by Em Petrova
When he gave her a slight crooked smile, her voice of reason took over.
“I can’t see you. I don’t want to be part of your lifestyle, West.”
Was it her imagination or were his shoulders slumped? His lips set into a firm line, and his jaw muscle fluttered. She didn’t dare meet those dark eyes of his or she’d take back every word she’d just spoken.
“You need to go.”
He waved a hand toward the curtain. “What’s out there isn’t real, Lou. You know that, right?”
“So you’re saying that you’re an actor on a stage? That you didn’t really punch Jay because you thought he had bad intentions and the sex tape was scripted.”
“What? No. I mean, the sex tape was… Fuck, I’m saying this all wrong.” He ripped his hat off his head and scrubbed his knuckles over the furrowed spot between his brows. As he pinned her in his stare again, he said, “I can’t let go of that night we had, Lou. I’m not finished.”
That word penetrated her brain stem, and her inner wolf reacted with a howl.
Whether she liked it or not, she had been hanging around waiting for him.
* * * * *
The idea that Malou believed him a womanizing asshole made West angrier than he’d ever been. He’d been plenty mad at his family members and even that dickhead cousin of his, Ennis, who’d tried to take the ranch right out from under their noses after their father passed away.
But he’d never been so angry with himself. He wasn’t just the man the world watched on TV every Thursday night. As far as he was concerned, he was being edited to become a certain persona, somebody that wasn’t him… not at all.
Malou stood before him, tormenting as hell. Those eyes of hers seemed to shift in color, drawing him deeper. She had secrets to tell—to share. And he wanted to be the one to lie in bed with her, limbs tangled as she talked.
He set his hat back on his head and reached for her. “I’ll come by for you after the rodeo. Be ready for me.”
He waited, heart beating out of his chest, for her response. When she finally gave a small nod, the feeling came back to his fingertips. He searched her gaze for a long minute before twisting away and shoving free of the curtains.
As soon as he exited the clinic, he was mobbed by cameras and fans thrusting napkins and even boobs in his face to sign. He whipped out his marker and started scribbling his signature on everything within reach while camera flashes went off around him.
But his mind was back in that room with Malou. With her kisses still wet his lips, his cock was as hard as steel for her. Dammit, he wanted to break free of all his responsibilities, throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of there.
A roar sounded from his right. He went dead still, felt tip poised over a crumpled receipt. He knew that sound.
Ridge— a very pissed off Ridge, if West knew anything about his brother.
No, a furious Ridge. A rocket about to launch.
West shoved his way through the crowd in time to see Ridge throw the first punch. Kashley was crying. He caught the words, “That guy, right there,” and in a heartbeat, West realized this fight had to do with her. Someone had touched Ridge’s wife, and he was about to unleash the Calhoun beast.
West ran into the fray. Buck’s wife wrapped her arms around Kashley and bundled her away, the production crew parting the sea of onlookers for them to make their escape.
Ridge knocked the assailant off his feet, and he popped right back up, fists waving.
He was unsteady, probably drunk. That was no excuse, and the Calhouns protected their own.
West helped him up and steadied him long enough for Ridge to clobber him again. He crumpled, and West gave him a light kick to the hip. “Get outta here!”
“Don’t you ever lay hands on my wife again, asshole!” Ridge exploded. “That goes for everybody!” He threw a wild look around at the excited faces surrounding them.
“Fuck, get him outta here.” Andrew was there suddenly, shoving at Ridge to get out of the public spotlight.
West took in the tension in Andrew’s shoulders. The show relied on three of his brothers to be well-behaved. And one of them to be a troublemaker.
With a grin, West turned to the guy who’d touched Kashley, heaved him to his feet, and kneed him in the balls.
* * * * *
“Did you see the Calhouns’ brawl?” the cowboy seated on the bed in front of Malou asked. He had a nasty gash on his eyebrow after slamming his face off the bronc he’d been riding.
She cleaned the cut gently and said, “This needs stitches.”
“Really? Crap.”
She smiled. “You’ll have one more scar to please the ladies with.”
Grunting, he said, “Chicks do dig scars.”
“The brawl you mentioned—was that a bar fight last night?” She readied everything to stitch him up.
He stared at her for a long second. “There was a bar fight?”
“Uh…”
“I’m talking about Ridge and West laying out that guy who touched Ridge’s wife. You know, the pretty little blonde. Can’t recall her name.”
“Kashley,” she said faintly, picturing the woman perfectly. One of the last shows of the season had been their wedding. She’d been gorgeous in a gown that hugged her small waistline and had walked down the aisle barefoot on rose petals.
She came back to herself in time to hear a few of the details surrounding West’s involvement in this fight. Apparently, he’d kneed the guy so hard he’d curled up like a June bug and hadn’t moved for a quarter of an hour.
Did she really want to be mixed up with a guy who did that sort of damage? Even protecting someone he cared about, violence wasn’t the answer.
As she created seven perfect stitches, she contemplated her involvement with a man like West. They said bad boys were like chocolate—you couldn’t get enough. But chocolate was bad for her, and she wasn’t touching it again.
She smoothed some healing ointment over the stitches and pressed a gauze square to it. Using a few strips of medical tape, she adhered the gauze to the cowboy’s brow and gave him instructions to see a doctor in a week to have the stitches removed.
Before he walked out, he sent her a sideways grin, and she knew he’d probably pull the stitches himself.
The rodeo had wrapped up, and she was pretty sure he was the last of her patients. Time to ditch this town—before she had any more run-ins with West Calhoun.
After cleaning up the space and ensuring all her supplies were packed in her large rolling suitcase, she found her way out of the arena.
She’d been too stupid, agreeing to wait for West. Well, she was about to remedy that now. If she were lucky, she’d slip away before—
“Lou!”
She cringed. Nobody called her Lou, not even her sister and grandfather. She’d always wondered if her late mother or deadbeat, nonexistent father would have used a nickname for her, but…
As a whiff of West’s aftershave reached her, she groaned. He caught her elbow and pulled her to a stop. When their gazes met, she resisted the small moan that threatened to escape her. He was so damn fine. A god of a man. She was the exact opposite—gawky and painfully awkward until she’d gotten through her undergrad studies. Sometime in med school she’d gained enough confidence to let her own persona shine through.
The real Malou stood before West, and she just knew they didn’t fit together.
“Shouldn’t you be looking for your next blonde?” she snapped.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Funny how my brothers are all into blondes. I mean, I get that none of us wants a redhead, seeing how Wynonna’s such a pain in our asses. But it’s odd that nobody has married a brunette.”
She rolled her eyes and spun to continue walking, dragging her suitcase behind her. Her purse thumped her hip as she sped up.
Not that those long, muscled legs of his wouldn’t catch up.
“Malou, I want to take you out. To apologize.”
She sto
pped abruptly and looked at him. “For?”
“Being a jerk.”
She kept walking. He kept pace. She kicked up her speed and he did too, barely breaking a sweat. By the time she made it to the parking lot, she felt like a sprinter, with West dogging her, his long legs carrying him forward in a calm walk. How did he do that? Her worn pickup truck was surrounded by beefy trucks with powerful engines. And down the line, she saw one of the Calhouns’ vehicles with the words Rope ‘n Ride on the side.
As soon as she slowed, West leaped in front of her, barring her way. She growled, “Don’t make me stomp on your foot.”
He looked at her thin-soled shoes, which would be no match for his thick leather boots. “Little extreme coming from you, girl. Thought you were a pacifist.”
“I am!”
“Oh, so it’s foreplay.”
She glanced around, terrified she’d be recorded on tape as his next conquest, but no cameras surrounded them. They seemed to be alone. And the sun was sinking low on the horizon, leaving West’s profile streaked in orange.
“I’m not into you.”
“L’il Bit, you’re sooo into me.” His drawl, coupled with his deep stare, sent shivers of delight through her body.
But the man had made a sex tape. He’d probably been with dozens of women who knew exactly how to pleasure a man. What did he want with her?
He reached for her and her suitcase handle simultaneously. That look in his dark eyes would be her undoing. If she let it.
“We were good together that night.”
“That was a long time ago.” He was making it sound so romantic. It was just sex—a basic human response to attraction.
At least that was what her scientific mind told her.
She didn’t even want to think of what her spiritual side had to say.
When West looked at her that way, it was easy to remember those hot and passionate moments in his hotel room. She never had reactions like this to men. Why West? Was she having some strange response to his fame or was it the alpha growls?
“At least let me take you to dinner.”
“You and your cameraman?” she shot out.
He looked around and then spread his arms. All that surrounded them were some unattended vehicles, glinting gold and orange with the setting sun.
He placed her suitcase in the back of her truck and then tugged on the dreadlock by her right ear. “You choose the restaurant, okay? I’ll drive.”
There he went, getting highhanded again.
She was hungry. Maybe a real conversation with the man was what she needed to end things like adults. His intense stare made her squirm, though. “I won’t go to dinner if you plan to look at me like that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Do you know how fucking beautiful you look with the sun over you? You look like a Mayan goddess.”
Her skin broke out in goose bumps, and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m part Hopi, part Hispanic.”
“Really? Whatever the combo, it’s fucking beautiful on you. C’mon.”
Whatever was going on with her and West, she had to think long and hard about it. But for now, it was dinner. Rodeo chili dogs and fries hadn’t appealed to her, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
When she moved past him to the passenger’s door, he caught her shoulder. “Standing here next to you makes me realize what a l’il bit you really are. How tall’re you?”
“Five-one.”
“And you weigh less than a sack of feed. Give me the keys. I know this great little place out of the way.”
“I thought you were letting me choose the restaurant.”
He stopped partway to the driver’s side. “I’m so used to taking charge that I forgot. Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know any places around here.” She shrugged, suddenly nervous. “If it’s out of the way, that’s probably best. I could do without the film crews. I’m nervous about being filmed.”
“I get it.” He flashed her a grin and got behind the wheel. She was relieved he hadn’t tried to open her door for her, because that would seem too much like a date.
“What year is this truck?” he asked as he started the engine.
“Sixty-two. Why?”
“We’ve got some older models on the ranch, but nothing in this good a condition.” Across the cab, he sent her a look. His eyelids lowered over his smoldering gaze. “I’m glad you agreed to go out with me, Lou.”
“I didn’t agree. You followed me to my truck, and I’m hungry.”
“That’s your story?” He backed out of the spot with expert skill. He’d probably been driving since he was ten years old. Many ranch kids did.
“Yes.”
When he arched a brow like that, she had to count to ten to keep from losing her head and letting him take her to his hotel room for a second time.
“Just drive, West.”
“How many people did you patch up today?” His question caught her off guard. She’d expected long conversations about his prowess in his event. Maybe she didn’t know West—what she knew she only guessed at.
“Well, I didn’t patch up that guy you kneed in the balls, if that’s what you’re asking.”
His shit-eating grin shouldn’t send her heart racing. What was it about this bad boy that made her lose her grip? Maybe she should tell him to stop the truck and get out. But no, they were on the road, and she wasn’t in the mood for a scene.
“That guy deserved more than a kick to the balls. Did you hear he grabbed Kashley and rubbed his dick on her ass?”
“Oh my God. No, I hadn’t heard. That’s terrible.” She’d worked extensively with rape victims in the poorest spots of Arizona, and any violation made her feel a disgust and rage for all of womankind. Maybe she should reach out to Kashley, give her a chance to talk to somebody that wasn’t her family.
“I hope this place I’m thinking of is still in business. A mom and pop joint, with the best shepherd’s pie you’ve ever eaten.”
“That would be the only shepherd’s pie I’ve ever eaten.”
He cocked a brow at her. “Tell me you didn’t grow up on shepherd’s pie like I did.”
“Nope. My grandfather wasn’t much of a cook, and we ate a lot of boxed meals. Now, Hamburger Helper I’m a connoisseur of.”
He chuckled. “Raised by this grandfather, I’m guessing?”
Why had she blurted that out? She didn’t want West to know more about her than he already did. The less he knew, the cleaner the break. Her sister had gone through a few bad boys, and her friends in med school had as well. West was hers, and it would be over with as quick as it had started.
After dinner, she’d return him to his vehicle and send him on his way, back to whatever craziness the Calhoun family was about to engage in.
When she didn’t respond to his question right away, he stroked his fingertips over the back of her hand where it rested on her knee. She pulled it tighter against her body. “Yes, my grandfather.”
He made a left turn and the city fell away. They were suddenly in a more suburban section of town. Some of the houses were painted charming pastel shades, made smoky in the twilight. As she watched a couple kids playing basketball in their driveway, he said, “Fuck.”
She glanced up. His jaw was tense, that muscle fluttering in the crease, just as it did when he was about to come.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He looked in the rearview mirror. “I think a crewmember’s tailing us.”
She twisted to see. “Really?”
“Yeah. Can’t be sure, though. Let’s try to lose him.” Without warning, he cut the wheel in a hard left. She made a grab for the dash to brace herself, but it was no good because he made an abrupt right. Then another and another. She lost track of the turns. Her head was starting to spin, and nausea hit.
“West, stop. I’m going to be sick.”
“What? Why?”
“Your erratic driving is making me carsick.”
“Oh crap. I didn’t know doctors could get carsick.”
She glared at him. She barely swallowed the rising bile and leaned her head against the seat. He drove for a steady minute in the same direction, and she gained a moment of equilibrium.
A warm hand came down atop hers. She opened her eyes and met his stare. “You okay, L’il Bit?”
“Why do you call me that?” The annoyance she felt for herself leaked through, her voice edged with irritation, though truth was… she didn’t mind his nickname for her. Not really. If pressed, she might even fess up to liking it.
“Because you’re just a little bitty thing.”
“That’s right—not your type at all.”
“Not my type? What are you talking about?” He drove more slowly, and she glanced in the side mirror to see if anybody was following them. She wondered if there actually had been a crewmember tailing them or if he’d made it up.
But why would he? She wasn’t being very forgiving toward the man. Even if he was a slut—and she’d added herself to his list of conquests—she didn’t think he was a liar.
She was angry with herself for letting him get to her, pure and simple. She’d kick herself later, when she had enough time to really think.
“I’m not blonde, and I don’t have a lot up front.” She held out her hands to indicate huge breasts.
His gaze slithered over her with slow thoroughness. It raised a deep-seated ache in her lower belly, and she chose to ignore the sensation. She wasn’t sleeping with him again. He might be the best lover she’d had… well, ever… but she’d lived without that for many years.
“You honestly think I prefer a certain type and don’t vary from that?”
“The cameras don’t lie. I’ve never seen you with anybody who doesn’t have blonde hair.”
“They’re not real blondes. Well, most of them.”
She fell silent, mentally listing every reason seeing West was a horrible idea.
He reached across the space and grasped her hand, squeezing it. His touch had her resolve slipping again. Or maybe that was low blood sugar setting in—she hadn’t eaten in far too long.