RHONDA LEE CARVER
ROMAN’S CHOICE
2016 Rhonda Lee Carver
Copyright 2016 Rhonda Lee Carver
All rights reserved
Edited by: Todd Tinker
Roman’s Choice (Book 1, Saddles & Second Chances)
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission from the author, Rhonda Lee Carver—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages written in a review. For information, please contact Rhonda Lee Carver @ [email protected].
This work is fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue in this work are from the author’s imagination and creation. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, dead or alive, is completely coincidental.
This book is for your personal pleasure. Ebooks are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. If you have enjoyed this book and wish to share with another reader(s) please purchase another copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, purchase a copy. Thank you for appreciating the hard work the author invested into this book.
DEDICATION:
I’d like to thank the members of my street team, Rhonda’s Rowdy Readers, for all of their help and support.
Thank you to Emily Kirkpatrick and Tanya Skaggs for going above and beyond.
To Ava and Lilly for bringing me sunshine every day.
Thanks to Todd for editing and giving honest opinions.
Table of Contents
Front Matter
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Back Matter
Bonus – Cowboy is Mine (Chapter One)
CHAPTER ONE
PIPPA WILDER LOOKED up from her mini laptop and blinked away the fuzziness as she focused on the cowboy strolling across the lobby of the Vegas casino. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she dipped her gaze over black Stetson and a crisp white button-down shirt that stretched for miles over wide shoulders, to his tight buns that were God’s gift to denim. Now this is a man who can wear a pair of Wranglers. She’d never quite seen a man so tall…so built. Back in Chicago, the views were of a sea of business suits, slicked back hair styles, and manicured hands, so seeing a cowboy was a breath of fresh air. Her gaze naturally fell to his hands. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his billfold and dipped his long fingers in to grab some cash. Big hands. Thick fingers. Mmm…
Her inner thighs quivered, making her smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten turned on with a mere glance at a man. In her defense, this wasn’t just any man. With each step he took, each movement, he commanded attention. He exuded confidence, ability, and power. A man with that much assurance would know how to please a woman, which brought her attention to the large, shiny belt buckle at his waist. She wasn’t close enough to make out the design. She’d have to get very close…
Bringing her gaze upward, she met the most amazing blue stare. Dang! He was looking right at her. A heart-dropping grin tilted his lips, and her cheeks were on fire. He’d caught her staring…at his—oh no! And he was humored.
Lowering her eyes, she kept them glued to the screen, refusing to see where the cowboy had wandered to. She wasn’t in Vegas to sample the local dessert, although she was curious about the flavor. The urge to look was greater than the need to breathe. Reaching for her Mojito, she sipped through the straw while subtly scanning the tables. Disappointment slithered through her. He was gone. It was for the best anyway. Placing her drink back down, she wiped the condensation from her fingers onto her skirt and concentrated on answering the emails in her inbox.
Today’s speech had gone well, at least she hoped. Three-hundred people had attended the workshop, How to Have the Dream Marriage. After the class, she then signed hundreds of copies of her self-help books.
She read the number of new emails and nibbled her bottom lip. Two-hundred-seventy. Her manager had suggested that she hire a personal assistant to handle correspondence with fans, but Pippa refused. If people took the time to write to her, then they deserved a personal note in return. Usually, speaking at conferences meant she would be bombarded with questions afterward. Some wanting help in their marriage, or asking about her personal life. Others just wanted to connect.
Clicking on an email, she read…
“How are you a relationship guru? You’ve never been married. Never had a serious relationship. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a relationship work? No, you wouldn’t. So take your ideas, self-help theories, and shriveling ovaries and jump off a cliff.”
She skipped responding. Obviously, any answer she’d give would only fuel more anger. With a click, another box opened.
“I know what you need, baby. Have you ever had a southern-fried piece of meat? I’m looking for a little lady to be the queen of my double-wide. And because I think you’re one purty little thing, I’m sending you a complimentary picture. Hope you have a place to go to dry up those parts that need a man.”
Not bothering to look at the picture, Pippa closed the laptop and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
And sometimes she received hate mail and dirty pictures.
Usually, comments like this would bounce off of her thick skin, but here lately, she’d wondered herself how a thirty-two-year-old woman could give couples advice when the longest, most intimate relationship she’d had was with her gynecologist, and he only wanted to see her for her yearly exam.
“Bad day?”
The husky, Texas-twang reached Pippa’s ears and with palpable interest she lifted her chin. Standing above her was the six-foot-two, at least two-hundred pounds of muscle, cowboy—the very same one she’d copped a visual feel of moments ago. Her center warmed and her nipples tightened. Clearing her throat, she hoped her voice worked. “I’ve had better.”
“Can I buy you another drink?”
“I haven’t finished this one yet.” His eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen and, up close, he was much more handsome. And out of simple curiosity, the buckle had a longhorn with the name ‘Jericho’ engraved in the metal. She racked her brain. Where had she heard that name before?
“Care if I sit?”
Sexy Cowboy wants to sit with me? This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t sure her shriveling ovaries could take being in close proximity to lethal masculinity. Her shoulders slumped. It was true, she hadn’t had sex in two years and her libido just happened to be on auto-pilot this afternoon.
“If you’re expecting someone…,” he said with a grin.
“Sure. I mean—no, I’m not expecting anyone. Have a seat.” She removed her reading glasses and dropped them into her purse, giving her hair a quick toss over her shoulder and her lips moisture from a sweep of her tongue as he pulled the chair out beside her. The seat almost seemed too small for his body.
The temperature rose by ten degrees. Grabbing her drink, she polished it off.
He lifted the beer bottle and drank. She watched his lips close around the rim and a vision of him kissing her muddled her brain. “Are you her
e for business?”
She swallowed. “How’d you know?”
“The laptop sort of gives it away.” He chuckled, a rich sound that played the invisible strings between her nipples and core like a violin.
Yeah, two years without sex made her a sitting duck. “I-I was just finishing up some last minute details. How about you? Here for the gambling?”
He rubbed his chin and his callused fingers against thick stubble made a splendid sound, making her heart feel like she’d run a marathon. “Business myself. I thought I recognized you. Do I know you?”
She doubted that he had read one of her self-help books. A man like this didn’t need any help. If she’d ever met him before, she’d remember—oh how she’d remember. So, that left the life-sized picture of her that the promoters had planted at the doorway to the conference room. Although she thought the picture was a poor resemblance of her, he probably saw the likeness. Yet she made it a habit not to introduce herself as Pippa Wilder, the relationship guru. It tended to intimidate men. People expected her to have her shit in order. That was laughable. “No, don’t think we know each other. I’m Pippa.”
“Roman.” He held out his large hand.
Staring at his fingers for the longest time before slipping her palm against his, she liked the warmth. Just as she thought, calluses covered his skin. This was a man who worked with his hands, a lot. And by the tightness of his ass, she’d also say he was in the saddle enough to create buns of steel. Why did these two things zap a jolt of electricity straight to her center? If she didn’t control herself, she was going to have to change her panties. “Nice to meet you, Roman.”
“Do you have plans later this evening?”
She blinked. Had she missed something here? “I…well…”
He grinned. “Nothing gets a person in a better mood quicker than the rodeo.” He lifted his beer and emptied the bottle. “You should come out to the fairgrounds later. I think you’d have a good time.”
“Well, I sort of have something I’m supposed to do.”
“Too bad.” He held her gaze for a long, breathtaking second before placing his bottle on the table and standing. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a meeting. If your plans change, come on out. I’ll be there.” He winked.
“Will you be riding?”
“Not tonight. Nice meeting you, darlin’.”
She watched him stroll across the lobby, looking as good going as coming, and apparently everyone agreed. All heads turned, male and female, as he exited the glass doors.
What the hell just happened?
All in a matter of minutes, her world was turned upside down by a handsome stranger. Then he asked her to meet him at the fairgrounds? For a clandestine date? No…that’s not what he meant. He was only being courteous, wanting to help improve her mood. Plain and simple. Anyway, she couldn’t possibly make it to the rodeo. She had a flight back to Chicago to make and an early morning meeting that she couldn’t cancel—could she?
She looked down at her laptop and sighed.
Since adulthood, she’d done everything she was supposed to do in life. She’d concentrated on her career, never swaying from the responsible, stable path. She was a sad case for sure. It was true, her ovaries were shriveling up. Reacting to Roman was the most action her body parts below the waist had in a long time.
Growing up as an only child, her parents had showered her with love and attention. They were her role models of a happy and respectful marriage. When she told them she’d decided to study marriage counseling in college, they had supported her, encouraged her every step of the way. When she finished graduate school, they’d been there, proud of her accomplishment. After she’d written her first book and it had made the bestseller’s list, they’d celebrated by throwing a party for family and friends. Never once had they asked why she never brought men home to meet them, but she could see the question in their eyes. Pippa just wasn’t relationship material. She had one focus—work.
She looked at the doors where Roman had left. He was a temptation without a doubt. A light drawing her in.
Reaching for her glasses, she slipped them on, then dialed a number on her cell. It was answered on the first ring. “Sal, cancel my flight. Something’s come up.” She hit end before her business manager asked any questions.
Tonight she wasn’t Pippa Wilder, the relationship expert. She would be the girl without responsibility, and be fun and carefree. She giggled at the mere thought.
CHAPTER TWO
PIPPA STOOD BY the barn that housed the livestock, scanning the large crowd that had come to watch the riders and listen to the band playing on stage. They had a decent line up of singers. She tapped her toe along with the beat of the popular song sung by a young newcomer to country music. The screams of fans mingled with the singer’s husky voice.
Leaning against the cool outer wall, Pippa inhaled deeply, catching the scent of hay, horses, and elephant ears. The sun was beating down on her and she was glad she’d sprayed herself with sunscreen. With her pale skin, she’d burn and that wasn’t conducive to the plans she’d weaved for herself tonight.
A group of cowboys walked passed her and she scanned their faces, not seeing the particular cowboy she was looking for. Two women, dressed in bikinis and smiles that broadcasted naughty thoughts, bounced up to the men. One of the women, a petite brunette with Double Ds, handed over a pen. When one of the cowboys asked what she wanted him to sign, the brunette gave him a coy look, then thrust her chest forward and pulled down one cup of her top. Her nipple ring twinkled in the sunlight. She got her autograph and a smile. After the men walked away, the young ladies were giggling over their newly inked bosoms and cheerfully bragged on how their friends were going to be green with envy.
Pippa laughed and shifted in her new boots, spotting a poster attached with thumbnails to the side of the barn door. She stepped closer, her throat constricting. Now she realized where she had heard the name Jericho. Roman Jericho was one-fifth of the Jericho brothers—the star rodeo brothers, just as the sign boasted. Roman and Penn Jericho were making a star appearance, signing autographs at today’s event.
She took a step backward and was pushed by a passerby. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Giving her head a little shake, she remembered the documentary she’d watched about the brothers a few years back. Their father was a well-known rider and they’d followed in his footsteps—inheriting the ’eight-second’ gene pool. What she recalled most about the men was how the documentary had portrayed them as players. Bachelors who couldn’t be nailed to one woman.
This changed things a bit…or did it?
Wasn’t she here for this very reason?
What was she doing here among this crowd?
She was miles out of her comfort zone—Earth from Mars distance.
A man like Roman must have all sorts of women falling at his dusty boots, flashing nipple rings and big boobs. What need would he have for a nerdish woman who hadn’t used her seduction skills in so long they were probably rusty? Her B-cups had never felt so small in her life. She wasn’t sure she could handle anything that didn’t require batteries and a good cleaning afterward. She hadn’t thought this through very carefully. Had she really believed she was the type to, well, screw a stranger? She should stick to giving advice and leave the dirty work to the women who knew how to.
Turning on her heel, she smacked her face into an iron wall. She pulled back and rubbed her sore nose, then slowly moved her eyes along the Chambray shirt and strong jawline, to those amazing eyes that had haunted her from the moment she saw them in the lobby of the casino.
“Are you wanting an autograph?” Roman smiled and her toes curled in the uncomfortable boots.
“I’m afraid I don’t have paper.” She wished her voice wouldn’t shake like a child’s on their first day of school.
“Neither did they.” He winked and nodded to where the buckle bunnies in the bikinis were now hanging around another cowboy.
“I’m afraid yo
u’ve mistaken me for something I’m not.” She walked away, but within seconds, he was beside her. Giving him a side-glance, she wasn’t surprised in seeing him smile. Yeah, he was sexy with his penetrating blue eyes and tilted grin, but she was losing bravery by the second. Sure, she’d come here to sleep with him, but she didn’t know if she had it in her for a one-night stand.
“You might want to tell me who I’ve mistaken you for,” he said.
She kept on walking.
He grabbed her shoulder firmly, but his fingers didn’t hurt one bit, and he stopped her. He slid his hand down her arm and tugged her by the elbow into a breezeway between the livestock buildings, away from the growing maze of human traffic coming from the pavilion. “Hey, you just got here. You can’t leave now.”
She stood so close to him that she could feel the heat from his body burning through her skin, making her nipples painfully tight. She backed up until her shoulders struck the cement wall. “I just realized who you are,” she whispered.
“And that scares you how?” He lifted a thick brow.
“Did you think I was a groupie when you saw me at the casino?”
He laughed. “Hardly. Most buckle bunnies don’t bring their laptops and wear a turtle neck. Anyway, remember you told me you were in town for work.”
She squinted. “I wasn’t wearing a turtleneck.”
“You should have been.”
“Are you making fun of me?” she snapped.
“You’re not all bound up in clothing now. I like the T-shirt. Is it true?” He caught her by surprise when he lightly skimmed his finger along the tops of her breasts.
Her knees weakened and she couldn’t seem to wrap her brain around his words. “What?”
“The shirt. ‘Sweet and saucy. Dare to taste?’” He moved his finger as he read each word.
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