Hot and Bothered

by Lori Foster

  Luke felt the tightening in his chest and began stalking toward Tim. The bullrider frowned at Luke, not afraid of his menacing approach. “You hotdoggers are ruining the sport for us all,” Tim grumbled.

  Turning Luke away with a powerful shove, Cody said quietly, “Luke, remember what he’s been through. He’s not thinking straight.”

  Luke nodded stiffly and walked away, following Cody to the area designated as the infirmary, where the WBP kept doctors on staff to treat injuries on-site.

  The truth was that Luke had an ulterior motive for going to the sports medicine tent. During the hoopla following his bull rescue, Luke had watched Seriously Sexy Shay walking with one of the tour honchos just this direction. He still couldn’t believe she’d stood way back talking to the old rodeo official instead of watching him. In fact, it had been her fault he got nicked by the bull, his attention having strayed in her direction just as the bull came loose. Luke had caught her gaze there at the end and she’d laughed, but she hadn’t come running breathless to congratulate him. She hadn’t come running at all. She’d turned around and left.

  And she’d called him crazy.

  It made him crazy. No woman had ever told him that until after he’d dumped her.

  It had been a long time since he’d met a woman so quick-witted, so strong-willed. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman who didn’t want to want him.

  Shay McIntyre might want him, but she didn’t want to want him.

  Big difference.

  And one Luke wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile.

  “You know, Luke,” Cody put in, “Tim’s not all wrong. You do take too many stupid chances—”

  “This is an old song and dance, Cody.”

  “I know, and I’m gonna keep singing it and dancing it until it’s good enough to convince you. The fact is, Luke, we’ve been riding together a long time. You’ve always been a daredevil, but since you got kicked off your daddy’s ranch you’ve been a maniac.”

  “Enough,” Luke warned, grinding his jaw hard.

  “I’m not going to watch my best friend kill himself without at least having a say. So listen up. It’s time you started dealing with your emotions instead of asking a bull to deal with them for you.”

  Luke waved his hand in the air and avoided his friend’s eyes. “You married men just envy my freedom—no ties, no responsibilities, just doing a job I love and loving a lot of women.”

  “I doubt you know what love is,” Cody said, shaking his head sadly at Luke as he ducked into the tent.

  One of the docs ushered him to a table. “We ought to just put your name on this one, Wilder, since you’re our best customer. What’d you do to yourself this time?”

  “Why do you automatically assume it’s me who’s hurt?”

  The doctor just laughed.

  As Cody went through a blow-by-blow account of Luke’s latest escapade, Luke tried to find something to think about besides Cody’s comments. A sexy woman would do for distraction, Shay McIntyre being at the top of the list. She was a contradictory combination of spitfire tomboy and composed beauty. Her straight hair that just brushed the tops of her breasts was the color of dark chocolate and looked as thick and rich. Her almond-shaped eyes and dusky skin hinted of some exotic ancestry. The carriage of her curvy bombshell body was confident yet so sophisticated it made him think she was more suited to silk and satin than cotton and denim, although she fit both of those better than fine.

  She hadn’t flinched at the smelly mud spread across her shirt. He’d caught sight of her earlier, wrestling in the dirt with a scroungy barn dog. Shay seemed comfortable around cow dung and horse slobber yet too good for it at the same time.

  “So who is this Shay McIntyre?” he asked aloud.

  Luke’s surprising non sequitur stopped the conversation between Cody and the doctor. They stared at him and then at each other.

  “Maybe he does have a concussion, after all,” the doctor said, moving his penlight back to Luke’s right eye.

  Luke knocked his hand away. “I don’t have a concussion. I want to know what brings a classy woman like Shay McIntyre to the prerodeo doings in the middle of West Texas Nowhere.”

  The doctor looked thoughtful, then put his penlight down and began dabbing antiseptic on Luke’s cut. “You must be talking about the reporter. She’s here working on a story about bullriders for some magazine.”

  “Is that the poor woman you subjected to your Superman impression back at the arena?”

  “Hey, did you want her to be gored?” Luke grinned.

  “You could’ve plucked her off and set her on the ground instead of soaring her into the puddle of piss just because you wanted a one-woman wet-T-shirt contest,” Cody argued. He was happily married, with a wife who was afraid the wild man would rub off on her faithful husband.

  “It was tough to manage, but it was worth it,” Luke laughed, unrepentant.

  “You did that on purpose?”

  The steel edge beneath the velvet voice told Luke he just might have a setback in his seduction plan. Still he turned around to see the woman in question standing in the doorway, dark eyes flashing and hands fisted on those luscious hips. Her shirt was still damp, clinging to her curves that rose and fell so provocatively that Luke still wasn’t sorry he’d been the one to get her wet.

  “Ma’am,” the doctor intervened, “you can’t be in here right now while we’re treating a patient.”

  “Why not?” Shay demanded, striding forward. “He’s fully dressed, which incidentally is too bad. If he’d have to strip for the examination, it would be a lot easier for me to neuter him.”

  “Ha!” Cody chuckled. “Usually they don’t get this mad until after they’ve known you at least twenty-four hours. But then this lady here looks a lot smarter than most.”

  Shay approached Luke, and the two other men gave her room. She stopped in front of the examining table and was tall enough to be eye-to-eye with him. “I don’t appreciate being made to look like a fool, Mr. Wilder.”

  “And I don’t appreciate seeing a fool get hurt,” Luke answered.

  Surprise flickered in her eyes for an instant before being replaced by cool anger. She flashed a controlled smile. “Then I’d suggest you watch your step, sir.” Shay turned away then and held her hand out to Cody, who was whistling under his breath in appreciation. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Shay McIntyre, in town to do a story about the bullriders on the pro tour.”

  “Cody Presley, pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. I happen to be a bullrider.”

  “I wonder if you might spare me a few minutes for an interview sometime in the next few days?” she asked.

  “Sure, love to,” Cody replied, grinning.

  “Thank you.” Shay nodded at the doctor and walked toward the exit.

  Luke watched the sophisticated sway of her hips beneath Levi’s that were loose enough to let him see some jiggle while hugging just the right curves. Damn, he was getting hard. And he couldn’t resist calling out to her, even though he knew he was stepping into a trap. “Hey, girl, don’t you want to interview me?”

  She paused. “First of all, I’m not a girl, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Oh, I noticed all right,” he said appreciatively as she reached up to move the flap of the tent, stretching her damp T-shirt to cup the swell of her breasts.

  “Second, no, I don’t want to interview you.” Shay threw that chocolate hair over her shoulder to give him a cursory glance. “I’m just talking to the men who are making this a serious career.”

  Luke went still. “This is my career.”

  Standing there, with her silhouette against the bright light, she was a man’s wet dream. Shay shook her head, shooting him a disdainful look before heading out the exit. “From what I’ve heard and from what I’ve seen, you take too many risks to be too serious about bullriding, or about life for that matter.”

  Frowning, Luke stared as she disappeared around the corner. In th
e ten years he’d ridden bulls, he hadn’t found one woman who didn’t consider the extra risks he took in an already risky sport to be the ultimate aphrodisiac. But Seriously Sexy Shay apparently considered his Superman show to be as arousing as a douse of ice water. And she was looking through his head as if it were as clear as ice water. Hell.

  “Whoa.” Cody let loose with a peal of laughter and slapped his knee. “There’s no way you’re getting the last word with that one. Never thought I’d see the day Luke Wilder met a woman he couldn’t top.”

  Luke looked from the empty doorway to his friend and let a smile spread slowly across his face.

  “The day’s not over yet.”

  CHAPTER 2

  After talking to a half-dozen bullriders, Shay needed to burn some restless energy, and nothing helped her do that better than a good ride. So she bummed a retired cutting horse from one of the tour officials, with a warning not to be gone too long, as the mercury was expected to hit a hundred degrees by midafternoon. Not that the heat would bother Shay, who’d been born and raised in it. She’d grown up in Midland, 150 miles northwest of Sonora, where it was just as hot and desert-dry in the summer. Her family had spent eight generations raising premium cattle and acquiring land, so it shouldn’t have surprised Shay when a magazine recently named the McIntyres the most powerful ranching dynasty in West Texas. Still it did, mostly because they lived so simply that such an exotic word as dynasty shouldn’t apply to them. Reading the article, Shay felt a twinge of guilt that she no longer lived the ranching life—she’d loved it for a lot of years but loved mysteries more, which was why out of college she’d apprenticed with a private investigator instead of taking over as the ranch’s public relations director.

  Shoving her left foot in the stirrup, she flung her right leg over the horse’s back and slid into the saddle just as she squeezed the chestnut mare into a trot and headed past the rodeo arena. Several of the cowboys Shay had met waved and tipped their hats as she passed. She forced herself not to wonder where one cowboy in particular was at that moment.

  Riding across the land, so like that of her home, brought back memories. She had been raised with the tacit understanding that a girl did certain things, like get A’s in home ec, be on the cheerleading squad, and maybe barrel race if she had a wild streak. Shay didn’t go out with the intention of being rebellious; she just preferred to take wood shop, play on the softball team, and learn how to fly an airplane. It took some doing to profess her independence, but now her parents and brothers respected it and the experience of working for it came in handy. Becoming a woman in the man’s world of private investigators was a daily challenge in proving herself. No bullriding cowboy was going to get in her way.

  Especially not one as chauvinistic, presumptuous, reckless, and cocky as Luke Wilder.

  No matter how much his silvery eyes, daredevil dimple, and powerful swagger tempted her.

  She’d gotten the last word with Luke, and she expected he’d steer clear of her from now on. Men like him used their sex to knock their conquests over with a feather. Men like him didn’t like to chase; they liked to be chased. Men like him didn’t like women probing their psyches, and that is exactly what Shay had done to Luke Wilder in the Justin tent.

  And she’d grazed a truth he didn’t want to face.

  Was it the demon that drove him to be a daredevil and maybe worse? Her intutition told her he wasn’t responsible for the accidents, but that alone wasn’t enough. She’d find out, but not by talking to him. When she got too close to Luke Wilder she couldn’t trust herself to act professionally—the first time she’d been nearly panting; the second she’d nearly clobbered him.

  Frustrated, Shay spurred her horse into a gallop; the mare’s hooves bit into the hard ground. The bullriding tour T-shirt Shay had bought at a concession stand to replace her filthy one was too big and flapped in the breeze behind her. Her lust was definitely warping her perspective; he was a prime suspect. Luke was up for Bullrider Rookie of the Year; he was in line to qualify for the national WBP finals. His well-known disrespect for his own life could translate over into disrespect for the lives of others. Why not knock off the competition?

  It wasn’t much to go on at this point; in her investigations Shay always followed evidence to the motive. But since the evidence in this case was lacking, Shay had to move backward, zeroing in on motive first.

  She slowed the mare to a walk as she neared a copse of hackberry and mesquite trees, and that’s when Shay heard the pounding of the ground behind her. Reining her horse around, Shay nearly collided with a big black gelding. Her mare reared and, catching Shay by surprise, dumped her on the ground. Between the dust and hooves, Shay saw the other rider’s hand shoot out and grab her horse’s reins before she could struggle to her feet.

  She’d recognize that damned hand anywhere. She’d fantasized it touching every erogenous zone on her body since she’d met its owner.

  Fury propelling her to her feet, Shay planted her hands on her hips and blew her hair out of her eyes. “I’ve been thrown off a fence and now a horse. Mr. Wilder, are you making it your mission to see me flat on my back today?”

  The moment she’d said it, the implication hit, and the flush spread across her face at the same rate the smile spread on his. “Yes, ma’am. How did you guess?”

  As she caught her breath to deliver a rejoinder, he’d leaped to the ground and, holding the reins of both horses, advanced toward her methodically. “Problem is, though, you seem to get up too quick. Are you trying to tell me you like doing it standing up?”

  Shay backed up with each step he took toward her until her rump hit the trunk of a mesquite tree. He was close enough to touch, to kiss, to taste, to smell. That sharp, moist scent of him reminded her of rain and oak. Desire spiraled through her, making her feel incredibly vulnerable and achingly feminine. She fought it with words: “Like doing what standing up? Interview you? I could do that in any position.”

  Luke grinned. “Want to bet?”

  Narrowing her eyes in warning at him, she tried to skirt around the trunk, but a low branch at her waist stopped her. His left hand wrapped one set of reins around the low branch while his right hand rose to wrap the other set around the branch on the opposite side of her head. Stopping just inches from her, he didn’t touch her, but his powerful heat was overwhelming. She hadn’t noticed how physically large he was before, but before she hadn’t been trapped between him and a tree. Luke stood six feet, tall for a bullrider, and strapped with solid muscle.

  He tipped his wounded black Stetson back with a thumb.

  A trickle of sweat ran down her backbone. “Bet what?”

  “You said it yourself—that you can interview me in any position. You pick the question. I pick the position. The first one to crack under the pressure wins.”

  Shay swallowed. “And the stakes?”

  “You win, and I apologize for plopping you in the puddle.” Luke paused, his head dipping until his mouth hovered next to her ear. He whispered, “I win, and you dance with me tonight at the tour shindig.”

  Every nerve ending craved him. The scent of his sweat, limestone-laced earth, and his unique male musk enveloped her. She closed her eyes. Her body begged for her to throw her head back and welcome his lips and tongue on her neck, to take his hands and guide them where she throbbed with need. Instead, she opened her eyes and put just her fingertips on his chest, pushing him back.

  He was hot and wet under his shirt. Her fingertips turned hungry. She jerked her hands away and dropped them hard against her thighs. “No, it’s not fair. I’d be winning what I ought to have anyway.”

  “That’s because the bet’s handicapped, of course. I’m sure you interview people for a living under all sorts of difficult conditions and therefore have an automatic advantage and are destined to win. I have to have some sort of incentive to compete against such odds.”

  His eyes twinkled and his dimple dug into the side of his face. He looked like such an innocent
rascal, Shay had no doubts he talked a lot of women into doing a lot of things. She wouldn’t be one of them. She’d play his game and win.

  “But you make your living competing—giving you one advantage. You make your living in a sport, which gives you a second advantage when it comes to all-important position.”

  “Ah.” Luke grinned, running his gaze the length of her, the possibilities shimmering in his eyes that suddenly no longer looked innocent at all. “You have a point. I am quite good at position.”

  His sexual implication hung in the air between them. Shay squirmed against the tree, hoping to dispel the sensations spiraling through her, but it only magnified them. The game was threatening her independence, compromising her case. Maybe she wasn’t so good at this after all. She’d try again to throw him off-balance.

  “So what position is your best?”

  “The most difficult.”

  His ability to make her visualize with three simple words astounded her. Right now the possibilities filled her mind with amazing reality. Her blush deepened.

  “I do have to point out,” Luke continued, “you’ve already cheated because you’ve already questioned me and I haven’t yet picked a position. So, you’ll have to be penalized for that.”

  He grinned wickedly.

  Visions of bull riggings tied to bedposts made her fidget. “No, no. How about we make the bet double or nothing? You apologize in public if I win.”

  “And I get a dance and a date if I win.”

  Shaking her head, she laughed at the eager presumption in his rugged face. “No, no. You get two dances.”

  “Well, hell. Slow dances, then.”

  “Deal.”

  “Deal.”

  “We have to seal the deal,” Luke said. His hand eased down the tree branch toward her head as he leaned into her. “I’d say a deal like this can only be sealed with a kiss.”

  “I agree,” Shay said, surprising him and giving her the advantage for only a moment. She used it, flattening her palm over the zipper of his jeans and sliding her hand upward. The silver in Luke’s eyes darkened to gunmetal. His lips parted. Shay slid her hand higher, over his corrugated abdomen, over the swell of his pectorals. Her fingers teased the chest hair at the vee of his shirt. His breathing was coming faster now, as was hers, but she refused to think about his effect on her, or she wouldn’t have the willpower to do what she was about to do.