Книга - Texas Outlaws: Cole

Texas Outlaws: Cole
Kimberly Raye


Criminally Hot!Cole Chisholm is a drool-worthy bronc rider, and every inch the bad boy most mothers would warn their daughters about. Which means he’s exactly the guy Nicole Barbie needs.Nicole has carefully cultivated a rep of her own, but she’s not really the bad girl everyone thinks she is. Her mother is pushing her to continue in the tradition of the wild women in their family when all Nicole wants is to focus on becoming the best chef in fifty states.Fortunately, Cole is the perfect guy for creating a sinful sensation…or at least helping with the pretense of one.But once these two bad reputations get together, there’ll be more heat between the sheets than in all of Texas!







Criminally Hot!

Cole Chisholm is a droolworthy bronc rider, and every inch the bad boy most mothers would warn their daughters about. Which means he’s exactly the guy Nicole Barbie needs.

Nicole has carefully cultivated a rep of her own, but she’s not really the bad girl everyone thinks she is. Her mother is pushing her to continue in the tradition of the wild women in their family when all Nicole wants is to focus on becoming the best chef in fifty states. Fortunately, Cole is the perfect guy for creating a sinful sensation…or at least helping with the pretense of one.

But once these two bad reputations get together, there’ll be more heat between the sheets than in all of Texas!


Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author

Kimberly Raye

“Kimberly Raye’s A Body to Die For is fun and

sexy, filled with sensual details, secrets and

heartwarming characters—as well as humor

in the most unexpected places.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Dead Sexy by Kimberly Raye

is funny and exciting—with great sex,

characters and plot twists.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Kimberly Raye has done a wonderful job of

creating characters that are unique

and imaginative!”

—Romance Reviews Today on Dead and Dateless

“A laugh-out-loud, sexy, heartwarming story

and a wonderful heroine.”

—RT Book Reviews on Drop Dead Gorgeous







Dear Reader,

It’s always hot in Texas, but it’s blazing-hot this month thanks to Cole Chisholm, the last of the notorious Chisholm brothers and the star of my newest novel, Texas Outlaws: Cole. Cole is a professional bronc rider and the sexiest bachelor on the professional rodeo circuit. He’s also the hottest commodity among the single women of Lost Gun, Texas, and so the race is on to see who can lasso him to the altar first.

The lucky winner? Resident bad girl Nikki Barbie. Nikki comes from a long line of wild and wicked women—particularly a mother who thinks men are only good for one thing. The thing is, Nikki isn’t half as wild in the bedroom as she is in the kitchen. She wants to become a professional chef and she’s this close to making her dream come true. But when her sisters get married and she becomes her mother’s last great hope to continue the family’s risqué reputation, Nikki knows she has to get the woman off her back once and for all. The only way to do that? Tie the knot.

When Nikki makes her proposition—a marriage of convenience followed by a quickie divorce—Cole agrees. It’s the perfect setup. That is, until things start to get complicated thanks to a lot of money from an old bank heist, an unexpected robbery and a bad case of lust.

Sit back, relax and enjoy as Cole and Nikki do their best to recover the money, clear Cole’s good name and not fall in love!

Much love from deep in the heart,

Kimberly Raye

P.S. Don’t forget to stop by and visit me on the web at www.kimberlyraye.com (http://www.kimberlyraye.com) or friend me on Facebook. I love hearing from readers!


Texas Outlaws: Cole

Kimberly Raye




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA TODAY bestselling author Kimberly Raye started her first novel in high school and has been writing ever since. To date, she’s published more than fifty novels, two of them prestigious RITA® Award nominees. She’s also been nominated by RT Book Reviews for several Reviewer’s Choice Awards, as well as a career achievement award. Currently she is writing a romantic vampire mystery series for Ballantine Books that is in development with ABC for a television pilot. She also writes steamy contemporary reads for Harlequin’s Blaze line. Kim lives deep in the heart of the Texas Hill Country with her very own cowboy, Curt, and their young children. She’s an avid reader who loves Diet Dr Pepper, chocolate, Toby Keith, chocolate, alpha males (especially vampires) and chocolate. Kim also loves to hear from readers. You can visit her online at www.kimberlyraye.com (http://www.kimberlyraye.com).


For Debbie Villanueva Dimas,

My long-time BFF

and the best godmother in the entire world!

You’re the best and we love you!


Contents

Prologue (#u4bbfe79d-b1ed-5af6-8174-cff8c9bdc08d)

Chapter 1 (#u442d0e7c-5558-579d-a524-a26527458f48)

Chapter 2 (#ufe8110b2-b73b-565b-bad6-5925dc32fbed)

Chapter 3 (#u06d63f2a-7ca9-51e6-9324-2b899a165c0b)

Chapter 4 (#u119648df-e296-50e0-a0c5-2fc35bbd5b17)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue

“HERE’S THE LAST of it.” Cole Unger Chisholm stood in the four-foot-deep hole and pulled the small metal coffee can from the freshly turned dirt before handing it to his brother.

“We don’t know that for sure.” Jesse Chisholm was the oldest Chisholm and the only reason Cole had spent nearly every night for the past three months digging up a storm. When he wasn’t busting his ass on the pro rodeo circuit, that is.

At twenty-eight, Cole was pro rodeo’s reigning saddle-bronc star with a record-setting five championships under his belt. He was also the favorite to take home a sixth in just a few short weeks in Vegas.

If he could finish up with this mess and get back to his normal practice schedule. As it was, he’d been spending every free moment in his hometown of Lost Gun, Texas, helping his two brothers dig up an entire fifty-acre pasture to find the money that their criminal father had stolen from a local bank over fifteen years ago. Before the old man had set himself on fire and gone up in a blaze of glory.

They’d hit the mother lode approximately three months ago when Billy had unearthed a small metal box. They’d all been convinced they’d found the missing one hundred thousand dollars, until they’d counted the contents to find only a measly one thousand. Since then, they’d unearthed ninety-eight more containers—everything from a metal lock box, to rusted-out coffee cans, to a dozen shoe boxes—each containing exactly one grand.

“This is the hundredth container,” Cole said, taking a swig from a water bottle. “This has to be it.”

“Most likely,” Jesse agreed, but he wasn’t placing any bets, not until he went through the contents.

“Just count it so we can get out of here.” Cole took another swig before chucking the bottle to a nearby trash pile. “I’d like to get out of here sometime before my next rodeo.”

“Tired, big brother?” Billy, Cole’s youngest brother, gave him a knowing glance. “Or are you just anxious to get back home so you can lick your wounds since Jake and Jimmy beat you to the punch and took the Barbie sisters off the market?”

“There’s still one left.” Not that Cole had his sights set on sister number three. Nicole Barbie had been just a kid when they were growing up, a good six years younger than Cole, and so he’d never paid her no nevermind. Rather, he’d been fixated on her two older sisters. He’d dated them both off and on over the years. Nothing serious, but then the Barbie sisters didn’t do serious. They were the baddest bad girls in town.

Once upon a time, that is.

Until last month when his best buds Jimmy and Jake Barber had popped the question and the girls had actually said yes.

Cole still couldn’t believe it. Out of all the women he knew, Crystal and April didn’t seem like the marrying type.

And Cole Chisholm knew the marrying kind. Since both of his brothers had recently settled down, Cole was now the only single Chisholm left. He’d had a slew of women after him over the past few months, particularly since he’d been spending so much time hanging around Lost Gun, helping Billy and Jesse dig up the money.

Susie Carlisle had baked him three dozen brownies and Jenny Farmer had brought him fresh canned preserves. Delilah Martin had even made her prize-winning meatloaf. And while Cole had nothing against a good hunk of meat, he was smart enough to know that enjoying even one bite would send the wrong message—namely that he was ready to slow down and settle down.

Like hell.

“Well? How much is there?” he asked Jesse.

“Yeah,” Billy chimed in. He was the youngest Chisholm, and just as anxious to be done with the digging as Cole. Albeit for different reasons. Like Jesse who’d found the love of his life, Billy had recently traded in his bachelor status to play house with his one and only. Both men were set to tie the knot after the finals in Vegas. “What’s the verdict?”

“Hold your horses.” Jesse peeled off bills one after the other. “I’m counting.”

Cole leaned on the edge of the shovel and stared over the top of the hole at the pastureland surrounding them. It was just a few minutes shy of sunrise and a faint orange glow lit the horizon. They usually started digging late at night, under the cover of darkness, but it was Saturday. The Saturday, and so Jesse had said to hell with caution.

Cole eyed the rutted ground. They’d tried to fill in the holes so as not to raise any red flags. The people of Lost Gun, along with a mess of fortune hunters, had been looking for Silas Chisholm’s missing fortune for years now. If word got out that his three sons had actually found the money, the place would be crawling with people.

But Cole, Jesse and Billy intended to be the only ones to dig up their father’s past. Once they had every penny present and accounted for, they intended to give it back to the town and kill the rumors that had been circulating about them once and for all.

That they’d been in on it. That they’d secretly been spending the cash over the years. That they were every bit as worthless as their father.

They hadn’t even known about the money until a few months ago when Jesse had uncovered a connection between Silas and the town’s most notorious moonshiner. Unfortunately, Big Earl Jessup wasn’t the man he used to be. In his nineties now, his old-timer’s had set in. He could no longer whip up his infamous White Lightning moonshine any more than he could remember where he’d buried the money from the bank heist committed by his good friend and partner in crime, Silas Chisholm.

The plan had been for Silas to hand off the money to Big Earl, who would then bury it until the fuss died down. Then they would both dig it back up at a later time and enjoy the spoils. But then Silas had set himself on fire and drawn a wave of media attention to their small Texas town. The story had attracted tons of reporters and earned a spot on a Discovery Channel documentary called Famous Texas Outlaws. Most recently, a “Where Are They Now?” episode had aired on the documentary’s tenth anniversary.

Bottom line, Big Earl had sat on the money for so long that he’d eventually forgotten where he’d buried it all. And so Cole and his brothers, along with Big Earl’s great granddaughter, Casey, had been digging up the old man’s pasture for the past three months.

“This is it,” Jesse announced, stashing the rolls of cash back inside the coffee can. “One hundred thousand dollars.”

“Finally,” Cole muttered.

While he was glad they’d recovered the money and he wanted to see the Chisholm name cleared, he wasn’t as haunted by it as his oldest brother. No, he’d killed himself shoveling dirt for Jesse. So that his oldest brother could make peace with the past.

Cole wasn’t half as anxious to make peace as he was just to forget. To leave the memories where they belonged—way, way behind him—and focus on the future. His RV was packed and waiting back at the prime stretch of land he’d purchased on the outskirts of town. The perfect spot to breed some prime, Grade A horseflesh if he ever got the notion.

A slim possibility because Cole liked moving around, traveling, living.

He’d spent his entire childhood barely existing. Food had been in short supply. Money had been practically nonexistent. And love? He’d had his brothers, but Silas had been a piss-poor excuse for a father. There’d been too much misery, too many days spent feeling like he was being suffocated by his situation, snuffed out, beaten down. He’d been so close to giving up.

But then legendary bull rider Pete Gunner had taken him and his brothers in and helped them become rodeo’s best and most notorious. Cole was now one of the infamous Lost Boys—the hottest group of riders on the circuit, so named because they all hailed from the same small town.

For him, it was all about living life now rather than merely enduring it. About feeling the rush of adrenaline when he climbed onto the back of a bronc, smelling the fresh dirt that kicked up around him, hearing the thunder of his own heart, seeing the whites of his knuckles as he held tight to the reins and gave the ride everything he had.

He felt alive then. Free.

All the more reason to get back out on the road.

“Move your ass.” Billy reached out a hand to Cole and helped him out of the hole. “We’ve got an hour to get back to town and get cleaned up before we head over to the church. Jimmy and Jake will kill us if we’re late.”

Yep, he was leaving, all right.

After he stuffed himself into a tuxedo and walked some blushing bridesmaid down the aisle.

“I’ll put in a call to the sheriff and see if I can set up a meeting for tomorrow morning so we can get this money back to its rightful owner.” Jesse started gathering up their tools. “In the meantime, we’ve got a wedding to get to.”


1

IT WAS THE SECOND biggest wedding the small town of Lost Gun, Texas, had ever seen. Next in line only to the marriage of pro bull-riding legend Pete Gunner who’d married his one and only earlier that year.

Nikki Barbie hadn’t been in attendance at that particular event because she’d been home nursing a bad case of strep.

Thankfully.

Weddings were definitely not her thing.

The truth struck as she stood to the right of the minister of the Lost Gun First Baptist Church and listened to her two oldest sisters vow to “love, honor and cherish.”

Crystal and April were marrying the Barber twins in a massive double-wedding ceremony, complete with a fairy-tale theme that translated in the form of castle-shaped sugar-cookie favors and a live butterfly release. Jimmy and Jake Barber were the hottest team ropers on the rodeo circuit and members of the Lost Boys, which meant that in addition to the few hundred guests, there were at least a dozen reporters crowded inside the sanctuary. Snapping pictures. Documenting memories.

This was definitely the worst day of her life.

And not just because she was wearing a floor-length, pink satin dress, complete with parasol and matching sandals.

Raylene Barbie—Nikki’s mother and owner of The Giddyup, Lost Gun’s oldest and most popular honky-tonk—was the culprit behind the tragic state of Nikki’s life. Raylene was a card-carrying, ball-busting Southern bad girl who would sooner guzzle a lukewarm beer than narrow down her options and give up her freedom to just one man.

Not that she didn’t like men. Quite the opposite. She appreciated a good hunk of beefcake as much as the next red-blooded woman. More so, in fact. Raylene Barbie went through men faster than the members of the ladies’ auxiliary went through panty hose.

Men were good for one thing, and it had nothing to do with any sort of happily ever after. They were fun. Exciting. And very, very temporary.

Which explained why she sat in the front row and stared at her youngest daughter as if she were the last beer in the cooler at a Fourth of July picnic.

Nikki was so screwed.

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and tried to focus on the positive. At least her mother had shown up for the wedding, which had made Crystal and April two happy campers. The woman had been giving them both the silent treatment since they’d announced their engagement six weeks ago, and so there had been speculation about her putting in an appearance on the most important day in their lives. But she’d come through, even if only out of desperate hope that they would both back out at the last minute.

Nikki drew a much-needed breath and tried to settle the gymnastics routine currently going on in her stomach. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. Her hands went damp and she had to readjust her grip on the heavy bridesmaid’s bouquet.

Tulips, of all things. And baby’s breath. And while the entire thing looked sweet and delicate, that was the point entirely. The Barbie sisters didn’t do sweet and delicate. Crystal and April lived in hot-pink cowboy boots, itty-bitty tank tops and black leather miniskirts. They were bold. Beautiful. Bad.

Once upon a time.

They’d traded in their racy clothing for two of the biggest, most poofiest white dresses this side of the Rio Grande. They were giving up their old ways. Getting married. Settling down.

Nikki sucked in a much-needed breath. Geez, it was hot. And stuffy. And bright.

Daytime weddings should be outlawed. Particularly when they took place at a church where the reverend prided himself on locking in the temperature at an economy-saving seventy-five degrees.

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of the sanctuary, temporarily blinding her. She blinked and swallowed against a rising wave of nausea and the crazy urge to call a halt to the entire ceremony.

I object!

If Crystal and April weren’t sane enough to do it themselves, then she needed to step up. To preserve her own sanity.

Her lips parted. Her tongue moved. Her voice box squeaked—

The sound of a throat clearing cut her off before she could blurt out the first word. Her gaze snapped up and collided with the best man who stood directly across from her.

Cole Unger Chisholm, pro rodeo’s biggest and best saddle-bronc rider, narrowed his gaze as if to say “Stay out of it,” and her own gaze narrowed.

She clamped her lips shut and frowned. He had a lot of nerve. He was the crazy one. The impulsive wild card who prided himself on doing the outlandish. From standing upright on a bucking bronc during the last few seconds of his ride, to flipping off reporters when they got a little too close, Cole was the quintessential bad boy. The last one left now that the rest of the infamous Lost Boys were officially off the market.

He was the one more likely to make a scene and blow the ceremony. He was outlandish. Unpredictable.

And damned good-looking.

He wore a black tuxedo jacket that outlined his broad shoulders. A crisp white shirt, starched Wranglers and spit-polished black cowboy boots completed the outfit. His usually long and unkempt brown hair had been pulled back to tone down the bad boy look, but the shadow covering his jaw killed the effort. He still looked like every woman’s wet dream. The perfect man for a one-night stand.

If Nikki had been into one-night stands.

She wasn’t, even if she had entertained a few choice fantasies about Mr. Saddle-bronc champion. But those were her own most private thoughts. It wasn’t as if she meant to act on them. Ever. Which was the main reason she was about to freak fifty ways to Sunday.

Despite her own reputation as a bona fide bad girl, she wasn’t the real deal like her two older sisters. She hated late nights and loud music and too much booze. Three very important truths she’d managed to hide from her mother up to this point because Raylene’s attention had always been fixated on the older girls. They’d been her pride and joy. Two chips off the old block.

Until now.

“...marriage is a joyous union between two souls that marks the beginning of a new life together...” the minister went on, and reality weighed down on Nikki.

Crystal, her oldest sister and the one everyone had expected to follow in Raylene’s footsteps and take over the honky-tonk, was getting married, of all things. Ditto for April. They’d both given up their wild and wicked ways, and their jobs as head bartender and chief bar maid, to pledge their undying devotion. Even more, they were packing up and moving to a ranch over an hour away, and Nikki would be the only one left to help Raylene.

No more hiding out in the kitchen, plotting her culinary future while she whipped up the typical bar food—everything from chicken wings to nachos. No more studying her butt off in the back room while her mom and sisters kept the party going out front. No more applying for sous-chef positions with a handful of Houston’s top restaurants.

She was the only daughter left now. Her mother’s last hope.

She swallowed again and tried to ignore the churning in the pit of her stomach. A drop of sweat tickled its way down Nikki’s right temple. The razor burn on her legs prickled.

“...take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband...”

She blew out a deep breath and inhaled again. Her nostrils burned with the sickeningly sweet scent of flowers coupled with the half gallon of sickly sweet eau de gag me Margie Waltrip, Lost Gun’s one and only wedding coordinator, had sprayed her with prior to the walk down the church aisle. Her stomach pitched and rolled.

“...and do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife...”

Easy. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

“...by the power vested in me, I pronounce each of you man and wife. Husbands, you may kiss your brides!”

She was not going to throw up, despite the blinding light and the overwhelming smell and her mother’s hopeful stare.

Rather, she was going to paste a smile on her face and waltz back up the aisle with the rest of the wedding party.

Or waddle, which was about all she could manage in the huge dress.

And then she was going to find her way out of the maze of tulle and flowers, hunt down the church’s nearest exit and run for her life.

* * *

SHE DIDN’T WADDLE her way to freedom.

She wanted to. Boy, did she ever. But she couldn’t make a break for it without upsetting her sisters, and so she climbed—at a much slower pace than usual thanks to the layers of fabric—into her beat-up Chevy pickup and followed the line of trucks and SUVs headed out to the Gunner Ranch where the reception was being held.

At the reception, she kept as wide a distance from her mother as possible, and ignored the phone in her pocketbook that vibrated every few minutes with a new text. The most startling of which?



How would you like to be my new bartender?



Ugh.

The last thing she wanted was to serve beers for the rest of her life. She’d spent the past few years dressing like her sisters and putting up a front to stay off her mother’s radar, while secretly pursuing her culinary degree. She’d even managed to stash away a sizable nest egg to tide her over through an internship. She wanted out of here, a chance to live her own life, to fulfill her own dreams.

But first she had to make it through finals in two weeks without losing her focus.

Fat chance if she ended up slinging Coronas side by side with Raylene Barbie.

She ignored yet another text, finished taking the mandatory pictures and darted off toward the buffet line before her mother could pin her down.

She squeezed through the throng of wedding guests stuffed into the massive white tent where the reception was being held. A country band played a soft, twangy version of Willie Nelson’s Always on My Mind.

Seriously? Forget Miranda Lambert’s ballsy Gunpowder and Lead—the Barbie theme song. Her sisters really had gone off the deep end.

All the more reason to cut and run.

Now.

She bypassed the buffet and headed through a nearby tent that had been set up to house the food. After a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, she darted into the tent, and nearly collided with a waiter carrying a tray of crab cakes.

She paused to snag a sample before murmuring “Sorry,” and turned to make her way through the massive square-shaped kitchen. Burners and stoves lined the outer perimeter. The inner area was a maze of preparation tables. People clustered here and there, busily arranging everything from trays of speared shrimp to platters of cold vegetables and gourmet cheeses. There wasn’t a hot wing or a fried pickle in sight—none of the usual fare that her mother offered up at the honky-tonk. Even more proof that Raylene was, at this moment, going into shock from the one-eighty her world had taken.

Her mother wasn’t much for gourmet cuisine, which was why Nikki had been lying about taking a pole-dancing class in Austin three times a week. In reality, she made the hour-long drive to attend an advanced gourmet-entrée class to work on her very own twist to the traditional beef Wellington that was sure to win its way onto the menu in one of Houston’s finest.

Fat chance now.

Her life was ruined. Her dream over. Her future tanked.

She fought down a wave of tears and bypassed a woman in a white chef’s hat who fed slices of cake onto individual crystal plates. The sweet, sugary aroma teased her nostrils, promising a temporary distraction.

Forget that. She needed alcohol.

She snagged an open bottle of wine from a nearby tray and took a long swig. Her sisters had gone all out. Forget a box of Pinot Grigio from the local Piggly Wiggly. She was drinking an aged White Zinfandel that slid down her throat with a smooth sweetness that eased the panic for a few seconds and slowed her pounding heart.

Another long drink and she left the service tent behind and headed for the barn that sat several yards away.

A little distance and a lot of wine and maybe, just maybe, she could figure out some way to deal with the disaster that was fast becoming her life.

She could spike her mother’s favorite moonshine three times a week with a couple of Ambien. That, along with the one-hundred-and-eighty proof, would surely be enough to knock her mother out so she could finish the class, ace the exam and get her degree.

And, more than likely, cause some serious brain damage to the one woman who’d endured twenty hours and thirty-three minutes of labor on her behalf.

Of course, the moonshine wasn’t any more an option than the Ambien. She didn’t have a prescription, nor did she have any of Big Earl Jessup’s famous White Lightning. The old man could barely remember his name, much less his prized recipe.

Another all-important fact which had Raylene acting even more desperate. She had over twenty different drinks on her bar menu that featured Big Earl’s classic moonshine. A secret weapon that upped her take at least twenty percent on any given Saturday night and gave her an edge over the bigger, flashier bars popping up along the main interstate. Raylene’s place had long since been a draw not only to the locals, but to the endless string of tourists that passed through Lost Gun. And all because of her Texas Lightning Margarita.

Sure, she told everyone, particularly Sheriff Hooker, that she used an aged tequila, but the folks in Lost Gun knew the taste of old Earl’s premium-grade liquor well enough to know better. And they talked. And that talk lured the tourists. And the tourists kept Raylene in black leather bustiers and salted peanuts. And Raylene’s business was the only thing that kept her too busy to focus on Nikki’s personal life.

Was being the key word.

The smell of hay and leather surrounded her as she fled deep into the massive barn that sat at the far edge of the property, bottle in hand, panic fluttering in her chest.

She took another long, much-needed drink and tried to think of something good. Something calm. Something monotonous. Like chopping Vidalia onions or whipping fresh, scented cream or kneading a blue-cheese brioche—

The thought stalled as she heard the clink of silverware against a plate.

Her gaze went to the ladder that led to the overhead rafters. Another clink and she knew she wasn’t alone in her misery.

Somebody was up there.

Kicking off the hated satin shoes, she mounted the ladder and made her way up to the second floor. Wood groaned as she reached the last step and topped the landing. Her gaze went to the far end where the monstrous shutters had been pushed open and moonlight spilled through the large square. Framed in the opening was a man perched atop a hay bale.

The man.

The object of way too many fantasies over the years.

But then she was only human, and Cole Chisholm was a one-hundred-percent, certified beefcake.

A small lantern hung nearby, casting a pale yellow glow that fell across his face as she neared where he sat.

He held a plate of half-eaten white cake in one hand and fork in the other. A black tuxedo jacket accented his broad shoulders. His crisp white shirt hugged the strong column of his throat and provided a stark contrast against his deeply tanned skin. Light brown hair streaked with gold hung past his collar and framed his strong face.

Hay crunched beneath her feet. He lifted his head and swiveled toward her.

Familiar violet eyes collided with hers and his expression went from irritation to pure delight in one fast, furious heartbeat, as if he were covering up his initial dismay. His full lips curved into a grin. A dimple cut into his shadowed cheek. His gaze glittered in the dim barn light.

A wave of heat went through her. Her breath caught and her tummy hollowed out, and for a split second, she forgot that Cole Chisholm wasn’t her type.

With the wine numbing her senses and her mother a safe distance away, the only thing she could think was that he was the most scrumptious thing she’d seen all day.

And boy, oh, boy, would she like to take a bite.

But then he opened his mouth, his deep Southern drawl sweet and dripping with charm, and the moment faded as she remembered why she’d opted for culinary school in lieu of burning the midnight oil at the honky-tonk.

Because it kept her far, far away from men like Cole Chisholm. The sexy, charming, let’s-get-naked-in-the-backseat types that oozed sex appeal and sweet compliments. The ones who were here today, gone tomorrow. The exact type her mother specialized in.

His sensual lips hinted at the most heart-stopping grin. “I knew it was just a matter of time before some pretty young thing followed me up here.” He patted the seat next to him. “Plant one right here, sugar. I’m all yours.”


2

COLE UNGER CHISHOLM wasn’t the kind of man to let a little misfortune ruin his entire day.

Hell, no. He was an optimist. A the-beer-bottle-is-half-full kind of guy. He just dodged the bullets of bad luck that fate aimed at him and kept moving.

The ordinary .22 kind. One shot. One hit.

But damned if it didn’t seem as if he was dodging a spray of buckshot tonight.

Sure, they’d found the last of the money out at Big Earl’s, but it would be another week and a half before they could actually turn it over to the sheriff. It seemed the man had been called out of town on a statewide manhunt that had started in Beaumont and was currently making its way toward Brownsville. All available law enforcement within a hundred-mile radius had been summoned to the scene. Since the most action Sheriff Hooker usually saw was the occasional Friday night drunk, he’d been more than ready to pack up his car and head for the real action, leaving his deputies in charge. Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Needless to say, Jesse had decided to wait until the sheriff returned to hand over the bank-heist money. Which meant Cole would not be rolling out of town tonight.

Even worse, he was stuck at the wedding for the next several hours until Jimmy and Jake tossed the garter and headed for the airport. Three more freakin’ hours. Why, Millie Van Horten had already cornered him twice to ask him to dance. Shae Rigby had brought him not one, but two slices of cake. And Jamie Lee Milburn had offered to give him a back rub.

And the really bad part was that he’d been this close to taking her up on her offer. His shoulders hurt like a sonofabitch after all that digging and a few magic fingers might actually make things bearable.

Thankfully, he’d come to his senses and told her he’d already promised his own back rub to Mary Lou Canter and Sharon Jenkins. And Christie Somerville. The idea? To show her what a disreputable guy he was and discourage her.

Like hell.

The more he played the wild and wicked player, the more determined each woman became to be the one to rope him in. It made sense. He was smack-dab in the middle of a wedding, for heaven’s sake. Every man in his right mind knew that women got a little crazy at weddings.

They saw the cake and bam, they wanted to be right there, cutting into the decadent layers, feeding it to the man of their dreams—that is, the nearest available bachelor.

Since his two brothers and every other member of the notorious Lost Boys were now officially spoken for, Cole was the only one still on the market.

The biggest catch this side of the Rio Grande or so the local About Town reporter had just scribbled on her pad during an interview a few minutes ago. No doubt tomorrow’s headline in the local Sunday paper. As if things weren’t bad enough already. Once tomorrow hit, he would be even more sought after than a hot, fresh-from-the-oven biscuit at a no-carbs convention. Every woman in town would be trying to drag him to the weekly church picnic.

While he liked a good barbecue as much as the next guy, he had no intention of showing up with any woman. That would be like hanging a sign on his back. Ready, willing and marriageable. He was none of the above, especially with less than four weeks until the national saddle-bronc championship. He was this close to winning another title—the title that would put him in the record books and solidify a spot in the saddle-bronc Hall of Fame—and he didn’t need any distractions. Even more, he wasn’t the marrying kind any more than his no-good, no-account father had been. The difference was, Cole had no problem admitting it.

Not that anyone seemed to believe it.

Despite the fact that he’d spent the past hour doing his damnedest to beef up his bad boy image and kiss goodbye his husband potential. He’d sucked down a few shots and danced it up with as many women as possible. But then his calves had started aching and his stomach had grumbled, and so he was here.

And so was she.

Nikki Barbie wasn’t wearing her usual black leather miniskirt or tight T-shirt, but she still looked every bit as sexy. She had long blond hair, bright blue eyes and a curvaceous body that did the Barbie name justice. Dark eye makeup emphasized her blue eyes and gave her that “come and do me” look. Pale pink lipstick plumped her already full lips. Everything about her screamed sex, which suited him to a T.

When he had his game face on, that is.

But he wasn’t beefing up his image at the moment. He was hiding from it.

Cole pasted on his most charming grin and hid the cake plate behind his back.

“Hey there, sugar.” He summoned his best panty-dropping drawl. “Nice dress.” He winked and went the extra mile to lay it on thick. “Or it would be if there was a lot less of it.”

“In your dreams.”

He grinned. “Every night.”

* * *

If only.

The thought struck Nikki just as Cole smiled again, and heat spiraled through her.

A crazy reaction considering Nikki was an ice queen when it came to men like Cole Chisholm. He dropped lines faster than a cow dropped patties. She knew it because she dropped a few of her own when she was out in public. Just to keep her image in check and her mother at arm’s length.

But it was useless flirtation that didn’t really mean anything, and no way should she actually be blushing because of it.

Because of him.

“Are you eating cake?” Nikki noticed the speck of frosting at the corner of his mouth.

He looked as if he wanted to deny it, but instead he finally shrugged. His right arm came around, revealing a crystal plate and a half-eaten piece of fluffy white cake. “Nothing wrong with a man enjoying a good dessert.”

Her gaze shifted to what looked like a large glass of chocolate milk sitting on the hay bale next to him. She arched an eyebrow. “A Back Burner? A Brown Cow? A Russian Six Shot?” She ticked off a few alcoholic drink possibilities because this was Cole Chisholm, of all people.

Wild.

Wicked.

Reckless.

He grinned. “You know it.”

“Which one?”

“The first one.”

Something about the way he said the words roused her suspicion. She stepped toward him, grabbed the glass before he could snatch it out of her reach and lifted it to her lips. “You’re drinking plain old chocolate milk,” she said after a quick whiff.

“Says you. I’ve got a ton of Everclear in there, sugar. That’s why you can’t smell it.”

“No, you don’t.” Understanding dawned. “You’re hiding in here so that no one will see you drinking chocolate milk and eating plain old wedding cake.”

“Darlin’, there’s nothing plain or old about this cake.”

“It’s vanilla. No filling. Plain.”

“And just what would you have done differently?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a chocolate ganache with a raspberry-liquor filling. A little crème fraîche on the side.”

“You’re a food snob.”

“I am not.” She averted her gaze. “I like a plain old piece of cake as much as the next person. I’m just not hungry right now.” Her gaze met his again. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“Which is?”

“You’re hiding.”

“Says you.” He glanced past her. “No one saw you come out here, did they?”

“You are hiding.”

“It’s called self-preservation. There’s something going around out there and I don’t intend to catch it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Strep? Flu? Meningitis?”

“Mary Lou Harwell.” He shook his head. “She won’t leave me alone.”

“She’s young and nice and pretty. Trust me, you could have worse problems.”

“She wants me to father her children.”

She shrugged. “No one’s perfect.”

He grinned and her stomach hollowed out again. “So what’s the big deal with the cake and the milk? I could see if you were eating bean sprouts or quiche or something equally unmanly, but it’s just cake.”

“It’s cake and whole chocolate milk. As in wholesome.” His mouth drew into a thin line and he shook his head, as if he’d already said more than he wanted to.

“And Cole Chisholm can’t be wholesome?” she heard herself ask. As if she didn’t already know the answer. She’d spent more than one night with a beer bottle full of ginger ale back at the honky-tonk.

Cole didn’t seem as if he wanted to talk, but then he finally shrugged. “I’ve got an image to think of.” He walked back over to the hay bale and retrieved his plate.

“So chase the cake with a few whiskey shots and you’re good to go.”

He looked at her as if she’d grown two heads. “A man can’t eat cake with whiskey. Do you know how awful that would taste?”

“Apparently you’ve never had a good whiskey sauce poured over buttered pound cake.” Did she just say that out loud? “Not that I’ve ever tried anything like that. I’m more of a Twinkie girl.” Her hands tightened around the wine bottle and she barely resisted the urge to take another swig. But she’d already destroyed enough brain cells. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be spouting nonsense about whiskey sauce and crème fraîche, or any other dead giveaway that she was more than just a bar cook at the local honky-tonk. No, if she’d been thinking clearly, she would have kept her mouth shut. Even more, she would have turned on her heel and on Cole without so much as a backward glance.

At the moment, however, she couldn’t not look at him as he forked some cake and took a bite. The speck of sweet, decadent frosting still sat at the corner of his mouth as he chewed.

Nikki had the sudden urge to cross the few feet between them and taste the sweet icing. Her mouth watered and she tightened her fingers against the fierce hunger.

This is totally whacked. He’s not your type, remember? Even more, she had a refined palate. She’d sworn off any and all nongourmet when she’d registered for her first culinary class two years ago. She didn’t do cake. And she certainly didn’t do men like Cole Chisholm.

Unfortunately, her hormones had a very short memory and they couldn’t seem to get past the warmth in his smile and the twinkle in his violet eyes and the fact that she’d been totally celibate for much too long—since her one and only one-night stand with Mitch Schaeffer. The one-night stand that had simply confirmed what she’d already known in her heart. He’d been her first and her last.

Because Nikki wanted more than a few hours of hot, breath-stealing sex. She wanted a real boyfriend. A man to bring her flowers and make her breakfast and make her feel like more than just a sex object.

Not right now, of course. The last thing she needed was to tie herself down.

She had a future waiting for her, one well beyond the city limits of her desperately small town.

But someday...

Someday she would meet a good man, a faithful, honest and true sort who didn’t spend his Friday nights lighting it up at the local honky-tonk. She saw too many of those every weekend and it didn’t bode well for a healthy, monogamous relationship. No, when she settled down, it would be with a solid, dependable, tame man.

Cole Chisholm, with his womanizing reputation and his “here today, gone tomorrow” mentality, did not make the grade. Even if he did like whole chocolate milk.

Still, wrong or not, Cole Chisholm did smell terribly nice. Her nostrils flared and the butterflies in her stomach did a few somersaults.

She drew a deep breath and tried to ignore the crazy tilt to the floor. “I think I need to sit down.”

Cole grinned and patted the seat next to him. “Take a load off.”

She hesitated. “I’m not having sex with you.”

“See?” He held up the glass of milk. “I told you this stuff kills the old image.”

“I’m not having sex with you because I’ve had way too much sex tonight and I’m really tired.”

“Is that so?”

She shrugged. “A girl has to have some down time. Not that I don’t want to have sex with you. I totally would if my feet weren’t hurting so bad.” She wasn’t sure why she kept rambling except that with the music playing in the distance and his close proximity there seemed something oddly surreal about the moment. “I’d be all over you.”

“Ditto,” he murmured, downing a huge swallow of milk. He took a bite of cake and his eyes closed as if savoring the medley of flavors.

“It’s got real vanilla bean,” she blurted.

His eyes opened and collided with hers. “What?”

“The cake. That faint hint of flavor is vanilla bean. It’s April and Crystal’s favorite. They commissioned a baker in Austin to do it.” Even though Nikki could have totally nailed it herself. Her flavors had all been there, but she’d been nervous about her decorating skills. We’re talking a wedding cake, for heaven’s sake. That, and the last thing she needed was to tell the world that she’d been cooking up more in the honky-tonk’s kitchen than crispy fried pickles. “I’m working on my culinary degree,” she heard herself add when he kept staring at her.

What was she doing?

She wasn’t supposed to be blurting out her life story. She had an image to protect. A facade to perpetuate. She had to keep her game face on.

In front of a man drinking whole chocolate milk?

The truth registered and while she knew he was all about lovin’ and leavin’, he wasn’t going anywhere at the moment. No, he was looking at her as if he wanted to hear what she had to say. As if he wasn’t half as surprised as he was interested.

“I didn’t know you were going to culinary school.”

“No one does.” When he arched an eyebrow, she added, “My mother would freak. She thinks women have fought too hard to get out of the kitchen. She hates to cook. She watched my grandmother cook and clean herself into an early grave and she swore she wouldn’t make the same mistake. Cooking is right up there with being barefoot and pregnant.” A big no-no in Raylene’s book. Which was why Nikki and her sisters had grown up eating fast food.

Her mother would never understand her career choice any more than she would accept the fact that Nikki was breaking Barbie tradition and leaving home after finals.

Especially now that her sisters were married and Nikki was the only one left.

The enormity of the situation pressed down on her and she slumped on the hay bale next to Cole Chisholm. “What the hell am I going to do?” She swallowed against the huge lump rising in her throat. “I’ve got finals in two weeks. I need to concentrate. To focus. I can’t focus with my mother all over me, which means I need to figure out a way to get her off my back. And all because my sisters tied the knot.”

“I hear ya. I’m ready to pack up and leave today, but I can’t. I’ve got business here in town with my brothers and I’m stuck for at least a week. Meanwhile there are at least two dozen women hot on my heels.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Only two dozen, huh?”

He grinned. “Give or take a few.”

Nikki wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the warmth of Cole’s hard body that sparked the next thought. Maybe a little of both. Regardless, an idea rooted and she found herself smiling.

“I should get married,” she told him. “My mother’s given up on Crystal and April because they did. If I jumped ship, too, and married some man that she totally disapproves of—which is basically every man—then she wouldn’t have any reason to hold out hope.” Nikki’s gaze shifted to Cole with his wicked good looks and his charming smile and his empty glass of chocolate milk. “I’ve got an idea that might save us both.”


3

“I DO,” NIKKI SAID a half hour later as she stood in the far corner of the monstrous wedding tent and faced Cole.

Crystal and April had already left with their grooms in a flurry of bubbles to catch a plane to Hawaii for their honeymoons, and so Nikki had lucked out. She wouldn’t have to explain anything to her sisters tonight.

Likewise, Cole’s brothers had already left with their fiancées. Only a handful of guests remained and a few reporters. They stood on the sidelines, snapping pictures of the spontaneous wedding between Lost Gun’s hottest bachelor and the town’s most notorious bad girl.

Now Cole was officially off the market, which meant every single female in town would stop gunning for him. Likewise, Raylene Barbie would be so horrified that her youngest daughter had done the unthinkable, that she would stop sending texts and badgering her about the family business.

Nikki could have some peace to focus on finishing her degree and Cole could spend the next week or so in town without having a horde of women breathing down his neck and bringing him potluck. It was extreme, but it would actually work.

After Nikki’s proposition and Cole’s acceptance, they’d ironed out the details of their “marriage.”

An arrangement in name only since they didn’t actually have a license, nor did they intend to get one.

Not that anyone else knew that.

No, in the eyes of everyone in Lost Gun, their marriage would be legal and binding.

For the next few weeks, that is.

Until Cole aced the championship in Vegas and secured himself a place in the history books and Nikki took her final exams. Then they would go their separate ways and leak the word that they’d split. Nikki would head to Houston for her internship and Cole would bask in the glow of his sixth championship buckle.

Until then, they would play the happily wedded couple right here in Lost Gun.

And I now pronounce you husband and wife...

“You may now kiss the bride.”

The minute the words were out, panic rushed through Nikki, along with a flutter of anticipation. While she’d thought through most of the details, she hadn’t counted on the kiss.

No biggie. She was the resident bad girl. She kissed men in her sleep and she didn’t get uptight over it. Or weak in the knees.

Especially weak in the knees.

Cole was just another in a long line of many.

That’s what she told herself. The problem? It wasn’t true. She’d had all of a handful of kisses in her day, even though the men’s bathroom wall over at the honky-tonk would argue the opposite. And they said women liked to gossip? Men were worse, constantly wagging their tongues to feed their egos even though there was little truth to any of it. She hadn’t made out with the entire offensive line back in high school or gone to third base with every ranch hand down at the Circle J.

For the first time, she found herself wishing that she had so that her hands wouldn’t be trembling quite so much as this particular moment.

Nikki closed her eyes as Cole’s lips touched hers. Quick. Meaningless. That’s all this was. He would plant one on her and then it would be over and done with. Curtain drawn. Elvis has left the building.

But then her lips softened under the sudden pressure of his mouth. His tongue swept her bottom lip and slipped past to deepen the connection.

He pulled her closer, his hands at the base of her spine, burning through the thin material of her dress and stirring her deprived hormones.

The chemistry between them was instant and explosive and she couldn’t help herself. She knew this was all a farce, but she kissed him back anyway.

In the interest of putting on a really good show, of course.

No way did she buckle because it just felt so freakin’ good.

No. Way.

She slid her hands up his chest, her palms flat against the stiff material of his jacket until she reached the solid warmth of his neck. Her fingers curled around, holding him close.

Okay, so maybe it felt a little good.

The floor fell away as she leaned into him. His warmth overwhelmed her. His scent filled her nostrils and made her heart pound and—

“Nicole Renee Barbie!” Her mother’s voice shattered the passionate haze surrounding Nikki and Cole and her eyes popped open. “What in tarnation do you think you’re doing?”

She whirled to see Raylene walking toward them, her latest fling—a trucker named Dale Something-or-other she’d picked up last night at the bar—hot on her heels.

“Kissing a man.”

“I’m not talking about the kissing. I’m talking about this.” She motioned to the bouquet in Nikki’s hands and old Judge Collins who’d been napping in the corner while his wife talked the kitchen out of a plate of leftovers when Nikki had snagged him to do the ceremony. “You didn’t just do what I think you did.”

“These fine youngsters are now happily married,” the judge announced, stifling a yawn. “Mother.” He motioned to the woman standing with a plate in her hands. “My work here is done. Time to call it a night.”

“Thanks so much.” Cole shook the man’s hand. “I’ll settle up with you first thing tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The judge’s wife waved him off. “He won’t even remember it. We’re just happy we could be a part of such a wonderful occasion. Marshall doesn’t get to officiate too often on account of he has trouble remembering all the words.”

“He did just fine tonight,” Cole assured the woman. “Just fine. Isn’t that right, sugar?” He turned to Nikki, but she was too busy looking at Raylene.

The older woman shook her head, her cheeks a bright red. “No, no, you couldn’t have.” Denial gripped her expression, as if the Dallas Cowboys had just lost the Super Bowl and she had a wad of cash riding on the game. “No way did you just saddle yourself to some low-life, snake-in-the-grass man.”

Before Nikki could speak, Cole stepped around her and caught her mother in a gigantic bear hug. “Don’t think of me as just any old snake-in-the-grass, Mama Barbie. We’re family now. That makes me your snake-in-the-grass.” And then he planted a huge smack on her cheek.


4

NIKKI CLIMBED INTO the backseat of one of the stretch limousines that had lingered behind to take the out-of-town wedding guests back to the local motel and focused all of her attention on trying to ignore the man who climbed in behind her.

Her husband.

The thought rooted in her mind as the driver tipped his hat before rolling the security window into place. The engine roared to life and the massive vehicle rumbled down the road, away from the festivities.

Not that theirs was a real marriage, but still. At the moment, it almost felt real with the kiss at the altar and the plush limousine and, well, it was their wedding night.

And she was feeling uncommonly good thanks to half a bottle of wine, one hell of a spectacular kiss and the fact that her mother had turned on her heel and marched off in the opposite direction after Cole’s big display of familial affection.

“I can’t believe she bought it.”

“Did you see Sally Fisk and Tara Lawrence?” He grinned. “They were texting before we even said our ‘I dos.’ Half the town has to know about this by now.” His grin widened. “This just might work.”

“It will work,” she said with more confidence than she’d felt in a long, long time.

He was so close and so strong and he smelled so good—like sweet vanilla-bean wedding cake and while her palate had graduated to more sophisticated flavors, she found herself with a sudden craving for something simple. Tasty. Satisfying.

“Yep, I think this is just what the ole doc ordered.” He half turned. A grin tilted the corner of his mouth as he pinned her with a gaze.

Nikki’s heart stalled and she couldn’t help herself.

She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. It was nothing short of explosive. The chemistry ignited and mushroomed, and what started as a subtle press of mouths soon morphed into a deep, urgent, delicious probing of tongues.

No, no, no, a voice whispered. This was too fast, too soon. At the same time, she’d wanted to kiss him like this since she’d been a seventh grader, sitting at the Dairy Freeze, watching him feed a banana split to her oldest sister. She’d been too much younger back then, but now... Now the age difference didn’t matter. They were both adults.

Married adults.

Caution melted away in the face of so much heat, and arousal washed through Nikki from her head to the tips of her bright pink toenails. The pulsing awareness started in her scalp and spread through her body, pausing at every major erogenous zone. Her nipples tightened and hardened. Pressure hummed between her legs. Her thighs quivered. Her heart pounded as loud and as fast as the drummer for Buckcherry, and her blood rushed at an alarming rate.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmured.

“Then again, if anyone should be doing it, it’s us.” Cole’s hand found its way under her dress and swept a burning path up the inside of her thigh.

“True enough,” she breathed as his finger traced the lace edge of her panties before dipping underneath.

His finger ran back and forth, his callused skin arousing Nikki’s sensitized flesh. Back and forth. Up and...oh, boy.

He pushed into her and she gasped. She wiggled, pivoting her hips, desperate to feel him deeper and harder and... There. Just like that. And that. And—oh, wow—that...

His lips left her mouth to blaze a trail down her throat to her pulse beat. He rasped the tip of his tongue against her skin and worked his finger inside her body. A moan vibrated from her throat. Cole caught the sound with his mouth and devoured her in another luscious kiss.

Suddenly, the limo swerved and the driver’s muttered curse penetrated the haze of desire that enveloped them. Not that the driver could actually see anything with the privacy window firmly in place. But it was still obvious from the panting and moaning going on that Cole was doing something, and that Nikki was enjoying it and—

The thought scattered in a rush of desire as he pushed deep inside.

She relished his deep, thrusting touch for a few more delicious moments before he pulled out of her completely. The tips of his fingers skimmed her swollen flesh as he caught her thigh. She trembled as he urged her leg up and over his lap until she straddled him. They faced one another, her dress bunched around her waist.

Cole’s violet gaze drilled into hers, his eyes dilated with hunger and a deep appreciation. Warmth bubbled inside her, a feeling that might have spooked her if she hadn’t been so hot and bothered in the first place.

Barbie women didn’t do bubbling warmth. Or soft fuzzies. Or any of those girly feelings that undermined even the most determined woman when it came to men. They didn’t let themselves get involved in the emotional aspect of sex because that would only make it harder to walk away the next day. And they always walked away. They had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Not that Nikki had done a lot of walking away the morning after. Because there hadn’t been much sex the night before. Her sisters perpetuated the reputation with their carousing ways, and so all Nikki had ever had to do was dress the part and flirt her ass off and bam, she’d been part of the one-night-stand club.

But she’d never actually gotten good at it.

She might be a Barbie in name, but she didn’t have near the expertise her sisters possessed when it came to pleasuring the opposite sex. Sure, she’d tried. With a basketball player named David. He’d asked her to the senior prom, but before they’d even made it to the dance, he’d had her in the backseat for a little pre-dance action.

She’d given in and then instead of taking her to the prom, he’d made some lame excuse about having to go home for an emergency. He’d dropped her off at her door so fast she’d had whiplash. He’d gone on to brag about it, but he’d never come back for seconds. No late-night calls to hook up. Nothing.

Meanwhile, when one of her sisters had given it up, she hadn’t been able to get rid of the guy. Men had chased after them mercilessly. Because her sisters had been great in the sack.

Nikki? Not so much. Which wasn’t all that much of a problem in itself since she was much too busy to worry over a bunch of sex-crazed guys chasing after her. She had a career to think of. Goals to achieve. Even more, she had a sizable vibrator that did the job just fine and didn’t leave her angsting about a follow-up phone call.

And so she stuck to flirting to keep up her image rather than actually hooking up.

A fact that slipped her mind at that moment because she’d had a little too much wine and Cole felt too good and she wanted him too much.

As if he read her mind, his strong hands cupped her bare bottom and he worked her against the rock-hard bulge pressing tight against his jeans. The friction was incredible and stirring. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as pleasure ripped through her.

She shimmied her hips and spread her legs even wider, settling more fully on top of him. He let loose a low growl and leaned forward, his hot mouth going to the plump cleavage pushing against the low neckline of her dress. His tongue traced the edge of the material before he reached his hand up to grasp the edge of the material. He was just about to pull it down and free her aching breast when an all-important fact registered.

Nikki wasn’t clutching at his shoulders to keep from swaying to the side anymore. They were sitting stock still, the limo engine idling, the driver waiting. And probably wondering.

“We’re here,” she breathed.

Cole’s hand stilled as his gaze met hers. They stared at each other for a long moment, their breaths coming in quick, frantic gulps.

“We sure are.” He sounded disappointed.

Until reality seemed to hit, and then it was as if someone lit a fire under them. She scrambled from his lap and pushed open the door to step out onto the pavement while he followed her out.

The large building that housed the honky-tonk sat dark and quiet, closed for tonight’s wedding. She picked up her steps and headed around the side to the stairs leading to the small apartment on the second floor. Her mother had once lived in the apartment when she’d first opened the place, but when Nikki’s grandmother had died, she’d moved into the small house that sat a few blocks over. And so the apartment had been left to Nikki and her sisters.

Now that Crystal and April were married, Nikki had the place all to herself.

Cole followed and soon Nikki fumbled with her key for a few moments before Cole stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His long, lean fingers closed over hers, and he steadied her long enough to slide the key into the lock. Metal clicked and hinges creaked and then they were inside. The door slammed behind them and before she could draw a breath, he whirled her around and pulled her into his arms.

He kissed her, his tongue delving deep as he pulled her close. Her thighs quivered and her bosom heaved and she came dangerously close to fainting from the desire swamping her. But this was too good to miss and she wasn’t about to forfeit what was surely to be a really incredible orgasm.

Her first with an actual man.

She reached for the waistband of his pants as he reached behind for the hooks on her dress. They both worked at the clothes until all the pieces had been pulled away. The nightmare bridesmaid’s dress landed in a heap somewhere across the room. The matching slip slapped the far wall. Nikki feared her corset-like bra would put up a fight, but Cole quickly demonstrated why he was the hottest catch in town. A few movements of his deft fingers and the bra fell away. Soon she was completely naked.

Likewise, Cole’s clothes followed hers. His jacket hit the floor along with his belt and jeans. Buttons popped and she shoved the shirt down his arms and sent the white material flying in the opposite direction. She paused only to discover whether he went for boxers, briefs, or let it all hang out—crisp white boxer briefs, just for the record—before shoving the elastic waistband down and freeing a massive erection.

She wanted to look, but everything seemed so fuzzy and surreal and desperate. She threw herself against him. Her body went flush against his as bare skin met bare skin. His lips found hers again. He kissed her as he swept her into his arms and started for the bedroom.

There was just something about the way his mouth ate at her lips and his tongue tangled with hers, stroking this way and that, up and down, deeper and stronger, that took her breath away. She’d never met a man who kissed with such passion and intensity. As if he liked it. As if he liked her.

The last thought rooted in her mind as he tumbled her back onto her full-size bed. Her dog, Sweet Cheeks, who’d been curled up on her pillow, jumped to the floor with a loud, surprised yelp. She then let loose a grumpy growl before scurrying off toward the walk-in closet that housed her doggy pillow.

Cole’s body covered Nikki’s and settled between her legs. He reached to grip her buttocks and tilt her up, to ready her for what was about to happen.

Sex.

Convenient sex.

They were stuck in a relationship together, however temporary, and so they might as well make the most of it.

And if convenient sex turns into bad sex?





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