“What do you want to bet you can take me?”

Pete’s taunt proved irresistible. Allison lunged for him, determined to knock him on his gorgeous butt.

Instead she found herself gripped by strong hands, hauled into the air and thrown across his hard shoulder. With quick strides he crossed the room, then she landed beneath him on the couch. They lay locked body-to-body, sex to aching sex, regarding each other breathlessly.

“A kiss?” he asked.

Before she could respond, he kissed her, brazenly, stabbing his tongue inside her mouth. She kissed him back, boldly biting his underlip.

A rumble of pleasure escaped him. His hands tugged at her top, pulling it up and over her head.

Just the heat of his gaze excited her and she arched closer to him. He dropped his head and placed a tantalizing kiss on the curve of her breast, just above her bra, drawing a moan from her.

If this was his idea of a kiss, there was no way she’d let him stop there….

Dear Reader,

When people find out that I’m an author, they often say, “You write about things that really happen, don’t you?”

Oh, I wish! Every time I hear this question I yearn to be swept away from the world of dirty dishes and stock market crashes to an erotic adventure with a rakish hero…when in reality, I’m a caveperson, hunched over my computer plotting romantic fantasies.

But it’s true that we authors write out of some wellspring deep within our own psyches. In the case of The Boy Toy, it’s the native Texan in my soul. I may have read Louisa May Alcott by the age of five, but by six, I wanted my first pair of red cowboy boots!

In this story, my heroine, Allison Tracy, is a chic city girl who has this same secret longing for those hot cowboy boots. Wary of commitment and ready for a fling, Allison sets her cap for the sexiest cowboy she can find. Gorgeous Pete Chisholm seems the perfect empty-headed stud; but like every good hero, Pete has a few surprises in store for our heroine. Now watch the sparks fly as he teaches her what she really wants, in and out of bed!

I loved writing about Allison and Pete because they’re so outrageous and hot! And I’m delighted to be writing for Blaze, a line that showcases the type of edgy, erotic, fun romances I so enjoy reading and writing. Please visit my Web site at www.eugeniariley.com or write to me at P.O. Box 840526, Houston, TX 77284-0526.

Happy reading!

Eugenia Riley

The Boy Toy
Eugenia Riley

To Linda Michael—

with affection and appreciation

for being such an extraordinary fan and friend

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

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

1

ALLISON TRACY lifted her glass of white wine and glumly saluted her two girlfriends. “A solemn oath, ladies—I’m giving up men until the next millennium.”

Predictably, Allison’s pals Erin Bridges and T.J. Skaggs fell into such gales of laughter that around them at the upscale River Oaks cottage restaurant, heads were turned and disapproving glances were slanted their way. The three longtime friends were having an informal luncheon celebration of Allison’s breakup with her latest boyfriend a week ago. As the youngest of the three, Allison thought of the other two as trusted older sisters. She’d known them both since middle school back in Dallas.

Erin, a lovely, petite brunette, leaned across the table to cast Allison a forbearing look. “You, give up on men, Allie? Perhaps when our stuffy mayor attends a city council meeting in drag.”

T.J., a more traditional, coiffed blonde nodded as she toyed with a shrimp entree embellished with marinara sauce and goat cheese. “I agree with Erin. Just because you sent that jerk Adam packing doesn’t mean you should give up on men in general. Where would I be if I’d adopted that attitude?”

Allison flipped her heavy, golden brown hair away from her face. “This said by the rarest of all breeds—a young, upwardly mobile, happily married woman.”

“Not always that happy,” T.J. quickly amended. “My marriage has been hard work, but it’s worth it.”

Hard work. Expression grim, Allison considered her last few weeks with Adam—the endless fights, the recriminations, the tears, until finally she’d gathered the strength of will to show him the door. “Maybe I don’t want to work so hard anymore.”

“You’re just burned out, hon,” T.J. sympathized. “Really, you should consider yourself lucky that Adam didn’t get his hooks deeper into you, and go on to tackle the next challenge.”

Erin nodded firmly. “That’s just how I felt when Troy and I divorced. You should celebrate your wisdom in dumping him and move on.”

“Move on to what?” inquired Allison with a gesture of exasperation. “Let’s face it, girls. We’ve been having this same discussion ever since good old Highland Park High School. Three starry-eyed dreamers out searching for the perfect man. Well, guess what, ladies? The guy doesn’t exist. I’ve looked for Mr. Right in every possible incarnation, and the bottom line is…well, they’re all Mr. Wrong.”

“Oh, come on, Allie,” scolded T.J., but with a smirk. “The male dating pool isn’t that dismal.”

“Isn’t it?” Allison retorted. “To me, all men are pretty lame. They’re geeks, they’re jocks or they’re jerks. They’re nice and married, or they’re nice and gay. They’re too self-centered or they’re too needy. Like that spoiled doctor’s son who blew his education trust on ski trips to Breckenridge, and wanted me to put him through med school. Or Adam, who was so intimidated by my success that he wanted me to abandon my career, marry him, move with him to Wyoming, of all places, and become a little baby maker.”

T.J. chuckled. “Hon, you’re a killer in the looks department. How can any man look at you and not start imagining his future children?”

As a passing waiter gave Allison the once-over in confirmation of her friend’s words, she cast the man a cool glance. “That’s just my point. Men see me and immediately create some decadent fantasy of champagne, black lingerie and whipped cream. Just because I’m tall and leggy—”

“Don’t forget voluptuous, and drop-dead beautiful,” put in Erin mischievously.

“Come on, guys, give me a break,” protested Allison, blushing. “My point is, men see the exterior package only and conclude that I can’t possibly have a brain. Then they try to figure out how best to use me as their little pleasure vessel. Just like Adam, they all want to control me, fit me into some preconceived mold, rather than accept me the way I am.”

“And you find that shocking?” inquired T.J. “I think Don and I went out four times before he realized I’m actually an office manager and not just the girl who answers the phones at Cushman and Dodd. But he has pretty much accepted my career.”

Allison smiled. “T.J., I know you love your job, and I’m not saying this to put you down. But my situation is different from yours. Your husband is an oil trader, for heaven’s sake, and makes three times what you do. What if the reverse were true, as in the case of Erin and me—”

“Yeah, Allie with her pill pushing and me with my shoe pushing,” teased Erin, who sold Houston’s richest women five-hundred-dollar pumps on commission at the Galleria’s most upscale boutique.

Annoyed, Allison fixed Erin with a stern look. “Cool it, babe. Let’s face it—my pharmaceuticals do humanity a lot more good than your overpriced killer stilettos.”

“Pharmaceuticals?” Erin mocked. “Now who’s talking overpriced?”

Allison restrained the urge to comment. “My point is this, T.J.—what if you were the one bringing home the lion’s share of the income in your family? Wouldn’t Don find that threatening?”

“Yes, I suppose he would,” she admitted honestly.

“All of which just reinforces my conclusion that all men are insecure as well as emotionally immature,” Allison went on. “They’re thrown by a really strong woman. Adam in particular was just so needy. He never cared when I had a problem at work or with my family. But how many nights did I stay up holding his hand while he whined about how he was getting screwed at work, or how he would never meet his father’s expectations when he took over his insurance agency in Jackson? I got so tired of it all. Why, he even had the gall to complain that he wasn’t getting enough emotional support from me.”

“Meaning sex or sympathy?” teased Erin.

“Meaning both.” Allison frowned. “And you know, there’s something decidedly unsexy about dealing with an emotional cripple.”

T.J. whistled. “Emotional cripple? Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh, Allie? You always claimed Adam had his finer points….”

Allison laughed ruefully. “All right. I’ll admit he was okay in bed, and if I weren’t a young woman with certain, er, needs, I would have sworn off him long before now.” Her blue eyes grew tempestuous. “But you know, after a while of feeling so used, so drained by him, even sex became a turnoff. That’s the real kicker, girls. You share your life with someone for so many months, and in the end it becomes messy, demeaning and…well, it just hurts.”

“I know, sweetie,” Erin rejoined, patting Allison’s hand. “But don’t toss in the towel. I remember how tough you were in high school. T.J. and I would bawl our eyes out because the football captain snubbed us, while you’d just break guys’ hearts right and left and move on. Surely there’s some kind of man out there who would appeal to you.”

Allison gave a shrug. “Well, I’m not sure, but a girl’s gotta wonder…” Taking a deep breath, she demanded, “Where is this new breed we’ve been hearing about—the millennium man? A man confident of himself and his own sexuality, who will meet a woman on equal terms in an uncomplicated relationship?”

Again both of Allison’s friends burst out laughing. “Uncomplicated?” scoffed Erin. “Allie, I thought my ex was a liberated woman’s dream come true, a real sweetheart, until I discovered he was majorly sweet on his mother, too, and couldn’t cut the apron strings.”

“I agree,” seconded T.J. with feeling. “Every man has some kind of issue, some kind of baggage. Don is a very nice guy, but he’s also very high-maintenance. Our marriage has been a real struggle at times, not to mention a series of compromises. Like next year, we’re planning to start a family. I’ll have to take maternity leave, even though I know it’s not the best timing for my career.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a really great compromise,” mocked Allison. “As usual, Don is getting his way.”

“Allison, that’s not fair,” T.J. protested. “The truth is, I want a baby, and the timing is never going to be perfect. It’s not like Don can quit his job and have the little darling himself, then nurse him or her for six months.”

“Hey, T.J., I’m sorry,” Allison soothed, feeling contrite. “And you do have a point. When I have kids, I’ll only hope I can be as dedicated a mom as you’ll be, especially in those first few years.”

“But from what you’re saying, you don’t really want the home and family scene at all, do you?” T.J. pursued. “Isn’t that the real reason you broke up with Adam? Because you didn’t want to settle with him in Jackson once he took over his father’s agency?”

Allison hesitated, frowning. “The truth is, I do want a family, but when I’m ready, on my terms. I won’t have some guy dictating to me when I’m going to quit my job, leave Houston, and become barefoot and pregnant.”

“It also sounds as if this Mr. Perfect you’re looking for may not even exist,” T.J. went on wisely. “Talk about having high expectations—”

“Yeah, Allison,” Erin chided. “I think you need to get real. You spout all these lofty platitudes about meeting the ideal man, when it sounds to me like the only kind of guy who might meet your standards is some pleasant geek like Doc Tracy—and he’d bore you to death.”

Allison glowered at her friend. “Hey, Erin, no casting aspersions on my professor brother.” Inwardly, however, she had to concede that Erin had made a valid point. Her brother Doug was a very nice man, but was no woman’s definition of a heartthrob.

“Have you talked to Doug about your man problems?” T.J. inquired playfully. “After all, he’s a guy.”

Allison chuckled. “I’m afraid my scholarly older brother already thinks his wild younger sister is ‘a pox on all manhood,’ to quote his medieval vernacular. He’d likely advise that I memorize all twenty-four installments of The Canterbury Tales—in Middle English.”

Amid laughter, Erin flashed the others a sly grin. “You know, girls, maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle. Perhaps the ideal man for Allie does exist—just not in the version she’s envisioning.”

“Meaning what?” asked Allison, intrigued.

Erin tapped her head with a beautifully manicured fingernail. “As always, Allie, you’re being too damn smart for your own good, attacking this on too cerebral a level.”

“Okay,” she muttered, confused.

“Be honest, now. Every time you have a halfway serious relationship with a guy, these control issues come up, don’t they?”

“Well, yeah,” Allison acknowledged.

“So why don’t you just admit that you’ve been chasing your own tail?”

“I’ve been what?”

Erin’s expression gleamed with secret merriment. “Allie, hon, I love you to death, but the truth is, you’re a serial monogamist who goes through men like the rest of us girls run through panty hose. So why not simply acknowledge the truth—that what you really want from a relationship at this stage of your life is far from intellectual.”

“Ah, so we’re back to sex again.” Allison smirked.

“So we are. Going back to T.J.’s argument that all men have baggage, I have to agree in principle. My ex, Troy, presented himself as the ultimate millennium man, smart and cool, but he had tons of excess neuroses. Dealing with him was positively exhausting in the end. So I’m betting what you really need here is not a so-called free thinker at all, but…” Erin paused to wink conspiratorially. “…maybe a boy toy.”

“Boy toy?” repeated Allison in surprise. “You mean, the type of young, sexy hunk you see on the arms of stars?”

“Sure, why not? You’re only twenty-six, young enough to get in the playpen with him if you want to. Why not find yourself that kind of brawn-over-brains stud—a man who can give you great sex with no strings attached? After all, isn’t the real issue here just what T.J. said, that you’re not prepared to settle down as yet?”

Suddenly Allison was fascinated by the possibilities. “Hmm, a boy toy. Such as—”

“Well, the pool man,” suggested Erin.

Allison chortled. “The pool man? Get out of here!”

“No, Erin’s right!” declared T.J. “When Don and I had our pool put in a year ago, the guys who did the construction were the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my life. You know, like cover models—with long blond hair, fabulous tanned bodies, walking around shirtless in tight, frayed jeans.” She paused to groan in ecstasy.

“T.J.!” Allison taunted. “I never realized you were a voyeur.”

T.J. bristled. “Hey, they were outside my kitchen window for weeks as I cooked breakfast. You can’t blame a girl for looking.”

“And drooling,” finished Erin. “I definitely know the feeling. Last week I almost picked up my personal trainer at the gym. I’ve never seen such perfect abs on a man. Then I found out he’s married—big bummer. But hey, there’s plenty more where he came from.”

“You know, you girls may have a point,” Allison remarked in building excitement. “I’ve seen some pretty gorgeous traffic cops, firemen and construction workers. It’s a thought. Maybe something uncomplicated would be nice for a change.”

“And don’t forget the urban cowboy car mechanic or factory worker,” advised T.J. “That’s one nice thing about Texas—we still grow good old boys here.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be a hoot?” Allison replied drolly. “Dating some male bimbo who’s as simple and empty-headed as most men seem to think I am. Let him be the sex object for a change.” She scowled. “If I could put up with the country boy b.s.—which might be a stretch.”

Erin rolled her eyes at T.J. “Looks like we’re unleashing a monster here.”

“So what’s new?” quipped T.J. “Allison always was a mankiller.”

“Hey, talk about the pots calling the kettle black,” Allison scolded back. “You guys are absolutely wicked, coming up with this fantasy.”

“Giving you ideas, eh?” Erin rejoined.

“Are you ever.” Allison’s eyes danced at the possibilities. “And who knows? I have to drop off my car for warranty service this afternoon. Maybe I can make some inroads at the dealership.”

“You mean a quick lube job from a grease monkey?” taunted Erin.

Allison cast her friend a withering look. “A grease monkey, Erin? Even I have my standards, you know. But, as I recall the salesman who sold me my ‘dream car’ was pretty cute, a former college football star or something—even if he was a real jerk to foist off such a bomb on me.”

“Sounds like a brainless good old boy to me,” agreed Erin. “And you can’t really blame him if he was born a quarter short of a ball game.”

Allison had to smile at that image. “No, I suppose I can’t. But maybe I can shame him into buying me dinner, give him a good goosing for conning me into purchasing a forty-thousand-dollar lemon with an engine that pitches like a mechanical bull—when it doesn’t tick like a bomb.”

T.J. grimaced. “Yeah, that’s pretty unfunny these days.”

Mind made up, Allison once again lifted her glass of white wine and saluted the others. “Thanks for the challenge, ladies. I hereby accept the gauntlet. Who knows? Perhaps I won’t have to give up on men quite so quickly.”

As her friends cheered and toasted her in turn, Allison smiled to herself. How she loved lunches with the girls. She’d come here today feeling really bummed, drained by the breakup with Adam, and down on men in general. But now her world was filled with possibilities again, thanks to the scheming of her friends.

A boy toy. Something fun, simple, uncomplicated. A no-strings fling.

Perhaps Erin was right that she intellectualized her relationships with men too much—assessing them all with a critical eye and finding them lacking. Why not choose a lover on a lark for a change, put some real fantasy and adventure in her life? She couldn’t possibly do any worse. This could be just what she needed for dessert—and maybe the next few months.

And this time, she was determined to have a relationship in which she set the ground rules.

2

“PETE CHISHOLM, you lazy dog, get your ugly mug out to the service lane and start checking in customers.”

Distracted from the computer screen in his cubicle, Pete swung around in his chair to glower at the brassy, middle-aged office manager, Roxy McClure. “Ugly mug?” he repeated in a menacing rumble.

Roxy grinned in a wrinkling of rouged cheeks and a flash of dimples. “Okay, gorgeous, don’t get your tail feathers in a twist. Lord knows you’re easy on the eyes, but you got way too much of a swelled head as it is.”

“Me?” Pete protested with boyish innocence.

“My point is, customers are stacked six deep, and the boss is going to blow half a dozen gaskets.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pete said dryly. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the boss man. Why isn’t Bud checking them in?”

“Still at lunch.”

“Damn it.” Pete surged to his feet. “Meaning he stopped off for another quickie with that cocktail waitress from ’Gators. We should fire his butt.”

Roxy rolled her eyes. “You’re one to talk. How many times has Bud covered for you, Romeo?”

Mischief danced in Pete’s pale blue eyes. “Roxy, you’re killin’ me—always believing the worst.”

She waved him off. “Yeah. That’s ’cause you are the worst—and pity all the females in this world who ain’t caught on to that yet.”

He flashed her a dazzling grin. “Now, Roxy, you know you have my undying devotion. Sure I can’t talk you into checking in a few vehicles yourself?”

“Meaning, this time of day, all that shows up is cranky old ladies that ain’t taken their iron tonic, eh?”

“You know you have much more patience than I do.”

Roxy picked up a clipboard and shoved it into his hands. “Save the charm, junior. I’ve been chewing up and spitting out better than you since before you were in diapers.”

Pete roared with laughter. “I get no respect around here.”

“So what else is new? Now, get your no-good carcass out the door—and no flirting with the women customers, either.”

Pete winked. “Roxy, you know I pride myself on my charm with the ladies. Haven’t a number of them, um, requested me?”

“Yeah, I know just what kind of service they have in mind. This ain’t a cathouse, buster. ’Sides, you’re only giving Bud and the others ideas that they can get away with dallying, too, when they ain’t got nearly your winsome ways.”

Pete literally beamed with that very winsomeness.

Roxy harrumphed, tapping Pete’s clipboard, ungently shoving it toward his lean middle. “Now scram, pip-squeak.”

In a whiff of her heavy perfume, Roxy turned and sashayed off. Pete shook his head. As office manager, Roxy was hardly a bigwig here, but she’d been an institution at Westview Motors for over twenty years. Every male who worked here had a healthy fear of her feisty nature—and Pete was certainly no exception.

He strode toward the exit to the service wing, grabbing a lightweight navy jacket that matched his grease-stained shirt and pants. Stepping outside, he welcomed the slight sting of wind on this bracing early spring day. A shade tree mechanic most of his life, Pete had suffered plenty in the heat and humidity of southeast Texas summers. Autumn and spring were his favorite seasons.

He scanned the three service lanes and found cars stacked no more than three deep. As usual, Roxy had exaggerated. But Rob and Dave did look harried; the two were scrambling about, trying to do the work of three.

Although he’d been assigned Bud’s lane, he quickly decided the far lane looked more promising. Dave was hunched at the window to a twelve-year-old sedan, scribbling orders from one of their crotchety old lady customers. But behind that car, in the late-model gunmetal gray sedan, sat a real looker. Even from here, Pete caught a glimpse of a perfect, heart-shaped face and a mane of thick, light brown hair. Expensive designer sunglasses. A proud, haughty tilt to the chin. One hundred percent babe and pure temptation. Hell, he could almost smell her perfume, and like a bloodhound, he was on her scent.

Pete hadn’t had a girlfriend in a while, not since Sally Jean, who’d been so pouty and clingy. In the end, he’d felt smothered. When he’d finally told her he needed a little space, the bad-tempered woman had thrown a shoe at him. In all honesty, Pete liked doing most of the pursuing himself in a relationship. And the beauty in the far car had that snooty, untouchable air about her that sparked his love of the chase.

First, to stake his claim. He sauntered over to Dave’s lane, tapped him on the shoulder and took his clipboard. “Hey, pal, go take over for Bud. He’s still not back from lunch. I’ll sign in these ladies here.”

Dave gave a groan. “Sure, Pete, whatever you say.” He sprinted off.

Pete flashed his smile at the little old lady, who sat with screwed-up features glowering at him. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

“Don’t afternoon me, sonny,” she snapped back. “Why did you send away that nice young man? Now I have to explain everything to you again.”

Pete glanced at Dave’s notes. “No, ma’am. Looks like you need an oil change and a new thermostat.”

“So you can read,” she mocked. “You don’t look all that smart to me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Stealing a look at the gorgeous woman in the sedan behind them, he opened the customer’s door. “The work should take under two hours if you’d like to wait. Or our courtesy van can take you home.”

“No thanks,” she muttered. “That driver of yours is a fresh rascal if I’ve ever seen one.”

Pete struggled not to laugh. Wally, their courtesy driver, was almost seventy, a jovial, retired Pentecostal minister who’d been married to the same woman for nearly fifty years, and wouldn’t flirt with a flea. “Sure, ma’am, whatever you say.” He touched her arm to help her out of the car.

“Unhand me!” she protested, slapping away his fingers. “I’ll swear you’re a worse lecher than that reprobate in the courtesy van.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Grinning, he watched her clamber out of the car and stamp away toward the reception area. Damn, the female of the species was giving him a hard time this afternoon. Would the knockout in the next car cut him any slack?

A porter rushed up to move the old lady’s car. Pete handed him the top copy of the service order, then strode toward his next customer. Now came the good part. Even if she too was of a mind to roast his bacon, hell, she was pure eye candy.

He sauntered up to her window, leaned over, and offered her his usual cocky grin. That’s when she whipped off her sunglasses. Her gaze flicked up to him, and he froze, riveted. Electricity seemed to dance in the air.

Well, scorch my spurs, he thought. This woman wasn’t just a looker. She was the most gorgeous female he’d ever seen, more striking than a sunrise and hotter than a wet dream. Perfect heart-shaped face with a stubborn little chin, huge bright blue eyes that frankly probed his. Dusky long brown lashes and perfectly arched female brows. Not to mention that shock of shiny brown hair shot through with gold, a silky mass that fell to her shoulders and made him itch to sink his fingers into it. She was a tall woman, too—even folded in the seat he could tell she was at least five-ten, her shoulders straight, bust curvaceous, waist trim. He was tempted to snatch away that little hint of white blouse that kept him from fully appreciating her cleavage. And those legs—dressed as she was in her gray pinstripe suit with skirt riding high on her shapely thighs—damn, those legs went on forever!

Usually Pete knew better than to just gawk at a woman, much less a customer. He’d ease in gently, win ’em over with his charm. Especially when faced with one like her, who already had a clear spark of annoyance in her eyes from his frank perusal. Normally all that was needed was a friendly grin and an “Afternoon, ma’am.”

But in this instance all his good judgment evaporated in the heat of the look sizzling between them. Chemistry, that’s what it was. Pure, simple, sweet. Hot and volatile.

He’d likely get his butt fired over this, he thought ruefully, but suddenly he didn’t care. Leaning closer to her, he whistled, low and sexy.

“Howdy, sweetheart,” he drawled. “You know, I love how they grow ’em in Texas.”

NORMALLY ALLISON’S FIRST instinct would have been to deck the randy jackass leering at her through her open car window. His brazenness was unbelievable! All her life she’d suffered through crude come-ons from cocky cowboys—and this was a particular sore spot with her. She should knock the yokel on his spurs—but for the moment she was just too fascinated, too stunned.

For the service writer who had just strutted up to her car was no ordinary laborer. This man gave the term “drop-dead gorgeous” an entirely new meaning. The grease-stained mechanic’s uniform seemed to melt away, revealing the godlike creature standing before her in all his tawny splendor.

This man was vintage, young Paul Newman, with a shock of thick, longish blond hair and the sexiest ice-blue eyes she’d ever seen. Straight, high-bridged nose, firm jaw. Fullish mouth with one hell of a sexy quirk.

About her age, mid-twenties, she judged. Tall, lean, hard, lanky.

And raking her with a steamy gaze that lingered on her bare thighs and all but pried them apart. Heavens, he was making her damp with a mere look! Defensively she yanked on her skirt, which refused to budge lower. She watched a slow grin spread across his face and could have died.

Finally remembering to be insulted at his gaze and his words she shot back, “Tell me, is acting like a jerk a requirement for grease monkeys these days, or are you just not very bright?”

Unabashed, the man chuckled. “Just trying to be sociable, ma’am. You doing all right this afternoon?”

“I was.”

“Dropping your car off for service?”

“How did you guess? And it would help a lot if we could get this written up before dark.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He whipped open her door and dipped into a mock bow. “I’ll just jot down your mileage and license plate.”

If Allison had hoped to improve matters, she was sorely disappointed. For he leaned toward her across the steering wheel, scribbling numbers from her instrument panel, inundating her with his musky scent. She floundered in the wake of his dizzying proximity and heat. She could see the sexy shadow of whiskers along his jaw, and her fingers were tempted to touch the raw silkiness of his slightly windblown hair. Damn, he was shameless, and way too close to her. But what could she do? Have him arrested for taking her mileage?

Just as she was certain she couldn’t bear any more, he straightened, strode away and wrote down her license number. Returning to the car, he held open her door and gestured toward a nearby small office flanking the driveway. “Won’t you come into my parlor?”

Said the spider to the fly. Ignoring the hand he offered, Allison grabbed her bag, popped out and drew herself up to face him. She fought a wince. She was tall, but he had her beat—although in her high-heeled pumps she made a good showing.

Unlike most men, he didn’t appear to be the least bit intimidated by her stature. In fact, the arrogant twit again raked his gaze over her, lingering once more on her long legs. She almost had to smile at his unbelievable gall.

Audacious as hell, he turned and preceded her toward the office. Damn, what a cute butt he had, and those long, lean legs… Allison didn’t know whether she wanted to strangle him or jump his bones.

A boy toy. Muscle over mind stud puppy. Uncomplicated sex. Suddenly remembering her conversation with the girls at lunch, Allison felt herself going hotter—and even wetter.

Then guilt called her up short. She was wanton, more wicked than he was, even! How could she be salivating so much over some conceited, low-class car mechanic? Besides which, she just didn’t “do” cowboy.

But, watching the hard muscles of his butt and thighs ripple as he moved, she found her shame was soon replaced by an even more powerful sexual curiosity. She realized she was trembling, actually quivering.

Good grief! When was the last time the mere sight of a man had done this to her?

He opened the door and bid her enter with an exaggerated gesture. Preceding him inside, she again caught a whiff of mechanic’s grease and man. His office was small, too small. As she settled in a chair her skirt again hiked high on her thighs, and the bad boy took his fill as he sat down, his knees almost touching hers. She struggled with her recalcitrant skirt—to his apparent delight. She tossed him a glare.

Mercifully, he swiveled to his computer screen, consulted his clipboard, and pecked at the keys. “Let’s see…oil change, new thermostat.”

“What?” Allison interrupted. “Like hell I need a new thermostat. I have no problems with overheating.”

He gazed at her frankly, obviously quite amused, and a telltale color shot up her face, totally negating her last statement. “Yeah, I can tell,” he drawled. He gestured toward the computer. “Sorry, ma’am, I was just entering the service order for the customer before you. You know how it is, everything electronic these days. Even we grease monkeys have to be computer literate.”

“Sure, whatever,” Allison rejoined with a long-suffering air.

He hovered over the keyboard for a few more moments, then removed the previous order from his clipboard and whipped out a pen from behind his ear. “Name?”

The shock of those gorgeous pale blue eyes probing her own hit Allison with a new and unexpected jolt. Flustered, she shot back, “What business of that is yours?”

He laughed. “Can’t remember the last time I serviced a vehicle for ‘Ms. Anonymous.’ Would you like us simply to auction off your car when we’re done today?”

Again she felt her cheeks heat up, making her feel ridiculous. “You may as well, it’s such a lemon.”

He appeared taken aback. “Well, ma’am, we’ll see if we can’t make some lemonade for you. Name?”

“Allison Tracy.”

“Ms. Tracy. You been here before?”

“Yes. Why do you think I’m so ticked off?”

He fought a grin. “I wouldn’t dare to guess what makes you tick, ma’am. Phone number?” Before she could protest, he explained, “It’s how we look up your records.”

She rattled off her home phone number.

He pecked at the keys. “Ah, here you are. Let’s verify that all your info is correct.” He read off her work phone number, her addresses for there and home.

She nodded wearily.

“So you have a 2003 sedan, purchased from us last October.”

“A 2003 lemon,” she reiterated. “I’ve been in here repeatedly complaining about how poorly this car runs and all I get are runarounds and assurances it will be fixed and it never is. And by the way, while I’m here, I’d like to have a few words with that salesman who sold me the bucket of bolts.”

He squinted at the screen. “Dub Dexter? Afraid he’s off today.”

“Did you say Dud?” she taunted sweetly, strangely not feeling the least bit disappointed that the salesman was absent. “More likely he’s hiding under another one of your clunkers.”

He swung toward her, his mouth quirking in a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “What exactly is your problem, Ms. Tracy?”

“It’s not my problem, it’s your problem.”

“Okay, then. What exactly is our problem?” He frowned at the screen. “Other than, I can tell it’s time for your next oil change and lube.”

Allison went warm again. Why did the word “lube” sound so sexy coming off those sensual lips of his? She’d never before been turned on by mechanic’s lingo. But never before had she met a mechanic quite like him.

She realized he was waiting for her reply, one brow quizzically cocked. She cleared her throat and began. “The problem is, you people sold me a forty-thousand-dollar piece of junk. I make my living in sales—”

“Oh, do you?” he interjected dryly.

She clenched her jaw. “My car has serious engine problems—problems which you morons have failed to repair.”

“Is that so?” he asked mildly.

She waved a hand. The problems with her car cooled her libido. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to take a client out to lunch, then have your engine pitch like a bucking bronco when you try to drive him back to his office?”

“You serve a male clientele, do you?” He smiled. “You see, even a moron like me is smart enough to catch that one.”

That did it. Allison shot to her feet. “Look, I came here to get my car serviced, not to be insulted by some smart-ass shop jock with wandering eyes and a swelled head. Why do they let creeps like you work here, anyway?”

“Beats me, ma’am,” he drawled back. “Maybe creeps like me make good grease monkeys.”

She clamped her arms over her chest. “I want to deal with someone else.”

He tapped his pen on the desktop. “Are you sure, ma’am? It could mean a wait—maybe a long one.”

“Damn it. I don’t have time for this. I have a couple of important meetings scheduled.” Feeling equally frustrated and defeated, Allison slid back into her chair. It galled her that this buckaroo with a grease gun seemed to be besting her—yet a small measure of respect rose up for him, too.

With a maddening look of smug satisfaction, he inquired, “Any other problems?”

“Yes. The engine ticks like a damn bomb. You mor—that is, you people—have failed to fix that, as well.”

He scribbled at his clipboard. “Okay, then.”

“Okay? Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

He glanced at his notes. “Engine ticks like a bomb, bucks like a bronco. That about cover it, ma’am?”

Allison was becoming exasperated. “Well, you don’t have to act so glib about it all. Don’t you have any idea why I’m having these problems, or how to fix them?”

He scratched his jaw. “I know these females tend to be temperamental.”

“Now you’re comparing me to my car?”

He leaned back in his chair and winked at her lazily. “Well, ma’am, a car is just like a lady. Sometimes all they need is just a little TLC.”

“Brilliant. I can tell my car is in excellent hands with you. Did you even pass fourth grade?”

“Well, ma’am, I—”

“Let me know when you’ve TLC’d the problem.”

For a moment the two just stared at each other, tension crackling in the air between them. Allison had to admit to herself that she was intrigued by the way this shop stud held his own with her.

Then he leaned toward her and continued in a more intimate, yet still slightly mocking, tone. “Actually, Ms. Tracy, what I was about to say was, even though I am a moron, and even though an intermittent engine problem can be very difficult to diagnose, I’m guessing your pitching and bucking problem could be due to a defective ignition module. But we’ll have to, er, scope the engine to be sure. As for the ticking, that could be a sticking valve lifter.” His voice dropped a notch. “That’s where the right lubrication is critical. You see, we hesitate to tear into an engine this early in the game. Less than 6,000 miles on your little baby there. So, after we change your oil and gas her up, we’ll see if some of our super snake oil won’t, um, smooth up your ride.”

There he was again, talking about lubrication, sexual innuendo ripe in his tone. Allison didn’t rattle easily, but this cowboy mechanic was unnerving the hell out of her. Enticed much more than she cared to admit, she muttered, “Fine. Scope and snake oil away.” She stood, tugging her jacket and skirt into place. “How long will this take?”

He was also on his feet. “With luck, we’ll get it done by closing time.”

“Uh, the man I spoke to on the phone said I might get a loaner.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but we’re all out this late in the day. However, our courtesy van will take you back to work.”

“Great, I’m without wheels. And I have some important appointments this afternoon.”

“So you’ve told me.”

She shot him a look of thinly veiled hostility. “Don’t I get a claim ticket or something?”

He shook his head. “Don’t use ’em anymore. Basically, these days, if you’re not in our computer, you don’t exist.”

“That’s tremendous reassurance.”

He handed her a business card. “If you have any questions, just call this number. And if it’s any consolation, I’ll personally do your repairs.”

Allison glanced at the card, at the name Dave Blodgett followed by Service Advisor, Westview Motors. Hmm… Why did she suddenly feel like a kid who’d been handed a new toy?

Deliberately sounding blasé, she replied, “Don’t bother. I’m sure they have you writing up service orders because you flunked Mechanics 101.”

Totally unflappable, he took her arm and escorted her out of the cubicle. “How did you guess? But you know, ma’am, sometimes even we morons can come up with a few surprises.”

Heat streaked through her at his barbed words, his sexy touch. She found herself treacherously longing to continue their verbal jousting. Stepping off the curb with him, she almost lost her balance.

But by now, that particular reaction didn’t surprise her at all….

3

“ERIN, YOU’LL NEVER GUESS what strutted up to me at the car dealership this afternoon,” Allison confided on the phone.

“You’re kidding me!” came her friend’s excited voice.

“Nope!”

“So soon?”

“Yep!”

“You mean you found a stray stud puppy?”

“Sure did.”

“Did you get him on the leash, girl?”

She laughed. “I’m not so sure about that yet.”

“Allie! Come on, spill the beans.”

Allison launched into the account of her encounter with the mechanic. It was now 4:00 p.m., and she welcomed this moment to put her feet up at her office. Much of her afternoon had been spent placating the clients she’d stood up due to her automotive difficulties. Not that it mattered that much. The mostly male doctors and hospital administrators to whom she peddled pharmaceuticals tended to worship the ground she walked on. Even this afternoon, when she’d tried to placate one client with an offer of free dinner theater tickets for him and his wife, he’d boldly suggested she be his date, instead. Allie had politely declined—she didn’t mind an occasional bit of harmless flirting to push her products, but beyond that she drew the line.

“You’re saying a young Paul Newman?” Erin was gasping in ecstasy.

“Yeah, straight out of Hud, that old movie my aunt used to watch. Only this babe has blond hair and light blue eyes.”

“Sounds heavenly. Did he try to pick you up?”

“Do bulls have balls? And talk about a trite come-on. Do you know what his first words to me were?”

“What lines are boy toys using these days?”

“‘Howdy, sweetheart,’” Allison drawled in a mock male voice. “‘You know, I love how they grow ’em in Texas.’”

Erin shrieked with laughter. “Well, it’s the truth, ain’t it, partner? Even if you are from Big D, which claims to be a universe unto itself.”

Allie was silent, mind humming.

“Hey, Allie, you’re not going to turn into a snob here, are you?”

Allison gave a sigh. “Erin, you know I’m turned off by the drugstore cowboy routine. It’s so phony.”

“Yeah, but there are still a few genuine characters left out there.”

“Well, maybe. But this guy is a stranger. He could even have a criminal background for all I know.”

“At Westview Motors?” Erin asked, laughing. “They’re way too high end not to do thorough background checks on their employees—especially a service writer who might take customers out on test drives.”

“You’re probably right,” Allison conceded. Hmm… How she’d love to take him for a test drive!

“I’m just afraid you’re going to decide you’re out of this guy’s league, and miss out on what he’s offering.”

“Which is?”

“Come on, girl, were you asleep at lunch? Great, uninhibited, uncomplicated sex, that’s what.”

Allie smiled. “Lord knows I could use something easy right now.”

“Yeah. And this pup sounds plenty easy to me.”

Smirking, Allison consulted her watch. “Well, I am going to have to call the little stud muffin soon anyway, see if he’s finished up with my bomb. He promised to do the work personally.”

“Now I know you’ve smitten him. Look, things are dead here at the shop and I think the boss will let me leave early. Want me to run you by the dealership before I head out for rehearsal?”

Erin was very active in an avant-garde theater group based in her home camp of Montrose. “Geez, Erin, I’ve never known you to risk being a millisecond late for rehearsal. Just dying to take a peek at him, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, guilty as charged.”

“Well, you needn’t put yourself to any trouble. I’m sure they’ll send the courtesy van by for me. Some nice old gent drove me back to the office. Even gave me a fatherly lecture on the perils of wearing short skirts in this wanton society. Think he’s a retired clergyman or something.”

“What a hoot.”

“Yeah, I’ll take him in an instant over Mr. Octopus Eyes.”

“Octopus Eyes?” laughed Erin. “You mean the stray doggie?”

“Yeah. He may not dare to touch me—”

“Yet.”

“Right, yet.” Allison breathed a sigh of mingled frustration and longing. “But I swear those eyes of his shoot out tentacles of fire.”

Erin groaned. “Oooh! Get out of there, woman, before I come murder you and steal your claim ticket.”

“Well, you’re out of luck there,” Allison quipped back. “Haven’t you heard? Claim checks are now as uncool as Milli Vanilli and the grunge look. If you’re not in the computer, you’re history.”

“Whatever you say,” Erin laughed. “Go grab your stud, woman.”

Allison was still smiling as she hung up the phone. The truth was, she’d been fantasizing about her mechanic all afternoon—going hot repeatedly at the memory of those pale eyes undressing her with their unique mix of fire and ice. She’d been filled with a restless anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. He was so carefree, outrageously cocky and blatantly sensual. So different from Adam, who’d been handsome and intelligent, but so intense and moody he’d driven her nuts.

Of course, if she did pursue this…well, she could be making a bad mistake on the rebound with Mr. Bedroom Eyes. But not if she firmly set the parameters and neither of them took this too seriously.

She smiled. To be totally honest, perhaps this mechanic also appealed to the rebel in her. Allison hailed from a stuffy, conservative Highland Park family, and a small devil in her liked the idea of thumbing her nose at the snobby parents who would never approve of her having a fling with a guy from the wrong side of the tracks.

As for her brother Doug, who was, in his own way, as stodgy as her folks, he would likely howl with laughter if he knew his sophisticated younger sister was thinking of taking up with Big Tex. Although Allison and Doug had never been particularly close, there had always been a bit of older brother/younger sister rivalry between them. Like Erin and T.J., Doug often teased Allison about being a mankiller—but she could always hear the admiration in his voice, as if he privately wished he could be as daring as she was in his social life.

And daring she was. Allison had retrieved the service advisor’s card from her jacket pocket, and was about to pick up the phone when a knock came at her door. “Yes?”

Her new assistant, Katie Freshausen, a bright-eyed young redhead, burst in. “Ms. Tracy, the garage just rang up to tell us some guy named Pete is downstairs waiting to deliver your car.”

“Some guy named Pete?” Allison repeated, mystified. “Who is he, and what is he doing here with my car?”

Katie gulped. “Sorry, boss, I haven’t a clue.”

“Don’t apologize. Why would you know?” Allison stood and grabbed her bag. “Guess I’d better go downstairs and investigate. I’m about done for the day, anyway.”

“Yes, ma’am. Have a good evening.”

“You, too, Katie.”

When Allison emerged out the front door of the smoky, gray-glass building, she spotted her freshly washed, gleaming car waiting in the nearby turnaround, with Dave Blodgett sitting behind the wheel. Her pulse automatically quickened at the sight of him. Even though he now wore a black western hat, she could see a spark of recognition cross his handsome face on seeing her.

The car door whipped open and he emerged. That’s when she noticed how very different he was. Still lanky, powerful, Dave was now attired more in keeping with his cavalier cowboy image. A black western shirt clung to his muscular torso, and tight, sexy black jeans hugged his lean waist and trim hips, outlining a mouthwatering male bulge at his crotch as well as powerful thighs and long legs. A silver belt buckle, and shiny black alligator boots, gleamed in the afternoon light. As she drew nearer he swept off his Stetson and clipped into an elegant bow.

Oh, darlin’, she thought with a sudden, unbidden wince of longing. Heat up that branding iron.

Momentarily Allison stopped in her tracks, unable to believe her own runaway thoughts. Normally she scorned down-home aphorisms as well as the entire country and western scene. But this man definitely unleashed something primitive in her. For a moment she was pure cowgirl pursuing her cowboy, corny as that sounded.

Reaching her car, she had to laugh. “What is this?”

He replaced his hat and leaned lazily against her sedan, his mouth assuming its usual sexy quirk. “Service with a smile, ma’am.”

Allison groaned. “I can’t believe you drove over here, in my car, and calling yourself Pete—”

“I am Pete.”

“But the card you gave me said Dave, damn it.”

“That curious about me, were you, sweetheart?” he teased, appearing delighted.

She pulled the card from her jacket pocket and waved it at him. “Explain this.”

“I was just filling in at Dave’s booth this afternoon, so his cards were the only ones handy. Hell, honey, if I’d known you were so desperate to learn my true identity, I would have engraved my name on your heart.”

She shot him a frosty look. “I’m not desperate! I simply prefer honesty from the people with whom I have business dealings. You know, correct names and that sort of thing.” Not giving him a chance to respond, she gestured at her car. “So it’s fixed?”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a proud grin, he took her arm and led her toward the passenger side. “Hop in and I’ll drive you back to the dealership.”

Despite the jolt of awareness at his touch, Allison dug in her heels. “Hop in? Wait just a minute, cowboy. It’s bad enough you drove my car here without my permission. Now you want to drive it again?”

“And three hours ago you didn’t want to drive it at all.” He tugged her onward and opened her door. “Come on, Ms. Tracy, be nice. If I can drive us back, that’ll save me from having to find a cab at this hour.”

She frowned. “What happened to your work clothes?”

“Oh, I keep a clean change of clothes in the locker room, and often shower after work.”

“Ah, so you can go out and squander your meager salary at honky tonks?” Hurling the taunt, Allison was surprised to watch his jaw harden, and she took some satisfaction in the realization that she had gotten to him.

“You’re a smart-mouthed little snot, you know that?” he shot back. Then his countenance softened to a roguish grin. “But you’ve got my number, too. I’m a hellraiser, all right. Truth is, sometimes when I’m really hard up for cash before payday, the boss man’ll let me sleep on a cot out behind the service bay.”

Allison eyed him skeptically, not sure whether he was pulling her leg or not.

He nodded at the passenger seat. “So are you going to let me drive us back or what?”

Grudgingly Allison slipped inside. “Guess I do need to go back and pay the bill, which I’m sure will be as over-inflated as your ego.”

He shut her door, chuckling as he rounded the car. “You sure don’t cut a guy any slack, do you, sugar?”

“Don’t call me sugar.”

He slid into his seat. “Not that you necessarily deserve it, Ms. Tracy, but there’s no charge today.”

“What? You mean you didn’t fix my car?”

“No,” he replied patiently. “I mean I looked up your service records, and saw that you have been getting the runaround from us regarding your engine problems. Three visits so far, with no resolution. So I fixed your engine under the warranty, and threw in the oil and lube, even gassed her up and got her washed and waxed, as a courtesy.”

“A courtesy,” she repeated carefully. “And what do you expect in exchange for your generosity?”

Again, from the irritation sparking in his blue eyes, she guessed her barb had hit the target. “Perhaps a little civil conversation? Or maybe just your dropping me back at the dealership with my head still attached?”

Allison squirmed in the seat. He did have a point. He may not have cut her much slack, but she hadn’t cut him any at all. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“That’s better.” He flipped on the engine. “Now listen to this baby hum.”

She did, and was pleased by the smooth, powerful rumble she heard. “It’s ticking, but not nearly like before.”

He nodded. “The super lube should do the trick, that and the new ignition module I installed.”

“Ah. So you were right about—”

“Yeah, I was right.” He glanced at her solemnly. “I think in no time this little honey will be purring like a kitten. But if it’s still ticking at your next servicing, don’t worry, I’ll personally tear into your engine.”

As before, his words were loaded with innuendo, causing Allison to unconsciously lick her lips. Tear away, she was tempted to blurt out. “I can hardly wait,” she muttered.

He chuckled and pulled the car away from the curb.

As he eased them into the rush-hour traffic, Allison’s mind was spinning. Yes, he had bedeviled her with his urban cowboy spiel, but it had been awfully nice of him to deliver her car. The engine sounded much improved. Clearly he was hitting on her, but in truth she was far from an unwilling participant. And although he did wicked things to her with his eyes, his sexy banter, so far he’d made no improper physical advances.

Would it be such a crime to get to know him better, especially since they both must know this would never go beyond a romp?

“Hey, maybe you and I should start over,” she murmured.

“Really?” He appeared both shocked and pleased.

“Well, you must admit, that was a pretty crude come-on you gave me back at the dealership. ‘I love how they grow ’em in Texas.’”

“So you’re not from Texas?” he inquired innocently.

Allison didn’t know whether to be charmed or exasperated. “Stop dodging the question.”

“Then you are from Texas?”

She ground her teeth. “As it happens, I’m from—”

“Dallas, right, angel?”

Allison issued a short laugh. “How did you guess?”

He gave a shrug. “You strike me as one of those snooty, Big D girls.”

“Yeah, and you strike me as a hick from the sticks,” she shot back.

Undaunted, he continued. “Let’s see, I’m betting your parents live in Highland Park, that you made your debut at the Idlewild Ball, then went on to SMU.”

Allison felt all color leave her face. “Actually, it was the Tyler Rose Festival, but… How did you know all that?”

He eyed her cynically. “Honey, I know the type.”

“Ah. Mr. Experience speaks.”

“Yep.” His voice oozed a maddening self-confidence. “I could tell the minute I saw you that you were a Big D girl out on the untamed streets of Houston. And still wet behind your ears as far as our fair metropolis is concerned, aren’t you, darlin’?”

“Don’t call me darlin’.”

“Well?”

She sighed. Buckaroo Babe was proving to be a bit savvier than she’d anticipated. But then he must deal with a wealthy clientele at the dealership. Surely she was not the first former debutante he’d come on to….

Realizing he was patiently awaiting her reply, she cleared her throat. “Actually, I’ve only lived here six months. A job transfer. But two of my sorority sisters also live in Houston, and that helps a lot.”

“So you three gals have trendy lunches at the Galleria while you roast all the men in your lives?”

“How jaded you are.” But Allison blushed as she realized he’d again hit the nail on the head.

“I should take you out and show you some real Houston hospitality,” he continued with relish.

“You mean pit barbecue and line dancing? Even in Dallas we have that.” Feeling a bit guilty for her sharp retort, she added, “However, if you really have fixed my car, I think I’d be willing to buy you dinner.”

He swung a broad grin her way. “Are you trying to pick me up?”

“Are you trying to pick me up?”

He laughed, then gestured at the long line of cars stacked before them. “Tell you what. Looks like gridlock from here to the dealership. Let’s go for a drive on the prairie and test her out.”

Allison gasped in mingled shock and fascination. “Are you joking? Go for a drive with you? You’re a stranger. I don’t even know your full name.”

“Pete Chisholm, ma’am.”

“Pete Chisholm?” She rolled her eyes. “I should have known it. A perfect name for a retro throwback like you. In case you haven’t heard, ‘good old boys’ are a dying breed.”

“Bite your tongue, woman,” he scolded.

“Tell me, are you any relation of—”

“Jesse Chisholm of Chisholm Trail fame?”

“Yes.”

“Nope. None at all. And Jesse’s stomping ground was more Kansas and Oklahoma, as I, er, recollect, ma’am.”

She groaned at his deliberately exaggerated drawl. “Sounds as if you personally knew him.”

“You think I’m that much of a relic?” Leaning toward her, he took her hand and just brushed her fingertips against the leather-sheathed gearshift, in a highly suggestive gesture. Voice going low and sexy, he asked, “Why don’t I show you what this classic chassis can do?”

Allison recoiled as if burned. His touching her hand had been totally unexpected, his trailing her fingers over the gearshift blatantly erotic, dissolving her senses in a hot puddle. By all rights, she knew she should smack him silly and toss his butt out in the streets. The problem was, she was already hooked, and she loved what his audacious words and wicked touch were doing to her.

Nonetheless, she managed to hurl him her sternest look. “Okay, we’ll take a little drive. But make another pass like that one, and I’ll shoot you out of the saddle, Tex.”

He only chuckled, grabbed a CD from her millennium collection and inserted it in the drive. Steppenwolf wailed at them to get their motor running.

Allison’s engine was already in overdrive….

4

“YOU’RE GOING to get us a ticket!” Allison protested.

“If I do, I’ll pay for it,” Pete calmly replied.

They were literally bolting down the tollway toward Highway 290, Steppenwolf screaming in their ears. Allison judged Pete was driving at least eighty-five as he whipped through the rush-hour traffic. Her engine throbbed, roared with energy. Allison had no idea her sedate little sedan was capable of behaving like an Indy 500 racer, any more than she’d known that a sexy urban cowboy could make her own motor thrum this way….

But then, look who was behind the wheel. Sexual power seemed to radiate from Pete as he drove. Allison could see it in the intensity of his expression, the tautness of his muscled body, the strength and purpose of his large hands on the wheel, the gleam of pure animal pleasure in his eyes. He was as revved up as the car.

Oh, to have all that raw lust for life directed toward her!

And wasn’t it? The very question made her go weak.

Reining in her errant thoughts, she managed to say, “Okay, you’ve convinced me you’ve fixed my car.”

Pete zigzagged past two slow-moving vehicles. “That’s not all I want to do.”

“Oh?” She swallowed hard.

“I want you to appreciate her, see what she can do.”

Allison grimaced. “Have you ever been tested for mental illness?”

He chuckled. “I could tell when I was tuning her up today that she was dying for a good, hard ride.”

Suddenly Allison was strangling. Everything Pete said was rife with sexual meaning. And her nerves were hardly soothed by his breakneck driving as he vaulted them onto Highway 290 and shot down the freeway in a squeal of rubber.

In a near-futile attempt to keep her head above water, she changed the subject. “You take pride in your work, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

She offered him a conciliatory look. “Guess I was a little hard on you today.”

“A little? A grease monkey, a moron, a creep.” He shrugged. “Guess I’ve been called worse.”

“Well, can you blame me for being suspicious after I’ve been screwed around by you guys?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Screwed around, have you, darlin’?”

Allison felt her face smarting. “You know what I mean! My point is, you did a good job, and that’s commendable.”

He tipped his hat to her. “Hot damn, thank you, ma’am.”

“Now who’s being prickly?” she accused.

“Actually, I appreciate the vote of confidence. And I do like my job.” With deliberate relish, he continued, “There’s nothing like getting your hands on a hot little engine, feeling it purr and throb to life, revving it up and feeling the power surging—”

Now Allison did groan aloud. “Will you stop it?”

“Stop what?” he inquired innocently.

“All the service bay sexual innuendo. I’ve had my fill of it.”

“Sex on the mind, eh, sugar?”

“You mean sex on your mind,” she shot back.

“Lady, I’ve been talking cars.”

“Cowboy, you’ve been talking smut.”

He grinned unabashedly. “But you’re with me, aren’t you?”

Oh, yeah, she was with him. “I’m not with you,” she denied aloud. “We’re taking a drive in the country, for heaven’s sake.”

“Getting hot under the collar, are you?”

She resisted the urge to comment.

“You know, in my granddad’s day, taking a drive on the prairie would’ve been grounds for marriage.”

“My God, you are a dinosaur,” she declared.

“Hey, I’m only twenty-six,” he protested.

“Me, too,” she put in, pleased to hear they were the same age.

He eyed her quizzically. “Really? When’s your birthday?”

“December.”

“Hah!” he declared, full of smug superiority. “Mine’s October, which makes me older and wiser.”

“Get out of here!” she declared.

“Can’t, ma’am, I’m driving,” he quipped, returning his attention to the road. They were heading northwest on Highway 290, leaving the suburbs behind at a fast clip. “You hungry?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He feigned a tone of exaggerated courtesy. “Has madam eaten? Does she have plans for the evening?”

Allison glowered. “No, I generally play catch-up on Wednesday nights.”

“You’ve got to eat, woman. As a matter of fact, there’s a place I’d like to take you to.”

“And where is that?” she simpered. “To a bordello in Hempstead?”

“No, to a genuine restaurant.”

“Aha! So that was your purpose all along? A date?”

“A date?” he mocked. “Hell, honey, you offered to buy me dinner.”

“Now you want me to pay?”

Pete’s expression gleamed with secret pleasure. “I’m not sure I should answer such a loaded question. But as far as buying dinner is concerned, it’ll be my treat.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Let’s just say I want to retain the goodwill of one of our valued customers,” he drawled with exaggerated courtesy. “So what do you say?”

She glanced out at a large, barnlike establishment looming ahead on their right, with a huge mural of a bull emblazoned on its side. “I say you’re as full of it as that bull.”

He roared with laughter. “And that’s just where we’re headed, sugar—straight to the bull.” In a cloud of dust, he turned them into the gravelly driveway, which was jammed with pickup trucks and horse trailers.

She stared skeptically at the sign. “Clem’s Corral? Sounds like a cattle lounge.”

He pulled them into a parking space next to a huge fire-engine red pickup truck. “My kind of place. Best chicken-fried steak this side of the Pecos.”

“Oh, brother,” Allison muttered.

CLEM’S WAS INDEED a redone barn, with sawdust on the floors and old-timers lounging at the antique bar. On a far dais, a small country and western band was playing, “The Devil Came Down to Georgia,” while a few brave souls struggled to dance the fast reel. Beyond them a group of cowboys was cheering, gathered around a lurching mechanical bull where one of their numbers was pitching about and waving his hat.

“My Lord,” Allison declared. “I thought Gillie’s burned to the ground years ago, and this kind of scene went out with Urban Cowboy.”

Pete solemnly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “That’s a Dallas girl for you.”

“Oh, hush.”

As they passed the bar, the balding bartender waved to Pete. “Hiya, kid. The usual?”

“Yeah, Joe. Two specials. Two drafts.”

She turned to him. “Wait a minute. The usual? For two?”

His blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “Sugar, you can’t think I’ve never brought a woman here before.”

Allison waved a hand. “Your gall is unbelievable. I mean you ordered for me.”

He lowered his voice. “Honey, the special’s the only thing they cook here that’s palatable. They serve catfish, but they’ve been out of the tank long enough to grow new whiskers, if you know what I mean.”

“Whatever.” She glanced about, caught several gruff-looking characters staring baldly at her, and tugged self-consciously at her short skirt. “Look, I’m not dressed for this place.”

“Honey, you’re dressed to start a stampede,” he assured her. “Fact is, I’m gonna have to fight every man in here for you. Now let’s get settled at a table before the bulls get too restless.”

Allison shook her head, unable to believe she’d gone out with such a twang-spouting fossil—even if the man was incredibly gorgeous. They seated themselves at a small wooden table off to the side.

A buxom barmaid sauntered up with their beers. “Hi, handsome,” she greeted Pete.

“Hi, Willie. How have the saddle tramps been treating you?”

“Oh, fair to middlin’, and as full of sass as ever.” She inclined her head toward Allison. “See you got another pretty filly on your arm.”

Pete winked at Allison, then confided to Willie, “Yeah, but the lady’s miffed that I ordered her the special. Tell her about your catfish.”

Willie leaned toward Allison and whispered confidentially, “Honey, I wouldn’t toss ’em to a pack of starving coyotes.”

“Thanks, that’s so comforting,” Allison rejoined.

Undaunted, the waitress sauntered away with a swing of her ample rear. Shaking her head, Allison turned back to Pete. “Where did you dig up this place?”

“My folks used to bring me and my younger brother here. I was raised on a ranch in Fort Bend County.”

“Oh, were you?” Allison was pleasantly surprised. So, his cowboy act wasn’t fake. Erin had been right that she might have found the genuine article. It did make sense, she realized. There were a lot of small-spread ranchers in Texas, many of them managing to live just above the poverty level. A rancher’s son might well end up a car mechanic in a nearby large city.

“You know, my new assistant is from Fort Bend County,” she remarked. “Have you heard of the Freshausen family?”

“Rings a bell, but don’t believe I’ve met them.”

“Katie is a real jewel. Just out of junior college, still living at home. But she hopes to be able to move into an apartment in town by the fall.”

“Good for her.”

“And how about you? Where do you live—besides the back room at the dealership.”

“Oh, I got my own little place in town,” he rejoined modestly. “Weekends I generally go home to the ranch for some horseback riding, if I’m not rodeoing.”

“Rodeoing?”

“I ride the bull.”

“You dish it out, too.” Watching him grin, she hastily cleared her throat. Suddenly, she wanted to change the subject to something safer and blurted, “I work out.” Once the words were out of her mouth, she almost groaned—not a big improvement in subject matter.

Again his appreciative gaze raked her. “I can tell. You’re in prime shape, ma’am.”

“Will you stop it with this ‘ma’am’ nonsense? Makes you sound like Roy Rogers.”

“You don’t like me calling you sugar, either,” he groused.

She was about to scold him further when a pretty older woman strolled up, dressed in a blue jean skirt, matching vest, boots and a long-sleeved red-checked shirt. “Why Pete Chisholm, as I live and breathe.”

“Gussie!” he cried, standing and giving the dark-haired woman a friendly hug. “I swear, you’re as pretty as ever.”

Gussie waved a hand. “Oh, quit flattering me, handsome, and introduce me to your friend.”

Pete grinned sheepishly. “Gussie Gutheridge, meet Allison Tracy, lately come to our fair neck of the woods from Big D.”

Gussie offered the younger woman her hand. “How do you do?”

Allison shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Gussie frowned quizzically. “Would you happen to be related to Everett Tracy of Highland Park Trust?”

“You know my father?” Allison inquired in pleasant surprise.

“I met Everett at the governor’s fund-raiser a couple years back.”

Allison flashed Pete a puzzled look, and he spoke up. “Gussie is very active in politics in Fort Bend County, and she’s been the editor of the Fort Bend County Gazette for many years now.”

“Oh, yes,” Allison replied in pleasant surprise. “You know, I was just telling Pete that my assistant is from Fort Bend County. Katie Freshausen.”

“Why, of course, I’m well acquainted with the Freshausens,” said Gussie. “We recently covered Katie’s little sister’s piano recital.”

“I know. She showed me the article. Good work.”

Gussie beamed. “Why, thank you, dear.” Slyly she turned to Pete. “Is this something serious?”

“Gussie!” he chided.

Gussie winked at Allison. “Pete’s quite a catch, you know.”

Allison smiled. She was sure he would be, to the editor of a small-town newspaper. “Yeah, Pete’s a real gem.”

Gussie cast Pete a pointed look. “Should I tell that sweet little Mary Lou hello for you? I’ll be seeing her—and your folks—at church this weekend.”

Pete colored. “Sure. Why not?”

Gussie craned her neck toward the door. “Well, I can see Dan has paid the bill and is likely revving up the truck. Guess I’d best hustle if I want a ride home. Lord only knows where that man was in heaven when they handed out the patience.”

Pete laughed. “Good to see you, Gussie.”

She shook a finger at him. “Mind your manners, boy. Nice to meet you, Ms. Tracy.”

“You, too,” Allison rejoined.

Gussie walked off, and as Pete sat down, an awkward silence fell. “Who’s sweet little Mary Lou?” Allison finally asked, simpering.

“A very old friend,” came the tight reply. “Don’t concern yourself about her.”

“Why should I be concerned?” Allison retorted, too sharply. “I was merely curious. Besides, we’re just—”

“I know, out for a ride,” he interrupted, but with good humor.

The waitress swept back up, depositing their dinners. “Enjoy it, folks.”

Allison’s mouth dropped open and she stared bug-eyed at the huge plate, overflowing with the biggest chicken-fried steak she’d ever seen. The gigantic fritter spilled over the edges, smothered in cream gravy, as were the mashed potatoes and corn. Stacked on the sides of the plate were wedges of Texas toast, and the aroma rising from the combined feast was tantalizing.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Allison exclaimed. “You expect me to eat all of this?”

Obviously having the time of his life, he leaned toward her. “Honey, you shouldn’t discourage a man regarding your, er, oral capacity on a first date.”

She hurled a paper coaster at him, but the devil only grinned. “This isn’t a date. It’s a lifetime supply of cholesterol.”

“What do you care? You’re gorgeous.”

“How do you think I got that way? By eating at these kinds of greasy spoons?”

“No. You work out.”

“And you ride.”

His gaze flicked to hers. “Yeah.”

He was too much! If dinner was a tall order, this guy was Pikes Peak. Allison dove into her meal to hide her scalded cheeks. The food was wonderful. It melted in her mouth. She found herself eating ravenously while gulping down beer.

“You’d think I’d never had a meal before,” she confided.

“Yeah. You ladies with your salads and pasta.” Leaning toward her, he murmured, “I’ve always thought getting her hands on a thick piece of meat awakens a primal hunger in a woman—and I can see I’m right.”

Allison’s gaze snapped up to his. She was shocked and riveted by his loaded comment.

“See what I do to you?” he inquired.

What you do to me. Not about to respond, barely able to hear him over her pounding heart, Allison took another scrumptious bite. “My God, this is decadent.”

“Not quite what you’re accustomed to in good old Highland Park, eh?”

“You say ‘Highland Park’ as if it’s an obscenity.”

“Not exactly a ripe atmosphere for pickup trucks and barbecue—unless there’s a secret life shared by bankers’ daughters that you’re not telling me about.”

That comment touched a nerve, and Allison frowned at him. “No secret life at all. Just a typical Highland Park home. Two people who married more for business and social reasons than for love—and an older brother who was a bookworm.”

“Leaving you to be the wild child?” he asked with an unexpected touch of gentleness.

Realizing she’d confided in Pete more than she’d intended, Allison lifted her chin. “I don’t think I was any wilder than any other SMU girl. But then, you know the type, right?”

A sheepish look came over him. “Hey, Allison, I apologize. I didn’t mean to sound so jaded. And I’m sorry for what you missed as a child. I grew up in a very warm and loving home.” Abruptly his expression hardened. “The only problem being my shit of a younger brother.”

She laughed. “So that’s how you got the idea that younger siblings are trouble.”

He leaned toward her, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Honey, you’re trouble. But in the best possible way.”

Feeling too charmed by him, Allison took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Well, my parents certainly found me to be a real handful—in the worst way. Some of the stunts I pulled in high school—going to rave parties and heavy metal concerts—drove them up the wall. These days, they’re especially ticked off because I decided to move to Houston rather than marry one of several fair-haired sons of their wealthy friends.”

“Yeah, parents sure can meddle like that, can’t they?” he asked.

She eyed him curiously, wondering if he were again referring to the elusive “Mary Lou.” “Yes, they can.”

He nodded. “Well, I’m very glad yours weren’t successful. But then I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re a headstrong creature, aren’t you?”

“Don’t forget it,” she advised proudly.

He gestured toward her plate. “Now that you’ve all but licked the plate clean, would you like dessert? They make a mean peach cobbler.”

“I think I’d give myself a heart attack,” she declared.

“Coffee then? Or another beer?”

“Another beer sounds good.”

He motioned for the waitress. “Wanna dance?”

“Sure. But the band is taking a break.”

“There’s always the jukebox.”

“Fine.”

They both stood. Allison was starting away when Pete caught her hand. “Wait just a minute.”

“Yes?” Her flesh seemed to sizzle where he touched her.

His gaze held hers as slowly, he began unbuttoning her suit jacket. Allison realized she should object, but she was just too intrigued. When he slipped the garment off her shoulders, his strong warm fingers brushed her bare arms, and she restrained a moan of treacherous longing. Gooseflesh consumed her as he devoured her shapely breasts clad in the skimpiest white cashmere tank top.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said huskily.

“It’s cooler,” Allison protested with a shiver.

“I’ll keep you warm.”

Indeed, her fingers seemed to burn as Pete led her out onto the dance floor. Stepping away briefly, he put some coins in the old Wurlitzer jukebox and punched some buttons. As he returned to her side, Sheryl Crow began to croon, “In Need.” Allison’s knees almost buckled. How could he know that was one of her favorite songs? And so very sensual.

To be honest, she was in need. In need of him. When Pete tenderly pulled her into his arms and his body heat inundated her, when he pressed his temple against her own, suddenly all of her seemed to ache for him. He was so powerful, so warm, so vibrant. So close to her. She breathed a sigh of mingled frustration and desire.

He swept her about in a slow, sexy two-step, the scent of him driving her crazy. His wonderful hands caressed her bare arms, her back. Gradually those skilled fingers slid down her spine until he cupped her hips. She shuddered with longing. His wicked, hot fingers seemed to brand her.

And wasn’t that just what she had yearned for earlier—liberated creature though she was?

Then he drew her closer still, until she felt his hardness. Whimpering softly, Allison realized she should protest his boldness—but Santa Anna’s army couldn’t have dragged her away from this sexy Texan at the moment.

Her languid gaze drifted up to his. “Where are we headed with this, cowboy?”

He gently touched her cheek. “I think you know, don’t you, sugar?”

Oh, yes. She knew.

PETE COULDN’T HAVE FELT more thrilled as he and Allison danced away the night—to the Soggy Bottom Boys and the Dixie Chicks, and to anything the band played, even old Hank Williams’s tunes. She felt so wonderful in his arms—warm, soft, curvaceous, and she smelled so sweet. Feeling her shapely bottom move against his hands, Pete was hard-pressed not to haul her even closer and kiss her senseless. After all, she must be willing, or she would have rapped his knuckles long before now.

She was a feisty one, all right. She’d certainly put him through his paces today, and he was pleased as punch that he’d managed to keep her on the hook. In fact, he remained a bit shocked that she’d gone out with him at all, when she’d so obviously assumed he was a hick.

Still, she was coming around. She’d warmed up to him a lot over the course of the evening. The encounter with Gussie had been unfortunate, especially the mention of Mary Lou. But thank heaven his old family friend hadn’t spilled all the beans. For he still had some surprises in store for the spirited Ms. Allison Tracy…

At eleven she stumbled slightly in his arms, and he looked down into her gorgeous, slightly dazed eyes. “Guess I’d best drive you home. You’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“And you haven’t?” she countered.

Pete had to smile. Even slightly tipsy, she was full of spirit. “Two beers at dinner, and sodas ever since. One of us had to remain sober enough to drive us safely home.”

“Yeah. At ninety miles an hour.”

Chuckling, he leaned over to nuzzle her ear, and satisfaction surged in him at the sound of her breathy little sigh. “Now that we know what your little engine can do, we can take our time. My point is, honey, you’ve had three beers.”

“Counting the empty bottles along the road to seduction, are you, cowboy?” she quipped. But he could hear the huskiness of desire in her voice, and passion stormed through him with new intensity.

He paused as Garth Brooks began singing on the jukebox, “To Make You Feel My Love,” one of Pete’s favorite ballads. “One last dance?” he asked her wistfully.

“Sure,” she murmured.

As they slowly stepped about she clung to him as if his arms were the most comfortable place to be in the world, and tenderness filled him. Lord, to have this evening end with him making love to her. That would be more than heaven, a dream come true. Even now she was snuggled up to him so trustingly.

Trust me a bit more, angel, he silently entreated.

A shudder racked Pete. For once he was shocked by the level of his own cravings. He’d picked up this woman earlier almost on a lark; he hadn’t counted on how deeply she would affect him.

“You know, you’ve been pretty nice to me,” she whispered huskily, breaking into his thoughts. “Fixing my car. Buying me dinner. Now driving me home.”

Warmed by her praise, he murmured, “My pleasure, honey.”

“But how will you get home?”

“I have a feeling that won’t be a problem.”

She managed a mock scowl. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” he admitted. “But if there is a problem, I’ll take a cab home, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll pay,” she offered in a rush of generosity.

He clutched her tighter, drowning in her scent, pressing his lips to her brow. “Oh, yeah, honey. You will.”

Pete realized that even in her dazed state, Allison knew his comment had nothing to do with carfare.

5

ON THE WAY HOME, the warmth of the car, the thrum of the engine and the aftereffects of the beer she’d drunk, left Allison with a pleasantly drowsy feeling. She hadn’t realized she was nodding off, until her head slumped onto Pete’s shoulder. Flinching slightly, she sat back up.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmured. “Why don’t you just curl up and put your head in my lap?”

That comment thoroughly awakened her. “Hah!” She nodded toward the console. “My midriff would feel just great propped over the gear shift—and where would you like me to put my mouth?”

He hooted a laugh. “Do you really want suggestions?”

“No!”

“Think we need a little more music,” he rejoined. He fumbled at the console. “Didn’t I see Gone in Sixty Seconds here with your other CD’s?”

Allison flipped on a map light and searched for the jewel case. “Gone in Sixty Seconds, eh?”

“Every mechanic in the country must have a copy of that CD. Best car-boosting movie ever made, and best soundtrack.”

She flipped open the case and handed the disk to him. “So you’re not just a C & W junkie?”

“I played Steppenwolf driving out here, didn’t I?”

Allison smiled wistfully. “My aunt Tessa got me hooked on his music when I was little. She was really into the whole Easy Rider, ‘Born to be Wild’ scene.”

“So is her niece,” he quipped.

“Whatever. Anyway, Aunt Tessa always played counterculture music when we were out cruising in her vintage Mustang.”

“Sounds like a cool aunt.” He slipped the CD into the drive.

“Yeah. A lot cooler than her brother—my father. Everyone thinks I inherited my rebellious streak from her.” She gestured toward the CD player. “Hell, my parents would have matching purple cows if they knew I was listening to DMX and Ice Cube.”

He grinned and busied himself adjusting the volume. A silence stretched between them as The Cult began to wail, “Painted on my Heart.” Allison groaned. She’d forgotten that track started out the CD—and it was probably the most torrid love song in Allison’s entire collection. Her audio system was first rate, too. The throbbing lament filled the car’s interior, pulsing with raw power and sexual energy. She squirmed in her seat.

Was the wanton ballad getting to Pete as much as it was to her? She glanced at him covertly. His gaze was fixed on the road, and Allison couldn’t be sure just what he was feeling. But suddenly she just had to touch him; experimentally, she reached out and settled her hand on his warm thigh.

He made a guttural sound, then abruptly pulled the car off the highway, bringing it to a stop in front of a closed gas station, and flipping off the engine.

Startled, she drew back her fingers. “Is something wrong?”

He turned to her, his gaze searing hers in the reflected neon light. His rough fingers reached out to caress her soft cheek. “No, sugar, I’d say something is very right.”

Allison died a little then. For even the steamy music couldn’t match the fervor of the look passing between her and Pete at that moment. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take, wanting him so badly and having him at arm’s length this way. The carnal song only intensified the longing between them, screaming out of dark, secret places, and sweaty bodies locked in passion.

Could he hear her own feelings throbbing on the wavelengths?

Apparently he could as his gaze darkened, smoldered. “Come here,” he rasped.

He didn’t have to beg her. Allison thrust herself into his arms across the console, felt his strength and heat enveloping her. His sigh of yearning mingled with her own. Then he leaned over, his fevered lips teasing her, lingering over her brow, hovering on her cheek, until she thought she would scream if he didn’t kiss her. At last he did—their mouths colliding in scorching need, his tongue slashing deeply inside her mouth.

Allison whimpered and clung to him, seeking his own mouth with her tongue. Oh, he could kiss—kiss as if he were climbing inside her. She was reeling and would have melted away to the floorboards had he not held her. As if he sensed her weakness, he molded her breasts more snugly against him. She moaned and opened her mouth wider, inviting his unabashed possession. Her nipples ached pleasurably against his crushing chest, and when he drew her hand to his crotch she did not flinch, even as the hardness and heat of his sex pressed against her fingertips sent desire shooting inside her, strong and deep. She was trembling, sorely tempted to crawl over the console and take him.

At last the song ended and they moved apart, both slightly dazed. Allison regarded Pete shyly, a bit warily, not really believing the powerful emotions that had just surged between them. She’d known he was sexy, had suspected he’d be a great kisser. She hadn’t expected the intimacy to leave her feeling so shaken, so stripped of all her defenses. That scared her.

The next cut began with more verve and playfulness, yet still Allison remained jolted, her heart pounding in the silvery darkness.

“You okay?” he asked tenderly.

“Sure.” She managed a dry laugh. “You definitely woke me up, cowboy. Actually, it’s been a while since I’ve stopped off to neck with a boyfriend.”

“Am I your boyfriend, Allie?” he inquired softly.

She dared not answer, for at the moment he seemed so much more. They’d started out the evening as strangers, but now she felt as if she’d known him for ages.

He reached across the console to clutch her fingers. A massive groan shook him. “I never thought I’d curse a car with bucket seats. Wanna come straddle me, baby?”

“Here? Are you crazy?” Allison was as aroused as she was scandalized.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Hell, the back seat looks pretty inviting—and dark.”

“Not on your life!” Allison stated the words emphatically, though her voice quivered.

He chuckled. “Well, I can tell I’ve got a bit more taming to do.” He patted her hand, then turned to start the engine. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. You’re gonna need all your energy once I get you home.”

Allison knew the conceited devil deserved another dressing down, but, damn it all, he was too charming and sexy for her own good. She gave herself over to the mood of playful sensuality. She lay back, relaxed, listened to the erotic music, and finally drifted off again…but this time, with drenching dreams of him.

“Nice digs you got here, sugar.”

An hour later, at Allison’s high-rise apartment overlooking Houston’s posh Magic Circle area, Pete stood across from her next to a sheer glass wall, admiring the sea of skyscrapers with their sparkling lights, and flaunting his gorgeous backside to her—the muscled shoulders and back, the tight butt, the long legs. At the bar in her adjacent kitchen, she restrained a moan. Everything about this man oozed virility; he filled a room with his energy. Memories of the incredible kiss they’d shared set her nipples to tingling and warmed her inside her belly.

Though she had dozed off again on the drive home, she was wide-awake now, riveted by the sight of Pete in her space, imagining him in her space. “Thanks,” she managed to say.

“You must rake in the dough with whatever you sell.”

“Pharmaceuticals.”

“Hah!” He wagged a long finger at her. “You bust my chops for being a lowly mechanic, when you’re a drug pusher, sugar.”

“Hey, watch the lip,” she scolded. “And I’m hardly a millionaire. This apartment may be well appointed, but it’s also small.” She gestured at her diminutive but elegant living room with its posh white carpet, matching couches and chic accessories. “Anyway, it’s worth it to me to live only five minutes away from my job—and this was especially true when I didn’t have a car I could depend on.”

His jaw came up in pride. “Now you do.”

“Right,” she acknowledged. “I’ll admit you know your stuff, cowboy. The engine didn’t act up the whole time we were out.”

“Sometimes, it just takes—”

“I know,” she interjected, too quickly. “Lube, snake oil and a little TLC.”

He stepped toward her, lowering his voice a notch. “I was about to say, it takes the right touch to tame a stubborn creature.”

Allison was not about to comment on Pete’s latest, loaded repartee. Turning to flip open the liquor cabinet, she muttered, “Want a nightcap before you go?”

He stepped closer. “Am I going, sugar? Are you as big a tease as I think you are?”

His voice was pure seduction, and Allison almost dropped the bottle of cognac she’d just retrieved. Turning to set it on the bar with unsteady fingers, she met his amused yet sexy gaze. “Let’s leave a little mystery to this, okay, cowboy?”

“Sure.” Appearing satisfied, he nodded toward the bottle. “As to your question, no, ma’am, it’s not hard liquor I’m craving. ’Sides, I don’t want you going all sleepy-eyed on me again.”

“I’m not the least bit tired,” she asserted.

He touched the tip of her nose. “You were snoring on the way home.”

“I was not,” she retorted. “Even if I was, it’s rude of you to point that out.”

“Don’t worry, I barely heard you.” He winked solemnly. “I don’t want you too drowsy, darlin’, but I must admit I wouldn’t mind putting your sharp little tongue to bed for a bit…. Or maybe there’s a better place I’d have you put it.”

Much as the decadent image aroused her, Allison saucily tilted her face. “Watch it, I can still throw you out.”

He uttered a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, you think you can take me, do you?”

“Sure.” With relish she looked him over. “You strike me as a pretty puny type. Think I’m bigger than you.”

“Oh, yeah?” he blustered, thunderclouds now in his eyes. “Then let’s hear it, sister—height and weight.” Before she could protest, he held up a hand, then gestured at her feet. “But first, take off those high-heeled dancing shoes.”

Glancing toward their feet, she harrumphed. “Well, if you aren’t full of it! You’re wearing boots yourself.”

“Okay, then, we’ll do this unshod.” He began pulling off his boots.

“Unshod? You are prehistoric!”

“Are you taking off those slippers or not?”

Allison made a strangled sound, mostly for his benefit. Normally she would never have allowed herself to be goaded this way, but tonight she found she was having too much fun to resist. She stepped out of her pumps and drew herself up to face Pete.

He straightened to face her.

That’s when she groaned. With both of them shoeless, she was definitely shorter than he. Nonetheless she faced him down with bravado.

“Okay, spill it out,” he goaded.

“Five-ten, one thirty-five,” she declared flippantly.

“Hah!” He advanced, confronting her eyeball-to-eyeball. “Six-one, one sixty-five. Still think you’re bigger than me?”

“Sure I do.”

Now he looked her over, thoroughly. “Well, when it comes to curves in the right places, you’ve got me beat, angel. But you’re still a fool if you think you can whip my butt.”

She balled her hands on her hips and faced him down. “In a heartbeat, I can. I work out.”

His superior expression dared her to continue. “And I ride. What do you want to bet that you can take me?”

That taunt proved irresistible. Allison lunged for him, only to find herself gripped by strong hands, hauled effortlessly up into the air, and thrown across a hard male shoulder. With quick strides Pete crossed the room, then she landed neatly beneath him on the soft couch in front of the glass wall. They lay locked body-to-body, sex to aching sex, regarding each other breathlessly.

“A kiss?” he inquired, grinning like the very devil.

Before Allison could respond, Pete kissed her again, brazenly, stabbing his tongue inside her mouth, exciting her beyond reason.

“Damn, you’re strong,” she muttered, kissing him back, boldly biting his underlip.

A fervent sigh rose from him. When his hands tugged at her tank, pulling it up over her head, she couldn’t protest. He stared at her generous, rounded breasts veiled in her white lace demi-bra. “Lady, I’m in heaven.”

Just the heat of his gaze further tightened her aching nipples. Then he leaned close, trailing his tongue over the contours of her bra, scalding her flesh. Allison was going insane. When his tongue and lips teased her breasts, his teeth playfully nipping her flesh, her nipples, through the sexy fabric of her bra, even the lace binding her seemed to sizzle.

All maidenly restraint left her. “Take off your shirt,” she ordered hoarsely.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Proudly he complied, all but ripping off his shirt, and she had to wince as she drank him in. He was positively gorgeous, his chest tan and lean, with a sprinkling of downy golden hair swirling downward to disappear beneath his belt buckle.

Appearing thrilled by her unabashed inspection, he unclasped her bra. Wetting a finger, he traced tormenting circles over her hyperaroused nipples, and she shuddered in ecstasy. Just when she thought he could take her no higher, he sucked her nipple into his mouth and bit down gently. A sound of raw abandon was torn from her. Grunting his satisfaction, he sucked and nipped at both breasts, while she panted and arched her back. Finally he caught her close, crushing her against his naked chest. His body felt fabulous, so warm and muscular against her own.

His hands slid boldly up her stockinged thighs, until he had hiked her skirt high above her waist. Allison writhed with flagrant suggestiveness.

Expression intense, Pete was staring down at her hips and legs clad in sheer lacy panties, sexy black garter belt and stockings. When he touched her bare inner thigh she arched against him wantonly. “You’re not taking off that garter belt, woman.” He touched her mound through her bikinis and she cried out softly. “I want to see all of that hot black lace as I drive into you.” He tugged at the wispy fabric of her crotch. “But it’ll be a damn shame to rip off these pretty panties.”

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