by Holly Rayner
He smiled. “I told you,” he said, his bright teeth flashing against the dimming twilight sky as he spoke. “The best in Texas.”
His smile, along with his deep, friendly drawl, relaxed her. She grinned. “I had no idea whiskey could taste so good,” she said. “I’ve only actually tasted it a few times, out at bars in college… and I remember feeling only regret.” She laughed.
“Oh, you’re in for a treat, then,” he said. “Whiskey’s all about context.”
He spoke slowly and casually, as if he had all night to talk to her.
The slow pace of his words, along with the smile he fixed on her, made the warmth in her core from the drink even more intense. She felt as if someone had lit a small fire inside of her, and when Colt spoke, flames of excitement and intense attraction flickered in the pit of her stomach.
Colt continued, speaking in a tone that made Marissa feel that they were close friends. “The generic stuff that most bars sell usually tastes awful,” he said. “And the setting’s all wrong. It’s impossible to enjoy the taste if you’re just bolting it down as a shot.”
He paused there, and she watched his eyes take in her face, lingering on her eyes, and then mouth, as he said, “You’ve got to savor it.”
Her knees went weak.
“Let it linger on your tongue a little bit,” he said, with an easy grin.
She pressed her lips together self-consciously and then reached up to smooth her hair.
Then she looked away from him, embarrassed about how pink she was sure her cheeks were turning. She could feel his gaze on her still.
He spoke again. “Your man probably likes a good bourbon,” he said. “Why isn’t he here with you?”
“Oh… no…” she said, flustered. It was clear to her that Colt wanted to know her relationship status, just as she wanted to know his. That flattered her, and she blushed as she reached for the second shot glass. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she murmured. Then she looked up at him. “How about you? Girlfriend?”
The corner of his lip tilted upward, producing the most delicious-looking dimple she’d ever seen on his tanned cheek. “Single,” he said, his tone playful. He lifted the second glass, too.
“This one’s supposed to be fruity, right?” Marissa asked, as she raised the glass up.
Colt shook his head. “Nope. That’s the next one. Close, though. This is the distiller’s favorite. I have a feeling it’s going to be our favorite, too. Steve Hickman has a discerning palate.”
Marissa tipped the drink back, and Colt did the same.
“You’ve known him for a long time, then?” she asked. She motioned to the vendor, who was still conversing with the three young people. “Steve Hickman?” she added.
Colt nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “An old family friend. I spent a good deal of time out on his ranch as a kid. My parents, back when…” his voice trailed off. Marissa waited for him to continue, but instead he stopped and looked at her again.
“Never mind,” he said. “Have you ever noticed that thoughts seem to go to exactly where you don’t want them to go to? Sometimes I feel like my mind’s my own worst enemy.”
Marissa laughed. Colt’s insight resonated with her, and she nodded. “I know just what you mean,” she said. “I’m here on vacation, intent on having fun, yet I know my mind’s going to turn back to thoughts about work any minute now. I just have to keep distracting myself.”
Colt laughed along with her. “Well… I hope I can help you with that.” He lifted one of the two remaining glasses on his tray and held it up to her.
They silently clinked glasses, and this time as they drank, Marissa held Colt’s gaze the entire time. She felt as though they were speaking to each other without words. Colt’s eyes were as blue as the Austin sky, and they twinkled with the promise of the distraction he would provide her. As the drink slid over her tongue and down her throat, she knew that the vendor’s words were true; the whiskey tasted so good because she was in good company.
Excellent company, in fact. Handsome, tall, friendly, cowboy company that was better than any company she’d kept in ages—or ever, even.
“You have an idea about who’s going to win the saddle bronc riding?” he asked, setting his glass down.
She followed suit, adding her empty glass to the table. “Really, I have no clue,” she admitted.
“Don’t tell me this is your first rodeo?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve been coming for years. The thing is, my friend Jen is the true horse enthusiast. I like the events, don’t get me wrong, but usually I get so caught up in people-watching that I don’t pay much attention to the actual riding on the field. Jen couldn’t make it this year. I’ll probably watch for a little bit and then head home.”
“You can’t do that,” Colt said. “You’d be missing out, believe me. They always put bull-riding last… now that’s a show all right.” He paused, as if thinking. Then he said, “How about this? I’ll show you around in there and give you a little insider info on all the competitors. It makes it so much more fun if you know a bit of their history. Then, you can choose who to root for.”
The giddy feeling in Marissa’s stomach intensified. Not only was this smoking-hot man seeming to enjoy conversing with her, but he also wanted to spend the evening with her!
He was interested. She could feel it.
It made her feel good—warm, tingly, and electrically alive—in a way that she’d been missing for years.
She smiled up at him and even batted her lashes a few times. Thankfully, it seemed, despite her dry spell romantically, she still knew how to flirt.
“That would be wonderful, Colt,” she said. “My name’s Marissa, by the way.” Then she lifted her glass, eager to finish up the samplers so that she could continue enjoying the evening with the handsome man at her side.
Chapter 2
Colt
Colt watched as the beautiful woman gazed up at him through her long brown lashes. She was stunning, with refined features and an open, friendly smile that surprised him each time it appeared. In fact, as he’d talked to her for the last little while, he’d intentionally tried to make it appear. Each time her lips stretched and curved upward with such genuine kindness, he felt a sense of satisfaction, as if he’d just won something.
“That’d be wonderful, Colt,” she said, with another flutter of her thick lashes.
When she said his name, a jolt of pleasure radiated through him.
“My name’s Marissa, by the way,” she added.
“Marissa,” he said, pronouncing the syllables slowly, and savoring them like he savored the whiskey. “I’ve never known a Marissa before. Not personally, anyway.”
“Oh, no?” she said. “Well, now you do.”
“Now I do,” he repeated.
He liked the way she looked directly into him when she spoke, and the authentic sound of her bubbling laughter. He liked the soft curl of her hair, the rich brown of her eyes, and rosy shimmer of her cheeks.
Though he tried not to, he couldn’t help but take in the curves of her figure whenever she wasn’t looking. In secret, he’d appreciated the cute, tight fit of her jeans, and the contours of her collar bones as they disappeared beneath the sleeves of her tank top. She was just the right mix of toned but curvy, witty but sweet, and friendly yet still mysterious. There was so much about her that he didn’t know, and he longed to change that. Something about her intrigued him.
He almost felt like he was meant to meet her.
Colt held his arm out to Marissa, and she accepted it, curving her arm through the crook of his elbow. He liked the way that felt.
As he led her toward the arena entrance, he noticed a few heads turning in their direction. A few people in the crowd recognized him, that was for sure. Another handful were members of his security team, watching him from a respectful distance. Still others seemed to look simply because he and Marissa made a handsome couple, just as Steve had suggested.
Steve
looked good, Colt thought. He’s just about the age Mom and Dad would’ve been—
No. He cut himself off. I’m not going to think about that right now. Not Mom and Dad, and not the other thing.
Trouble, heavy and familiar, weighed down on his shoulders, but instead of dwelling on it, he looked down to the woman walking beside him. Marissa. What a beautiful name, for a lovely woman.
“I think we’re going to make it just in time for the saddle bronc riders,” he said. “I have so much respect for those guys and gals. I watched the women’s competition earlier today and whew! Those ladies can ride. The men’s comp is a beast of a different nature. They’re less flexible and fluid and rely more on sheer strength for stability.”
“You sure know a lot about this,” Melissa said. “Do you compete, yourself?”
“No, I’m just a fan,” he said. “I ride, sure, but nothing like these guys. My horses are all trained to keep me in the saddle, not buck me off of it. That’s the way I like it.” He laughed.
“You have horses, then?” she asked. “Are you a real cowboy, herding cattle and all that?”
He could feel the slight pressure of her hip next to his as he led her through a gate that separated one row of vendors from another.
“Not quite,” he said. “I’m more of a businessman.”
A line stretched out from the ticket offices and curved around the arena along the walkway. It was about four people wide and fifty long, and Colt felt Marissa hesitate at the sight of it.
“Everyone’s gearing up for the eight o’clock competitions,” Colt said, as he steered Marissa toward the front of the line.
A ticket-taker caught sight of him. Colt knew that, thanks to the hefty donation he gave to the Southwestern Rodeo each year, he and Marissa didn’t have to stand in line. The ticket taker opened a gate off to the side, and Colt guided Marissa through it. This time, the gap was so narrow that he had to unhook his arm from hers. He placed his hand on her lower back and guided her in first.
She turned once they were in, with a confused look on her pretty face. “But—I didn’t even have to show my ticket,” she said. “How did you do that?”
Colt realized that, despite the fact that his face had been splashed all over the five o’clock news lately—ever since all of his troubles with the mafia had started up—she didn’t know who he was.
He’d suspected as much, back at the Hickman Ranch Bourbon booth. Now, seeing her confusion, he was sure.
He opened his mouth, ready to explain it all: his name, his oil company, his VIP status. Before he could speak, however, a thought stopped him.
She doesn’t know who I am—Colt Thorpe. Yet still, she’s looking at me like that.
She was doing it at that moment, too. There was a soft smile on her lips. Her deep, brown eyes locked with his, dancing in the bright lights of the ring around the arena. She pushed a hand into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled away from him slightly and eyed him carefully.
“You’re not famous or something, are you?” she asked. “I am a complete fool when it comes to pop culture. Are you some famous country singer or something?”
“I wish,” Colt said with a laugh. Relax, he reminded himself. Tonight was all about releasing some of the stress that had plagued him over the last three months. He’d even requested that his security team give him a wide berth for the evening and stay scarce for a change.
He needed some time away from them. He needed some time away from all of it—the relentless security, the tension of always watching out for Vance. Just for tonight, he thought. I’ll put it all behind me. I just need a break.
“I love country music, but I’m no singer,” he said.
“You love the rodeo, but you’re not a competitive rider,” she said. “And you love country music, but you’re not a singer. So, who are you?”
“I’m just a guy,” he said. “A guy who happens to be at the Southwestern Rodeo on a Friday night with the most beautiful woman in Texas.”
He enjoyed watching the rose-pink blush blossom on her cheeks. “Oh, you think you’re so smooth,” she said with a chuckle. “Well, Mr. Average Joe, why don’t you tell me about the way people were looking at us out there? Heads kept on turning. You must be an actor or something.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I think what you noticed was my security team. Always a good practice when you’re in business like I am.” He sealed his lips without saying another word on the matter.
She seemed satisfied with his answer. “I’ll let you lead the way to our seats. When I usually come here with my friend Jen, we have seats in the nosebleed section of the bleachers. But I’m guessing that since you seem to be a VIP of some sort, you have a different plan in mind.” She winked at him.
She was smart, he had to give her that. He liked the fact that she wasn’t pressuring him for details. She seemed to know what it was like to just want to forget the world for a little while and enjoy the present moment.
He nodded. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?” he said. “We could sit in the VIP section, but I have another idea. I think you’re going to like it.”
He held out his hand and felt a thrill of excitement as she accepted it. After getting the green light from two more event staff members, Colt led Marissa to an area right up close to the fence that separated the field from the viewer’s area. The floor was dirt, and little clouds of dust billowed up around them every time one of the horses out on the field scuffed at the ground.
“We’ll get to see the horses and riders as they get ready to take the field,” Colt said. “Can’t you just feel the excitement in the air? It’s like electricity. A lot of these guys have been preparing for this for years. They live for the rodeo.”
He looked out at the horses and men through the fence, just feet away. The riders stood by their broncos, some talking softly, some watching the stands of people. A few looked back toward Colt and Marissa and gave friendly smiles.
Marissa looked up at Colt. “This is incredible!” she said. “I have never been this close to the action. You’re right—the air is practically buzzing! This is so exciting!”
He was happy that he could provide her with a taste of the thrill that he always felt at rodeos. More than that, he was happy that he’d run into her at the whiskey-tasting booth. He had a feeling that, even though the lineup of competitors was nothing spectacular, it was going to be one of the best rodeos he’d ever been to.
In that way, watching the various events was like sampling fine whiskey—the enjoyment of it came down to one main factor: the company one keeps.
He knew, as he looked at Marissa, that he was in mighty good company.
Chapter 3
Marissa
As the final event of the evening wrapped up, Marissa realized that she didn’t want her evening with Colt to come to an end. She stayed close to him as they merged with a sea of people exiting the arena. Once outside under the stars, she eyed the line of cabs that stood ready to take people back to their various accommodations.
As she looked, a warm, heavy weight fall across her shoulders, and she knew instantly that it was Colt’s arm.
Her heart fluttered at the contact. Though they’d been talking and joking all evening as they watched the competitors out on the field, they’d had very little contact. His arm felt so good around her. Impulsively, she reached a hand up and wove her fingers through his.
“Where to, pretty lady?” he asked, in that warm, deep, honey-sweet drawl of his.
She laughed. “I’d better get a cab and head back to my hotel. It’s already past ten. That’s well past my bedtime.”
“I don’t want to see you go,” Colt said.
She felt the warm, alive sensation of her palm against his. It promised so much—it made her ache when she thought of the possibilities.
He wanted her. That was becoming more and more clear. And in a moment of honesty with herself, Marissa admitted that she wanted him, too.
She didn’t want to go
home to her hotel room—to the large, empty bed.
She wanted the night to go on. “I don’t want to go, either,” she said softly.
All around them, the crowd that poured from the arena was spreading out, heading to the outer lots, into cabs, and loading up on coach buses. Despite the frenzy of activity, Marissa felt a sensation of peace that she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Standing on the sidewalk with Colt’s arm around her gave her the feeling that all was well in the world. Everything was exactly right.
She felt Colt’s breath flutter against her hair as he turned and said quietly, “What do you think? A nightcap together? There’s a nice bar down the road a block or so. We could walk it.”
“Walking sounds nice,” Marissa said.
If it involved Colt, it sounded nice. He could have asked her to accompany him down the gangplank of a pirate ship into the choppy seas below, and she probably would have agreed.
She matched his stride as they walked, and as she did, she felt as though she was getting a peek into life in his world. He had an easy, relaxed stride, and he kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked.
They walked in silence, which allowed all of Marissa’s attention to go to the feel of his hand holding hers. Her fingers were still woven between his; she enjoyed how large his hand was and how his skin was tough, as though he knew the meaning of a hard day's work, but not overly so. He stroked his thumb against her palm, and she tried not to read into the meaning of his touch too much.
When they reached the bar, he opened the door for her and she stepped inside.
The place was packed, and she noticed some Irish decor, including cheesy glittery green shamrocks on the walls. The lighting was dim, and the latest number one hit on the country charts pumped through the speakers.
Just as he had earlier at the arena, Colt placed his hand on her lower back and guided her to the edge of the crowd surrounding the bar.