by JoAnn Ross
“You were hungry,” Buck said, eyeing her empty dish.
“Starving. But it was terrific. As good—and as hot—as advertised.”
“Gal’s got good taste,” Buck told Lucky. “Which makes me wonder why she’d want to put you in her magazine.”
Lucky chuckled. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Jude opted against reiterating his obvious hunk attributes. But that didn’t stop her from noticing the muscled forearms revealed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves.
“We were in a bit of a deadline problem. The man we were going to feature bailed on us and we had to find a replacement at the last minute. Kate suggested Lucky. So, here I am.”
Buck rubbed his chin and gave her another of those silent considering looks that reminded her so much of his grandson. “Seems to me you’re leaving a bit out of that story.”
As Jude scrambled for an acceptable response, Zach, who’d remained silent all during supper, came to the rescue.
“Is that apple pie I smell?”
“Sure is.” Western hospitality won over curiosity. For the moment. But from the way his still-bright eyes had narrowed, Jude realized that it was only a matter of time before she’d have to decide exactly how much she was going to tell Buck O’Neill about Hunk of the Month magazine.
It was strange; she’d never been ashamed of what she did for a living. Despite disparaging comments from the so-called establishment editors, she’d always been the first to defend the rights of women to have the same opportunity to view the kind of tasteful, erotic photographs of the opposite sex that men had always enjoyed.
Indeed, compared to some of its competitors in the fast-paced, take-no-prisoners, he-who-dies-with-the-most-subscribers-wins world of magazine publishing, Hunk of the Month was even fairly tame. As she felt the need to dodge Buck’s questions, Jude wondered who she was trying to protect—Lucky or herself?
After she’d turned down the offer of pie, Lucky surprised her by suggesting they take their business discussion out onto the front porch. Wanting to get matters settled one way or the other before morning, Jude readily agreed.
Night had finally fallen; the wide western sky was a vast sea of indigo set with the first stuttering sparkles of early stars.
“You were right,” she murmured as she sank down on the cushion of the old-fashioned swing that brought to mind another, simpler, slower time.
“About the chili?”
“No. Well, that, too. It was hot. But good.” And strangely, it hadn’t created the fire in her stomach she’d feared it might. “But I was talking about your sky.”
She’d never seen so many stars. In the city, of course, the bright lights overwhelmed them. But even out at the family summer home on South Hampton, she’d never been treated to a view like this. There seemed to be thousands more flickering to life every second.
“Montana may technically be the Big Sky State,” she murmured, “but I can’t imagine theirs could possibly be any bigger than this.”
“Probably isn’t. They just claimed early braggin’ rights.” The swing swayed slightly as he sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder with a smooth, natural gesture that suggested this was not the first time he’d sat on this porch with a woman. “A sky like this kinda helps put life into perspective. Makes you remember there are things a lot bigger in the world than your own petty problems.”
A few hours ago she would have taken his words personally, experiencing a knee-jerk defensiveness. But she’d already begun to understand that Lucky O’Neill didn’t indulge in the type of verbal power jousting she was accustomed to. If he was going to insult you, he’d come right out and say it. He wouldn’t beat around the bush.
“I see what you mean.” She watched a falling star streak a trail of silver across the ebony velvet canvas of sky. “Too bad the rest of the world can’t discover Cremation Creek.” Although it was still technically summer, the temperature had dropped several degrees with the setting of the sun.
“I hope we stay a secret. If all those folks moved out here, then they’d just bring civilization—and its ills—right with them.”
“Unfortunately, you’re probably right.”
Another star streaked across the sky. “Quick. Make a wish,” Lucky murmured.
“A wish?” She wished, against all reason, that he’d kiss her out here on the porch swing.
“Wishes made on falling stars are the luckiest. Even better than birthday ones.”
“Did you make one?”
“Of course.” His eyes met hers, and as his gaze slid over her face, the flicker of male interest made her think they may have shared the same wish.
They sat there for a while, rocking slowly back and forth, getting accustomed to each other’s company. The only sounds were the click of crickets, the night breeze ruffling the leaves of the huge cottonwood tree shading the porch, the occasional lonely, strangely sad sound of an owl hidden away in the darkness.
“I called Katie,” Lucky volunteered after a time.
“I expected you to.” Having been taught to trust no one, she would have done exactly the same thing.
“She dodged the subject of Jack’s parents being in financial difficulties. Which means, since the girl’s never been able to tell an out-and-out lie, you were telling the truth about her needing her job at your magazine.”
“She hasn’t shared all that much with me, either,” Jude said quietly. “I think her loyalty to Jack makes her feel she’d be betraying a family confidence.”
“We’re her family.”
“So are the Petersons now that she’s married Jack. I’ve always had the impression that his parents lead a high-flying lifestyle. Even though Jack’s father never worked.”
“Never?” She heard the blatant disbelief in Lucky’s tone. “Not a day in his life?”
“No. He didn’t have to. Apparently he’d inherited a rather generous trust fund from his grandmother when he was in his teens. The bank managed the money until he came of age, but there was always enough for college, vacation trips to Europe, that sort of thing.”
“But what did he do?”
“I told you, he didn’t have to do anything.”
“Maybe the guy didn’t have to work for daily wages,” Lucky countered. “But what does he do with his time? How does he fill all the hours in a day?”
“Oh.” She decided it wasn’t really her place to pass on rumors of the elder Peterson’s fondness for martinis and Broadway actresses. “I don’t know. I suppose he plays tennis, golf, travels. You know.” It was her turn to shrug. “That whole routine.”
“None of that’s routine around these parts,” he noted. “And although I get the impression that you were born with a proverbial silver spoon in your luscious mouth, you still work.”
He thought her mouth luscious! The knowledge shouldn’t cause such a glow of pleasure. But it did. “I can’t imagine not working.”
“Me, neither.” The hand that had been resting lightly on her shoulder tugged on her hair in a casual, unthreatening way. But she knew that once again they were feeling the same thing when his coffee-dark eyes began to steam. “Imagine a country boy like me and a city gal like you having anything in common.”
Her throat went strangely dry. She tried to blame her suddenly desert arid mouth on too much salt in the chili, but knew that wasn’t really the cause.
“Imagine,” she managed to whisper.
“Makes you kinda wonder what else we might find we share. If we were inclined to look.”
“Lucky—” she put a hand against the front of his shirt “—I think this is where I tell you—”
He covered that hand with his larger, darker one. “Let me guess. You’re going to tell me that you don’t fool around with men you work with.”
She swallowed. “That’s right. I mean in my business, I meet a lot of men—”
“I’d imagine so.” Lucky liked the feel of her hand on his chest, fantasized about it against his bare skin.
“And not just the models,” she said, determined to set the record straight right off the bat. “Despite the fact that we’re a woman’s magazine, there are a lot of men working at Hunk of the Month. And although I’ll admit to having been attracted to a few of them over the years—”
“That just shows you’re normal,” Lucky assured her.
“Exactly.” Although he still hadn’t let her make her point, Jude was relieved that he at least seemed to understand where she was going with it. “But my father always pointed out that mixing business and pleasure only complicates both.”
“And from the sounds of it, you’re a lady who already has enough complications in her life.”
“Yes.” She dragged her hand through her hair. “Which is why I vowed early in my career not to allow personal feelings to interfere with my work.”
“I’m impressed.” And privately relieved to discover that when he did bed Jude Lancaster—which Lucky had every intention of doing—he wouldn’t be joining her personal harem of hunks. “So, does this mean that if I agree to be your Hunk of the Month, I can’t carry you off to the nearest hayloft like I’ve been wanting to do since you hijacked my taxi?”
It shouldn’t have been such a difficult question to respond to. But heaven help her, as she looked up into Lucky’s fathomless dark eyes glinting in the moonlight and recalled her own errant fantasy of making love to him in a fragrant bed of hay, Jude found she couldn’t make herself give him the only possible answer.
“You can’t tell me you haven’t been wondering.” His voice was deep and low.
“Wondering what?”
“What it would be like.” The soft breeze feathered a few strands of hair across her cheek. When he brushed them away, the touch of callused fingertips against her skin made her go stone still. “Me kissing you.” The tantalizing touch skimmed around her jaw. “You kissing me back.”
“Lucky—”
“We started out on a lie, Jude.” There was a low gruffness to his voice that reminded her of the mating growl of a wolf she’d recently seen on a National Geographic program. “Now, since I understand you were in a bind, I’m willin’ to wipe the slate clean on yours and Katie’s little subterfuge. But I’m going to have to insist that you tell me the truth about this.”
Their thighs were touching, side to side, her hand was still on his chest, allowing her to feel the strong steady beat of his heart. His fingers were cupping her chin and their faces were so close together she had to struggle to focus.
“Yes.” It was more croak than a proper answer. Jude, who’d never been at a loss for words in her life, tried again. “Yes.” She was pleased when her voice was stronger. Steadier. “Of course I have, but—”
“Thank God.” She hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding his breath until he let it out. “I was beginning to worry that I was the only one going nuts.”
He cupped her face between his palms. “There’s one thing you should know before I do what I’ve been wanting to all evening.... I’ve decided to help you out—”
“You have?”
“Yeah, and we can get into all the whys and wherefores and what limits I’m going to insist on later. Right now I just want you to understand that you don’t have to kiss me to convince me to go along with yours and Katie’s cockeyed scheme.”
“Yes.” The single word was a soft, shaky, unfamiliar sound that could have come from the lips of a stranger. “I do.”
He smiled at that. With his lips and his eyes. And then slowly, deliberately lowered his head.
Since the attraction she felt for this man had struck like a bolt of lightning from a Wyoming sky, Jude expected his kiss to drag her swiftly into the storm. But his mouth brushed hers lightly, like the welcome touch of a soft summer zephyr. Once, twice, a third time. Each time lingering a bit longer, encouraging her to open to him as a wild rose opens its petals to the enticement of a benevolent sun. Jude could not have denied him, even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t.
His thumb brushed a gentle pressure against her chin, inviting her lips to part to allow him further intimacy. An intimacy she readily obliged. She felt his soft sigh of satisfaction.
“Ah, Jude.” Never had her name sounded so special. So lovely. Like a promise. Or a prayer.
Her eyes were closed, but she could still see the sparkling stars wheeling behind her lids. When he dampened, first her top lip, then the bottom with the tip of his tongue, she felt a warmth encompass her, as though the heat from those pinpoints of fire had enveloped her.
Amazingly, even now, when she would have rushed, he demonstrated a patience that was almost otherworldly. Even as she longed to feel his hands all over her body, they continued to hold her face as his mouth teased and tormented, making her desperate for more.
“Lucky.” Her own hands seemed strangely, unnaturally heavy as they lifted and threaded their way through his hair. “Please.”
He was drawing things out of her—needs, wants, unruly emotions—with only his mouth. She felt oddly, uncharacteristically shy, both thrilled by the passion his kisses stirred and self-conscious at the same time. “Kiss me.”
“That’s what I’m doin’, darlin’.” His warm, wickedly slow lips skimmed up the side of her face, leaving a trail of heat.
“No.” Her hands clutched fistfuls of his silk hair, dragging his mouth back to hers. “I mean really kiss me.”
He chuckled at that. A rich, low rumble that vibrated through her like a tuning fork. “You’re definitely a city girl, New York.” She felt his smile against her mouth. “Always in such a hurry.” Her hands were now fretting up and down his back, like sparrows beating their wings against a hurricane. With a control that on some distant level Jude admired, even as it frustrated, his hands moved with agonizing slowness over her shoulders, warming her flesh beneath her silk blouse.
“Out here in cowboy country, we like to take things slower.” His touch barely skimmed the crests of her breasts. “Do things right.”
Lucky O’Neill frustrated her. Fascinated her. As she began to tremble from the power he seemed to wield over her, he also frightened her.
As if possessing the uncanny ability to read her turmoiled mind, he pulled back slightly. Her body felt absolutely bereft as his hands abandoned it to fall lightly to his sides. “We’d better be getting you to bed.”
“Bed?” Confusion swirled even as desire continued to drag at her.
“Alone.” He skimmed a finger down her nose as he had earlier in an affectionate gesture that was totally at odds with the passion he’d made her feel with that devastatingly slow kiss. “Tomorrow’s a big day. We’re bringing the bulls down from the summer meadows. I have to get up early and if you intend to go along—”
“What?” She stared up at him. “You want me to go with you on a roundup?”
His expression turned serious. “I can’t take the day off, Jude. Not even for you and Katie. Oh, you’ll get your pictures,” he assured her, effectively cutting off her planned protest. “But since I have to take care of ranch business before I can take off and play hunk for you, I figured you might like to see some real cowhands in action. So you’ll have a feel for the work when you write the copy.”
She wasn’t about to admit that she hadn’t planned on all that much copy. After all, although she’d throw herself into Cremation Creek before admitting it, Hunk of the Month subscribers did not really buy the magazine for any in-depth articles.
“But we don’t have much time.”
He clucked his tongue. “There you go, hurrying again, New York. I was talking with Zach while you were freshening up. He says that so long as he has the pictures by next week you’ll be
able to get the magazine to bed on time.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“So, the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You can stay here and get yourself a healthy, mind-clearing dose of fresh air and Buck’s country cooking while you’re waiting for me to get my work done. Or, you can go on back to New York and Zach will send the pictures when they’re done.”
“Zach’s a marvelous photographer and I trust him implicitly. But it’s my name on the masthead as managing editor and since there isn’t any time in the schedule for retakes, I’ll feel better if I watch the shoot myself. So, I’ll stay.”
What she did not say was that there’d been more than a few photo shoots over the years she’d not bothered to attend. What she tried not to admit, even to herself, was the reason she was finding it necessary to stay in Wyoming for this one was sitting right beside her.
“I was hoping that might be your decision.” He laced their fingers together and stood up, bringing her with him. “Buck serves breakfast at five.”
“Five in the morning?”
“It’s a little late. But I figured after the long day you’ve had, you’d need a few hours extra sleep. It’s about an hour ride up to the pastures and—”
“Ride?” She felt a prick of suspicion. “Surely you mean drive.”
“We’ll drive the first few miles. But then we’ll have to switch to horses to get the rest of the way up the mountain.”
“I haven’t ridden in years.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll come back to you. Just like riding a bicycle. And after the itty-bitty English saddle you undoubtedly used back in New York City, a western saddle will feel like you’re sittin’ in Buck’s La-Z-Boy recliner.”
Jude wasn’t all that surprised that he’d guessed right about her saddle. “There’s no way I can ride a horse in this suit. And my clothes won’t get here until tomorrow, and even then—”