by Jamie Beck
“Good evening, ladies.” He stood beside the blonde.
She smiled at him, jutting one hip outward. “Hey, handsome.”
Bingo.
“You having a good time tonight?” he asked, nodding politely at her friend before returning his attention to her.
“It’s getting better.” She pushed a section of hair behind her ear and held out her hand. “I’m Susie. This is Beth.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Trip.” He took a swig of beer. “You mustn’t be from around here, ’cause I’m sure I’d have noticed you if you were.”
“Oh, no. I’m from here, I just haven’t spent much time in bars.” She sipped her drink.
“Don’t like the crowds?”
Susie glanced at Beth and then laughed. “I love crowds, but I only turned twenty-one last month.”
Twenty-one. Legal. But eleven years his junior. Was that too young? Jesus, even having that damn thought depressed him a little. Made him feel old standing there in the bar—alone. He shoved aside the unwelcome realization. “Ah. That explains it.”
Through the window, he caught sight of another blonde tottering along the sidewalk under the streetlights—a very familiar blonde. What the hell is she doing walking alone at night?
“Excuse me a minute, I need to check on someone.” He hurried away without thinking about it and dashed onto the sidewalk. “Kelsey? What are you doing?”
She turned, her eyebrows rising, appearing to wobble a bit on those shoes. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Why are you stumbling through town alone in the dark?” Trip felt himself frowning. “Not too smart.”
“I’m fine.” She waved her arms at him, all flopsy. “This is my town. I’m perfectly safe. I always walk to and from my sister’s house.”
“I can’t believe she and Bill let you leave like this.” Trip gestured up and down with his hand, concern warring with arousal.
“Let me?” Kelsey made a phfft sound. He hid a smile at her drunken behavior. Alcohol robbed her banter of its typical sarcasm, replacing it with bravado. “I wanted to walk home and so I did.”
“Well, how about you let me see you the rest of the way home?” He realized he was still holding the beer in his hand, so he chugged it and tossed it in a nearby garbage can. “Come on. Just how many glasses of champagne did you drink?”
Kelsey shrugged. “It’s my birthday. I celebrated!”
“For someone who’s celebrating, you don’t look too happy right now.” He grabbed her by the elbow to prevent her from falling over. As soon as he touched her, he felt that connection everywhere. “Which way?”
She pointed to the right then yanked her arm away and ran a hand through her loopy curls. “Happy? Ha! Happy . . . I’m flippin’ thirty-one. Thirty-one! That’s like . . . like seventy in guy years. Thirty-one, alone on a Saturday, and . . . and my feet are killing me.”
He heard a little squeak of exasperation. Before he said anything, she briefly covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “Oh, God. I must be drunk or I’d never give you any ammo to use against me later. Just pretend I didn’t say anything. You never saw me.”
She took two steps, twisted her ankle, then bent over with a frustrated groan to unbuckle her shoes. Trip enjoyed the nice view of her ass in those shorts until she kicked off her shoes and stood up.
“You can’t walk home in your bare feet, Kelsey. There’s broken glass and rocks and stuff.”
“Well, I can’t walk in these new shoes anymore, either.” She held them up, scowling. “They’re not broken in yet.”
“No amount of breaking those stilts in will make them good walking shoes.” He crossed to where she was standing and leaned down closer to her face. “I can appreciate heels as much as the next guy, but why do women buy shoes this high?”
“They make my legs look thinner.” She stared at him like he must be the dumbest man on the planet. He might’ve laughed if he weren’t feeling so stirred up while she obviously felt nothing more than disdain.
“You’ve got great legs. You don’t need shoes that make you practically as tall as me.”
“You think I have great legs?” Her genuine skepticism surprised him. He’d pleased her, which felt oddly good.
Great legs, great ass, great rack, great face . . . and awesome hair. Of course, he didn’t want to admit any more than necessary. Instead, he turned his back to her and squatted a bit. “Jump on. I’ll carry you home.”
“I’m too heavy.” She sighed. “I’m fine to walk.”
“I’ve carried backpacks up the mountain that weigh more than you. Just jump on so I don’t have to throw you over my shoulder.” Now he was getting annoyed by having to beg to help her.
But a whole lotta other sensations squeezed out his irritation the minute she wrapped her legs around his waist, rested her chin on his shoulder, and let some of her fragrant hair cascade around him. Holy hell, she felt good, like he knew she would. Made him wish he was carrying her face-to-face instead of piggyback style.
“Thanks.” Her soft voice brushed across his neck. He was just tamping down a new set of tingles when she lifted his Stetson off his head and stuck it on her own. “Now I’m a cowgirl instead of a princess.”
A cowgirl. He wondered if she intended him to note the sexual connotation of that phrase, which now had his jeans feeling too damn tight. He needed to dump her at home quickly and head back to the bar.
“One more block, that way.” She pointed up ahead. Ten seconds later, she asked, “Trip?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you really think men like Wade would like me more if I were less nice?”
His grip tightened around her thighs as he frowned. It was rare—hell, never—that he had a girl wrapped around his body and all she could think about was other men. He set her down in front of her building.
He wouldn’t have responded except she looked up at him with pleading, amber puppy-dog eyes. “It’s not about being nice. You’re just too eager. It’s written all over your face, and most guys aren’t ready for all that so soon.”
“So my being open and thoughtful means I’m too easy?” Her brows drew together. “I’m not that easy. Jeez, it’s been like . . . a while since . . . you know.” Even in the dark, he could read embarrassment all over her face. Boy, tomorrow she was going to regret drinking all that champagne if she remembered everything she’d admitted tonight.
But right now she was suddenly looking at him in a way that set off his radar, because at that moment she was thinking about sex and him, not other men. He liked that idea way more than he should.
The conversation had veered into awkward territory, so he did what he did best. Flirt. “I’d be happy to remedy that particular problem for you. You shouldn’t go too long without. Consider it a birthday present.”
She tipped her chin up a bit, studying him. “You would, wouldn’t you? Just sex and nothing else. And that’s good enough for you? You don’t get lonely?”
“I’m not lonely.” He inched even closer, lowering his voice. “I get what I need. I don’t hurt anyone. And I have a damn good time in the process.” He peered down at her, insanely hoping she might surprise him and take the bait. “You should try it sometime.”
The air seemed to crackle and he realized he’d been holding his breath. Would she actually accept his offer? One night in bed with her would mean he’d deal with the stalker otherwise known as Boomerang for weeks or months. But he already knew it would be worth it. At least, that’s what his body was shouting.
He inclined nearer to her, finding it hard to breathe while she stared at his mouth for several seconds.
Then she shook her head as if waking from a strange dream, and straightened. “Guess it’s something to think about. Thanks for the ride home, cowboy.”
Kelsey turned, shoes in her hand, and scampered down the walkway to her building. She glanced back over her shoulder and gave a little wave. “Good night.”
It wasn’t until a block later t
hat he realized she’d never given him back his hat—one of very few mementoes he had from Poppy. He stopped for a second, but then kept walking. If he’d turned back, he might’ve done or said something really stupid. He’d get Poppy’s hat tomorrow when she came to work on the website.
Right now he needed a cold shower or a woman, but he couldn’t be with some other woman if he was just going to be picturing Kelsey’s pouty mouth. Man, he hated cold showers.
Chapter Four
Kelsey peeked out from beneath the pillow and popped one scratchy eyelid open to find a vintage brown Stetson beside her on the bed. The throbbing in her cotton-stuffed head intensified as she scowled and peered under the covers. Whew! Pajamas. Her nightgown and the empty, neatly made sheets to her left thankfully answered her prayer that she hadn’t done anything too stupid with Trip.
She rolled onto her back and sighed. Self-restraint was a good thing. Of course, being naughty might’ve also been a good thing, at least in the moment. Glancing back at Trip’s hat, she pictured him lying there wearing it . . . and nothing else.
Oh, bad idea. Very bad idea. The mere image sent a shiver down her spine.
Kelsey sat up, her back pressed against her pillows, and hugged her knees to her chest. She rubbed her sore feet, which summoned a memory of last night’s piggyback ride.
Carrying her three and a half blocks to keep her from getting hurt after she’d kicked off her shoes in the middle of the street would’ve been kinda chivalrous, if one could believe he didn’t have an ulterior motive. But his affinity for children aside, Trip always had a motive when it came to women. It started with an s and ended with an x and came with a side of “don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
Sighing, she forced herself out of bed. Grey and Trip were expecting her at eleven for a little advice on updating their social media sites. Last time she’d gone to Backtrax to help, Grey had rejected her and pissed her off. She might not have agreed to try helping again had he and Avery not been dating. Now she’d have to face Trip so soon after all that champagne caused her to let her guard down.
Keeping her cool would be a challenge. Perhaps she could simply focus on the sizable challenge of bringing Grey and Trip’s business into the twenty-first century. Or better yet, the challenge of studying a few more chapters of the real estate investment book Wade had recommended.
Given her itinerary, Sunday would not be a day of rest.
After downing a healthy portion of greasy eggs and bacon to deal with her hangover, she stood in front of her cheval mirror, appraising her Abercrombie navy-and-cranberry-print summer dress and red strappy sandals. Yes, her sore feet rebelled against yet another high-heel shoe, but they were the perfect ones for the dress. The fact Trip thought she had nice legs had nothing to do with her decision to wear that particular outfit or those particular shoes, no sirree. She’d be sitting for most of the morning, anyway.
Once more her gaze drifted to the Stetson, with its fraying hatband. How unlike Trip, a man who took pride in his appearance, to wear such a beat-up hat.
She lifted it off the mattress, her fingers brushing against the supple, well-worn brim. Grinning to herself, she piled her hair atop her head and then donned the Stetson, tipping it back a bit. Looked cute. Maybe she should add hats to her wardrobe in the future.
No doubt Trip expected her to return his today. Of course, he owned several, including a gorgeous black felt one and a summer straw one, too, so this old thing couldn’t be too important. Maybe she’d keep it for a while . . . bribe him or make him earn it back or just generally torment him a bit by “forgetting” to return it.
Tormenting Trip sounded like fun.
She set his hat on the chair, grabbed her purse and Guy Kawasaki’s The Art of Social Media book, and strolled out the door.
When she breezed through Backtrax’s empty reception area, she called out, “Yoo-hoo! You guys back there?”
Trip appeared at the end of the dim hallway, wearing olive-green cargo shorts, a gray T-shirt, and leather flip-flops. His snug cotton tee hugged his broad shoulders and pecs, reminding her of how she’d clung to that same body just last night. She licked her suddenly dry lips, praying he didn’t notice her reaction.
As always, he greeted her with a smile and a quick once-over. His gaze stopped at her feet. Shaking his head, he teased, “I see you didn’t learn your lesson last night.”
She walked up to him and patted his cheek. “Oh, I learned a lot last night.”
“Me too. But what did you learn?” He looked down at her, brows raised. His face was so close she could see the little cleft in his chin and appreciate that clean-shaven jaw. Miraculously, she repressed the urge to run her fingers along his jawbone.
“Beneath this whole playboy persona is a bit of a gentleman. Just a bit, of course. But it’s in there. Once upon a time, your mom must’ve taught you how to treat a lady.” His momentarily haunted expression surprised her. Did he prefer people to believe him to be shallow and self-centered? “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Kelsey peered inside the office and glanced at her watch, pretending not to notice the way Trip’s gaze automatically fell to her cleavage. “Where’s Grey?”
“First things first. Where’s my hat?”
“You mean that old thing that belongs in a thrift shop?” She might’ve laughed at him if his shoulders hadn’t stiffened and tight lines pulled around his mouth.
“I need it back, Kelsey.” Although he stared at her without blinking, she thought she saw a hint of panic in those green eyes. His body gobbled up most of the space in the doorway, making hers prickle from the nearness.
“Settle down, cowboy. You’ll get your hat back.” She tilted her head. “But now you’ve got me curious. What’s so special about that one? You have at least a dozen others.”
Trip leaned back against the doorjamb. “It belonged to my grandfather.”
She’d known him for eight months and yet, until last night, had never heard a single word about his background or family. Now several new questions sprang to mind, but she chose to tease him instead of pressing for answers he’d probably never give.
“Don’t tell me you have a sentimental streak, too. That’s too cute, Trip. Makes you almost . . . human.” Seeing another hint of vulnerability worried her because it could actually make her start to fall for him, which would surely be a disaster.
“You’ve only got that partly right.” He grinned, slipping back into his detached persona. “Haven’t you heard? I’m superhuman.”
Disaster averted.
“So where’s Grey?” She sighed.
“Grey’s put me in charge of this project.” Trip set his hands on his hips. “Looks like it’s just the two of us.”
She hoped he didn’t see her alarm at the prospect of being cooped up alone with him. “Well, then, let’s get started.”
Trip pulled an extra chair over to the desk and sat directly in front of the computer. Kelsey sat beside him, put her bag on the floor at her feet, and slapped the manual onto the desktop.
She pulled a hairclip out of her purse and twisted her hair atop her head so it wouldn’t fall in her face while they worked. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Trip frown. Of course, he ignored her questioning glance.
Shrugging, she pulled the keyboard over to her side of the desk while asking, “May I?”
Trip chuckled, leaning close. “By all means.”
The mere sound of his voice tightened her nipples. Kelsey thanked God she’d worn a loose dress so he couldn’t see her body’s response.
“Let’s look at your site.” She typed its URL. “Now tell me, what do you like about it?”
She watched his eyes scan the neatly aligned row of tabs and the column of links to forms and waivers. “It’s easy to navigate and to find relevant information.”
Kelsey laid her head on the desk, closed her eyes, faked a snore, then popped back up singing, “BOR-ING!”
“Functional.” Trip crossed his arms, frow
ning.
She drew a deep breath and stuck out her chin. Men. “Websites and social media should give some sense of the product or service you’re selling. What are you selling, Trip?”
“Guided backcountry ski and rock climbing trips.”
“No.” She rolled her eyes.
“No?” Trip tilted his head, frowning. “We’re not selling those trips?”
“Nope.” Kelsey shook her head. “You’re selling ‘adventure.’ You’re selling adrenaline and excitement. You should be appealing to guys who want to be like you, and women who want to be with you.” As soon as she heard those last words, she realized her mistake.
“In other words, all women?” he interjected, wearing a smirk and twinkling eyes. When she rolled her eyes, he chuckled. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Does anything on this site promote a sense of adventure?” She thrust her index finger toward the screen while scrunching up her nose.
He scanned the green-and-beige page for a few minutes, with its Backtrax logo and stodgy fonts, before he admitted defeat. “No.”
“You and Grey are not old Bill Batton. You two need to get your handsome faces on this site, and then load it with recent tour pictures. Make it fun and fresh.”
“You think I’m handsome?” He leaned closer, his eyes scanning her face like a predator.
So flippin’ handsome. Fortunately, she pressed her lips together before the words escaped. Suddenly she wanted to fan herself, but that would only encourage his flirtatious behavior. “Stay focused, please.”
He took his time sitting back. “When I’m stomping big air, I’m not pulling out my iPhone to snap photos.”
“Surely you shot some footage with a GoPro. Grab some frames, maybe even upload a video or two.”
“That might look cool.” He sat forward, his expression thoughtful. “But how will it bring people to visit the site?”
“For starters, join Facebook groups or communities that involve climbing and skiing.” She hit a few keystrokes and brought up several rock climbing groups on Facebook. “You need to interact on these sites often, but not to directly ‘sell’ your services. Submit stories of your own and suggestions. Answer people’s questions about places you’ve been, techniques, gear, and other stuff like that. Gradually people will get interested in your expertise and start looking you up. That’s when they’ll find your new and improved website.”