to start posing for photographs in that saloon-girl costume, she’d keep that little secret to herself.
She took one last glance at herself in her mirror.
The clock was ticking. And she wasn’t just talking about this evening and the need to stop primping so she could get on the road.
In a few short weeks Jensen would be leaving for London. And who knew how many more times they’d have to spend together?
For that reason, she would pull out all the stops tonight.
* * *
Jensen arrived at the Hollows Cantina before Amber and cursed the bloody paparazzi for his reluctance to pick her up and take her on a proper date.
Rachel Robinson, the hostess, greeted him and asked if he would prefer his usual table in the back corner. But Jensen had decided not to keep Amber or their relationship hidden anymore.
Besides, after the knowing smile Quinn had flashed at him when he’d handed him the car keys, their secret was bound to get out eventually. And maybe, somewhere deep inside, Jensen actually wanted it to. So he’d told Rachel to reserve the table in the middle of restaurant and headed to the bar to wait for Amber.
He’d just placed a drink order when a cowboy turned toward the entrance, broke into a broad grin and gave a slow wolf whistle. Several other men at the bar, along with Jensen, followed his gaze and spotted Amber sashaying into the cantina.
The slinky black blouse she wore wasn’t any less revealing than that damn saloon-girl costume. And her jeans fit her like a pair of denim gloves, leaving very little to the imagination when it came to those shapely, not-so-hidden legs underneath.
He stood, fighting the red-hot pulse at the side of his neck. He told himself that the mooning cowpokes in this place were used to seeing Amber dressed in working clothes and that they were merely surprised by the change in her appearance. But the woman was as sexy as she was unpredictable, and he was tempted to whisk her away to someplace private—and not just so he could keep her hidden, but so he could have her all to himself.
She spotted him straightaway because she headed for the bar.
“Hello,” she said as she slid onto the stool he pulled out for her.
As if just now realizing that everyone—even the women who’d gathered in the bar—were studying the two of them, she asked, “What’re they staring at?”
“You, my dear.” From where he stood, he had a clear vantage point of the swell of her breasts, which he’d caressed a few nights before. And he forced himself to look away for fear his words would stall in his throat.
She ran a hand through her glossy hair, as though taming her long and loose locks could downplay how magnificent she looked. “Am I overdressed?”
“Not at all. You’re stunning.” He took his seat and handed her the margarita he’d ordered for her—the exact one she’d been drinking the night she’d come with Mr. Murdock and her grandmother.
She looked at the delicate silver-and-turquoise watch on her wrist. “Are they still having the two-for-one happy hour special?”
Did she think he was a tightwad? He’d only been humoring Mr. Murdock before.
“I have no idea what time it is—or if there are any specials. I just thought this was your drink of preference. Did I get it wrong?”
“No, this is fine.” She took a sip. “In fact, it’s just what I need to calm my nerves.”
“Amber Rogers? Nerves? I can’t believe the fastest rider and best shot in Horseback Hollow, if not all of Texas, would be nervous about anything.”
Did it have anything to do with being seen with him? Did the paparazzi unnerve her, like they’d done to Amelia?
Of course. She probably didn’t want her friends and neighbors to know that they were sexually involved. After all, she’d told him she didn’t have brief affairs.
And he couldn’t blame her for feeling uneasy about it. Even if he was free of familial obligations and they didn’t have a geographical barrier, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to pursue her in the way his heart and hormones were urging him to.
Amazing. That was the closest he’d come to admitting that he actually cared for her, that he felt more than friendship and that his heart had become invested. And while he wasn’t quite ready to broach the subject in public, he might do that later tonight, while they were alone.
Just as he lifted his drink to take another sip, a slick-looking gentleman, who looked more out of place in Horseback Hollow than Jensen felt, approached.
“Why, there’s our pretty Amber. It’s sure nice to see a friendly face in these parts.” The man, who was in his late forties, ran a pinky-ringed hand between his fleshy neck and his collar.
If he’d had a camera, Jensen might have thought he was a paparazzo.
Amber, who seemed a bit surprised by the intrusion, turned to Jensen. “This is Max Dunstan, Jensen. He’s with Cowboy Country USA.”
Dunstan held out his thick, well-manicured hand while running a head-to-toe assessment of Jensen.
The men had barely made the customary greeting when Dunstan pulled out a seat and plopped down on the stool next to Amber.
Her eyes grew wide, and she glanced around the bar as though trying to determine whether any of the locals had noticed that she was hobnobbing with the enemy.
Jensen was an outsider, so his opinion about the whole Cowboy Country USA controversy didn’t count for much. Nevertheless, while he liked the quaint appeal of Horseback Hollow, he also found the Wild Bill Hickok and Annie Oakley thing a bit intriguing.
In fact, as Dunstan delivered his fancy Hollywood talk, Jensen tuned out so he could take in the not-so-subtle looks being cast their way.
Amber shuffled in her seat a couple of times, as if she wanted to be anywhere but next to Dunstan. Jensen found the whole thing quite amusing—until he heard the words photo shoot.
He spun back around just in time to hear Dunstan ask Amber if she would bring the saloon-girl costume with her for the ad campaign.
“What ad campaign?” Jensen asked. “And what photo shoot?”
“Our Amber here,” Dunstan said, “is going to be the face of Cowboy Country USA. Forget about princesses and Kate Middleton. When we’re done with our publicity launch, little girls all around the world are going to want to be cowgirls just like Amber Rogers.”
“What do you mean ‘saloon-girl costume’?” Jensen asked Amber. “I thought you were only talking about doing some trick riding. And that you hadn’t made any decisions yet.”
“I planned to talk to you about that later tonight,” she said, rather sheepishly.
“Whoops.” Dunstan guffawed. “Did I spill the beans?”
Amber shot him a scowl.
“Sorry about that.”
