Rock Hard Cowboy: A sizzling Christmas romantic comedy. (Mile High Matched Book 0)

by Christina Hovland

  Kenzie snuggled deeper into his embrace. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For just chilling with me.”

  “It’s not a hardship.” He shifted as she turned so they were face-to-face. Her leg slipped between his and he couldn’t do this anymore.

  The chilling part.

  He rolled Kenzie to her back. “I’m sorry.”

  She laughed. “For what?”

  Then he met her mouth with his and ran his hands up under her shirt to the cloth of her bra. “For not chilling.”

  Kenzie got his intent—not that it was hidden—and met his kiss with her own. His tongue with her own. Her hand slid over his ass, his slid under her bra to the skin there.

  Yes, the lottery of life had been pretty damn awesome. He may not have a career anymore, but at least he had Kenzie and a couch.

  “I can live with not chilling.” Kenzie said, her hands wandering under his waistband to the fly of his pants, working the button free. “Chilling is so overrated.”

  She worked his zipper lower, nipped his bottom lip, and ground herself against his thigh. How she did all those things at once? He had no idea, but he appreciated her dedication to not chilling together.

  “Kenzie?” a female voice called from somewhere in the hallway.

  Tucker and Kenzie froze.

  “Shit.” Kenzie scooted from beneath him. “Hang on,” she yelled back. “It’s Leah.”

  “Your manager?”

  “My best friend.” She righted her shirt from where he’d been pawing at her.

  “Ah.” Tucker leaned back on his knees.

  “Seriously, Leah. Stay there. Be right there,” Kenzie hollered. Her hands met Tucker’s in an attempt to get him zipped and buttoned back up. “She can’t find you here like this. I’ll never live this down.”

  “Oh my God, what are you doing with Tucker?” Leah yelled back.

  “Seriously. Just. A. Second.” Kenzie fumbled with Tucker’s fly, her cheeks pink, her breaths uneven. Generally, that was the reaction when the fly was undone, not being put back together.

  “Why won’t this zipper zip?” Kenzie fought with the zipper in question.

  This could end very poorly.

  He caught her wrists and held them to his lips. Kissed them one at a time. “I’ll do that part. Why don’t you go meet your friend.”

  She dropped her face to her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

  He traced her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Don’t be. Is there a back door?”

  Kenzie deflated. “She’s already seen your Jeep out front.”

  “Then let’s own this.” Tucker tilted her chin and brushed his lips against hers.

  “’Kay,” Kenzie said on a breath.

  “I’ll say hello and then I’m gonna head out, but you owe me an e-mail,” he continued.

  “Wha—”

  He placed his finger to her mouth. “Your screenplay. I’ll read it before we leave town.”

  Kenzie’s expression softened. “’Kay.”

  At least he’d have something to do for the rest of the night to get his mind off of everything that hadn’t happened. Merry Christmas and all that.

  7

  Chapter Seven

  Christmas Eve

  The baggage carousel sat unmoving in the small airport. Tucker said they were an hour away from his ranch. Kenzie dropped to a brown pleather chair at the luggage claim. She’d tucked most of her hair into a baseball cap, so only a few wisps of her distinctive red fell to her shoulders. Minimal makeup and a big puffy down coat completed the disguise. So far, other than a few fans who’d approached her at LAX, everyone had left her alone. Her Clark Kent, hide-in-plain-sight disguise either did its job or, more likely, it was Tucker—who glowered at anyone who came within four feet of her.

  He had no disguise.

  Which meant everyone had to know she was Kenzie.

  So, yup. It was probably Tucker and his grumpy glowering that kept fans away.

  There were also only a handful of people on the plane. Kenzie had a hunch Tucker had bought up the seats himself. Most of the other passengers had scattered when they landed, having only brought carry-on bags with them.

  A Charlie Brown-style Christmas tree sat on the reservation desk nearby while “Run Run Rudolph” played over the airport speakers.

  She and Tucker had found an easy rhythm with each other on the flight. Almost like friends. The other night they’d ordered Chinese food, and over steamed chicken and vegetables, she’d chilled and not chilled with him while they’d watched what felt like a bajillion episodes of Arrested Development before Leah had showed up to check on her and ruined it all.

  Kenzie glanced to the main doors of the airport. No Tucker. After they landed, he took off to find out where his brother had left his truck in the parking lot. There was practically a blizzard going on outside, so he’d insisted she wait for their bags inside the warm luggage claim area.

  She scribbled some dialogue into the notebook she always carried. Little snippets of ideas for her latest screenplay distraction always popped up at the strangest times.

  Her phone pinged in her hand.

  She glanced to the most recent message. Her mother was pissed. Kenzie was okay with that.

  A little thrill of adrenaline at being disobedient pulsed through her.

  The party won’t be the same without you. Please reconsider. Guests are attending to see *you*.

  She should really just block the number.

  The chat bubbles pulsed, lord knew what her mother was typing. It didn’t matter though. Kenzie was in Colorado because she had approximately one week to convince Tucker to do the damn song so she could salvage her career.

  She typed out a response to whatever nonsense her mother was about to spew.

  Having a great time with Tucker! Have fun at your party. No cell service at the ranch. Call Leah if you need anything. She knows how to reach me.

  Kenzie stared at the screen. To send or not to send? The message would make her mother pop an aneurysm. She absolutely loathed Leah. Mostly because she’d taken her place as Kenzie’s manager. Also, because Leah didn’t take her shit. Even more than that, her mother couldn’t stand being out of touch with her daughter. They had a messed-up relationship, sure, and her mother thrived on Kenzie’s fame. She didn’t quite know how to show she loved her daughter, so hovering was her method of choice.

  Kenzie’s phone dinged.

  This is such a disappointing way to end the year.

  You’re such a disappointment, Kenzie. That was what her mother meant.

  Kenzie froze, her gaze fixed on the screen, her finger poised over the send button on the message she’d prepared. She did better when she took a break from her parents. Her mother was…well, her mother. And her father was…well, her father. He was the guy who’d left when she was a baby and then showed up after her first movie debuted when she was twelve, ready to reinsert himself into her life.

  Leah handled his communication. Usually, he called when he was late with his mortgage payment or her half-siblings needed braces.

  Her phone pinged.

  I didn’t raise you to take off when things get hard.

  There it was. You’re just like your father, Kenzie.

  I’m saving my career. That was what she wanted to type. But she didn’t.

  She was waiting for the perfect time to approach Tucker about the song again. Once she found out what made him tick, what would convince him to do this for her, she’d work her magic.

  Everyone had a button to push—a way to get them to do what they didn’t want to do. The key was figuring it out and convincing them without letting on to what you were doing.

  Some might call that manipulation. Kenzie chose to call it a mutually beneficial arrangement. Everyone walked away happy.

  Her phone pinged again.

  Electing not to respond to me is juvenile. I raised you better than this.

  A light sweat formed alon
g her hairline, and not because the heater in the airport was on and she wore a thick coat. No, there was only so much passive-aggressive nitpicking a girl could take. But she only had one mother. And Moira had done her best to get Kenzie where she was in life. Her warped idea of success as a parent meant her daughter was a household name.

  She reread her unsent message.

  Having a great time with Tucker! Have fun at your party. No cell service at the ranch. Call Leah if you need anything. She knows how to reach me.

  She needed a break. Her mother could go through Leah. Kenzie pressed send on the aneurysm-inducing message.

  Deep breaths. She turned off her phone and shoved it into the pocket of her coat.

  “Your mom again?” Tucker sat beside her and handed over a disposable cup of hot chocolate. He’d wrapped a flimsy paper napkin around the sides.

  A thin coat of snow and ice stuck to his Carhartt sweatshirt.

  “It’s always my mom.” She held the top of the cup to her nose. The aroma of chocolate tickled her senses. “Where’d you get this?”

  “There’s a cart with coffee and stuff over there.” He jerked his chin toward a little trolley by the TSA office.

  “I don’t think they meant that for us.”

  He shrugged. “Shoulda put a sign on it then.”

  One hand on his cup, he stretched the other arm behind her.

  The hot chocolate called her name. Kenzie. Be bad, Kenzie. Do the things you’re not supposed to do. You’re on vacation, Kenzie.

  There was no way she could drink anything with both dairy and sugar. She’d puff up like…well, her coat.

  Still, she could smell it. She stuck her nose over the rim, inhaling the decadent scent of powdered cocoa product and dry milk mixed with water.

  Heaven.

  Tucker took a swig out of his own cup, a dab of chocolate at the corner of his lips. He licked at it.

  Her belly took a little dive. Her cheeks heated. And she experienced internal tingles totally inappropriate for baggage claim.

  “You going to drink that or just have a love affair with it?” he asked, his arm still behind her head.

  “What are you talking about?” She angled herself toward him.

  “You moaned when you sniffed your drink,” he pointed out.

  He lied.

  “I did not.”

  He chuckled. “You did.”

  Had she? Fine. Maybe she had.

  She inhaled more. What the hell. Rebel Kenzie was on vacation with a rock star. She could drink what she wanted. As a matter of fact, she should make some rules for her time with Tucker. Cell phone off. She could eat what she wanted. The only rule she’d have this trip? There were no rules.

  A smile played on her lips as she wrapped them around the cup. A trickle of heated chocolate slid over her tongue… Holy shit. This stuff was amazing. When was the last time she’d had hot cocoa?

  Nineteen ninety-five. Right before she’d become a child actress on that cable channel.

  She took another sip.

  Sometimes her nutritionist would slip her 80 percent dark chocolate as a treat. This was not that. That was bitter. This was…she took another sip.

  When she got back home she was going to buy stock in a hot chocolate company. Then it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t get any more movie parts because she could sit around in the California sun and drink hot cocoa.

  Tucker cleared his throat.

  She glanced to him.

  “Seriously, Kenzie. You’re practically making love to that cup.”

  “It’s been a while.” She shrugged and dabbed at her lips with the coarse napkin.

  A flare of heat stirred in his eyes.

  She rolled her eyes. “I mean since I’ve had hot chocolate, Tucker.”

  A slow smile spread across his cheeks. “What else have you been abstaining from?”

  “Bread,” she said, immediately. “Also, cheese. And sausage. Mind out of the gutter.”

  He paused, a strange intense look passing over his face.

  Did she have cocoa on her lip or something? Absently, she wiped at her lips with the back of her hand. “What?”

  His expression turned serious. “I want to kiss you.”

  “You’ve kissed me, Tucker.”

  A few times.

  He leaned closer, so they shared the same air. “I want to see if it’s always peach lip gloss.”

  Oh. Well. Hello. She was not expecting that.

  But she was on vacation, and if this was a real do-what-she-wanted type event, she’d kiss Tucker. Not here, in the airport. They could kiss here, but that would hardly count. They needed a private kiss. Somewhere without her peach lip gloss.

  She leaned into him, her lips brushing against his ear. “That’s the lip stuff my makeup artist uses. When I do my own makeup it’s just normal lip gloss.”

  The scent of Tucker—soap and male skin and leather—along with the taste of chocolate created the Tucker-wants-to-kiss-me-squee buzz going on in her head.

  “The peach flavor can be distracting,” she continued, making her voice intentionally husky.

  She moved back so their gazes met.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

  “What I mean is, when I’m not at an event, it’s just me. I’m just me.” Just disappointingly me.

  Something that looked a whole lot like desire sparked in his eyes. He was really close. She should just kiss him. It’d be fun. And that was what this was about. Fun. Also, getting her career back. Why not have some fun in the process?

  “Then what do you taste like, exactly?” He leaned back as though nothing had passed between them, his attention totally focused on his chocolate.

  Well, she didn’t taste like peach lip gloss, that was for sure.

  A feeling she’d become accustomed to when she was around him settled in her stomach. The little hairs on her arms raised, telling her someone was watching them. A camera shutter was about to snap.

  It didn’t matter, they weren’t doing anything they weren’t supposed to do. As a matter of fact, a baggage claim kiss caught on camera was probably something Leah would commend her for.

  Still though, that feeling.

  Of all the drippings of fame she hated most, this was it.

  His phone buzzed. He held it to his ear.

  “Where the hell is my truck?” Tucker said into the phone.

  He’d lost his truck? That wasn’t good.

  “You caved?” His expression held firm, the little line over his eyebrow ticking in time with his pulse. “I cannot believe you did this.” He shoved his finger against the little red icon on the screen and used an inventive string of profanity.

  “You okay?” Kenzie asked, cautious.

  Tucker glanced up, looking past her, and his face fell. “Shit.”

  “What’s the matter?” She turned, expecting to see a slew of paparazzi or—given Tucker’s expression—a pack of rabid squirrels.

  None of that. Instead, it was a woman in her mid-sixties shuffling toward them on a pair of crutches with her ankle in a huge, black soft-cast boot. A scruffy-looking guy in a flannel shirt—no coat—strode beside her, his arm against her elbow even though she stopped every few feet to shoo him aside. He wore a cowboy hat. A real one. And he wasn’t even on a movie set.

  “Brace yourself,” Tucker said under his breath.

  “For what?” Mackenzie turned her focus to him.

  He caught her gaze, rubbed a hand over his face, and shook his head. “For my parents.”

  Kenzie turned back to them.

  These people had given birth to Tucker? Mackenzie studied them closer, a slow smile spreading all through her. Not that she was surprised that these two particular people had created him. It was more that he had parents at all. Tucker was larger than life. A living legend.

  Kenzie stood.

  “Mom doesn’t know about us,” Tucker said quickly and quietly. “About our arrangement. Dad figured it out, but he won’t
say anything.”

  “Oh. Okay.” It hadn’t felt very much like an arrangement just then.

  “Mom talks to the press. Her name is Lori,” he continued. His words were coming at the speed of light but so quiet she could almost believe they weren’t being said at all. “Watch what you say. She means well, but she answers their questions without thinking. Dad’s safe. He doesn’t talk to anyone. The rest of the family keeps their lips sealed, too.”

  “What’s your dad’s name?” Kenzie asked.

  “Clint.” Tucker stretched his fingers then curled them back to his palm.

  “Tucker.” Kenzie put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re people. I’m a person. I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

  “I thought there’d be more time to prepare you for this. A whole car ride.” Was Tucker starting to sweat? A thin film of perspiration formed along his forehead. Kenzie had seen the man give a concert in a massive stadium. He never showed his nerves.

  Nervous Tucker was a brand-new experience.

  “Hello, Mrs. McKay.” Kenzie waved to the couple coming toward them.

  They stopped. Tucker’s mom said something to his father. She was a hand talker. Talking with one’s hands probably wasn’t a good idea when balance was an issue, as illustrated when she lost her grip on one of the crutches. It smacked against the industrial-tile floor of the airport.

  Frantic, his mother glanced to Kenzie then back to Tucker’s father.

  Kenzie started toward her.

  Tucker grabbed her arm. “No. You’ll draw attention.”

  His father bent to grab the fallen crutch. His mother swung around back toward the sliding doors of the exit. She turned wide, the end of her crutch walloping Tucker’s father against the back of his head.

  “Oh my God.” Kenzie froze.

  “Find a distraction for the lady with the cell phone. Mom’ll be mortified if this makes TMZ.” Tucker handed off his cocoa and abandoned Kenzie to help his parents. His father was sprawled on the floor while his mother tried to help.

  Tucker broke into a run.

  Shit.

  Kenzie glanced around.

  A little girl tugged her mother’s arm and pointed toward Tucker.

  There were times Kenzie could pinpoint the exact moment when a normal fan turned into a videographer for the highest Hollywood bidder. This was one of those moments. The mother paused only a split second before fumbling with her phone.