by Tessa Bowen
Prologue
Mesquite Championship Rodeo,
Dallas, Texas
Lorelai tossed her long lustrous ponytail over her shoulder while her sorority sisters took in the scene around them.
“I can’t believe you dragged us to a rodeo, Lor. It’s like…so seedy.”
“That’s the whole point. We’re slumming it.”
“I’ll say, I’ve never seen such a rough crowd.”
“Don’t you want to see how the other half lives? We may be the only ones in attendance with a complete set of teeth. That’s something, right?”
The girls broke into peals of snarky laughter.
Lorelai took a sip of her beer, served to her unceremoniously by a very sunburned and very overweight woman at the Budweiser booth. It was her fourth beer, and the slender seventeen-year-old was flying high. Even though she was halfway to soused, she wouldn’t let her fine breeding go to waste. She blotted her lips with a napkin instead of the sleeve of her college sweatshirt, reapplying some lip gloss from her pink handbag before taking another sip.
“Let’s go find our seats. The show is about to start.”
“Are you sure we should go in there, Lor? They are all so rowdy. We could be torn to shreds.”
Lorelai rolled her eyes in response. “It’s not like we are entering a Roman coliseum. I’m going in, you chickens can do whatever you want.”
Lorelai Northrup had come to see how the other half lived, but she had also come to see how Jeb Jackson lived, or rode in this case. He was the headliner tonight. And Lorelai had dragged her friends to the Mesquite Arena under false pretenses. They’d follow her anywhere. She was the ringleader, the prettiest girl in their sorority—as well as the richest. Her father was so rich that he was the sponsor of tonight’s rodeo, something he dabbled in just for fun, much to her mother’s dismay. Her mother was the refined one from the East, while her big daddy was a self-made oilman and a Texan through and through. Her father admired the rodeo star so much he’d helped launch his career. Lorelai had thought her father as silly as her mother, until she’d seen an article on Jebediah Jackson on her father’s giant oak desk.
Something within her had awakened at the sight of his rugged but devilishly handsome countenance. Lorelai had to meet this young man, to look into the sparkling green eyes she’d seen staring back at her from the magazine cover. She not only wanted to meet him, she wanted him period. She wanted him with all of her inexperienced seventeen-year-old being. And what Lorelai wanted she almost always got. She was on a mission tonight to lose her virginity (not that her friends knew anything about this). They all expected her to lose it to her on-again-off-again beau, Jason Daniels—a boy from a very good family who loved wearing Polo shirts the color of dyed Easter eggs. Lorelai had other ideas, ideas involving a certain rodeo star at the top of his game. Jeb Jackson was a known womanizer, so he was the perfect candidate for the job. Besides, he owed her really. Well, he owed her father. Not that her father would appreciate this form of payback.
Blonde ponytail swinging with self-assurance, Lorelai led her tittering friends to their seats—front and center, thanks to the clout of her last name. She ignored the catcalls and whistles from the upper sections. Lorelai was used to male attention, bored with it mostly. She had plenty of suitors to choose from, but she wanted something different.
Her heart raced as she spotted Jeb down below, sitting astride the gelding. Just the top of his head showed above the enclosure. He (of course) wore a cowboy hat, which hid his features, but she knew it was him—knew it by the crowd that erupted around him, knew it by his expert stance as he clutched the braided rope attached to the leather halter—knew it because her blood began to sing. She was well aware that she’d been late to bloom, but had she never had a crush before? Was this her first? Didn’t a crush make you feel light and fluttery? This was something deeper and darker. It was real and true lust, she supposed. She was certainly old enough to feel the lust of a woman, but this erotic blooming within her belly was so intense it shocked her to her core. A core that now flooded with heat as she watched the rider hold fast to the bucking horse as it kicked its mighty hind legs with a violent strength. But Jeb was strong too. He lifted up on the rein and found his rhythm quickly, spurring the mighty animal forward and backward with the digging of his heels. All the while his right hand held tight, while his left arm swung behind him. The horse bucked on for what seemed like an eternity, but it was only eight seconds.
Eight seconds was the requirement a bronc rider needed to stay seated on his mount. And eight seconds it had been. The crowd went wild as the perfect score went up for both horse and rider.
Lorelai jumped to her feet, forgetting the cool facade she’d adopted for the benefit of her friends.
“He’s amazing!”
Her words were lost in the chaos surrounding her. She stared at him as he waved to the crowd.
“I have to meet him,” she announced.
Alcohol raced through her system, making her dizzy. She wasn’t sure if she was terribly tipsy or just excited—and it didn’t matter.
She hurried out of her seat and down the dark steps that led to the pit below, her friends chasing after her.
“Lor, wait…you can’t meet him.”
“I can meet him, and I will.”
“He’s like…really famous, Lor. Look at all these people.”
“My dad practically owns this stadium,” she explained impatiently.
She went up on her tiptoes, peering over the throng just in time to see two security guards escort the star cowboy through the crowd as he gave a few autographs to adoring fans (mostly female). She had to get to him before they sealed him away.
Lorelai adjusted her little pink purse. “I’m going for it.”
“Don’t go, Lor! You’ll be crushed in the crowd. Besides who knows what he’ll do to you!”
“Maybe she wants him to do stuff to her.”
“Oh, my…”
Lorelai pushed through the mass of people, using her slim grace to sidestep hordes of admirers. She slipped between the security guards and found herself face-to-face with the object of her desire. His attractive features swam before her as she slammed herself up against the door of his recovery room. She barred the entrance, once he disappeared into that room he’d be gone forever, guarded behind thick metal.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly.
Straight white teeth gleamed bright in his suntanned face as he tipped his hat.
“Hi yourself.”
She was so stunned by that smile that she couldn’t move a muscle.
“I’ve got to get in there, little missy. I’ve got hellfire hot on my heels. Keep ‘em all out, gents. These Texas girls are rabid.”
He motioned to the security guards, who lifted her away from door.
“No, wait…” Lorelai protested.
He shook his head. “You’re cute, darlin’, but way too young.”
It was too late, he’d alluded her. Lorelai glared up at the security guards.
“I want to meet Jeb Jackson,” she demanded.
One security guard smirked at her. “Get in line.”
She smirked back and raised her chin a notch. “I’m Lorelai Northrup. Let me in.”
The other security guard’s eyes dropped to the VIP pass she wore around her neck. The two huge men exchanged a look.
She was in.
At first it took her some time to adjust to the low lighting in the room. Or maybe it
was her soused eyeballs having a hard time adjusting to her surroundings. It was just a small room, with a couch in the corner and a massage table in the center, a sidebar in the other corner with a sink next to it and a shelf holding stacks of folded towels. His back was to her as he yanked off his plaid Western-style shirt and threw it on the floor along with his hat and his boots.
“Um…” she said dumbly.
He looked over his shoulder in surprise.
“You again?” he asked lightly. “How did you get in here? Tenacious little miss, aren’t you?”
She was struck dumb by the expanse of his chiseled back, covered in bulky muscle. When he turned to face her in nothing but jeans and bare feet her mouth went so dry that she smacked her lips in an attempt to bring back some moisture. His chest was as tanned as his face and as muscular as his back, hewn to perfection. Distended veins rippled on his forearms as well as low on his flat belly, where a very interesting-looking trail of hair ran a narrow path, starting at his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his low-slung jeans. No boy in college looked like this, even though he wasn’t much older than a college boy. He was a man. A man who had been ridden hard and who rode hard. His body was riddled with bruise marks and scars. Never before had battle wounds looked more appealing.
“Thirsty?” he drawled.
“What?” she croaked.
“You must be thirsty, either that or you’re catchin’ flies over there.”
He turned to the sidebar, leaning down to the mini-fridge to pull out a bottle of lemon-lime soda. He cracked the lid and handed it to her.
She snatched the bottle and glugged a good portion down, forgetting her table manners entirely. She wasn’t really at a table. She was in a very small windowless room with a half-naked man who she didn’t know.
“How’s your soda pop?” he quipped.
She remembered herself and frowned at his teasing tone, tossing her ponytail with practiced arrogance. After all, she was here to seduce him.
“I’d rather have a beer.”
“You’ve had enough beer for tonight, little lady. You’re swayin’ on your feet. Or maybe that’s just your ponytail swayin’.”
She absorbed his raw masculinity as best she could. He overwhelmed her senses. His features were as chiseled as the rest of him, square strong jaw, straight nose, thick brows over twinkling eyes to match his winning all-American smile.
“You’re too young to drink, I suspect. And surely too young to be in here with me. Just like I told you outside the door.”
“I’m eighteen. Almost…”
“Uh huh. College girl?”
“How did you know?”
He pointed at her sweatshirt.
Lorelai stared dumbly down at the S.M.U. insignia. “Oh…right…Southern Methodist University…” she mumbled.
“Is that where all the fancy girls go?”
Lorelai shifted self-consciously as he took in her appearance. She wore a white eyelet dress underneath her sweatshirt and pretty pink flats to go with her purse. The rest of her outfit gave her away (in spite of her hoodie), not to mention her pearl earrings.
“What’s a girl like you doing at a rodeo? Felt like mixin’ with the unsavory underbelly of society for a night.”
“I’m not a snob!” she flared.
“Sure, you are.”
“If I was, I wouldn’t be in here with you.”
“And what are you doin’ in here with me? You’re no buckle bunny.”
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “What’s a buckle bunny?”
“A rodeo groupie.”
He laughed when her eyes went big as saucers.
“My guess is you’re a Dallas deb. Rebelling against daddy.”
“My father loves the rodeo,” she defended. “He’s one of the main sponsors of this event in fact. So, no—I’m not rebelling.”
She used the same haughty tone on him as she had on the security guards, but he just laughed good-naturedly.
He went to the sink and began splashing his face and chest with water. “And what did you think of the show?”
She watched the lean flesh of his ribs ripple and twitch as he straightened, snatching for a towel.
“It was my first rodeo. You were…it was…very exciting.”
He toweled himself off, leaving his hair a damp heap of curls. “Trust me, the novelty wears off real quick. At least I didn’t take a spill tonight. That horse was a crackerjack. Won me a lot of points.”
She was mesmerized again when he turned to face her, flinging the towel away. She very simply couldn’t stop staring at his beautiful torso. He was going to be very hard to seduce. She couldn’t seem to keep her mind on her mission.
“Do you…take spills…a lot?”
“Not so many, but your soda pop is about to take a spill. That there bottle has drooped sideways. Sort of like that ponytail of yours.”
She righted her limp bottle and straightened her ponytail. “What’s your obsession with my ponytail?”
“It’s a first-rate ponytail, isn’t it?”
She stroked it with pride. “I suppose so.”
“I think it’s time you skedaddle, missy.”
“Are you shooing me out?”
He smiled once more, his eyes preforming a playful dance. “I believe I am. I gave you a soda pop now, didn’t I? Run along.”
“Stop treating me like a child.”
“You’re not a child, but you’re still a teenager.”
“So? I’m on the brink of adulthood—on the brink of womanhood actually.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Is that so?”
“It is so.”
“What do you want here, young miss? Or should I say young lady? You seem very intent on something and it sure as shit isn’t that bubbly beverage there.”
“I want…I want…” Now was her chance to blurt it out. But the words stuck in her throat. Lorelai found her voice again and spewed forth a tirade of pent up frustration. “I’m not content with my life, even though it’s a very good life. I should be more grateful, I have everything a girl could want, or…a woman I mean, but somehow, I want more. But I don’t know what that more is exactly—to find what I’m searching for I guess.”
Jeb Jackson scratched his head. “You won’t find what you’re searching for here, darlin’. You’re in a dingy cave with a dusty cowboy at a redneck rodeo.”
“I’m sick of my protected world where everything is perfect.”
“You’re tired of perfection? Now that’s a first.”
She picked up on the sarcasm in his tone and prickled. “I’m not just some empty-headed Texas deb, I’m not like my friends. I don’t plaster on makeup and tease my hair and I want more than just marriage and the big fancy house after college.”
“You are different, aren’t you? You don’t have the typical Texas twang and your face is all scrubbed clean.”
Lorelai realized just how strange it was to be standing there confiding in him, especially when she meant to seduce or coerce him into having sex with her. It felt strangely good to talk to him—and to be listened to.
“My mother was from the East,” she continued. “My parents sent me to an all-girls boarding school in Switzerland.”
“Fancy indeed.”
“Sometimes I dream of a place with high snow-capped mountains and a wild open land where I could ride for days,” she said, not caring that she was jumping from subject to subject. “But it’s not Switzerland I dream of—it’s somewhere else.”
“Sounds like where I’m from—Montana. You ride, do you?”
Lorelai nodded. “I mean, not like you.”
He took a seat on the edge of the massage table. “Darlin’, no one rides like me.”
“I just mean I don’t ride Western—I ride English.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Naturally you would, fancy little lady that you are.”
“I wish I was from somewhere else. Then I wouldn’t be so protected.”<
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“You should be protected, darlin’.”
“I’m still a virgin and I don’t want to be,” she declared.
This time he winced and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shit…why’d you tell me that?”
Lorelai set her jaw. “I want you to do something about it.”
Jeb recoiled as she advanced on him. “Me…huh…do what?”
“There is a bed right here.”
“Jesus Christ, it’s not a bed—it’s a massage table.”
“Fine, I’ll give you a massage.”
Lorelai knew if she could just get her hands on him, he’d weaken. He was a man, and she was a woman—almost anyway. Wasn’t that how it worked? Besides, she was very pretty. Everyone told her so. Not flashy pretty, but still pretty enough for him to be interested in.
“Darlin’, I like a massage from a lady that’s a little older. What about boys your age? What’s wrong with them?”
“The boys I know wear pastels.”
Jeb let out a long breath. “I see.”
“You must like me a little, you’re standing here talking to me.”
“Talking is a far cry from gettin’ busy with you on a massage table. What’s your name?”
Lorelai took a step forward, then another until she stood between his splayed legs. They were very close now. The heat of his body radiated toward her, pulling her in closer. Her eyelids lowered to half-mast and so did his.
“Jennifer Smith,” she answered quietly, lying through her teeth.
“That’s not your name, it’s far too ordinary a name for a girl like you.”
“You don’t think I’m ordinary?”
“Far from it. A young little missy like you, bustin’ into my room demanding sexual favors. I’ve never seen the like before.”
Lorelai blinked slowly, shading her blue almond-shaped eyes with a sweep of lashes. “So, you don’t think I’m ordinary. Does that mean you think I’m extraordinary?”
“I think your ponytail is extraordinary, how’s that?”
Lorelai was pleased to her very marrow when he reached out and took hold of her tresses, secured high atop her head and cascading over one shoulder. His hand ran down the long length. Now his hand rested dangerously close to her breast. This was her cue.