Prairie Heat (Cowboys of The Flint Hills #1)

by Tessa Layne

  He cleared his throat, suddenly wishing he hadn’t downed his scotch so quickly.

  “So… what are you doing in Chicago?” Quite possibly the lamest opener since… ever. He’d done better asking cheerleaders to the prom.

  She shot him a look of challenge and exasperation. “I’m an Associate Scientist here at Fermilab. What are you doing in Chicago? You’re the cowboy.”

  Dang she was sassy. She’d obviously inherited the Hansen trait of not backing down from a fight.

  “I’m sure you know about Fermilab’s bison herd. I delivered a pregnant cow and a two year-old bull. We ranchers are committed to preserving genetic diversity. Something you scientists are familiar with?” He didn’t keep the sarcasm from this voice.

  Her pretty mouth tilted downward. “Look. Nice to see you again and all, but don’t let me keep you from your party.”

  Hansens were bad news. Always had been. If he was smart, he’d turn and walk away.

  Right now.

  Too bad that was the last thing he wanted to do.

  She piqued his curiosity.

  He wanted more of this… banter.

  And whatever else that was zinging back and forth between them.

  Throwing caution to the wind, he extended his hand. “Why don’t you join me?” He knocked his chin back toward the front room.

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s in it for you?”

  “The company of a lovely lady to help pass the time at a somewhat boring but very necessary event?”

  She snorted. “That’s a nice line, but it won’t work with me.”

  He spread his palms. “Consider this a favor then. I helped you out of a pinch once. Now you can help me.” He gave her his most charming smile. The one that his housekeeper, Mrs. Sanchez, said crinkled his eyes, and made her pinch his cheeks and call him niño.

  She pushed her glasses up her nose, staring at him in disbelief.

  “You’re calling in a fifteen year-old mark?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I know you Hansens hate to owe anyone. Just giving you the opportunity to wipe the slate clean.”

  “You’re kidding.” She scowled at him, eyes flashing. “I’ve always heard you Sinclaires are the most arrogant bunch of–”

  He leaned forward, interrupting her. “Surely you’re made of stronger stuff, Dr. Hansen?” He’d push his advantage while he had the chance.

  She crossed her arms. “Surely you know you can’t manipulate me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of trying.” He lowered his voice. “But I’d like you to join me.”

  The look in her eye softened a fraction.

  “Please?” Hell, when was the last time he’d begged? For anything? Let alone someone’s company?

  Her breath came out in a whoosh and she nodded. A tightness in his chest released, surprising him. She reached for her glass, squared her shoulders, and slid off the stool. “Fine,” she said, raising her chin in challenge. “Though I’m certain I’ll regret this.”

  He winked at her. “I’m certain you’ll never forget this.” As long as she thought he was arrogant, he might as well play the part.

  He settled his arm at her hip. As they moved through the crowd, his hand skimmed over the soft material of her skirt.

  Jesus.

  Was she not wearing panties?

  Awareness surged through him.

  He splayed his fingers, testing. Sure didn’t feel like it.

  Damn. He’d give his left nut to find out.

  He held the curtain open nodding for her to step through into the gathering. He dipped his head, steeling himself against the tantalizing scent of her hair. “You can tell me which scientists wear high-heels in their office.”

  “That’s the problem with you cowboy types. You think all scientists are poofs.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t they?”

  She studied him over the rim of her glass. “We’re pioneers. Same as our ancestors. Only we think before we speak.”

  Zing.

  Well wasn’t she a surprising bit of sass? He should have expected that, given her father. “Boldly going where no man–”

  “Or woman,” she corrected. “And I don’t see cowboys pushing to be the front of the line for space travel.” She took a sip of her wine, regarding him intently.

  Was it possible to be jealous of a glass? His balls tightened as she licked the remains of the liquid from her lips. There were so many things he could imagine that pink tongue doing.

  “As long as we’re discussing gross generalities, why don’t we discuss how cowboys are an oversexed bunch of Neanderthals who can’t accept the possibility women have more than fluff between their ears?”

  He stiffened. “I’m not a Neanderthal.”

  She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

  So what if he’d been checking her out nonstop since Jamey had connected them? So what if the first thought that entered his mind was what she’d look like naked beneath him? That didn’t make him a Neanderthal. That made him a flesh and blood man.

  “I’m not,” he repeated defensively. “But I am human. And there’s nothing wrong about appreciating a pretty woman.” He allowed his eyes to slowly rake over her curves. Her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips as a slight pink flush crept up her neck. The vein there fluttered wildly.

  Huh.

  So she wasn’t as cool and collected as she projected. As if in answer to his thought, she pushed her glasses up her nose again.

  Her tell.

  Huh.

  Damn if that movement didn’t go straight to his cock.

  It would not do to sport a raging hard-on in a room full of observant scientists. He needed to shut that shit down fast. Ripping his gaze away, his eyes landed on a painting.

  Of a nude. A voluptuous reclining nude. With long blonde waves cascading over her shoulder.

  Not helping.

  So not helping.

  This wouldn’t do at all. Steeling himself, he went to the place he hated. His worst nightmare come to life. He hated thinking about that afternoon twelve years ago and the disastrous results, but it always did the trick. The vision was permanently branded in his mind and nothing sucked the sex out of him faster. He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs and forcing himself back to the present.

  She tilted her head, analyzing him over the rims of her glasses, like he was some kind of specimen. “You okay?”

  Great. Nothing got past her.

  He swallowed, nodding. “Yep. Have you tasted the food yet?”

  Her eyes narrowed skeptically, but she didn’t press the matter. “No. But if it’s Jamey’s it will be incredible.”

  He ushered her to the table. “Everything on the table is made from bison from Sinclaire and Sons.”

  “When did you move to bison? Weren’t you always cattle?”

  He nodded, grateful to be on safer turf.

  “Ben. He convinced us to switch five years ago. Said it made financial as well as environmental sense.” Pride welled in his chest. He loved what he and his brothers had built together.

  “And did it?”

  “So far, so good. But we’re a small operation and need to continue to diversify. We’ve built the herd to seven-fifty, and we’re developing a nice A-list of clients across the country, thanks to creativity like Jamey’s.” He handed Maddie a cracker smeared with pâté, enjoying the ecstatic expression on her face as she savored the taste.

  Shit. Food was off limits too. All he could think about was doing things to her to elicit that same reaction. He couldn’t resist offering her another bite, this time of the bison bourguignon, just to see it again.

  Her eyes rolled back and she let out a satisfied sigh. His cock stood at attention, loving the sounds she made. He bit back a groan as she slowly licked her fingers. “Oh my God. That’s so good. That’s bison?” She grinned, her eyes lighting. “Jamey’s the best.”

  No. Your reactions are the best.

  When was the last time he
’d talked business with anyone but a client or his brothers? Or allowed himself to enjoy a purely sensual moment like this? This was dangerous territory. He needed to shift focus quick.

  He grabbed a glass of wine for her from a passing tray. “Refill?” She shrugged and accepted the glass. Lightly touching her elbow, he led her to the makeshift bar. “Scotch please.”

  She smirked. “So I see Jamey hasn’t convinced you of the finer points of Irish whiskey.”

  “Old habits die hard.”

  “What other habits do you have, Blake Sinclaire?”

  He stilled. The way she said his name. It rippled over him like a breeze dancing through prairie grass.

  Holy. Hell.

  “If you spoke to Dottie at the diner, she’d tell you I’m an old grumpus. If you spoke to Anders at the Feed ’n Seed, he’d tell you I pay my bill promptly on the fifth of the month.” His eyes narrowed. “And if you asked most mothers in town, they’d tell you to run, not walk away as fast as you could. Everyone knows that Sinclaires and Hansens mix like oil and water.”

  Her eyes widened at that. A half smile lifted the corners of her sweet lips.

  “I’m a Hansen, cowboy. We run toward challenges.”

  He snorted, shaking his head.

  “Don’t tell me you avoid them?”

  “Challenges?”

  She nodded, raising her eyebrows in cool assessment.

  He shrugged. “Let’s just say I calculate the odds before making a move.”

  Her eyes flared.

  Where in the hell was this conversation going? His chest felt like a balloon about to burst. Except for the occasional flick of her tongue, which drove him to distraction, she seemed cool as a cucumber. What would it take for her to drop the cool facade? He’d love to find out.

  “How very scientific of you.” She drained the rest of her wine and signaled the server for another.

  “You don’t have a corner on the intelligence market.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Considering I had a doctorate by the time most people discover college nightlife, I feel pretty confident.”

  He took a sip of his scotch. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  Her face remained impassive. “Say more.”

  “Warren Hansen is the cockiest bastard I’ve ever had the misfortune to wrangle with.”

  Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile. “There’s your problem. If you want to come out on top, the last thing you do is ‘wrangle’ with my father.” She took a sip of her wine, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out. You’ve tried to buy back the disputed land, how many times now? Three?”

  Zing.

  He stifled the anger that flamed to life every time he thought about the fact that Warren Hansen had stolen the Sinclaire family homestead from his father. Land he desperately wanted to use for a hunting lodge. Not that he’d ever let on to a Hansen he already had plans in the works.

  No. They’d only use it against him.

  Bitterness rose in the back of his throat. “Warren Hansen swindled that property from our family and it’s an insult to our honor to beg for it back.”

  She tutted, shaking her head. “Swindled? Those emotions will get the best of you every time, Blake.”

  He clenched his jaw. He did not need to wrangle with another Hansen over his property.

  She spoke to him as if she was talking to a child.

  That rankled.

  He was a fucking grown man with an MBA.

  He made deals.

  Big deals.

  With important people.

  He wasn’t some greenhorn basking in the glow of her intelligence.

  She smirked. “You seem to be as bad a poker player as your father.”

  He opened his mouth to make a smart reply, then snapped it shut again, glaring at her.

  She sighed, the look in her eyes too close to pity for his like. “I don’t know why I’m going to tell you this, but in spite of what you said about the mothers in town telling me to run, you seem like a nice man… for a Sinclaire,” she added.

  For a Sinclaire. That was a small victory.

  “First off. Practice your poker face. Warren can read you like a book.”

  He scowled. “I have a great poker face.”

  She arched an eyebrow in question.

  Fine. Maybe he didn’t. But he’d sure as hell start practicing. “Go on.”

  “You can’t go at him head on. You’ll lose every time. Figure out his pinch point and use it. And whatever you do, don’t challenge his pride.”

  He could kiss her for that. Right here. In front of everyone.

  The temptation was overwhelming, her mouth so perfect. He stepped closer.

  CHAPTER 2

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. He’s going to kiss me.

  He looked like he wanted to devour her. Right here. In front of her colleagues. She never should have had that third glass of wine. Or the fourth. She was asking for trouble where Blake was concerned. His scent buzzed around her like mosquitoes, making it impossible to string logical thoughts together.

  Logic told her he was interested. Logic also told her Blake Sinclaire was the last person she should mess with. Even though she had no intention of ever moving back to Prairie, if her family discovered she’d gotten cozy with a Sinclaire, they’d accuse her of being stark raving mad. Nope. Sinclaires should be avoided at all costs. She was already in the family crosshairs over her profession, and their criticism for that provided more than enough heat.

  So what on earth was she doing giving Blake Sinclaire counsel on how to deal with her dad? For a split second she’d felt sorry for him. Her father could be an ass. Heck, was an ass. She knew that better than anyone. Especially after her most recent conversation with him. There was no way he’d ever sell to a Sinclaire. Not now. Not ever. Even with his health concerns.

  Did anyone even know how the feud had started? Did they even care? Each family took offense at the hint of a slight. As it was, she’d probably said too much to Blake. No doubt she’d hear about it if word got back to her cousins or her dad that she’d said anything. But that look in his eyes when he talked about the property tugged at her.

  His head tilted in.

  She backed up a step.

  Not because she wanted to escape. Quite the contrary. If she kept smelling him she’d lose rational thought and do something stupid like throw herself at him. Blake was sexy as sin. And her pussy throbbed insistently when she focused on his mouth. A mouth she suddenly wanted to taste more than her wine. But she simply couldn’t let that happen. And not only because he was a Sinclaire.

  Disappointment flickered in his eyes. And something deeper. More… sinful. Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

  A throat cleared to her side.

  “Ah, Ms. Hansen?”

  She turned, surprised someone here recognized her. She’d scanned the room as she’d entered and hadn’t seen any of her close colleagues.

  “I’m Gary Armstrong, Research Associate at the James R. Macdonald Laboratory in Manhattan, Kansas.”

  “Oh, yes. At K-State. I’m aware of it.”

  The man was a few inches taller than she was, but next to Blake he looked insignificant.

  “I found your presentation this afternoon to be very thoughtful. I’m passing it along to our lab director. I think he’ll find it intriguing.”

  “I’m flattered. But it was a team effort.”

  He nodded. “Of course. But the application of your research in experimental AMO physics could be quite interesting. If you’re ever in Kansas, please visit us.”

  “I’m sure Maddie would be happy to stop by the next time she passes through Manhattan,” Blake interjected smoothly, placing his hand at her waist.

  She shot him a warning look. What the hell was he playing at?

  “Oh?” Gary’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.

  Great. She could see the gossip wheels al
ready turning in his mind. No doubt the combination of a cowboy and a physicist would feed the mill for weeks. “I have family an hour south of Manhattan. I get down when my schedule allows,” she clarified. Leave it to an arrogant Sinclaire to horn in on her conversation. Well two could play this game. Sending Blake a syrupy smile, she changed the subject.

  “Gary, are you aware that the food you’re enjoying tonight was raised right down the road from your lab? This is Blake Sinclaire, a Kansas rancher whose spread is not far from you.” She patted Blake’s arm. “I’m sure he’d love to tell you all about his bison. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to visit with the chef.”

  Anything to put distance between them. She spun on her heel and wove through the gathering searching for Jamey. She should have known better than to let Jamey talk her into coming out tonight. It only ever ended in disaster. And this time it was drawing up old memories and new, tetchy sensations. She should have stayed home in her fuzzy pajamas to binge watch Dr. Who reruns.

  Jamey bustled up holding an empty chafing tray as if she knew Maddie would want to talk.

  Maddie confronted her, hands on hips. “What on earth were you thinking, Jamey? Have you lost your marbles?”

  “I told you he was testosterone on a stick, didn’t I? And all this time, I thought the men in your hometown were a bunch of yokels.”

  Maddie rolled her eyes. “They are.” Well, one of them wasn’t. At least not now. Not that she’d ever admit it outloud. Especially to Jamey.

  “That.” Jamey tossed her curls back toward where Blake was still standing deep in conversation. “Is no yokel. And from the way he was undressing you with his eyes, I’d say you’ve more than captured his fancy.”

  She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “What are you trying to pull here? You know our family’s history with them. It’s best we stay far apart from each other.” Even as she said it, her heart sank a bit. Blake addled her. Made her insides all twisty and her skin burn. A sure sign that she should stay far away from him.