by Lori Foster
Bram turned his head and kissed her palm. His eyes were closed in relief, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
“When things started to go wrong between me and David,” she continued, willing to tell him everything now that she knew he needed to hear it, “I … I pretended sometimes that he was you.”
Bram jerked around to stare at her. Lucy kissed him, giving him the words without making him ask. “That wasn’t any good, because David had stopped caring about what I wanted or needed and sex was … Well, I still loved him as a father to my children, as a man I’d known for so long, but I didn’t desire him anymore. And pretending didn’t help. I knew, intuitively, that being with you would be incredible.”
She drew a shuddering breath, guilt melting away with the heat of the summer day and the warmth in Bram’s gaze. “So yes,” she said, smiling just a little, “when I was in bed at night, alone and lonely, I thought of you.” Lucy laughed, then wiped her teary eyes. “You’re even better in reality than in my dreams.”
Bram stood, caught her arms, and pulled her up, too. “I love you.” He kissed her, long and hard. “I love the kids. Let’s be a family, Lucy.”
Lucy toyed with the hair on his chest. She felt like she was floating, then realized Bram had lifted her completely off her feet. “I love you, too. I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I just never imagined …”
“Your self-esteem was low,” he explained gently, rocking her back and forth. “It was a nasty separation and you took it to heart.” Then he grinned. “Marcy knew all along how I felt. When I told her I had something to do this week, she knew that I was coming after you. And given how quick she agreed to fill in for me, I’d say she approves.”
“Others won’t be so generous,” Lucy warned. “They’ll say that we were fooling around all along, even when I was married. They’ll make up stories that you had something to do with the separation—”
Bram released her and turned away. “And you don’t want to take the risk of more scandal, is that it?”
Lucy caught him before he’d taken a complete step and hugged him from behind. “No, I just want you to be prepared, that’s all.”
Bram twisted around to her, his eyes darkened to near black. “Then you’ll marry me?”
She smiled and threw herself into his arms. “On one condition.”
Bram squeezed her so tight she could barely breathe. “Name it.”
“Promise we’ll come back here at least once a year, just the two of us.”
Bram held her face and kissed her hungrily. Lucy took that kiss as wholehearted agreement. Seconds later Bram lifted her over his shoulder and started for the house.
Lucy squealed from her upside-down position, “Bram! What are you doing?”
“Getting some ice.”
“Ice?” She started to giggle until Bram smacked her on the bottom.
“Damn right, woman. I told you I’d get even.” He kissed her hip and brought her around to hold her gently in his arms. “And I always keep my word.”
Lucy started to feel weepy again, she was so full-to-bursting with love.
Then Bram opened the freezer and pulled out the ice tray, and she took off running, laughing, loving—having the time of her life.
TRUTH OR DARE
Laura Bradley
To my agent, Paige Wheeler, for believing
and
to bullriders for their boneheaded bravery
CHAPTER 1
His dark, wild eyes transfixed her.
They blazed, so bold, so angry, so passionate.
He stretched his muscular neck to bring his head up, a loud lungful of air escaping his open mouth to be carried away by West Texas’s dry, hot summer wind. The muscles beneath his skin rippled and flexed in a beautiful, almost graceful dance that seemed so at odds with the power of him. The early-morning sun bounced off his sleek black coat, blinding her for a split second. She shut her eyes, the afterimage of his silhouette burning into her retina.
“Hey, girl, watch out!”
A viselike arm circled her waist before she could open her eyes, flinging her off the six-foot-high metal fence just as the bull crashed into the spot where she’d perched. Through the settling dust, Shay McIntyre saw a large pair of scuffed, dusty black roper boots. She lifted her embarrassed gaze to follow a pair of faded blue jeans to where they hugged thighs so sculpted they bulged against the cotton that was worn white in places. At his zipper her imagination was inspired even though the way his Wranglers fit—tight in just the right places—didn’t leave much to the imagination. Tomboy Shay actually blushed and hoped it would be written off as an adrenaline rush from her brush with danger. He wore a circuit championship silver belt buckle with a demonic bucking bovine on it.
A bullrider.
A cowboy with a death wish.
The last thing she needed to distract her right now.
With a great deal of mental discipline, Shay halted her perusal of his body parts and dropped her gaze just as his hand reached down in front of her nose.
“Let me get you out of that puddle,” he said.
Puddle? Sure enough, she felt dampness seeping through the front of her T-shirt. Until then Shay hadn’t even realized she landed on her side elbow-deep in a puddle, or small mud hole to be exact. It rained no more than fifteen inches a year in Sonora. She didn’t want to wonder what had created this particular puddle.
“I’m Luke Wilder,” her rescuer said in a whiskey-rich baritone.
“Shay McIntyre.” She put her hand in his—a hand that had withstood punishment, its wide palm callused. He closed his long fingers over hers. Shay smiled. “Thanks for getting me out of the way of that bull.”
“They don’t call him Hell on Hooves for nothing,” Luke explained in a rough-edged baritone as he pulled her to her feet. Her journey upright brought her eyes even with a flat abdomen and broad, sculpted forearms that stretched the rolled-up sleeves of his black western shirt. Her boots slid in the slippery mud, and he caught her upper arms in his hands, picked her up, and set her back down on dry ground. She doubted it was a mistake when his thumbs brushed the outside swell of her breasts as he released her, but she couldn’t stop the small shiver that slithered through her at the intoxicating contact. He was a Texan; his smooth accent, indolent attitude, and chauvinistic smirk left no doubt about that.
Luke continued, “He’d love nothing more than to send everyone within his reach straight to hell. Including you.”
“What makes you think I’d go to hell and not heaven?” Shay challenged, planting her muddy hands on her hips, meeting his gaze. His eyes in a deeply tanned face were a shocking changeling gray, stormy one instant and full of silvery mischief the next. They left her feeling off-balance.
Crossing his arms across his broad chest, Luke took her challenge and gave her a long, slow, thorough look from head to toe and back. He cocked his hip, tapped his fingertips against the muscle that roped his forearm, and tapped the toes of his boots against the ground. She wished her T-shirt wasn’t wet, but she supposed it gave her a good excuse to give in to a slight shiver, which didn’t have anything to do with being wet and had everything to do with his electric charisma. Shay’s attention had been drawn to him several times in the few hours she’d been on the rodeo grounds, perhaps because of his confident swagger or his irresistible grin. Still, she wasn’t prepared for his magnetism that, in close proximity, was nearly overwhelming. With conscious effort she withstood his scrutiny without succumbing to her urge to fidget. Finally, he brought his gaze back to hers, and he grinned.
“You’ve got that look about you, girl. Tempting and decadent. A little like I imagine Eve seemed to Adam in the Garden of Eden after that sneaky snake got to her.”
While she should’ve been infuriated by his insinuations, the rascally little boy in the rugged grown-up man made her laugh instead. Shay looked down at the smelly mud streaked across her white T-shirt and Levi’s. She wrinkled her nose. “Tempt
ing? You have one helluva imagination.”
“That I do, ma’am,” he said. A dimple in his right cheek deepened.
Every nerve ending in her body felt the sensual promise in his voice, and her awareness of him, already sharp, became squirmingly uncomfortable. Shay knew that was this cowboy’s intention, to turn her into a simpering mass of feminine desire. She’d resisted more than her fair share of macho men, but Luke was especially good at it. Shay had to work hard to hide that his sensual charm was working on her even though the damp heat building behind the zipper of her Levi’s was beginning to distract her with an alarming power.
Shay hated nothing more than men who tried to compromise her independence.
Few tried, but this one in front of her now was doing it with a dimple.
Telling herself he was a flirt who needed to be put in his place, she met his gaze and held it.
His left eyebrow rose slowly, and he opened his mouth to push his luck.
And was saved by the bull.
The black bull bellowed, and they both turned to look at the commotion on the other side of the fence. Shay wondered how she could have ignored the chaos for long enough to have a conversation, much less a sexual fantasy. The hulking Brangus had rammed his horns through the slats in the metal fence and couldn’t get them loose. The furious animal stomped and snorted in frustration. A dozen cowboys were gathered around—one flapped a red flannel shirt to try to scare him loose; another tried to shove the horns through but gave up when the bull jabbed them farther through and nicked his arm.
“Somebody go get one of the bullfighters!” one of them hollered. “I saw Darby Oakes over by Barn One. He doesn’t have his gear, but I guess he’d go into the ring.”
“No!” Luke called. “Leave Darby be. I’ll do it.”
The cowboys went quiet for a moment, the sudden silence accentuating the bull’s labored breathing. Luke turned back to Shay. “Excuse me, Miz McIntyre.”
Looking from the ton of sweaty, struggling bull to Luke and back, Shay said, “You’re crazy.”
His dimple just deepened, and his silvery eyes danced. “Beware of a crazy man with a great imagination.”
Then he touched the brim of his dusty black Stetson and sauntered toward the melee. The cowboys were either shaking their heads in knowing resignation or laughing disbelievingly, but to a man all bellied up to the fence for the show.
Luke hitched a leg up onto the first slat in the fence, his Wranglers drawing across his tight, muscular butt. His shoulders bunched as he pulled himself up. Shay bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling at how well seeing him from the rear competed with seeing him from the front. She couldn’t decide which view was better. Then the bull pawed the ground, sending a cloud of dust to turn him into nothing but a dark silhouette.
Debating whether she could bear to watch such a handsome specimen be annihilated, Shay didn’t hear someone walk up next to her.
“You’re right, you know. Luke Wilder is crazy.”
Shay turned to the man standing next to her and recognized Monty Shrader, an official with the World Bullriding Professionals Tour. She’d known this friend of her father her whole life, and he was the reason she was there.
“Hey, Monty.”
“Good to see you, Shay. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.” He stuck his hand out for a formal shake instead of the hug they would normally share if they weren’t performing for any onlookers who didn’t have their eyes glued to the drama in the arena. He cocked his head back toward the barn, and they retreated a couple of yards from the melee. He spoke to her quietly: “We’ve already put the word out around here that you’re a writer doing a magazine story about the rodeo tour; that’s your cover. Whether you want to use it or not is up to you. I think it would be safer, and you’ll get more out of the guys if you do. Now as for the case, I told you there’s been some suspicious accidents, including two that have resulted in deaths. For the first time this year, WBP is alternating between holding our events in the big cities, then little towns to build our fan base. All the accidents occurred in our small-town events, where the facilities are less than ideal. That’s how we explained it away at first, but now we think we may have something sinister going on. We’ve sent the last busted rigging off to a lab for tests. I’ll have all the other details sent in a package to your motel room.”
Shay nodded.
“I want to be honest with you, Shay. The WBP Tour chose you for a reason. They think a woman—especially one with your background—is going to get more out of these cowboys than a man would. Feminine wiles and all that. I’m not sold on the idea, probably because your wiles are practically family—your daddy and I being best friends and all. Bottom line is I have the final say, and I’ll keep quiet as long as you keep out of trouble.”
“If you thought I’d get into trouble, why’d you hire me?” Shay returned, feeling herself tense defensively.
“You’re the only investigator I know who won’t go running to the media. But I’ll hire another in a heartbeat if I think you’re mixed up in trouble.”
She didn’t like his threat to pull the plug on one of the most challenging, high-profile jobs she’d had in her two years as a private investigator. She gauged Monty with a sidelong look while keeping one eye on Luke, who’d just leaped off the fence and into the arena. “And what do you consider ‘trouble’?”
He nodded his straw Stetson to where Luke stalked closer to the bull. “Right there.”
“The bull or the cowboy?”
“Both, but if I had to put them in order of danger, I’d have to put the cowboy first.”
Surprised, Shay raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
“Luke Wilder easily has the potential to be a top-five world rider, but his talent is almost always canceled out by his recklessness. He’s been an amateur circuit champion three years in a row, now he’s on the pro tour, and he’s changed. His daddy’s made millions in the computer world, but Luke acts like a dirt-poor cowboy with nothing to lose. Something’s driving that boy, driving him blind hard, and if he doesn’t watch out, it’s going to kill him one way or the other.”
“So, how could his private demon—given he has one—hurt me?”
“A fence can keep that bull away from you, but no fence is going to stop Luke Wilder. I saw him looking at you. And here you are, can’t hardly keep track of our conversation because you’ve got your eye on him.”
“I’m certainly not the only one,” Shay pointed out.
The crowd was growing, with the men and women who’d been in the barns or riding in the other arena drifting over to watch. As Luke neared the frantic bull, he waved off one of the cowboys who tried to hand him a protection vest and lunge whip through the fence. The Brangus began swinging his hindquarters back and forth. Luke slapped his open palm on the bull’s rump and stepped away. The animal planted his front hooves, yanking back, muscles straining, his coat drenched in sweat that had begun to froth on his flank. Still his horns remained wedged in between the iron bars. Luke cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. The silent tension built thick as the limestone dust. Suddenly he strode forward, lightning quick, flicked one of the bull’s horns loose with a powerful twist of his hand as he reached up with the other hand to grab the top rail of the fence. The bull pulled loose and propelled himself toward Luke, his pointed horn slashing just as a cloud of dust rose to cloak the pair. All the crowd could see were two dark forms merging.
No one breathed.
Then the bull galloped through the dust to the opposite side of the arena, trying to shake his head free of a black Stetson pierced through the rim by a horn.
A half-beat later, Luke leaped over the fence, his short brown hair plastered to his bare head by sweat, a cut on his cheek just beginning to leak a drop of blood. He turned to watch the bull stomping his Stetson into the dust.
“Hell. And that was my best hat.”
A smattering of laughter and applause broke the tension, and the cowboys appr
oached him with slaps on the back. A gaggle of female rodeo groupies gathered around him to coo over him and his superficial wound. Luke moved one hourglass blonde over with an arm, scanned the crowd, and grinned at Shay.
Fighting back a smile, Shay held a poker face and lifted both her eyebrows instead. He drew his eyebrows together, his eyes turned down like a puppy dog, his gaze abashed. Then she couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. He was just too irresistible. A naughty daredevil in a package so sexy any woman would be ready for him without even a touch.
Shay hoped she was hiding the intensity of Luke’s effect on her as she turned to Monty. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m not going to let a cowboy distract me from my job.”
“What if they are one and the same?”
She looked at him questioningly. Monty’s warm brown eyes clouded with worry.
“What do you mean?” she asked finally.
“The man you’re looking at right now could be the man behind it all.”
Luke hadn’t wanted to go to the Justin sports medicine station, but he let himself be talked into it. The bull had barely nicked him. Luke had hurt himself more shaving, but his buddy Cody insisted.
“You let the Justin guys look you over. Maybe that old bull jiggled up more of your brain than your rock-hard noggin would show on the outside.”
Another bullrider, Joe Zappora, called out from his place at the fence, “We’re just hoping Hell’s horn let some of the hot air out of Wilder’s big head!”
“Not likely. With him surviving that stunt, his head’s only gonna blow up bigger,” Tim Auerbach put in.
“You’re just embarrassed you weren’t brave enough to get in there,” Luke said with a lighthearted wink.
“No, we’re proud that we were smart enough not to get in there. And you ought to be grateful you weren’t hurt,” Tim threw back, eyes narrowed, tone bitter. “Some of us who weren’t born with a silver spoon in our mouths have to stay healthy in order to earn a living. Some of us gotta stay healthy to earn two livings.”