? It’s excellent, by the way.”