“I want sex,” Sarah blurted into the receiver

Houston sat upright in bed. When he’d come back into town, he’d anticipated picking up where he and Sarah had left off—spending his nights burning up the sheets with her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been of the same mind. Until now.

“You want to have sex,” Houston said, just to make sure he’d heard her correctly and this wasn’t just an extension of the very erotic dream he’d been having.

“Not plain old sex. I want it in a shower, a movie theater, a public rest room and an elevator. It’s unfinished business. Once we finish, things will get back to normal.” He could hear in her voice that she felt the same heat he did, burning her up from the inside out.

“Which means we should get started right away.” His body throbbed at the prospect.

“We’ll start tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? There was no way Houston would make it through another hour without her, much less an entire night. He wanted her and she wanted him, and they’d both admitted as much.

As far as he was concerned, there was no better time than the present.

Dear Reader,

It’s hot this time of year in Texas, but it’s blazing in the pages of my newest novel, The Fantasy Factor, thanks to Houston Jericho, the last of the notorious Jericho brothers.

Houston is a pro rodeo bull rider at the top of his game. But even more, he’s a bad boy and proud of it! He isn’t the least bit interested in changing his ways and settling down. He likes fast times and even faster women. When he rolls back into his hometown for the wedding of an old friend, the last thing he expects is to fall hard and fast for a good girl like Sarah Buchanan.

The thing is, Sarah isn’t as good as she pretends to be. There’s a bad girl lurking beneath the conservative clothes and quiet demeanor. One that refuses to forget Houston and the hot, sexy bargain they’d made when they were younger. Houston is more than ready to pick up where they’d left off, but Sarah isn’t so eager. She’s spent twelve years building a wholesome image and she isn’t about to ruin it now.

The problem? She can’t stop thinking about him, fantasizing about him, wanting him. She quickly realizes that the only way to maintain her good-girl status is to unleash the wild woman inside of her, temporarily of course, and finish what they‘d started so long ago. She’s looking for really great sex and closure, but what she finds is really great sex and a love strong enough to tame even the baddest bad boy!

I hope you enjoy Houston and Sarah’s story! Drop me a line and let me know what you think. You can write to me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada. Or visit me online at www.kimberlyraye.com or at www.gotsexauthors.com.

Happy reading!

Kimberly Raye

The Fantasy Factor
Kimberly Raye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For my best buds,

Debbie Villanueva, Angela Fitch & Christine Kos.

Y’all are the greatest friends a girl could ask for!

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

1

SHE NEEDED A REALLY GOOD orgasm in a really bad way.

That was the only reason Sarah Buchanan kept stealing glances at the hot, handsome, sexy-as-sin cowboy standing at the bar of Cadillac’s most notorious honky-tonk. Otherwise, she would have kept her gaze to herself and her attention fixed on the five women seated at the table with her.

She smiled and busied herself taking a drink of the Diet Coke she’d ordered. The cool liquid slid down her throat, but it did nothing to ease her pounding heart or the craving in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze slid sideways again, seeking out the western shirt and Wranglers. There.

Her gaze lifted, drinking in the sight of him, from the straw Resistol perched on top of his short-cropped blond head, down over the western shirt that outlined his broad, powerful shoulders, the large rodeo belt buckle that glittered at his trim waist, the tight jeans that cupped his crotch and hugged his powerful thighs, to the tips of his worn brown cowboy boots.

Houston Jericho was hot and hunky and he practically guaranteed a top-notch, first-class, screaming-good orgasm.

She knew that firsthand because she’d been on the receiving end, not once but three times. Three hot, wild, wicked times.

Of course, that had been a long time ago, and Sarah had since traded hot, wild and wicked for lukewarm, tame and boring. She’d given up her bad-girl tendencies—along with her sexy clothes and her favorite red leather cowboy boots—and completely changed her image.

Houston, however, looked as hot and wild and wicked as ever, his sensual lips crooked in a grin, his stance easy and relaxed and so damned sexy.

She got the distinct impression that he’d only gotten better with age.

“…your turn.” The female voice drew her attention and she forced her gaze to the blonde who sat across the table from her. Janice Alcott was a corporate oil executive from Houston, and had, at one time, been the vice president of the Chem Gems, the only academic club at Cadillac High, a school where football and cheerleading had been considered hot and everything else—particularly anything that involved a textbook—not. “Looks like Maddie—” she pointed to the blonde sitting next to her, their once-upon-a-time president who’d traded her frumpy high school image and shy demeanor for a svelte new figure and a tight leather halter top “—isn’t going to nail this one. That means you only need five points to beat her.”

They were on the last round of Who’s the Baddest Babe?—the sexy board game that had been the center of tonight’s bachelorette party honoring Cheryl Louise, the youngest Chem Gem, who was tying the knot first thing tomorrow.

Cheryl had been a member of the club via her older sister, Sharon, who’d been the smartest girl in school and the founder of their group. She’d also been one of Sarah’s closest friends.

Until Sharon had wrapped her car around a telephone pole a few days before graduation. Maddie had been in the driver’s seat, and she’d walked away with only a few scratches, thanks to the steering wheel. She’d been lucky.

As lucky as Sarah herself, who would most certainly have been crammed into the passenger seat with Sharon when the dashboard had caved in—had her grandmother not grounded her yet again, and sentenced her to her room for the weekend.

“Child, why can’t you be more like your mother? She was always such a sweet girl. Always thinking of others and making straight A’s and doing me proud. Why, you wouldn’t catch her swiping the school mascot the night before a football game. She always used her head.”

Because Lorraine Foster Buchanan had not only been the smartest girl in her class, she’d also been perfect. She’d always said the right things and worn the right clothes and married the right man and made all the right decisions….

Unlike her only offspring, who’d never managed to measure up. At least in Willemina Foster’s eyes, and so Sarah had stopped trying early on. In fact, she’d gone the opposite direction, determined to set herself apart from her mother. To be different. To be her own person rather than a replacement for the daughter her grandmother had lost.

Instead of being sweet and wholesome, she’d been a daring, do anything rebel in red-hot cowboy boots who’d loved to shake things up and shock the fine, upstanding citizens of her small hometown. She’d been the first out of her clothes to go skinny-dipping down at Cadillac Creek, the first out of the car to toilet-paper the captain of the football team’s house the night before homecoming, the first to ask a guy out for their junior prom, and the first to proposition Houston Jericho, the town’s resident badass and the hottest, hunkiest guy ever to walk the hallowed halls of Cadillac High School.

Her gaze started to slide his way, but a passing waitress killed her line of vision. Thankfully.

She was here with her friends, for her friends. This was the first time they’d all been together in twelve years. And possibly the last they would be, since they led separate lives, two of them far, far away from Cadillac. She shouldn’t waste her time scoping out men.

She gave herself a mental shake and forced her attention back to the game.

Maddie, despite her leather halter top and go-get-’em attitude, had just failed the latest assignment that would have made her an extra fifty points and secured the title. All of the other women were too far behind to win, but Sarah was right on her heels, and if she aced the next question, she would walk away the winner.

Not that Sarah intended to win, no matter how much she wanted to. She had an image to maintain. A wholesome, respectable, safe image that she’d spent too many years building to blow now.

“Girl, if you ace this, you’ll be sleeping late tomorrow instead of picking up Uncle Spur,” Eileen, the petite blond supermom told her.

Image aside, Sarah was in no hurry to spend two hours cooped up in a vehicle with Cheryl’s uncle Spur, an ornery eighty-four-year-old man who prided himself on his tobacco spitting abilities and always being right.

She reached out, picked the top card from the deck and read it out loud.

“A true bad girl loves to make the first move, Whether it’s a kiss, a touch, or catching her groove.

So prove yourself by taking this chance,

Find a sinful minded man and ask him to dance!”

“That’s no fair,” Maddie complained. “I had to dance with someone and kiss him. All she has to do is dance.”

“With a sinful minded man,” Brenda pointed out, “which means he’ll have more on his mind than, like, dancing if he’s really in the sinful category. Not to mention, they’re playing a slow song right now.” A slow, sweet Toby Keith song wailed from the speakers.

“It’s still no big deal,” Maddie said. “This is too easy.”

Maybe for any of the other five women at the table. But for Sarah, a former bad girl trying desperately to be good, dancing meant getting close, and slow-dancing meant getting even closer, and that meant trouble.

Her nipples throbbed at the thought, and frustration made her fingers tighten.

Yep, she needed a sinful man, all right. But needing and having were two very different things. She needed a lot of things. A new haircut. An extra large bag of Doritos. A pair of short-shorts and a slinky tank top to keep her cool while she worked at the family garden center she’d taken over from her grandmother several years back.

But she wasn’t having any of those things because Sarah steered clear of anything and everything that spelled B-A-D, from junk food to revealing clothes to her favorite red boots to men. Life was short enough on its own without tempting fate by living dangerously.

She’d realized her mortality and decided to play it safe. At least that’s what she wanted everyone to think, especially her grandma Willie. She owed the woman for saving her life that night, and so she followed a strict diet regime, got plenty of sleep, wore tasteful, conservative clothes and steered clear of sinful minded men.

Men who made a woman’s heart pound and her legs quiver and her panties damp.

Men like Houston Jericho.

Her gaze shifted to him again and her lungs constricted. He was still as handsome as she remembered. More so because his wild, carefree aura now contained an air of maturity that plainly said he knew what to do, when to do it and exactly how to do it.

Definitely bad.

“Fifty points,” Brenda Chance said. Brenda was a hopeless romantic. She’d married her high school sweetheart, Cal, given him a handful of kids and now lived and breathed the local PTA. “If you pull this off,” she told Sarah, “you’ll get, like, fifty points. More than enough to put you in the lead and win the game.”

“I say she should pick another card,” Maddie said. “Dancing is nothing for Sarah. I say she needs something more challenging. Something befitting the baddest bad girl ever to flash her boobs at a bus full of rival football players after a game.”

Janice smiled. “Girlfriend, that was so funny.”

Cheryl Louise grinned. “It was classic.”

Sarah frowned. “It was stupid. It was forty below out. I nearly gave myself frostbite.” She would have, except that she’d been laughing so hard, her heart pumping even harder, thanks to the rush of excitement at acting on a dare, that she’d actually felt warm. Hot.

Almost as hot as she felt right now.

She took a sip of her cold drink and forced a nice, easy, controlled breath. It was all about control. Something she’d manage to perfect thanks to twelve years of deprivation.

“I agree with Maddie,” Janice said. “Sarah needs something more challenging. Girlfriend, she’s already a bad girl, so that gives her an advantage over Maddie.”

“Nonsense,” Brenda said to Janice. “You and Maddie, like, have obviously been away too long. Sarah is the activities chairwoman for the local chamber of commerce. She spends her weekends hosting bake sales and organizing car washes. Why, she’s about as bad as Pastor Standley’s grandmother.”

“She’s still alive?”

“Barely. She’s ninety-seven and she spends twenty-four/seven watching Wheel of Fortune reruns and reading Reader’s Digest.”

“Sounds totally unexciting,” Janice said.

“That’s Sarah,” Brenda replied.

“Unexciting is good.” Sarah took another sip of cola. “Too much excitement leads to stress and heart attacks.”

Janice shook her head. “Whatever happened to the old Sarah we knew and loved and envied?”

But they all knew what had happened. They’d lost one of their closest and dearest friends the night before their high school graduation, and it had changed all of their lives forever.

Maddie, who’d been so set on following in her father’s footsteps at the town’s bake shop, had left to attend college in Dallas and ended up in a high-powered career with a leading cosmetics company. Janice had traded a local junior college for a major university and a career with a big oil company in Houston. Eileen had forfeited college to be a wife and mom and the local PTA president. Likewise, Brenda had given up college entirely to marry her high school sweetheart and have the first of five children, all of whom were scary at best—at least to Sarah, who’d grown up an only child with her grandmother and a house full of plants.

Cheryl Louise had still been in high school. She’d worked afternoons at the local five-and-dime and fantasized about Prince Charming sweeping in and saving her from her humdrum existence.

He’d swept in. Literally. Jack Beckham owned the only floor cleaning company in town and he’d been polishing the tile at the local TG&Y when he’d first spotted Cheryl Louise. He’d smiled and she’d smiled and now, several years later, they were about to say, “I do.”

And Sarah?

She’d traded her big-city dreams, a chance at an architectural degree from the University of Texas and her one opportunity to get the hell out of her stifling hometown to stay right here, attend the local junior college, take over the family business and play the dutiful granddaughter.

“The card said ‘sinful,’ so don’t even think about Marty Snifferdoodle.” Janice pointed to the man sitting at the far end of the bar. He had a can of soda in one hand and a handful of peanuts in the other. He tipped his head back and tossed a peanut into the air, catching it in his mouth.

“He’s coordinated,” Sarah pointed out.

“Coordinated is not sinful.”

“And don’t think about old man Wally, either.” Maddie eyed the ancient-looking man standing at the far end of the bar. His shock of white hair had been slicked to the side. He wore a starched shirt and Wranglers and made kissy faces every time a woman walked within his line of vision.

“He’s sweet.”

“He’s old and frisky.”

“But old, frisky men are sort of cute.”

“Then you won’t mind picking up Uncle Spur tomorrow,” Maddie told Sarah.

Just the mention of Cheryl’s obnoxious uncle made Sarah’s stomach knot, and she pushed to her feet. Spur Tucker wasn’t just obnoxious and loud-mouthed and downright mean. He was a threat to her nice, wholesome image.

If she had to hear him say even once more that her hair was too red or her skin too pale or her hips too wide or her butt too out there, she was liable to do what every woman in town had wanted to do since he’d started spending his holidays in Cadillac and running his mouth off—she was liable to wring his scrawny little neck until his eyes popped out.

Popping out an old man’s eyes, even a hateful, ornery, critical old man’s eyes, wasn’t something a nice girl would do.

Which meant Sarah had to dance with Houston Jericho.

Just a dance, mind you. An innocent, you-stay-on-your-side-of-the-invisible-line-and-I’ll-stay-on-mine sway of bodies.

No kissing him or jumping his bones or begging him to take her right here and now and sate her deprived libido.

No matter how hot he looked.

HE WAS TOO DAMNED HOT.

Houston tugged at the top button on his shirt and tossed down another swallow of his beer. Neither did much to cool the heat burning him up from the inside out. A heat that had very little to do with the crowded atmosphere of his old haunt and everything to do with the fact that she was here.

He still couldn’t believe it. He’d been home a time or two over the years, but he’d never run into her. They kept company with totally different crowds now. While they’d both been into fast and furious fun way back when, Sarah Buchanan had since changed her ways. She spent her Saturday nights hibernating at home while he burned up the dance floors when he wasn’t riding a thousand pound bull on the pro-rodeo circuit.

At least that’s what Houston had heard about her.

He still couldn’t believe it.

His gaze shifted across the room, to the table filled with familiar faces. Her nerdy friends, or so they’d been in high school. Age and success had turned them into a fairly nice-looking group.

Back then Sarah had fit in with them when it came to brains. As for her body… She’d been centerfold material, with a beautiful face, long hair, luscious breasts, a round, soft bottom and long legs.

Despite the talk around town, he didn’t think she’d changed much at all. She still had a killer body, though it looked as if she tried to hide it. She wore a white, long-sleeved blouse with tiny pearl buttons rather than a tight T-shirt or sweater. Slacks rather than snug, fitted jeans. Conservative pumps rather than the come-and-get-me red cowboy boots she’d flaunted along with a lot of attitude.

She was still as hot as ever.

And she wasn’t there.

He blinked and eyed the familiar four faces. Four, not five. Christ, he could have sworn he’d seen her just a few seconds ago.

Then again, maybe it had been wishful thinking. An extension of any one of the fantasies that had haunted him over the past years. Sarah, naked and beautiful, in the shower. Sarah, naked and beautiful, in a public rest room. Sarah, naked and beautiful, in a dark movie theater. Sarah, naked and beautiful and riding him, in a moving elevator. Sarah, naked and beautiful, in any and all of the last four of The Fantasy Factor: Sexiest Seven Places to Do It, a self-help sex video that had caused quite a stir back in his high school days.

By today’s standards, the content seemed extremely tame. There were no below-the-waist shots, though the video had hinted at total nudity. It had been primarily an instruction video for couples who wanted to spice up their sex life. But to a bunch of giggling teens in a small town, it had been a veritable porn fest.

The bootleg copy, courtesy of one of the football players who’d found the original in his parents’ bedroom, had circulated throughout the senior class. It had been passed from one hand to another until a teacher had confiscated it from someone’s locker.

By then, however, practically everyone had seen it, including Houston.

He’d caught his glimpse of it at an after-game party, the crowd made up primarily of seniors and a handful of freshman from nearby Kendall County Junior College. Sarah had been there, too, caught in a groping session with some junior college jerk who’d been pushing her too far, way too fast.

Houston had stumbled upon them in one of the back bedrooms when he’d been looking for the bathroom. They hadn’t made it past second base, but the guy was quickly gunning for third despite Sarah’s struggles. Houston could still remember the fear in her eyes and the relief when she’d caught a glimpse of him standing in the doorway. He’d pulled the guy off her, tossed him on his ass, and then he’d offered her his jacket to cover her torn blouse.

She’d taken his hand and, together, they’d slipped out the back door and headed for his souped-up Corvette. She hadn’t wanted to go home for fear of facing her grandmother while she was still so shaken up, nor had she wanted to go back to the party and face her friends. She’d been fearful that the jerk would run his mouth and blow her hot-to-trot image. And so they’d wound up down by the creek with a bottle of homemade strawberry wine, an ice chest and some 7UP. They’d poured the wine and soda into the chest and mixed up some homemade wine coolers. Then they’d sat on the hood of his car and talked for the rest of the night until the sun had come up.

She’d admitted the truth to him then. Despite her ready, willing and able image when it came to sex, she was really only two out of three. She’d had only two sexual encounters and neither had been nearly as wonderful as she’d anticipated because they’d both been with assholes like the Junior College Jerk.

She wanted great sex. Wild sex. Hot sex. The stuff fantasies were made of.

She wanted Houston.

Even then, he’d had a reputation for being outstanding in the sack, and so she’d asked him to help her beef up her sexual knowledge by playing out the Sexiest Seven from the video.

He’d been a little shocked at her request, and a lot turned on because, like every other guy in school, he’d thought about being with her. Pleasuring her. Making her feel so good that she’d scream his name and come apart in his arms.

He’d kissed her then and they’d started that very night.

He’d expected it to be good. Sex was always good. But with Sarah, it had been phenomenal. She was so uninhibited when it came to her body, so vocal when it came to her feelings, and the combination had turned him on in a major way. Every time he’d touched her, kissed her, plunged into her, he’d seen the pleasure in her eyes and on her face, and he’d heard it in her loud, frantic cries.

Unlike most other girls, who’d been more interested in having him as a boyfriend than a lover, she hadn’t been into playing games. She hadn’t worried about saying the right things or holding out or maintaining an air of propriety. She’d been straightforward and free and very, very improper.

And he’d enjoyed every moment.

But then Sharon had passed away and Sarah had withdrawn and Houston had done what he’d been planning to do for as long as he could remember—he’d left his desperately small town and his sorry excuse for a father, and he’d built his name and his reputation as one of the best bull riders on the pro-rodeo circuit.

Houston was the middle brother of the notorious Jericho brothers. Austin was the oldest. Dallas the youngest. All had been as bad as a hot summer day was long. They’d been the town’s rebels, a legacy inherited from their hell-raising father and wild-child mother. His mother had died early on, just months after giving birth to Dallas. She’d been diabetic and the birth had been too much for her. There’d been complications and her kidneys had failed. She’d fought for her life on a dialysis machine, but it hadn’t been enough to save her. She’d passed on, and his father had crawled into a bottle and the three boys had been left to fend for themselves.

They’d all grown up to be independent, none of them depending on anyone except one another to overcome their past and rise above the town’s expectations of them. Dallas had built a successful construction company. Austin was a rancher with the fastest growing spread in the county. And Houston was this close to breaking the national bull riding record of ten consecutive championships.

He’d worked hard to get to this point. Over the years, he’d spent most of his time on the road, focused on the next practice and the next competition. Always focused.

Except at night, when the exhaustion weighing on his muscles wasn’t enough to pull him into a decent sleep. Then he would close his eyes and sometimes—oftentimes—picture Sarah.

They’d made it through the first three of the Sexiest Seven. They’d gotten hot and heavy on the bank of Cadillac Creek on a moonlit night, which had satisfied number one—sex outside in nature. They’d done the wild thing in her Grandma’s Impala, which had satisfied number two—sex in the back seat of a car. They’d set each other on fire in a cheap but clean room at Hotel Heaven just outside the county line, checking off number three—sex in a sleazy motel room. They’d been scheduled to fulfill number four—getting slippery and wet in the shower—when one of Sarah’s best friends had passed away.

Sarah had changed then and he’d left, and they’d never made it into the shower for number four of the Sexiest Seven, or into a crowded movie theater for number five, or a public rest room for number six, or an elevator for number seven.

No, they’d never had a chance to finish, but he’d often thought about it. Fantasized about it.

“…there, sugar?” The voice drew his attention and he turned to see the sultry blonde to his right who had been coming on to him all night. He’d been trying to warm up to what she’d been offering, but then Sarah had walked into the bar and the blonde had suddenly lost all her appeal. Now she licked her lips suggestively. “This place is getting too crowded. What do you say we cut out of here and have a little private party of our own?”

“I’d love to, honey, but I think I’d better stick around a little while longer.” He eyed the group of men at the bar, all arms raised in a toast to the groom, who wore a foam ball and chain around his neck. “Jack and I go way back.”

What the hell was he saying?

He wanted to get out of here. Out of the building, out of his clothes, away from the damned heat. He needed to sate the lust burning him up from the inside out.

Unfortunately, the lust had nothing to do with this woman and everything to do with the woman he’d spotted only a few minutes ago.

Correction—the woman he’d imagined only a few minutes ago.

“Then how’s about an itty-bitty dance?” the blonde asked. She moved her hips suggestively, rubbing her pelvis against his thigh. “I bet I can change your mind about the private party.”

He tugged at his collar and tipped back his Resistol. “Maybe later. I think I need another beer.” She glared and walked off while he stepped up to the bar and signaled the bartender.

A minute later, he slid a few dollars across the bar top and raised an ice-cold mug to his lips. The freezing liquid slid down his throat in a rush of cool relief. He grimaced. While the beer hit the spot, he didn’t have much of a taste for it after watching his old man drink himself to death. Which was why he never passed his three beer maximum when he drank.

If he drank.

But tonight was a special occasion. One of his old buddies was tying the knot tomorrow and so Houston had come back to Cadillac. Only for a few days, then he was off to practice for the next Pro Bull Riding championship in three weeks. Before then, however, he was going to make another pass through town to say goodbye to Miss Marshalyn Simmons, the most headstrong woman ever to come after him with a switch and a good lecture. The whole town was scheduled to say goodbye to her at a party being planned in her honor over at the VFW Hall.

She was moving down to Florida to live with her sister. Miss Marshalyn had grown tired of the hot and sticky climate. Tired of living alone. Tired, period. She wasn’t getting any younger and the hassle and responsibility of caring for a three-hundred-acre spread and a fading farmhouse was simply too much for her.

She wanted peace of mind, and so she’d made Houston and his brother Austin—the two Jericho brothers still single from the original notorious three—a proposition they couldn’t refuse.

Dallas, the youngest boy, had already found the love of his life and walked down the aisle. He was now only a few months away from becoming a father—a responsibility Houston knew Dallas would take very seriously thanks to their own sorry excuse for a father.

Miss Marshalyn wasn’t the least worried about Dallas, which was why she’d already handed over a prime hundred acres to him as a present for the new baby.

It was Houston and Austin who caused her the most concern. She wanted them to trade in their bad-boy ways and settle down. In return, she promised one hundred acres to each of them. But only if they managed to convince her they’d really and truly changed their ways in time for her going-away party.

Houston slid a glance toward the exit door where his brother Austin had disappeared only a few minutes earlier after having danced with Maddie Hale, the shy, frumpy leader of the Chem Gems who’d turned into a bona fide hottie. Much too hot for Miss Marshalyn’s tastes. She wanted both men to choose a prospect from the town’s pick of nice, quiet, wholesome conservative good girls.

Maddie no longer qualified, and it was no wonder Austin—who was dead set on making Miss Marshalyn happy—had walked out before things had really heated up.

Houston, on the other hand, had no intention of taking Miss Marshalyn up on her offer. He wasn’t the settling-down type. He’d worked too damned hard to get the hell out of Cadillac. He certainly wasn’t coming back now. Not permanently. Not ever.

He’d meant to say as much to Miss Marshalyn. He’d tried, but she’d cut him off in that way that told him she knew best. And so he hadn’t been able to set the record straight about the land and the fact that he was leaving.

He would, of course. He just didn’t see the need to disappoint her right now. He had a good two weeks. Plenty of time to let her down slowly, easily, before he had to leave for Las Vegas and the Pro Bull Riding Finals, where he was scheduled to compete for his tenth consecutive championship.

A record-breaking win that would put him right up there with the greatest riders of all time.

The knowledge didn’t send nearly the jolt of adrenaline through him that it usually did. Understandable, since he was still sore from a hard but high-scoring ride the night before in Cheyenne. A man most certainly couldn’t be excited when it hurt just to breathe.

He drew a deep breath and an ache gripped his left lower rib cage. He hadn’t broken any bones this time, but he’d come close. She’d almost stomped him square in the chest. She would have if he hadn’t rolled just in time.

In time, but still too late. He was getting slower each and every time he hit the ground. No one else noticed, but he did. He felt the weariness pulling at his bones and it bothered him.

PBR champion cowboys weren’t slow. Slowing down meant losing, and Houston had been winning much too long to stop now. Even more, he liked winning. He loved it. He lived for it.

He just wished it didn’t hurt like hell.

“I hate to bother you.” A soft, sweet voice drifted from behind him. “But would you care to dance?”

“I’m afraid not—” he started to say as he turned. The words stumbled to a halt in his throat when he found himself staring at the sultry redhead who’d lived and breathed in his memories for the past twelve years.

His pain faded into a rush of heat and his heart thundered because Sarah Buchanan wasn’t a figment of his imagination this time.

She was real. With eyes as warm as the hot fudge he loved to pour on his favorite vanilla ice cream, and just as decadent. And she was standing so close he could actually touch her.

And that’s just what he did.

2

HOUSTON JERICHO HAD TOUCHED his fair share of women. But none had ever felt as soft or as warm as Sarah Buchanan.

The notion struck him the moment he trailed his fingertips down the side of her face, under the curve of her jaw, down the smooth column of her throat, until the silky fabric of her collar stopped him.

“You’re real.”

“I…yes.” She licked her bottom lip and he had the urge to lean down and catch the plump flesh between his teeth and nibble. “And, um, so are you. Not that I had a doubt. I mean, I saw you and I knew right away that it was you, even from a distance. But you look better up close. Bigger.” His grin widened as she stumbled over her words.

A crazy thing, because Sarah Buchanan had never had trouble finding the right words for anything. She’d always said what was on her mind, in her thoughts. She didn’t look for the right words the way she seemed to be doing right now.

His mind flashed back to the few times he’d been home in the past to see his brothers. The visits had always been brief. Two days at most, just like this time. He’d always been in such a hurry that he’d never actually run into her. But he’d heard about her.

That she’d changed. That she’d outgrown her rebel attitude like a trendy pair of shoes. Yep, he’d heard the talk, but he’d never believed it.

He didn’t believe it now, despite the cautious air about her and the way she seemed to stiffen when he smiled at her. There was just something about the way she looked at him with those deep brown eyes that said she was hungry for him.

As hungry as she’d been at seventeen. Maybe more so, considering that she was a full-grown woman now, with a woman’s curves, a woman’s maturity, a woman’s needs.

“I care.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You asked me if I cared to dance. I do.”

“Oh.” A few seconds ticked by as reality seemed to register. “Oh.”

He grinned and watched her stiffen again. “After you, honey.” He let her lead him out onto the dance floor, through a sea of moving bodies, straight into the heart of things, which was just what he’d expected.

Sarah had always been the center of attention. Not because she’d wanted to be, simply because she attracted attention with her free spirit and her I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude.

She bypassed the middle and kept moving until they’d reached the far side of the dance floor, where it wasn’t so crowded or loud.

She put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, as if she meant to keep some distance between them.

Right.

He pulled her close, plastering them together from chest to thigh, holding her securely with one arm tight around her waist.

“You’re definitely real. And warm. And you smell just like those raspberries we used to pick out in old man Baxter’s field.”

Houston’s words slid into her ears, coaxing her to soften in his arms the way the warm heat of his body urged her to relax and let her guard down.

She wanted to.

She’d been so good for so long, and the need to let her hair down and stop thinking, worrying, just once was nearly unbearable.

“That was a long time ago,” she said, the words more for herself. But they did little good.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing.”

“You’re stiff.”

“Stiff is good.”

“I won’t argue that with you,” he said, and she became instantly aware of the hardness pressed against the soft cradle of her thighs. Heat flowered low in her belly, spreading through her body like a flame sweeping dry brush. “But the idea is usually for me to take care of the stiffness, while you soften up.”

“I can’t. I mean, I don’t. I don’t soften up anymore. Haven’t you heard? I’m not like that anymore.”

“I heard, but I didn’t believe it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s pretty far out, don’t you think? I mean, you, sexy Sarah, a prude? That’s like saying Santa Claus is really the Easter Bunny. It’s just not natural.”

“It’s true.”

“Like hell. Santa wouldn’t be caught dead hopping around in a furry white suit with big floppy ears and big floppy feet. Santa’s way too cool. He’s got the whole black biker boot thing going on.” She saw the teasing light in his eyes and found herself back in the past, charmed by his smile and soothed by his teasing voice.

And for a split second, she actually forgot that things had changed. That she’d changed.

Her hands crept up the hard wall of his chest, her arms twined around his neck and she leaned closer. His heart beat against her breasts. His warm breath sent shivers down the bare column of her neck. His hands splayed at the base of her spine, one urging her even closer while the other crept its way up, as if reacquainting itself with every bump and groove, until he reached her neck. A few deft movements of his fingers and the tight ponytail she wore unraveled and her hair spilled down her back. His hand cradled the base of her scalp, massaging for a few blissful moments, making her legs tremble.

For the next few moments, she forgot all about the game and her friends and the all-important fact that no self-respecting lady would be caught dead with Houston Jericho, much less pressed up against him on a crowded dance floor for everyone to see.

She tilted her head back and found him staring down at her. The past pulled her back, to a moonlit night when he’d looked at her just this way, as if he wanted to take slow, sweet bites and savor every inch of her.

He’d done just that and she had the sudden thought that she wanted him to do it again. Right here. Right now.

Don’t do this, a voice whispered. You can’t do this.

She was different now. At least, that’s what she wanted everyone to think. And they weren’t going to think any such thing if she lost her head right in the middle of the dance floor and pressed herself up against him. And rubbed this way and that. And touched him just so—

A loud whistle ripped through the air and shattered the seductive spell she’d been lost in. She jerked around to see Maddie, Eileen, Janice, Brenda and Cheryl Louise. They waved and gave a thumbs-up.

“What’s that all about?”

“Just a game.”

“What kind of game? To see who gives the loudest wolf whistle?”

“Actually, it’s about dancing.” She forced her fingers to let go of his collar and she pulled away. “And I just won. If you’ll excuse me…” She didn’t wait for a response. She darted away from him and left him staring after her.

His gaze drilled into her back, and it was all she could do to keep from turning and running back and begging him to take her to bed.

Or, more important, straight into a nice warm shower. Because that’s what he did in her fantasies. What they’d planned on doing for their fourth encounter so long ago. What he’d never had the chance to do because she’d changed and he’d left and life had come between them.

She said a quick goodbye to her friends before heading for the rear exit. Out in the parking lot, she climbed behind the wheel of her car. As she shoved the key into the ignition, her arm bumped a giant cardboard box filled with vases for the centerpieces she was going to put together tonight for Cheryl Louise’s reception tomorrow. Glass clinked and the engine groaned.

She gave one last look at the exit door, half expecting, half hoping that he would come after her. He didn’t, and a swell of disappointment went through her, quickly followed by a wave of relief.

The last thing, the very last thing she needed in her life was to have Houston Jericho running after her. He wasn’t her type and she wasn’t his.

Even if he did suit her perfectly in her dreams.

This was real life, not some hot, erotic fantasy.

More important, this was her life now—her calm, conservative, boring life, and she wasn’t about to spice it up and ruin her image by losing her head, or her hormones, over Houston Jericho.

It was all about keeping her perspective the next time she saw him.

If that didn’t work, she would just have to keep her distance.

“MY, MY, BUT THAT WAS a beautiful ceremony.” Miss Marshalyn sighed and finished penning her name in the guest book. “Marriage is such a blessed union,” she told Houston as she wrapped an arm around his and started inside the VFW Hall for the reception. “Don’t you think, dear?”

“For some, I’m sure it is. But for others—”

“Nonsense. It’s blessed for everyone. Oh, look, there’s Jennie Mayfield.” She pointed to a petite blonde oohing and aahing over a small baby. “That’s her new niece. She has nine of them, and seven nephews, and she dotes on them.”

“Good for her.”

“No, good for you. If she thrives on her nieces and nephews, she’s sure to dote on her own children, and you most certainly want a wife who adores her children.”

“I’m sure she’ll make a great wife. Not for me, but for someone—”

“There’s Darlene Davenport. She’s the secretary over at the bingo hall. She knows everything about gardening.”

“That’s good.”

“You’re darned tootin’ it is. A man deserves fresh vegetables with his dinner, and since you’ll have one hundred acres of your very own, you can devote plenty of room to a nice garden.”

“About the land—”

“No need to thank me, dear,” she cut in, waving him silent.

“I wasn’t going to thank you. I was going to tell you that I really can’t—”

“Why, there’s Margie Weston!” Miss Marshalyn blurted. “I haven’t seen her in ages. I must go say hello. We’ll chat later, dear.” Before Houston could blink his eyes, he found himself standing alone. But not for long.

It seemed that the old woman wasn’t just pointing out prospects to him. She seemed to be pointing him out to all of her prospects. In a matter of minutes, he found himself surrounded by a handful of women talking about everything from muddy diapers to various species of tomatoes.

“I like the cherry ones, myself, but they do require extra care to grow. What about you, Houston? What’s your favorite tomato?”

“I don’t eat tomatoes.”

“How about cucumbers?”

“Never liked them.”

“What about squash? I’ve never met a man who didn’t like squash.”

“Can’t stand the stuff. Wow, there’s Darcy Waters. I haven’t seen her in ages.” He tried Miss Marshalyn’s avoidance tactic. “I have to say hello.”

He left the group staring after him, muttering about what a loosey goosey Darcy Waters used to be.

They were right. She’d been loose back then, and she was still going strong, he quickly discovered after saying hello. Five husbands, an equal number of divorces and three kids later, she still found time to keep the dance floor hot over at Cherry Blossom Junction and every other honky-tonk in the surrounding counties. She liked astrology and Marlboro Lights and he quickly discovered that he didn’t like her half as much as he liked Sarah Buchanan.

Even if Sarah was wearing a hideous orange bridesmaid’s dress and doing her best to avoid him.

He shifted his gaze to the woman currently straightening the bride’s lengthy train. She busied herself behind the scenes rather than out front the way he remembered.

She’s different now, a voice whispered. Last night proved what everyone said about her—namely, that she kept a low profile, walked the straight and narrow and conducted herself like a bona fide lady. At the same time, he couldn’t forget the wild light in her eyes when she’d stared up at him for those few moments on the dance floor, as if she’d wanted more from him than just a dance.

Maybe. And maybe it was just wishful thinking because he wanted more from her than just one dance.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted as good as he remembered, if she felt as soft, if she sounded just as breathless when he nibbled at her neck and stroked her nipples.

And Houston had never been a man just to sit around and wonder about anything. He went after what he wanted and found out for himself.

He started toward her.

“I DON’T BITE.” The smooth, silky voice came from behind, followed by a firm, familiar touch on her shoulder. “Except for that one time, but it was only because you wanted me to.”

Sarah’s hand faltered on the cup of punch she’d just poured. Raspberry sherbet mixed with ginger ale sloshed over the side and trickled over her fingers. She set the cup aside, next to the dozen or so others she’d poured in the past few minutes and did her best to calm her pounding heart.

Pounding, when she’d promised herself just last night that she wasn’t going to get nervous. Or excited. Or turned on.

Especially turned on. She had a reputation to protect and salivating at the first sign of the town’s hottest bad boy was not in keeping with her goody-goody image.

“Hello to you, too.”

“I didn’t walk clear across this room to say hello. I tried to do that more than two hours ago when I first arrived. But the minute I started toward you, you turned and bolted for the kitchen.”

“I didn’t bolt. I simply moved very swiftly. I had to help arrange the vegetable trays before everyone arrived from the church.”

“That’s what I told myself, so I waited a little while, until I saw you over by the cake table. I started toward you again, but you took off for the kitchen again.”

“I forgot the fresh flower bouquets to decorate the groom’s cake table.”

“That’s what I told myself, so I waited again until you finished setting up the flowers and I started over. I even called out and waved that time, too.”

“Really? I didn’t see you.”

“I could have sworn you did, but then you headed off to the kitchen again.”

“I had to get the bag of fresh rose petals to sprinkle on the bride’s cake table.”

“That’s what I told myself, so I waited until you finished and then I started over again. I even called out that time.”

“Really? I didn’t hear a thing.”

“I didn’t think so. Otherwise you wouldn’t have headed for the kitchen again.”

“I had to help with the punch. The lady who was supposed to man the table came down with a bad stomach virus a half hour ago so here I am.”

“And here I thought this was just another reason to avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m simply busy.” To illustrate her point, she reached for the ladle and served up another cup of punch. “Thirsty?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“There’s everything from pigs-in-a-blanket to mini pizza rolls.” But she knew by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t talking about food. She tamped down on her own growling stomach and reached for another empty cup.

“The wedding is over.” His hand closed over hers. He took the cup from her hand and set it to the side. “It’s time to have some fun.”

“I promised I would serve the punch.”

“No one wants any punch. They’re too busy dancing.” He indicated the dance floor overflowing with couples two-stepping to an old George Strait tune. The only person who wasn’t dancing was Wes Early, the town’s only videographer. Cheryl Louise had hired him to record her wedding memories and he was currently walking from couple to couple, zooming in for close-ups and capturing good wishes and advice with his camcorder. “Let’s dance.”

“I can’t. I mean, I don’t want to. I promised my grandma Willie that I would keep her company.”

His gaze followed hers to the old woman who sat at one of the large round tables. A half dozen other white-haired ladies surrounded her. A maze of dominoes covered the table.

“I don’t think she needs you.”

She stared at her grandmother. The old woman lifted her head, caught her granddaughter’s gaze and smiled before turning her attention back to the game and her last domino—a double six—which she slid into the center of the table before letting loose a loud “I win!”

“That’s her domino club. They get together every Saturday night. I guess they didn’t see the wedding as an excuse to call off tonight’s game.”

“She looks happy.”

“She is happy.”

“And what about you? Are you happy?”

“I don’t mind serving punch.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Are you happy here? In Cadillac?”

No. “Yes,” she blurted. “I’m very happy. I’ve never been so happy. I’ve got my business and my grandma. Life is all right.”

“All right?” He eyed her. “What happened to amazing? Awesome? Explosive?” He named off every adjective she’d ever used when talking about the future and the life that waited for her beyond the city limits.

“I’m not the same irresponsible girl I was back then.”

“Because…”

Because she’d barely survived last night’s close encounter. If she had to feel his arms around her again, or smell his intoxicating scent, or stare into his eyes, she wasn’t so sure she could make it through with her cover still firmly in place. “Because I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s late.” She glanced at her watch, her brain scrambling for an excuse to step away from him. To run away before she did something really outlandish like throw her arms around him and kiss him right here and now with everyone looking on. “And I’ve got to get up early for work.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. The nursery is closed.”

“But I’m still working. I’ve got a full greenhouse to inventory before my new deliveries on Monday. It’ll take all day, so I have to get a very early start. Nice talking to you. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Not this time.” He caught her hand and tugged her after him, to the far side of the room and a small, private corner behind several large potted palms draped in white tulle and twinkling white lights.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out why you won’t dance with me.” He hauled her in front of him and backed her into the corner. “Other than the fact that it’s late and you have to be up early. I know there’s more to it, Belle.”

Belle. As in Jezebel. “Nobody calls me that anymore.”

“As I recall, no one else ever did. It was just me. I also recall that you liked me calling you that, almost as much as you liked dancing with me.”

“Maybe I don’t like to dance anymore.”

“You liked it just fine last night.”

“I wanted to win a game last night. I needed to dance with a hot guy to beat Maddie, and you were the only hot guy there.” When he didn’t look the least bit convinced, she added, “You were hot and I needed hot. It wasn’t because I wanted to dance, certainly not that I wanted to dance with you. I didn’t. Not last night, and not now.”

“Is that so?”

“Look, things are different now. I’m different.”

“Really?” He fingered the conservative neckline of the hideous orange bridesmaid’s dress. “You mean your heart doesn’t pound when I do this?”

She managed to shake her head despite that he could undoubtedly feel the frantic thud thud against the pad of his finger.

“And your blood doesn’t rush when I do this?” He trailed his fingertip over the edge of the dress, over the material until he brushed her nipple through the fabric.

“Not at all.”

“And you don’t get even the slightest bit wet when I do this?” His touch swept south until she felt the press of his fingertip at the vee of her legs. He traced a little circle and heat fired low in her belly.

“I…don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She licked her lips and tried to ignore the sensation sweeping along her nerve endings. It felt so good and he felt so good and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and simply feel. “This is a bad idea.”

“Because you don’t want me?” He leaned down, his warm breath brushing the sensitive shell of her ear. “Or because you do?”

“Because…” She tried to think of an explanation, but then her gaze caught his and she couldn’t think. She could only feel. The warmth of his body so close to hers. The throb of her nipples. The tightening between her legs. The tingle of her lips. “I really want to kiss you,” she blurted. And then she did.

He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to feel her lips against his own. His mouth was wet and warm and welcoming.

He plunged his tongue deep, tangling with hers in a fierce kiss that made her thighs quiver and her nipples ache and her hormones chant yes, yes, yes while her brain screamed no, no, no! She tasted him, licking and exploring in a fast and furious rhythm that quickly calmed into something a little less frantic and a lot more dangerous.

But Sarah Buchanan didn’t do fast or furious or dangerous, especially dangerous. Not anymore.

The truth echoed in her head, but it wasn’t enough to make her stop. It was the voice that did that.

“Say something to the bride and groom.”

Sarah pulled away to find a video camera trained on her.

Reality hit her as Wes Early grinned and said into the mini microphone attached to his camcorder, “Weddings aren’t just about forming new relationships, folks. They’re about renewing old ones, as well. Houston and Sarah were once the hottest couple in high school and it seems they’re still heating things up—”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Sarah cut in, with the only excuse her frazzled brain could come up with. “I’ll definitely give some thought to replacing the chamber’s annual bake sale with a kissing booth.”

“What?” Houston stared down at her, deep into her eyes, and her heart did a double thump.

“Your idea for the chamber of commerce to host a kissing booth instead of a bake sale. It’s got potential but you didn’t need to demonstrate.”

“I didn’t—” he started.

“Shame on me for getting caught up in the town’s business on your special day,” she cut in, fixing her gaze on the video camera and forcing a smile. “Congratulations and I wish you both the best.” And then she darted under Houston’s arm and left both men and a live camcorder staring after her.

A video camera, of all things. Not only had she blown the conservative image she’d managed to build for herself, she’d done it on tape for everyone to see.

She forced away the thought and headed out to the parking lot. She was already behind the wheel when she remembered that she hadn’t even said goodbye to anyone. Not Cheryl Louise or her friends or her grandma Willie, who’d ridden over with some of the ladies from her domino group.

It was all Houston’s fault. He was stirring the bad girl locked deep inside of her, coaxing out the old Sarah with his sinful smiles and naughty words and sexy heat.

If she wasn’t careful, she was liable to blow the good girl cover she’d spent the past twelve years perfecting. A cover so convincing that she’d actually started to believe it herself, to accept it, to like it.

No, she didn’t like the person she’d become any more than she liked this desperately small town. But this was the life she’d made for herself and so she had to live it.

For her grandmother’s sake.

She closed her eyes, remembering the night of Sharon’s death when Brenda had called, so tearful and frantic. While the news had devastated Sarah, it had nearly killed her grandmother.

The old woman had sat there, the phone pressed to her ear as she’d listened to Brenda’s voice. Her gaze had been fixed on Sarah, the awful truth vivid in her eyes—it could have been Sarah who’d died that night. It would have been had she not grounded Sarah because she’d been late for her curfew the night before.

The realization had been too much for her grandmother. Her blood pressure had escalated and she’d had a mild heart attack.

Sarah could still see her grandmother’s pale face, hear her frantic whisper.

“You have to take care, Sarah. You have to think. I can’t lose you the way I lost your mother. My heart can’t take it.”

“Everything’s going to be all right, Grandma. I promise. Things are going to be different. I’m going to be different. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. You won’t have to worry about me ever again.”

Sarah had made the tearful promise in the ambulance en route to Tyler County Hospital as she’d held her grandmother’s hand and prayed for the old woman’s recovery. A promise she’d kept for the past twelve years. One she would continue to keep until her grandma Willie drew her last breath.

That meant steering clear of Houston Jericho while he was back in town. Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying went, and now that the wedding was over, he would surely head back out of town. While he’d come home a few times over the years, he rarely stayed more than a day or two because of his busy rodeo schedule and the fact that he hated being cooped up in this town as much as she had so long ago.

He would hit the road again. Probably tonight. At the very latest, first thing tomorrow.

Good riddance. The sooner he left, the sooner she could get back to her life and forget about tonight and the kiss and the fact that she’d almost blown it in front of everyone.

Almost, but not completely. She’d managed to explain it away to Wes, and if anyone happened to mention it again, she would merely blush and stammer and repeat the lame excuse. And that would be that.

She drew a deep breath.

Yes, the temptation was over. At least in reality.

When she closed her eyes later that night, however, he came to her in her dreams, kissing and touching and stirring her in the most erotic fantasy she’d had in a long, long time.

Just a fantasy, she reminded herself when she awoke with her heart pounding and her skin flushed and her body wet with wanting. It wasn’t as if the man who’d reached for her, pleasured her, was real.

No, the real man was long gone from Cadillac, or he soon would be. And with any luck, he wouldn’t ever come back.

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