Pick Me Up

Samantha Hunter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“Silent gratitude isn’t much use to anyone.”

—Gertrude Stein

For this book, and for all the books past and

future, thank you!

Birgit Davis-Todd, Mike Fratto, Jeannie Watt,

Sarah Mayberry, Brenda Chin, Emily Martin,

Blake Morrow, Laura Barth, Julie Chivers,

Sherie Possessorski, Amy Chen,

Peter Cronsberry, Maureen Stead,

Page Traynor, Dee Tonorio, Larissa Tchoumak,

and Elizabeth Goncalves

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

1

“ARE YOU SURE you know what you’re doing?”

Lauren Baker watched the road before her with no small bit of fear. She was just south of Tucson, and to say the route curling down into the desert canyon was steep was an understatement. Raised in Connecticut, she’d never in her life encountered such death-trap roads as she was discovering in Arizona. It wasn’t exactly the time, and definitely not the place, to be distracted by the question her best friend, Becky Saunders, had asked her this morning when they’d spoken on the phone.

Was she sure? Hell, no. That was the whole point.

She was a week and a half into her no schedule, no destination, no obligations trip around the country. She had a map, two credit cards, her cell phone and what clothes and extras fit into the trunk of her Toyota Corolla. Everything else—not that there was a whole heck of a lot—she’d left with Becky for her to sell.

Lauren inched around another excruciatingly sharp curve, ignoring the drop of several hundred feet to her right, fighting the impulse to shut her eyes. Roads like this would challenge any driver, but since acrophobia topped her long list of fears, not freaking out was her main challenge at the moment.

“C’mon Lauren…buck up!” she told herself. “This is all part of your new, no-wimping-out life, remember?”

An only child of parents who’d wanted a large family but didn’t end up having one, she’d grown up center stage. ‘Overprotected’ would be a mild description of her childhood. Not that it had been bad or anything, but it had led her down a certain path and now she was trying to carve a new one for herself.

Her mom and dad didn’t shower her with love, they’d drowned her in it. Knowing so much of their happiness revolved around her, she’d grown up not wanting to do anything that would disappoint them.

They’d supported her decision to divorce Wes. However, it hadn’t all been smooth sailing. They’d been very upset when she’d refused their offer to come back home after the split. They hadn’t understood how she needed to strike out on her own, after escaping Wes’s smothering possessiveness.

She’d never had an argument with her parents—not one—because she’d never rebelled. At twenty-nine, it was long past due, though it still made her sad to have hurt them at all. She wanted to be her own woman, but in their eyes, she’d be their little girl forever. Thank God the same could not be said about being Wes’s wife.

One of her father’s ace employees, Wes had been Lauren’s first lover, her husband and her first big mistake. She intended to learn from it.

Wes had her parents’ stamp of approval, which she realized now was in part because they had figured marrying Wes would keep her close. Although they’d assumed he’d continue to work for Lauren’s father, they’d been very supportive when Wes had decided to break away and start his own business with Lauren. Equal partners, supposedly.

Instead, it had been the beginning of her personal nightmare. Wes had never been physically abusive. He hadn’t even been verbally abusive in the technical sense—unless you counted him asking her to account for every minute of her day and his endless questions about her activities, friends and whereabouts. Eventually, explaining everything to him had become impossible, and she’d just stopped going out, which had been a big mistake.

He’d won.

Together they had operated a successful, and profitable, consulting business. Lauren’s specialty was as an efficiency expert—she would go into businesses and streamline their production methods and anything else that was causing losses within a company. As a sideline, she’d also started consulting on the home front—helping people with time management and organizing their space.

Wes had put the kibosh on that just as she was building a substantial client list of her own. When she’d received flowers from a man she’d helped, an innocent thank you, Wes had made her life miserable until she had given up her home consulting.

Little by little, he’d stopped scheduling her for outside appointments, hiring a new employee to take over her accounts, relegating her to the home office. In an attempt to save her marriage, she’d gone along. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

By the time she’d recognized she had a serious problem, she had no friends, rarely saw her parents and almost never left the house. Deciding to take back some control, she’d called an old friend to go shopping. When Wes arrived home and discovered she wasn’t there, he’d flipped out. He forbade her to ever leave the house without his knowledge again. That week she’d moved in with Becky, and the next month served Wes with divorce papers. And so here she was, driving down these winding desert roads.

Tears stung her eyes as she tried to focus on the road. Her parents would be happy once she figured out her life, even if they remained baffled in the meanwhile.

Taking a deep breath, she applied slightly more pressure to the accelerator and worked her way more smoothly around the next curve. Smiling, she let out a whoop of success.

No more letting anyone run her life but her, no more living in fear of what lay around the next corner. No more playing it safe. Playing it safe had only led her down the wrong roads, living her life for everyone except herself. There was so much she had to experience, and now was the time to do it.

According to the map, there was a town called Soul Springs—nice name—at the bottom of this canyon. Maybe she’d stay awhile, who knows? No plans, no limits. That was her motto.

She sang along with the music blaring from her radio, chasing away the crippling ghosts of the past. The clear blue desert sky spread out before her. Dizzying heights aside this was some of the most spectacular scenery she’d ever laid eyes on.

“Whoa!” she yelled, sucking in a breath and hitting the brake, panic overcoming her when a motorcycle zoomed out from behind her, feeling as if it were going to rip off her hubcaps it skimmed so close. The loud rattle of the bike’s powerful engine deafened her momentarily, adding to the shock of its sudden appearance. In a flat second, the speeding cyclist was gone, literally leaving her in his dust.

Pulling to the side on a small turnout, she put the car in Park and took several deep breaths, stilling her shaking hands and pounding pulse.

“Jerk!” she spat belatedly along with a number of other choice words at the daredevil who’d almost scared her to death. Who drove these roads like that? It was irresponsible, dangerous and just plain stupid.

“Might as well stretch my legs and let that moron get as far ahead as possible,” she muttered. Getting out, she walked over to the passenger side, a safe distance from the edge, trying to enjoy the view.

Frowning at her own apprehension, she took a step forward. There was nothing to be afraid of—the guardrail was there, and it wasn’t like someone was going to push her over the side. It was a stunning landscape—she should take a look.

No wimps allowed.

One more step forward, then another.

Adrenaline pushed through her, the crazy motorcyclist forgotten as she stared out over the valleys and mountains, awestruck. The dry wind was hot on her face, but the heat relaxed her, permeating her skin, claiming her.

“Oh my God,” she breathed the words out, feeling…overcome. It was just so beautiful. Opening her arms to the vast space, she laughed, and then laughed again at her echo.

“You’ve come a long way, baby,” she joked to herself, feeling cocky and brave. She risked a look down past the rail and stepped back quickly.

“Okay, well, baby steps,” she reassured herself, shuffling back to the solid safety of the car, but still smiling.

Back behind the wheel, she was looking forward to what she’d find at the bottom of the canyon more than ever.

Switching the radio channel as she took the next curve, she looked up, surprised to see that daredevil motorcyclist again. She thought he’d be long gone by now, but no, there he was.

The bike was parked, its slanted posture mimicking the way the man who rode it leaned against the guardrail as if there weren’t a sheer drop on the other side. More amazing, he was standing there in a tux, the collar ripped back, his black tie hanging crookedly.

She drove up, got a closer look—square jaw, dusty, sun-bleached sandy hair—she wasn’t sure what to make of him. Part GQ model, part Road Warrior. Maybe she’d give him a piece of her mind for passing her so hazardously, but something about his expression and his posture suggested that maybe she’d be better off driving by. A lifetime of training in good manners wouldn’t allow it though; he could be in need of help.

He was tall. The wind had apparently whipped the crap out of what was once a lovely boutonniere. When he fixed intense green eyes on her, she met his stare. There was something wild in that look, a feral gleam.

She rolled down the window. “Is everything okay?”

“Broke down.” Nice voice, not as smooth as she would have expected, given the tux. The voice was definitely Road Warrior, low and dry.

“Lucky you’re alive at all,” she said under her breath. He might have heard, but he didn’t say anything. She tried again.

“On your way somewhere?”

“Not really.”

“Do you have someone coming to get you? Triple A?”

“Nope.”

Lauren weighed what to do. He wasn’t being very cooperative.

“Do you want a ride?” The words were past her lips before she could reconsider them.

He appeared to consider, too, pausing, and answered her with one short, curt nod. As he reached for the door handle, she wondered what the heck she was doing. He settled into her small front seat, looked at her and smiled ever so slightly, wiping out every coherent thought she’d ever had.

She never picked up hitchhikers—what rational woman did? But he wasn’t exactly hitching, was he? In her experience, most hitchhikers weren’t hanging around in designer tuxes, either.

“Where to?”

He paused again, staring out the window, and shrugged. “Surprise me.”

BRETT WALLACE was sure he was going to lose his freakin’ mind if the woman didn’t hit the gas—my God, his eighty-year-old grandmother drove faster. He should have known when he saw the Connecticut license plates. At this rate, they’d never make the bottom of the canyon by dark, and then what? There weren’t any streetlights up here, and she was a city girl, obviously. She could barely handle the roads in broad daylight. In the dark, she’d just pull over and quit. He snorted to himself. Tourists.

He passed a few moments by studying her profile. Not that he couldn’t think of a few things they might do in the dark—after all, nothing holding him back now, was there?

She was pretty, he realized as he took the time to notice. Her short brown hair had a slight curl and curved slightly at the chin, framing a face that would be considered plain by some, but which he found attractive. She had that kind of creamy skin that looked like it might melt if you touched it, and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose that added charm. He’d always liked freckles. Her skin was so light—unprepared for the hot temperatures and harsh sun of the Sonora Desert.

“How about I drive for a bit?”

She spared one second to look over at him before gluing her eyes back on the road. To his astonishment, she barked an unladylike laugh.

“Right—the way you were driving that bike? No thank you. I’d like to reach the bottom of this road alive.”

“If we ever reach it at all,” he muttered, blowing out a breath, and admitting only to himself that he had been pushing it a bit back on the bike. Maybe more than a little. But by God he’d been pissed and had a perfect right to be, too.

When a guy was racing away from the church where he was supposed to have gotten married just about an hour ago, a little speed was justifiable. He’d had the good luck—and he was counting it as good, all things considered—to discover his best man, Howie, in the bride’s chambers shortly before the ceremony was to begin. That was unusual, but might not have been a problem except that she’d had her dress up around her waist, and Howie hadn’t been helping her with the buttons. With a full congregation waiting, no less.

Howie had done him a favor, he supposed, since he’d been on his way to talk to Marsha, intending to call it off. At least he was going to do her the service of breaking it off, of being honest, though granted, he’d waited until the last minute, as well. Right now he wasn’t sure what to think about it, the whole sorry mess.

“My apologies about that. I’ve been driving these roads for most of my life, and I think I might be able to return a favor and save you a nervous breakdown if you allow me to get us to the bottom before dark.”

At the mention of night, her eyes went wide, and after a long pause, she shook her head. “I can handle it.”

“Okay then.” He sat back, trying to relax, but just getting annoyed. Headstrong women were going to be the death of him.

“Thank you,” she answered primly, and he raised his eyebrows. She was wound way too tight.

“Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere in particular,” she murmured, and he could tell by the sudden pause that she’d thought better of it a moment too late. Smart girl, she’d just more or less told a stranger she was on the road with no destination, no one expecting her.

“We all need to get away sometimes,” he offered by way of convincing her he wasn’t a serial killer. He held out his hand. “Brett Wallace. I own a ranching operation back about ten miles. I’m very reputable, depending on who you ask.”

He grinned and saw her shoulders ease. “Lauren Baker.”

She dared to take one hand off the wheel and gripped his lightly; she had buttery soft hands, her white skin contrasting against his own darker tone. Her touch reverberated somewhere down low in his belly, where he felt a stirring. Shaking it off, he pursued the small talk. It kept him from thinking about how he’d ended up here, anyway.

“Where’d you start from?”

“Hartford, Connecticut.”

He whistled. “That’s about as East Coast as you can get, huh? They don’t have roads like this back there. No wonder you’re so tense. You know, it’s just a matter of getting into the rhythm of the drive.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” she said sardonically, but he noticed she sped up a little and took the next curve more smoothly.

“So what about you? You live here, you own a ranch. Nice tux,” she mentioned meaningfully, asking the question without really asking it.

“Hate these damned monkey suits,” he growled, yanking at the collar, even though it was loose. “On my way back from a formal event, and blew something on the bike.”

“From the rose on your lapel, I’d guess a wedding. Best man?”

“Apparently not,” he muttered in a tone of voice he hoped barred any further questions. Images from the morning flashed in front of his eyes again. How was he supposed to admit that he’d run away from his own wedding, left the bride stranded? Not that she didn’t deserve it. Still, it wasn’t his way of dealing with things, to cut and run.

Brett couldn’t say he gave a damn what people thought most of the time. This time was different. He thought at first it was because he was so angry he might have done something he’d later regret, like busting his longtime friend’s skull. But as he’d ripped down the highway on his bike, he’d almost felt free for the first time in months.

Relieved. And guilty. Maybe if he’d stepped up sooner and told Marsha he wasn’t sure that they should be getting married, none of this would have happened, but it hadn’t seemed so clear at the time. He’d never been in love with Marsha, no more than she’d been in love with him. Their decision to get married was more of an automatic step, the next logical thing to do after they’d been seeing each other on and off for several years. When Marsha had suggested they make it permanent, she’d taken his silence as a “go,” and before he’d known it, he was picking tuxes.

It hadn’t seemed like a half-bad idea, when he thought about it. He was thirty-five, and the ranch had been his life. He hadn’t dated too much since he left college at twenty-two, except for Marsha and a few stray lovers. Marriage had seemed like the thing to do; he and Marsha made as much sense as anything.

But love? No. Neither one of them expected that.

He’d known her since high school, a local girl from a ranch down the line, bigger than his, and more profitable, sure. Marsha liked being involved with things, and Brett had been left with a ranch to run and a thirteen-year-old brother to raise when he was just twenty-three, himself, so having Marsha around had worked out. She knew about ranch life; they had a decent relationship, good in the sack—or so he’d thought—and she didn’t ask too much from him. So he’d let it ride when she wanted to get married.

Until he’d been driving to the church and it hit him he couldn’t go through with it—and then he’d found them, and he hadn’t known what to think. To pretend to be outraged would have been a lie, but deep down, he was more embarrassed than anything. He’d obviously been less of a man than Marsha needed, as well.

In all the times they’d been together, he’d never seen the raw passion on her face that he’d witnessed her sharing that morning with Howie. That truth stung deep, sticking into a particularly tender area of his male ego that he’d never questioned before. Obviously he hadn’t been paying enough attention, in a lot of ways. Romance had never been big on his agenda, but still, a man liked to think he could satisfy a woman, and Marsha clearly hadn’t been satisfied. Not by him, anyway.

Maybe when she’d realized he was gone, she’d been relieved, too.

He returned his gaze to Lauren; she didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation. He inhaled the sweet smell of her soap or shampoo, or some damned flowery thing that was attracting him like a bee to a blossom. It was going to be a long ride to Soul Springs, where he assumed his ride was heading. He took another stab at conversation.

“You have any plans once you get where you’re going?”

“Not really. Find a place to live, find a job, start fresh.”

“Fresh from what?”

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Fair enough.”

She bit her lip and it made him pay more attention to her mouth than he probably should. Turning, he looked out his window. Just because he’d been cuckolded didn’t mean he should go jump the first woman he came across.

“I’m divorced,” she blurted, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You don’t look old enough to be married, let alone divorced.”

“Thanks, but I’m more than old enough to have made my share of mistakes.”

“Must’ve been a bad situation that would drive a woman to the other side of a continent.”

“Bad enough.”

There was still pain in her voice, and he was curious about why. As he hadn’t shared any of his, he didn’t feel right asking for hers. Pointing down to the town that looked like a scattering of Monopoly houses from this height, he changed the subject.

“There’s Soul Springs. If you can drop me off I can call for a ride and get someone to pick up the bike.”

“It’s bigger than I thought.”

“Part retirement community, part resort. It’s a fairly new community, actually, only about thirty years old.”

“A senior community? In the desert?”

“Old people love it out here. The dry, hot air is good for what ails them.”

“I guess that makes sense. It’s beautiful here, too.”

“I’ve lived here my whole life, never tire of it. Can’t imagine why anyone would want to be anywhere else.”

She pulled down a main street, and he pointed her to a nice-looking motel that he knew was clean and safe by reputation. They got out, and he turned to look at the horizon.

“Might be too late to get help now. I guess I’ll wait until tomorrow. Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome. I hope your bike’s okay up there.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s far enough off the road, and if it gets stolen, well, it’s insured. I never cared for it much—touchy beast, seems like something breaks every time I take it out.” He shrugged, knowing he should be ending this conversation, but was dragging it out. Maybe the more he talked, the less he had to think about what was waiting for him back at the Slanted-W, the name of their family ranch.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of well-worn jeans that fit very snugly, he noticed when she got out of the car, and smiled as she looked out past the cactus gardens that surrounded the motel.

“Well then, bye. I guess I’ll go check in.”

As she turned and walked to the door, he couldn’t quite ignore the way her nicely shaped backside fit into those jeans, and found himself calling out again.

“Hey, Lauren.”

She turned, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Since we’re both stuck here, how about catching dinner? Least I can do to thank you for the ride.”

She paused for a moment, considering, and he realized he was holding his breath.

“Thanks, but I’m really tired. I think I’m just going to turn in.”

When she turned back to the door, he couldn’t deny the bite of her rejection. This just wasn’t his day.

2

“IS HE CUTE?”

Lauren grimaced. “Cute doesn’t really cover it. Salivatingly hot, or, please-rip-my-clothes-off handsome might be a little closer to the mark. And he’s got that whole gruff, young Clint Eastwood thing going for him.”

“Wow. God, I love Clint in the old Rawhide episodes. I just got them all on DVD, just for him,” Becky sighed. “So why’d you turn him down?”

“I don’t know him. He’s just a cowboy or something.”

“Lauren, there’s no such thing as just a cowboy.”

“You’ve known a lot of cowboys I take it?”

“A few.”

She could hear the satisfaction in Becky’s voice even over the cell phone crackle. Becky was one of the most intelligent women she’d met, but Lauren wasn’t sure Becky knew the definition of monogamous. Lauren envied Becky’s lifestyle, not to mention the confidence and excitement that came with it. Seven years in a bad marriage had left Lauren severely lacking in that department. It was exactly why she was standing alone in a motel room instead of having dinner with a sexy guy who’d asked her out. Her old, fearful self just wouldn’t back down.

“I picked him up on the side of the road, and that’s not exactly a safe way to meet someone.”

“Is there a safe way to meet anyone? Nothing’s ever that cut and dried, I’m afraid. I met one of the creepiest men I’ve ever known in church.”

“You go to church?” Lauren teased.

“It was for my niece’s baptism, and don’t deflect. Your cowboy doesn’t sound like a drifter or a bum, from what you said.”

“No,” Lauren said, out of excuses. “I didn’t get that impression either.”

“So what happened to no wimps allowed?”

“There’s a difference between wimpy and stupid.”

“They sound like the same thing in this case.”

“Hey!”

“Hey back. People hook up like this all the time, Lauren. Airplanes, parties, bars. The one-night stand is an American classic, and if done right, with the right guy, it can be something that will make you smile at the memory when you’re eighty.”

Becky was right. Lauren knew she was right.

That’s why she’d called her, to get some much needed courage. Somewhere in this motel, her supersexy cowboy was sitting alone in his room. She wanted to be daring, sexy and spontaneous, but she was wimping out; she’d known Becky wouldn’t let her get away with it.

“Lauren, it’s one night. An adventure, remember? Go take your cowboy for a ride.”

Taking a deep breath, Lauren dug through her large suitcase and pried back the layers of her jeans and T-shirts to retrieve what she was looking for. Finding the package she slowly drew away the tissue, and took in the layers of luxurious black satin.

“I guess this could be as good a time as any to try out the dress,” she said with a sigh, holding the shiny fabric in her fingers. The cut of the strapless dress was deceptively simple. She’d bought it on a no-holds-barred shopping trip with Becky the day her divorce had been finalized; it had cost a fortune. She’d never worn it except in the dressing room.

She knew the silky material clung to every curve, not to mention showing off a few she hadn’t been aware of. Reaching inside her case, she found a thong, sheer strapless bra and garters with hose. She’d thought it was a waste of space in her sparse luggage, but she couldn’t bear to leave them behind.

“That dress was made just for a situation like this. He won’t stand a chance.”

“I guess I’m afraid of what might happen—what if he thinks I’m a tease, or a downright slut? What if I go down there dressed like this and can’t go through with it? What if—”

“Stop what-iffing. Breathe.”

“Becky, I was married for so long, I just don’t know.” Her doubts rang in her mind like a five-alarm fire, and she dropped the dress, watching it collapse into an onyx pool on the bed.

“Lauren, honey, Wes took seven years of your life—don’t let him keep getting in your way. You thought you were playing it safe with him, and look what you ended up with. Believe me, you need to do this. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—it’s dinner, right? Go to a public place and make sure you have an easy exit route, but do it. And if the best happens, enjoy it. Young Clint Eastwoods aren’t easily come by these days. Enjoy yours.”

Lauren was so tempted, but was she brave enough?

“Listen, hon, gotta client calling in on the other line, gotta go. Have fun. Don’t forget the condoms…”

Condoms? “Becky, I don’t have…”

She stopped, pushing the tissue the dress had been wrapped in aside, and discovered a blue rectangular box with a black ribbon wrapped around it. Spiral specialties that studies confirmed intensified sexual pleasure for men and women, so the box claimed.

“Becky, you are a friend among friends,” she said to the empty room.

Her decision was made. She started peeling off her jeans, walking to the shower, excitement buzzing every nerve ending. Brett was hot, and she could barely remember what sex was like, it had been so long. That part of her marriage had died a quiet death long before her divorce. And Wes, well, he was handsome, in his stockbroker-like way, but he wasn’t a cowboy with dusty, sun-streaked hair and strong, calloused hands.

Stepping out of the shower refreshed a few minutes later, she slipped into the clothes on the bed—the underwear alone made her feel like the sexist woman on earth. The touch of the dress was better than any sex she’d ever had, though maybe it was time to remedy that.

Brett was a question mark, no doubt. It could be the best choice she ever made, or among the worst, but that was what risk was all about, right? She had to do this. Slipping on her low black heels, she took a look in the mirror, applying a scant bit of lipstick, her only makeup.

“You clean up okay, girl.” Pushing up her bust and reorganizing a little, she rebelliously made the most of what nature had given her. Grabbing her purse, she made a line for the door.

She’d find Brett’s room, and see what happened. Maybe he’d changed his mind, or maybe he’d decided to go back to his ranch. If that was the case, so be it. She’d chalk it up and take herself out for a nice dinner. There, she had a Plan B. No need for nerves. There was nothing to lose.

Opening the door, she paused. Running back to her bed, she ripped open the condom box and grabbed a strip of four or five, shoving them deep in her bag like a guilty secret.

“Never can tell,” she whispered before she practically skipped back out the door.

“SO WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?”

Brett laid back on the bed, contemplating Pete’s question and giving his little brother points for not rubbing it in that things with Marsha hadn’t worked out.

“For the moment, stay here. I can meet you up there tomorrow, we can trailer the bike back, and see what the heck blew on it.”

“I mean about Marsha. She took off you know—Howie, too. She put on a huge act, the bride left at the altar. Made me sick. She took your honeymoon tickets and left. I don’t think anyone knows Howie went with her.”

“How discreet of them,” Brett muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I hope they have a great time.” On his dime, he thought bitterly.

“You’re better off without her, though maybe if you’d listened to me you could have sidestepped some of this trouble. I may be younger, but I know a thing or two.”

“Okay, I knew that was coming sooner or later,” Brett groaned. “You never took to her.”

“She’s a bitch, Brett, and she’s always been one. How you never saw it was beyond me. Howie probably wasn’t the first guy she was screwing. Hell, she even came on to me, once.”

Brett tensed. “You never mentioned that.”

“Why would I? She would have denied it, and you would have believed her. You had your head so deep in the ranch you never looked up to see what else was going on.”

Brett shook his head, angry at Pete, but thinking it was probably undeserved, especially since his brother was right. However, Pete also had the luxury of all the things Brett had sacrificed for—Pete had finished his four years at college, and Brett had held down the fort. Pete did his fair share, but Brett held the reins. He took the larger part of managing their legacy.

Pete still held poetic notions of the perfect woman, the perfect relationship. Perfect love. An oxymoron. Brett didn’t want to sound cynical or dismissive of his brother’s values, but the kid spent way too much time reading poetry by Whitman and Neruda, ignoring the harsh realities of life.

“Anyway, can you meet me out there about noon tomorrow?” Guests at the ranch would be out and about, and the staff would be working, which would give him enough time to come home without drawing undue attention. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was sneaking around, and it pissed him off. He had no reason to be ashamed, but he was anyway, and it irked him.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to go find some din—” A knock at the door interrupted his thought. “Listen, I gotta go—see you tomorrow, Pete.”

Hanging up the phone, he opened the door tentatively, unaware of anyone who’d be looking for him here, and paused startled when he saw the lovely woman standing before him. He stared for a moment, thinking she had the wrong room. He let his eyes have a little treat as they wandered over her sexy dress—and then he noticed the freckles.

“Lauren?”

She smiled and he felt all the blood in his body rush to his crotch. Shifting a little uncomfortably, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. This was the same jean-clad woman who’d given him a ride earlier?

Looking at her, he could barely think of the word “ride” without X-rated images dancing through his mind. Had he actually considered her merely pretty at any point in time? Had he lost his mind? She was spectacular, sweetness and sin all in one lovely, black satin bundle.

“When I picked you up earlier,” she said in a low, sexy tone that was husky, intentional. “You told me to surprise you. So.” She turned around slowly, looking at him over her shoulder in a way that nearly brought him to his knees. “Surprise.”

He didn’t know what to say—surprise was certainly one of the things he was feeling, though no words would seem to form. She reached out, touching the tie that still hung haphazardly from his neck.

“I was just in my room, thinking about you sitting down here in your tux, and I regretted saying no to your offer for dinner. The man at the desk said there are a few really nice restaurants in town, if you’re still interested?”

“I’m interested,” he managed and stepped back to invite her into the room. Only then he caught her moment of hesitation. While she was coming on bold, the sweet-faced woman from the car was lurking beneath this sexy vixen, and she wasn’t entirely comfortable in the role. It only charmed him more.

He stepped back to let her decide, much like he would when he was trying to get a new horse to trust him. No pressure.

It only took her a second to walk across the threshold with determination, as if she’d just made the decision with her entire, beautiful body. He smiled a little as he closed the door.

“Let me just duck in the bathroom, wash my face and get rid of this damned tie, and we’ll be off,” he said, attempting to reassure her that he wasn’t some creep planning on holding her hostage in his room. “I actually do know a very nice restaurant in the resort at the edge of town. Has a glass atrium and low lights so the desert sky shows through.”

“It sounds wonderful.” She caught his eye shyly, but the color in her cheeks suggested she was as excited as he was.

“That dress is amazing—I didn’t even recognize you at first,” he added.

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

Her voice was driving him crazy. He turned toward the bathroom in case he was tempted to break his promise and did end up taking her hostage. When he came back out she was standing at the window, and he took a moment just to look at her. She had a graceful stance, a natural poise in the way her head was held high, but tilted just to the side. How beautiful those bare shoulders were. She was like something out of a painting, or a magazine, and he’d never known a woman like her, not for many years. Hesitation rose, but he forced it back.

“You’re perfect,” he heard himself say and immediately felt ridiculous. She turned to him, not saying a word. Her skin was creamy all the way down to that delicious bit of cleavage, and he watched as one sharp, white tooth bit into a bottom lip that shone with a light swipe of color. A black barrette held her hair back in a way he liked and it reminded him of the hairstyles from the sixties that he saw in some of his parents’ old pictures. He was itching to release it and thread his fingers through, messing it around her face.

Surprised by his nonsensical urges, he pulled himself together, then noticed she carried only a small purse.

“Did you bring a coat?” He cleared his throat, wondering why he was suddenly so hoarse.

“No. I didn’t think I’d need one…”

“The desert gets cold at night, Connecticut,” he teased, slipping his own suit coat off.

“Put this over your shoulders on the way to the restaurant. It’s not far from here, and you’ll be more comfortable.” He walked up behind her, sliding the coat over her shoulders, even as she protested.

“No, then you’ll be cold. I can just run upstairs and see if I have something to match…”

He left his hands on her shoulders, his face close to her ear. “I won’t be cold.”

She paused, not saying a word, but the tension strung hot between them, and Brett leaned in just a little closer.

“I like that scent you’re wearing—sweet, but not too much so. Fresh, but sort of musky, too, like new rain.”

He could see the pulse at the base of her neck picking up a quick, steady beat and her voice wavered when she spoke. “It’s a custom scent my parents had made for me years ago. I like it because I can wear it all the time, you know, just every day. It’s not overpowering.”

He smiled, shaking his head incredulously. “Says who?”

Taking a chance, he nuzzled her neck and grazed his lips over her ear. The tremor that shook her wasn’t from fear, unless he was radically misreading the body language between them.

Dinner was becoming less important very quickly. He was hard as a rock, his skin hot, need coursing through him like storm waters rushing over the dry desert floor in a rainstorm. It was quick and unexpected, but he welcomed it. Her response was balm for his masculinity, which had taken a beating today. He squeezed her shoulders slightly, pressed her a little closer so she could feel his arousal and waited for her response. He wouldn’t push, but he could hope.

When she lifted her arm and snaked her hand around his neck, he groaned and slid both hands around her waist, just holding her.

“Are you sure, Lauren?”

She looked up into his face, her gaze holding his, but she said nothing, as if struggling for the right words. He didn’t have them either, but then again he wasn’t big on words. Too many words caused problems, in his view. Touching told him all he needed to know. He ran a thumb over her cheek, examining the freckles that intrigued him so much, trying to reassure her.

“If you say no, it’s no—I mean that. Stop means stop. I’ll listen, okay? If you want to just leave and go to dinner, that’s okay, too,” he continued in a low voice, hoping like hell she wouldn’t turn toward the door.

He wanted her now, on the spot, but he’d let her set the pace if it killed him, and from the powerful need that was throbbing through him, it just might.

“It is pretty warm in here,” she said breathlessly, dropping her purse on the chair, turning and bringing both arms around his neck in such a way as to bring her entire torso in contact with his. Her head fit in underneath his chin as she snuggled against him. Massaging her shoulders, he felt her relax and loosen, all supple heat and subtle curves.

“Lauren,” he spoke her name on a whisper, getting used to the sound, slipping his hands up underneath the silk of her hair. Cradling her head, he lowered his lips to hers, tasting gently at first, inhaling the scent that pleased him down to his bones. When her fingers curled into his shoulders and her short nails bit slightly through his shirt, he growled, capturing her breath in a hard, passionate kiss that she met with a fire equaling his.

His tongue stroked hers in a lazy rhythm, and she stroked him back, opening wider, exploring as much as letting herself be explored. He ran his hands over her back, smoothing them over satin down to the curve of her ass and scrunched the material upward until he could reach what was underneath. When his fingertips discovered the thong and garters, he broke away from her mouth, his breath ragged. “Oh, sweet Jesus, Lauren…”

“You like it?”

“You could say that,” he joked breathlessly, pressing the hard length of his cock against her hip and watching her eyes widen.

His mouth was on hers again, hungry as he found the dress’s zipper and worked it down. Just as he was about to expose all kinds of goodies and take a nice, long look, she put a hand on either one of his arms, stopping him. His progress screeched to a stop, and he froze.

“What’s wrong?”

He’d told her he’d listen, and no meant no, and he stood by that. Real men had control—a lesson he lived by, one that was part of his heritage, just as his Dad had always said. Desert ranching was a tough lifestyle, and to be successful at it meant discipline, and Brett prided himself on his. Even so, every nerve ending in his body—some in particular—protested painfully.

She stepped back, out of his grasp, and he nearly moaned with the loss of the contact. How could he want someone so deeply that he’d only met a few hours ago?

She stood about five feet away, holding up the front of her dress with one hand, gazing at him with carnal intent that held him in a trance.

“Lauren?”

She smiled, and he felt relief swell—it wasn’t the smile of a woman who was calling it quits. Shrugging delicately, she let the dress fall to the floor and his blood turned thick and hot, his erection begging for release as she walked slowly toward him. The image of her standing there in those sexy undergarments would be with him until he died, he was sure of it.

LAUREN HAD NEVER FELT so wild. So incredibly, absolutely free. Sex with Wes had always been pleasant, ranging from tepid to tame. They hadn’t played games or experimented much. In Wes’s view, if it worked, why fix it? Of course, it had only usually worked for him.

Standing before Brett in her sexy lingerie, some inner part of herself was emerging after being buried for years, sleeping and waiting to awaken. It felt good—better than good. It wanted to stretch and explore.

As she stepped closer to the bed, she raked her eyes over Brett, taking in the flush of color above his clenched jaw, the way his big hands fisted into the coverlet. She paid particular attention to the impressive bulge in his pants. She caused that reaction in him, she realized with delight. Being here with him made her feel like she was capable of anything. Her new, no-wimps-allowed self was sexy and adventurous, and that started right here, right now.

He sat up straighter, reached out and snagged his arm around her lower back, arching her into him and closing his mouth around the tip of her breast, suckling hard through the material of the bra and drawing his tongue over the raspy material that covered the hard nub of her nipple. She gasped and moaned all at once.

“Take it off,” she commanded. “I want your mouth on me, and your hands…nothing in between us.”

“We have all night, darlin’…plenty of time for all the things I want to do to you…”

“What about what I want to do to you?” she dared to ask and cried out when he bit her lightly.

“There’ll be time for that, too,” he promised, and his smile broke through any doubts she had left. It was the first time he’d really smiled, and she was enchanted with how it lit up his eyes, softened his gruff demeanor.

Reaching up, he flicked the clasp on the bra open, the band of material fell to the floor between them. He paid close attention to her breasts, massaging and caressing her until she was sure she’d go mad. Her knees were actually shaking. However, patience wasn’t her strong suit—it had been a while, and the ache between her thighs insisted that they move faster.

“Brett…I need…I can’t take this for too much longer,” she managed to tell him on short, labored breaths as bolts of erotic sensations zoomed back and forth from her nipples to her core, burning up every incendiary inch in between.

He finally had mercy, and she nearly sagged backward as he released her. Twisting her by the waist he sat her on the side of the bed. He shucked his clothes in a nanosecond and stood before her proud and aroused. Her gaze drifting over him, she knew she’d made a very good decision.

“You’re so big.” She slapped a hand to her lips, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He smiled, taking a step closer, and reached out to touch her hair. “No man minds hearing that, doll.”

She laughed, feeling silly and sexy all at once. He was so handsome. Lean and hard, like she knew he would be, with just enough body hair to be manly. She imagined what it would be like to rub her breasts across the wiry hair on his chest, and nearly sighed again knowing all she had to do was ask—or take—and her wish could come true.

Unwilling to wait much longer for what she wanted, she followed her instincts and pushed backward on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow and letting her legs fall apart, the thin strap of the thong her only cover.

She was rewarded by the fierce hunger in his expression, the twitch of that enormous, lovely cock. She smiled, discovering that she enjoyed tempting and teasing, and wanted to see how far she could push her luck.

Easing one hand down between her thighs, she pulled the thong away, showing him everything for just one second until she covered herself with her hand, and flicked just the right spot, eliciting a moan from both of them.

Her head fell back, she was dizzy with pleasure. Who could have known she would be so uninhibited? She certainly hadn’t.

She didn’t have time to reflect on the issue, though, as the edge of the mattress sank beneath his weight and he slipped his own fingers beneath the thong, replacing hers, settling himself between her legs. Easing her legs farther apart with his wide shoulders, he took the thin strap of the thong in his teeth and snapped it, freeing her, and leaving her completely exposed to his view.

Lord, he took his time looking, and she was on fire from it. Being so intimately inspected was a turn on she never would have expected.

“You’re perfect,” he repeated his comment from earlier. He ran a finger down the center of her soaked flesh and then shocked her in the best possible way as he slid his fingers deep inside, filling her quickly and unexpectedly, her entire body an ongoing ripple of pleasure.

Hardly giving her time to breathe, he joined in with his mouth, working some magic with his fingers inside and maneuvering into a full-on, intimate kiss that shot straight through her. She arched up, blind with the sensation of it as he drew her clit into his mouth and sucked until rapid-fire orgasms had her bucking against him, flying over her body like sparks. It was fantastic, but still she reached for something more, something deeper.

Twisting from beneath him she flipped over on all fours. He followed her signals, moving on to his back and lying beneath her. She lowered slowly, the delicious anticipation of what she was about to do rifling through her. Everything was the first time, and she was letting go like never before.

Moving experimentally, she enjoyed how her nipples scraped against his skin and groaned in pure erotic bliss. He encouraged her, guiding her with his hands planted on her hips, helping her find his mouth as his fingers returned to fill her.

Setting the rhythm she needed, she rocked over him, his oral ministrations working in concert with her own movements. The resulting climax claimed her within seconds. It was bone deep and pure, shuddering though her entire body as she cried out, riding his tongue and fingers until she collapsed from the wonderful strain of it.

“Brett…oh my God…” she panted, drained and exhausted in the most lovely way.

He brought her against him, snuggling her face in his shoulder. While he rubbed her back, she stretched like a cat, aware of the pressure of his erection against her lower stomach. She was anticipating that, and planned to make his patience and creativity worth the wait.

Pushing upward, she looked down into his eyes as she trapped his erection between her thighs and moved in just such a way that he groaned, twisting beside her. He had wonderful laugh lines carved into his face, she noted—probably from so much time in the sun, and what she hoped was a happy life. He had some stubble, and she rubbed her cheek against it like a kitten seeking a pat.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his eyes dark with pent-up passion, his body tight and hard.

“Brett?”

“Hmm?” As aroused as he was, he seemed preoccupied with running his hands over her, smoothing them over every inch of her skin. She reached up, tipping his face to hers, looking at him meaningfully.

“The condoms are in my bag.”

3

BRETT HAD NEVER REALLY cared for the word bliss—it was a prissy word—but he was pretty sure he finally understood the meaning of it. In spades. Lauren made him feel like a teenager again. He was excited to an almost painful degree.

He wanted it to last, unable to remember any time he’d felt like this with a woman, or when he’d felt like this at all. Everything inside of him was busting loose, and he was letting it go. For once, he wasn’t going to hold back, or think about anything else. There was only her, and what was happening between them.

As he took out the strip of condoms from her bag, his own heart rate picked up, anticipating how it would feel to be inside of her. He wanted to have her every way he could possibly manage in the next twelve hours, and didn’t think the four or five condoms would be enough—if they ran out, he supposed they’d just have to be creative.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Something funny?” she asked, lying across his bed like a Victoria’s Secret model who wasn’t keeping any secrets. He stopped, looking at her. He loved looking at her, to make sure she was real.

“No. You’re just tempting me to try to exceed my limits.”

“All we can do is our best…”

She smiled, crooked her finger, beckoning him in the way men dreamed about a beautiful woman doing. He was on the bed in a flat second, covering her completely and pressing her down into the mattress. He liked the way she felt beneath him, pliant and soft, warm against his skin. She giggled breathlessly as he weighed the entire length of his body against hers, trapping her wrists on either side of her head, capturing her mouth in a kiss that didn’t let either one of them breathe for several long, wet minutes.

When they parted, she said, quite seriously, “Could you put one of those on, please? I don’t think I can wait.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice and lifted up, straddling her hips, letting her watch him cover the length of his shaft and stroking himself a few times as their eyes met. Her mouth was swollen from his kiss, her skin flushed. She slid her teeth over the edge of her lip as she lifted a hand and placed it over his, sliding up and down his length together, until he was getting far too close and needed the real thing.

“Brett?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind if we talk?”

“Talk about what?”

“No, I mean, will it bother you if I tell you what I want, you know…in graphic terms?”

His eyebrows flew up as he reached down, brushing a kiss over her flushed cheek.

“You mean you want to talk dirty?”

“If that’s something you’d like.”

“Hell, yeah,” he uttered, leaning down to her ear and giving her a demonstration of what she was asking for, telling her in the coarsest terms he could think of what he wanted to do to her, how hard, for how long, and then what he wanted to do all over again. He felt her breath hitch, and knew it had worked for her.

As he settled down between her thighs, pressing against her but not entering, she returned the sentiment, but she upped the ante. Putting her hands on either side of his face and staring directly into his eyes, she told him in the coarsest language he’d ever heard a woman use what she wanted him to do to her, how hard, for how long, and then what she wanted to do all over again.

It was a mega turn-on and before they could say another word, in one smooth move, he lifted her legs up over each of his shoulders and slid inside of her without hesitation, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out in pleasure, welcoming him, and he had to settle for a moment, stilling as he sank inside of her.

“Sweet Jesus, Lauren, you’re so tight…incredibly freakin’ hot inside…”

She only moaned in delighted response, her breath coming in hard, short pants that kept rhythm with his thrusts. He pushed deeper, her internal muscles clenching around him. God, if there was a heaven, this was it. His body was tied in a thousand tiny knots. When she started to come, he watched her, each of those knots gloriously releasing as his own climax exploded.

He went deeper, and deeper still, his arms wrapped around her thighs, holding her in place, seeking whatever it was his body needed. His mind disengaged completely as sensation took him over, and he followed it wherever it led him. When his vision finally cleared, he was trembling from head to toe. So was she.

He moved over and dropping to her side, drew her up against him. She was hot, slick and breathing hard. She smelled like flowers and the best sex of his life.

“Are you okay? I kind of lost it there at the end, I hope—”

She put a finger to his lips, and whispered, “It was fabulous. But be quiet now.”

She snuggled into him and promptly dozed off. Brett chuckled, and did as she said.

LAUREN WOKE UP FACEDOWN, crosswise on the bed, her feet hanging over one end, her head precariously close to tipping over the corner. Her black dress and underwear were spread around the room, which itself looked like it had been subject to a minitornado.

“Man, housekeeping is going to love us,” she said, laughing, rolling over and noting several well-used muscles protesting in the best way. Her body had never been so delightfully used and she sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts. She counted one, two, three, four—and oh, yes, there was number five—condom packages, and she smiled again.

What a night. Who knew she could be so wild, or that a man would like it?

She felt like a new person—one who badly needed a hot shower.

“Brett?” Sensing she was alone, as she got up she looked around and saw a slip of paper on the table by the door.

Morning, gorgeous. Went to get some regular clothes, and will meet you for breakfast at the café across the street? Don’t hurry. I’ll wait. B.

She smiled, putting the note down and then picking it back up again. It was a…momento. Something she’d have to keep besides memories of a night she wanted to remember every day for the rest of her life. It would remind her how crazy she could be, how passionate and free. It was like really being herself for the first time. It would also remind her of what being with a real man could be like, someone who wanted her and didn’t hold back.

Humming, she picked up her clothes, dressed and walked back to her room, smiling all the way. She’d get a shower, get dressed and have breakfast with the man she’d remember forever. Then she’d get on with the rest of her life.

SHE FOUND HIM SITTING in the café’s outdoor seating area, a newspaper in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. He looked like he was posing for the cover of a leisure magazine, decked out in new jeans, a red button-down shirt and new cowboy hat along with the same boots he’d been wearing the day before. Apparently boots were standard gear, even with a tux.

He didn’t see her yet, as she waited to cross the street. It was a little surreal here, she thought. The narrow streets buzzed with activity, like any town, but the air was hot and dry, and everywhere she looked sand, scrub and mountains surrounded them. It was a little like being at the bottom of a large, rocky bowl.

Back home the leaves would be turning, and people would be getting ready for Halloween. It was getting colder, and Thanksgiving was a month away. Here, it was like midsummer, though there were some cardboard jack-o’-lanterns and black cats hanging in windows around the town.

Walking slowly across the street, she felt her nerves kick in again, as they’d been doing on and off since she left the room. Last night had been a fantasy come true, a baptism by the best kind of fire into her new life. But what would today bring? She’d almost considered just leaving without saying goodbye—guys did it all the time, right? She wanted to preserve the night just as it was.

As she came closer, her mind’s eye snapped another picture she’d never forget—he was impossibly handsome. Just about any guy would look good in a tux—and she knew for sure he looked great out of his—but now he looked…real. Earthy, natural and strong, he was part of the land around him. He just looked so right, and so incredibly sexy sitting there.

He glanced up, catching her eye, smiling, and she smiled in return, images of everything they’d done together the night before coming back to her suddenly. As she approached the table, he stood and drew out her chair. She could barely say a clear good morning, she was so nervous. He didn’t move back to his own chair, but leaned down, brushing his lips across her ear.

“I hope you got enough sleep,” he whispered, nipping her lightly on the nape of her neck, sending jolts of desire through her before he straightened and returned to his own seat.

“I passed out, and I feel wonderful, if a little achy,” she answered, grinning as her nerves vanished. His touch was magic. What was it about being with this guy? The minute she was with him or when he touched her, it was like she morphed into this new, confident, sexual person.

Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Didn’t most people tend to get tongue-tied and awkward when they were actually with the person they desired? Not that she was complaining—it felt wonderful to flirt so easily, to feel so free with herself. “I hope you didn’t wait on breakfast for me.”

He laughed. “I had a little something, but it wasn’t very long ago. I’m used to being up early, eating more at the beginning of the day. Luckily the resort down the street runs a twenty-four hour shop, so I got some clothes, showered while you were still sleeping and came down. I’m only about an hour ahead of you. Hungry?”

She held his stare. “Oh yeah.”

“Keep looking at me like that, lady, and we’re heading back to the room.”

His tone was teasing, but his eyes told her he was serious. She smiled, blushing as she peered down at her menu.

“Everything looks good.”

“It is.”

She made a decision and closed her menu, sitting back in her chair as a waitress set a pot of coffee on the table and took their order.

“This place, this entire town is so incredible. I look around at these canyons, and can’t imagine who came down here and thought, hey, this would be a good place to put a restaurant.”

Brett laughed. “Well, a lot of it has to do with where the water is. There’s a supply here, good drainage at the base of the mountains, and people in this part of the country tend to gather where the water is. These spots have hosted all kinds of small ramshackle communities over time, homesteaders, mining, ranching, whatnot. Every now and then one of those communities sticks and becomes something more, like Soul Springs.”

“Are there actual springs?” She looked around—the place seemed so barren compared to the lush forests and farms of her home state.

“Underground ones, yes. A few years back one of them caved in, creating a pond of sorts where the kids like to go swimming. It’s just over that ridge.”

He pointed and she tried to imagine a pond in this environment. Water was the norm back home.

“I wouldn’t think there would be enough rain here to support ponds and rivers,” she commented.

“It comes, and when it does, it comes fast.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It can be. Anything and anyone in the way of a river rushing down a canyon can be washed away, and it happenes from time to time.”

“I’ve always heard there’s a lot of life in the desert, you just have to look for it.”

Then their breakfast arrived, steaming, aromatic plates stacked with bacon and pancakes for him, and a Mexican omelet for her.

“This is fantastic,” she said. He reached over, putting a few slices of his bacon on her plate. She started to protest, but it smelled wonderful, thicker and juicier than the store-bought stuff she was used to.

“That bacon is local and it’s the best you’ll have in your life. Don’t worry—you worked off enough calories last night to eat an entire pound of the stuff.”

She laughed at his humor, loving it. Wes would never have ordered bacon, and would absolutely never have joked about sex over breakfast. They ate in companionable silence. When the food was gone and the coffee pot near empty, Brett sat back. Lauren took a deep breath, soaking it all in. This was perfect, but it had to end. She had to be on her way. How did she say goodbye to a man who’d given her so much, but whom she barely knew?

“Lauren.”

“Hmm?” She toyed with the handle of her empty coffee cup, hoping he would take the lead and show her how to back away from their association gracefully. He had to have more experience with this kind of thing than she did, right?

“I was thinking we could spend a little more time together.”

She was expecting to be let down softly, not propositioned.

“Really?”

He moved his chair over closer, his hand covering hers. His fingers didn’t rest, but played over her knuckles in ways that sent sparks of desire shooting through her. She turned her hand over, palm up, wanting him to touch her there as well. He smiled.

“See that? The sheer chemistry we have—I don’t think we should let go of it just yet. I know last night was supposed to be a one-time thing, and I’m okay with that if you want to go on your way, but I was hoping we might make it last a little longer.”

“You want me to stay here for a while?” Her mind raced. She wasn’t sure that she could process what he was saying exactly, though she had to agree with him that they had intense chemistry. While she’d been ready to walk away—in theory—she was open to hearing his side of the argument.

“No, not here. On my ranch.”

“You want me to come home with you?” Her voice rose an octave, and he grinned, shaking his head as she blushed again, looking around to see if anyone heard.

“Sort of. My place is a working ranch. But to keep finances in the black, we also run a tourist business from October to March. It’s a luxury operation, you know, come to the desert but enjoy all the comforts of a nice hotel while experiencing real life on a ranch.”

“I always thought people had to live in the bunkhouse with the cowboys on dude ranches. Eat grub,” she teased.

“I don’t think the guys would care much for that. They aren’t too thrilled with the tourists sometimes, but it’s part of surviving in this economy and has led to some experiences we wouldn’t have had otherwise.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “Well, once we had a bunch of troubled kids from the inner city who thought they were so tough until they were asked to help with branding or foaling. It opened the world for them. Maybe it saved a few of them. I hope so, anyway.”

Lauren felt her throat choke up a little bit, touched.

“Last year we had a group of senior women come to spend their eightieth birthdays with us for two weeks. They were tough old broads and they taught us a few things.” He laughed, and she laughed with him.

“Sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It can be. But it’s a lot of work, too, though I love it. Can’t imagine life any other way. I’d like to share some of that with you, Connecticut. My treat, you can come as a friend of mine, stay in the main house and take part in as much or as little of the place as you want. Relax, sleep till noon, go swimming, riding, hiking—”

“Swimming?”

“We have one of those spring-fed ponds I was mentioning, and ours doesn’t go dry. Hang out as long as you want, and we can enjoy each other a little bit longer. Have some fun, and when you want to go, you can go.”

She listened, not sure what to think. He was basically offering her a free vacation in exchange for carrying on their affair. A one-night stand was one thing, but this was a whole new level of casual sex she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

“I don’t know, Brett.”

“You aren’t heading anywhere in particular, are you?”

“No. Not in particular.”

“Then what’s the harm? Aren’t we good together?”

She smiled, linking her fingers with his. “We’re better than good. But it was just one night—I don’t want to push it and lose what would otherwise be a wonderful memory.”

“That’s not it.”

“What do you mean? Of course it is.”

“I can see it in your face—you think you’re paying for staying at the ranch with sex. I didn’t mean it like that. I wouldn’t insult you that way.”

She cringed at hearing him say it so baldly. “I’m sorry, I know you weren’t trying to insult me, but isn’t that what it amounts to?”

“Not to my way of thinking. I have friends, business partners, family stay for free at the ranch all the time. It’s my place, my home. I’m hoping we can spend more time together, but if you want to come just to spend a few days and leave, that’s fine, too.”

He trailed a finger up the inside of her arm to the inner curve of her elbow, and she closed her eyes, wondering at the power of such a simple touch.

“Wow,” she whispered, feeling overcome and knowing she wanted this more than just about anything, but was she ready? Was it right? Smart?

Brett was a good guy who was asking her to spend some time with him, offering her a no-strings vacation. No strings, amazing sex, as well, if she wanted it. An opportunity to experience this wonderful place, and this wonderful man, for just a little longer.

Her old, timid self was tsk-tsking at the very thought of accepting his offer, but the new, bold woman who’d had such fun last night wanted to take that finger that he was stroking up and down her arm and suck it into her mouth, among other things.

Goodbyes were not really what she was thinking about.

“Okay. Thanks,” she said in a rush, before she changed her mind. Brett nodded, not saying a word, then leaned forward to cover her mouth in a scorching kiss that easily rivaled the desert heat.

BRETT NAVIGATED THE CANYON roads with ease, glad that Lauren hadn’t minded him taking the wheel up to the spot where he was meeting Pete to get his bike. They’d taken so long at breakfast and then getting out of the motel—they’d barely made it out of Lauren’s room at all—that he would never have met his brother on time if Lauren had been driving.

He’d handled these roads in every conceivable type of vehicle since he was about fourteen years old. Because of Soul Springs, these curves had guardrails. Wait until they hit the dirt roads on the other side of the mountain, down to the ranch, where some edges were lined only with boulders, and some not guarded at all. He smiled, thinking of Lauren’s reaction. She closed her eyes every time they took a turn going over thirty miles an hour.

“There he is,” he said, spotting Pete already loading the bike up on the back of a trailer.

His younger brother straightened as they drove up, and seemed mildly surprised to see Brett get out of a strange car. Well, how else did he think he’d get up here? Angel wings?

Lauren got out as well, but hung back by the passenger side of the car, keeping a healthy distance between her and the drop on the other side of the guardrail. Brett gestured to her to join them, and gave her credit that after a second of hesitation, she did. However, she didn’t come any closer than the edge of the car, keeping her thigh against the solid edge of the bumper. She was pale, and it struck him how severe her fear of heights was. He walked to her side, putting himself between her and the edge, as Pete wandered over.

“I see you got the bike loaded.”

“Yeah. You’re late,” Pete accused without any rancor, his eyes landing on Lauren and taking her in, maybe for just a second too long for Brett’s comfort.

“Yeah, slept late this morning,” Brett answered offhand. What was between him and Lauren was their own business, and he sensed she’d feel a whole lot better if people didn’t know they were lovers. He would, too.

He knew he wanted to keep his private life private—not that he had anything to hide, after all, he was a free man. His former fiancée was honeymooning in the Caribbean with Howie, and that was pretty much that. Things with Lauren were good, simple, and that’s how he wanted to keep it. Separate from the mess that was the rest of his personal life.

“Pete, this is Lauren Baker. We met down in the Springs. I noticed her looking at a brochure of ours in the lobby of the Springs Motel, and so invited her for a stay.”

It was a harmless white lie, and he saw the relief on Lauren’s face. Pete smiled, holding his hand out, and Brett held his breath that his brother wouldn’t make any comments about the wedding.

“Nice to meet you, Lauren. Glad my brother convinced you to give the ranch a try.”

“Thanks. It sounds like it will be…different.”

“From your accent I’d say you come from New England, am I right?

“Connecticut—how could you tell?”

“I went to college out there. Beautiful state.”

“Thanks. I’m enjoying Arizona as well.”

Brett remained silent through the exchange, though perked up a bit on her response—was that slight bit of huskiness in her tone for him, or was she flirting with Pete?

Surprised to find himself on the hair-trigger end of jealousy, he looked at Lauren and his brother, finding nothing but polite interactions between them. He was obviously going nuts—being jilted had affected him more deeply than he’d thought. Pete finally shook him out of it.

“So, we getting moving, or are we standing here all day?”

“Let’s go. I’ll drive with Lauren, if we want to get home anytime today.”

Pete looked at them curiously, and Lauren filled in the blanks.

“I’m afraid of heights. Makes it hard to drive these roads.”

“You get used to them. I’ll see you back at the ranch—you go ahead, I’ll be slower with the trailer.”

“Will do.”

Lauren walked back to the car, sliding into the driver’s seat, and Brett hung back for a moment, following Pete to his side of the truck.

“Listen, bud, do me a favor.”

“Another one?”

“I don’t want Lauren knowing what happened yesterday.”

Manly understanding crossed Pete’s face within moments, and Brett wasn’t sure if he’d cooperate or not.

“I see. It’s like that, is it? She’s your payback? She seems too nice.”

Brett clenched his jaw. “It’s not like that. I just like her, is all. She seems nice, so I invited her back, and it’s…uncomplicated. I want to keep it that way. She’ll probably take off in a few days or a week, and there’s no need to drag her into all of this.”

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