Page 6 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
He spoke to the crowd, thanked the AEBR, the sponsors. His family. God. Then he was more than ready for a shower and to head to his truck and drive home to Last Stand.
It was late.
But he wanted a few days at home, not in a hotel room, and definitely not with a woman whose name he wouldn’t remember in a couple of days.
He was tired of that.
He hadn’t been with a woman since hooking up with Whiskey at Axel and August’s weddings.
He tried to push the vision of her—naked in the moonlight, dancing to music from his truck radio in his favorite stand of oaks on the western part of the ranch near the swimming hole and the largest limestone cropping—away. But it stubbornly stayed in his head, mocking him.
She’d looked like a forest nymph when she’d danced and a mermaid when she’d swum. And a goddess when she’d rode him—letting him get so close but not tipping over until he’d been mindlessly begging, and then she’d gotten serious. They’d made love all night. He’d barely been able to move when he drove her back to her bike. He’d invited her to stay the night at the bunkhouse with him—something he’d never done with a woman, but she’d smiled mysteriously, kissed his cheek and ridden off on her damn motorcycle like a gorgeous, sexy, temporarily sated Valkyrie.
He’d hoped to get her out of his system with the impulsive hookup, not make his obsession worse.
He’d seen her more than a few times in the intervening weeks, working the sponsor events. She’d been friendly but not flirty.
It was what they’d both wanted, what they’d agreed on. But it had poked his pride that he didn’t catch her sneaking looks. That he hadn’t seemed special.
So why was he still thinking about her—especially now as the tour was in its final weeks?
Maybe he’d head to Last Stand tomorrow morning instead. He could find a woman tonight. Easy enough, especially for him on nights when he placed high. He wasn’t scheduled to hit the tour bar to mingle with fans, but if he showed up, management would love it. Fans would be even happier.
And if he buried himself in another woman, perhaps he’d get the taste and feel of Whiskey out of his mouth. But the idea held no appeal.
Damn.
He really needed to move on.
A few days on the ranch—riding, doing chores, hanging out with his brothers and their wives and his new nephew Diego—was exactly what he needed to break the spell of the copper-haired, whiskey-colored eyes and sultry smile of the wedding witch who’d seduced him as much as he’d seduced her.
He strolled back to the locker room, waving off his escort. Kane and a few of the others had watched the short ceremony and were waiting for him. They were all making plans, and he let the conversation swell around him. The edge of the adrenaline was beginning to flatten. If he got a thermos of coffee and something to eat, he could hold off the crash for the four-hour drive.
He was so intent on what he had to do—quick shower, change, stow his gear in his truck because he’d checked out of the hotel, stop at a diner—he didn’t notice the flash of coppery red and the sensuous slide of the body he’d not been able to get out of his dreams for months now until Whiskey blocked his path.
The conversation around him died. No one moved.
Hella awkward. And Anders didn’t do awkward, and he definitely didn’t do public scenes.
Tension cracked through him, but perversely his body relaxed though his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth.
“Anders, could I talk to you for a moment?”
Chapter Three
Her low, slightlyhusky voice rolled over him, stirring up heat and memories of her warm, taut, creamy skin under his hands and his mouth.
Hell no. He wasn’t that good an actor.
“Whiskey.” His heart kicked up hard and fast. What was up with that? He dug deep for his usual calm and tipped his hat he’d put on to go to the winner’s circle. “Good to see you, darlin’.”
Her gaze narrowed and seared him like a flank steak. “I just need a minute. Maybe a few more. Depends on you.”
There were a few muttered ribbings about his prowess and stamina and reputation.
Men acting like boys.
“Pretty busy, Whiskey. Heading home tonight.”
