The Maverick Meets His Match

by Anne Carrole

  Mandy worried her lower lip as she waited, her hands clasping and unclasping. She could still turn around and walk away.

  Ty stepped out into the hallway.

  He was dressed in black, with a starched white shirt. But it wasn’t an ordinary suit. Ty wore a tuxedo—and wore it well. The expert tailoring emphasized his broad shoulders, while the jacket skimmed along his torso and nipped in at his waist. The trousers fell loose and long over black shoes. A lock of dark wavy hair had settled across his brow. He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of a bridal magazine’s photo shoot of the perfect groom.

  As his gaze danced over her, the smile that spread across his face paid her a compliment like no words ever could.

  But what intrigued her most was the gorgeous bouquet of flowers in his hands. Beautiful red roses, baby’s breath, and purple orchids. The sentiment behind it dried her mouth.

  “You look beautiful, Mandy.” His fingers fondled a strand of her hair and then freed it to swing against her shoulder. “Stunning.”

  The look of pleasure in his eyes made her believe him, made her feel, in that moment, beautiful.

  “For you.” He held out the bouquet. “I know there are many things missing from this ceremony. Hell, I don’t even have a ring to give you, but I wanted you to at least have beautiful flowers.”

  She reached for them. A tingle flitted through her as her fingers scraped his hand, reminding her of the swirl of his thumb over her hand after he’d asked her to marry him. She brought the bundle to her nose and took a deep breath of rose-scented air. Her favorite fragrance.

  “Thank you,” she said with heartfelt sincerity. It was a sweet gesture—and so totally unexpected it made everything she was going to say more difficult.

  He looked at her, the smile fading as his thumb stroked down her cheek, bringing with it a pleasurable shiver. She wished she didn’t respond this way every time he touched her.

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “No. Not really,” she lied. “But I did want to be sure we understand each other. Marriage carries certain expectations,” she began. “And I want…I want to be the one who decides if and when…those expectations are met.” She looked up at him through her lashes.

  He took a step back, as if to see her more clearly. “Of course.” He sounded offended.

  “It’s just…this is not a real marriage. There’s no love between us. We don’t trust each other…”

  “I’m attracted to you. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’re attracted to me.”

  “For you, that’s enough, I’m sure.” She couldn’t disguise the edge in her voice. “But it’s not for me. Sex isn’t just about pleasure…”

  “It will be pleasurable. I can promise you that.”

  She ignored the kick of her pulse. “It’s about feelings.” And she counted on his role as arbiter of her company’s fate to keep at bay whatever misguided feelings she may have once had for him. She’d been too young to understand what it meant to be in love, and yet, no other man had ever elicited the depth of feelings he had that fateful summer.

  “Like with Mitch Lockhart?”

  What did he know about Mitch Lockhart? And why did he care? “I don’t need to defend my previous decisions. But I do need to explain this decision so you’re realistic and not under any illusions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “If you think I am doing this for any reason other than to become the head of Prescott Rodeo Company and keep it from being sold, you are wrong, Ty. You gain regardless. I risk…everything that’s dear to me, everything I’ve fought for. My heritage, my company.” My self-respect.

  He curved a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so she could see him. It was too easy to get lost in those dark, intense, intriguing eyes.

  “And just so you’re realistic, I play to win. So there’s no way we’re not going to bed together. It’s not a matter of if—it’s only a matter of when. I can be damn irresistible.”

  With a smile that gave truth to his words, he stepped back and held out his arm.

  “We’ll see,” she said, hoping her voice held more conviction than she felt at the moment. Placing her hand on the wool sleeve covering hard bone and muscle, her legs weak, she walked with him into Brian’s office to become Mrs. Ty Martin.

  * * *

  “You really didn’t have to do this, Mom.”

  Mandy sat next to Ty and across the linen-clad table from Sheila and Harold in a booth at the Cattle Baron’s Grille in the historic Cheyenne hotel of the same name, and tried to ignore the warm thigh pressed against her leg and the flush of her body in response.

  The thigh and the heat it was generating belonged to the man she had just pledged to love and honor till death do us part. Hypocrisy slammed into her with an uncomfortable thud. She was now a card-carrying member of the ends justifies the means club, and she hated herself for it.

  And she hated that Sheila had insisted they “celebrate” the occasion. Mandy didn’t feel like celebrating. She felt like crawling back under the covers of her bed and never coming out. Only now her bed would include the tall, dark, and handsome man next to her and be located in her grandfather’s ranch house, which she hadn’t stepped foot in since his death.

  She wanted to cry. But instead she picked up her fork and stabbed at the Caesar salad she’d ordered, her stomach in knots.

  “It was nice of both of you,” Ty said, including Harold in his thanks. Ty, along with Harold, had ordered the Cowboy Ribeye. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him cut a substantial piece of meat off the bone and pop it into his mouth. Obviously his appetite had not been affected.

  “Well, even if this isn’t…well, traditional, we should commemorate the occasion.” Sheila took a dainty bite of her salmon.

  “Why? We all know it’s just a sham.” Mandy felt peeved—at herself, mostly, for having succumbed to her grandfather’s misplaced wishes. “I just want my company back.”

  A frown creased her mother’s creamy white brow. “Let’s have a nice meal and not spoil it by talking about that confounded will. You’ve taken the necessary step, so it’s time to move forward.”

  “You both headed out tomorrow to Texas?” Harold asked, apparently ready to change the subject.

  “We’re heading to Abilene first. Right, Mandy?” Ty seemed totally unaffected sitting in the elegant dining room in his tux like it was the most normal thing in the world to have just gotten married on a Tuesday by a judge to a woman he couldn’t claim as more than an acquaintance and who, he had to know, despised everything he stood for.

  Not that he didn’t look good in his tux. He’d drawn the stares of several women in the room when he’d entered. Wasn’t the bride supposed to be the center of attention on her wedding day? Only Mandy wasn’t dressed as a bride, didn’t feel like a bride, didn’t want to be a bride. Well, not today anyway.

  “Right, Mandy?” Ty repeated. She felt more pressure from his thigh.

  Nudged out of her dismal thoughts, she nodded.

  “Say hi to Lyle Thorton. Hear his wife had a bad bout of arthritis after Houston’s rodeo,” Harold said.

  Mandy nodded again and took the tiniest piece of lettuce into her mouth, hoping her stomach would accept it.

  “I’ll be worried about you up in that plane the whole time you are gone,” Sheila said, taking a sip of the champagne she’d insisted be poured for all of them. Mandy hadn’t touched hers, but maybe she should. If this wasn’t a reason to get drunk, what was?

  “It’s the only way we’ll be able to see all the committees we have to see and still make the rodeo in Washington this coming weekend,” Ty said. “Mandy’s not worried, are you?”

  Again she lied, nodding even though she was petrified to get into that puddle jumper of his. She’d never seen his plane, but how big could a two-seater prop plane be? This week had been nothing but a nightmare, and it would only get worse. From flying in that plane to introducing Ty as the he
ad of Prescott to sleeping in the same bedroom with the man, her life for the foreseeable future would be nothing but one long bad dream.

  But only for six months. And she’d have had to do the first two things regardless. The last had been her choice, and it was too late to second guess her decision now.

  Ty reached for his champagne glass, and the sleeve of his black tuxedo softly brushed against her bare arm.

  “I’m an experienced pilot, Sheila. I’ll take good care of your daughter.”

  Sheila turned to say something to Harold, and Ty leaned toward her, his warm body touching hers, to whisper in her ear. “I’ll take very good care of you, if you let me.” A slow heat spread through her starting at her toes and climbing up her body to nestle right between her thighs. She crossed her legs.

  After taking another sip of champagne, Ty set his glass back on the table.

  “How difficult is it to fly a plane?” her mother asked.

  Mandy reached for her goblet. Maybe the champagne would calm her stomach. Tipping back her glass, she felt the bubbles tickle her lips

  “Takes training. Key is knowing the right switches to flip,” Ty said.

  The waitress interrupted to check if there was anything they needed.

  Ty leaned in again, this time pressing his torso against her as he whispered, “I’d like to flip your switches.”

  A flush engulfed her. She had another sip of champagne.

  “Dessert, dear?” her mother asked as all eyes, including the waitress’s, turned toward her.

  She shook her head.

  “Oh, we have to have something,” her mother chided. “They just got married today,” she told the waitress.

  The waitress looked from Mandy to Ty—and stayed looking at Ty—as she said her congratulations. Ty did that to women. Attracted them. And she, damn it, was no exception. This time she took a gulp of champagne.

  “I’d go for some cake,” Harold spoke up.

  “Cake all around. And coffee,” Sheila ordered. “No fuss, though. This is just a celebration for us,” she told the waitress. Looking at Mandy’s barely touched salad and the half-filled glass of champagne, Sheila frowned. “And my daughter’s not finished with her salad yet, so leave that plate,” she said as the busboy the waitress had signaled over began clearing.

  “You need to eat something, Mandy. You barely ate breakfast this morning,” Sheila said above the clacking of plates being cleared.

  Mandy felt a funny swaying in her head. Maybe she should eat something. “I’ll have the cake.”

  From under the table she felt Ty’s hand on her thigh. She should remove it, but the swaying in her head prevented her. She turned to look at him and felt a little dizzy again as she stared into dark lust-filled eyes at odds with his amused grin. Under the table, his hand brushed the hem of her dress up her thigh and then landed back on bare flesh. Her legs uncrossed.

  His thumb swirled over her skin, focusing her attention on that spot on her inner thigh, worrying that he would move it even higher. Then what would she do?

  “You’re going to love dessert. What follows the main event, Mandy, is always the best part,” he said. The heat flushing through her body had her wondering if he wasn’t right.

  * * *

  Married. Certainly not where he had expected to find himself, Ty thought as he gazed into the steamed glass of the bathroom mirror. He wiped off the fog, creating a watery space, and glared at the somber face that stared back at him. What had he been thinking? Problem was, he’d let his dick do his thinking—and that had never worked out well for him.

  He and Mandy were sharing a bedroom, like the will said, but not a bed. They’d wrangled over whether to use the ranch house’s guestroom, which Mrs. Jenkins had already made ready for them, with its king-sized bed and its own bathroom situated next to her grandfather’s room, or the smaller bedroom down the hall with twin beds and a bathroom shared with a vacant room on the opposite side.

  With arms crossed and heat in her cheeks, Mandy had been adamant it would be the twin beds. After dinner and several glasses of champagne at the Cattle Baron’s Grille, he thought she’d be primed for tonight. He’d been wrong.

  He’d given in on the bedroom issue, for this evening at least.

  Tomorrow they’d hit the road to meet with the various rodeo committees and offer assurances. They’d be staying in hotel rooms. He had to get lucky and have at least one place where they would have a room with a single bed. He’d make sure of it.

  Tonight he’d just have to steel himself to frustration. Not quite how he would have guessed his wedding night would go, but then he’d never imagined it. Mandy must have. Every woman he’d met had thought about her wedding day at some time. Getting married in an office with only Brian, Shelia, and Harold to witness and before a strange judge must have been quite a letdown for her. He swiped a towel across his chin and secured a larger towel around his waist.

  He’d always slept in the nude. He had no plans on changing. He’d use the towel to be discreet, but it wasn’t like she’d never seen a man before. And he had no problem with her checking him out. He had nothing to hide in that department.

  She wasn’t in the bedroom, though the bed closest to the bank of windows had been turned down. He went and opened one of the windows. The soft cooling breeze of a late spring evening fluttered the sheer curtains. He looked around the yellow-walled room. It was simply furnished, containing two beds with old-fashioned iron headboards painted cream and covered in white bedspreads, one maple dresser, and a small vanity in the same wood. Obviously a room meant for JM’s grandkids when they were young. Not for someone’s wedding night.

  Why had JM put him smack-dab in the middle of such a mess? It was one thing to want financial security for your family, but a whole other kettle of fish to try to play matchmaker to two people who were temperamentally unsuitable for each other.

  Nothing to do but go to bed, he figured. They would be flying out in his plane at eleven the next morning and heading for Abilene, Texas, to talk to the folks there, and then they’d hit three more stops before flying back on Friday so they could make a Saturday rodeo Prescott was putting on in Washington. It would be a hectic week, but those Texas rodeos were influential. If the Texans held, they might not have to make more trips. Besides, there was an AFBR board member in Texas he’d like to see. He’d done a land deal with him a while back.

  As he dropped the towel and slid under the thin cover, cool sheets greeted his hot body, hot for reasons unexplained by the mild temperature in the room. He was flying at half-mast even knowing tonight wasn’t going to be that kind of night. Damn.

  He’d left the light on for Mandy and was just contemplating getting up and going to find her, when the door pushed open. She stood there dressed in nothing but a pink oversized T-shirt. Those long, shapely, tanned legs made his mouth dry and his shaft harden. An image of her wrapping those legs around his waist as he took her up against the door flitted across his overactive mind.

  Mandy stilled in the doorway and stared at a bare chest displaying abs that looked like they’d been fashioned from corrugated steel. He had the kind of chest seen in fitness magazines and women drooled over. Tight skin, brown nipples, and a thin line of dark hair trailing toward the blanket bunched at his waist. Staring back, he propped up on his elbow to rest his head on his hand. The movement caused well-defined muscles to ripple and the blanket to slide down to his hips. Dangerously low. Below his belly button low. He was totally nude under that threadbare blanket.

  That was knowledge she could have done without, knowledge that formed a pool of moisture between her legs.

  She felt light headed, no doubt the residual effect from the poor decision of too much champagne, though she’d sobered up fast enough after stepping into her grandfather’s house. Too many memories.

  “Make yourself at home, Ty.”

  The words snapped in the air with more crackle than she’d intended. Partially to dispel her physical reaction. Part
ially because she’d just been down the hall in her grandfather’s room—remembering.

  She flicked the wall switch off, killing the light. In the gray darkness, she picked her way past their two suitcases and the foot of his bed, toward her own.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She flipped back the chenille bedspread and backed onto the mattress so she faced the window, not Ty. The cool sheets sent a chill through her as a slightly stuffy smell greeted her nose, probably from bedding that hadn’t been used for a number of years. She’d found them in the linen closet after she’d won the battle of the beds. Now here she was spending the night in the room she’d shared with her brother when they had stayed over at their grandparents’ in her younger years, when their grandmother had still been alive.

  “Yes,” she mumbled. Could he tell she’d been crying?

  She hadn’t planned on stepping into JM’s bedroom, the place she had last seen her grandfather alive. But being in the house, she’d felt an almost morbid need to confront the emptiness of that room. So much had happened since his death, she hadn’t had much time to grieve. The will was part of the reason, the rodeo, Mitch and Ty, the other parts, and somehow all interconnected. Regardless, she hadn’t had space to be alone, to process JM’s death.

  The ache in her heart started the moment she’d set foot inside JM’s room. It looked the same, like it was waiting for his return. The comb on the dresser, that special book on the bed stand, the corduroy slippers tucked beside his chair. Only the empty hospital-like bed suggested the truth.

  During the last days of his life, she’d read to him from the pages of Anne of Green Gables. When she’d been young, he’d bought her the book and insisted she read it aloud to him in the evening so she could practice her reading. They’d laugh over Anne’s stubborn, feisty ways. JM had said he’d chosen the novel for her because Mandy had reminded him of Anne.

  She’d kept the book, and as his condition deteriorated, she’d sit and read to him as he listened with his eyes closed, a smile on his frail face. She’d just reached the part where Matthew had died…and the next day, so had JM.