are you calling me—” covers rustled and her jaw cracked as she yawned “—at one thirty in the morning?”
Thoughts of her in bed, her lithe body clad in little—or nothing—made him adjust his robe for better coverage. “What room are you in?”
“You’re looking for a booty call from the wrong woman. I’m sleeping.”
“You lost the wager.” He spoke so fast his words ran together.
Silence.
“I beat you at regionals, so I entered nationals with a points lead. Means I get my fantasy fulfilled first,” he pressed.
“We aren’t on the boards yet.”
Her cautious tone worried him, made his response sharper than he’d intended. “Actually, we are. I went to check on Gizmo and Indie earlier tonight, make sure they were settled, and end-of-season scores have been posted.”
“Well,” she mused, “I suppose that puts you on top of me.”
His cock kicked hard enough there was no hiding it. Thankfully, the hallway was empty. “On top’s not where I want to be.”
She chuckled, the sound sleep heavy, sultry. “You realize that if I beat you here, I’ll top you in points and earnings for the year.”
His brow creased. “No. Just until the next rodeo season starts.”
“Not by your logic. You’re saying you get to have your fantasy tonight because you’re ahead in points in a competition that hasn’t started. Well, this exact same competition won’t start again until December next year, so I could feasibly be ahead of you in points until they post next year’s regional totals on the nationals boards. Same thing you’re doing, just building out the timeline.”
His mouth went dry and he stopped, resting his shoulder against the wall. “You’re making me think this was a bad idea.”
“Good or bad, it was your idea, Tyson,” she said softly. “Room 1134. Show up and own it, or hang up and don’t. But make up your mind in the next five minutes or I’m going back to sleep and I won’t answer after that. Not the phone, and definitely not the door.”
The line went dead. If he showed up now, he’d be accepting the fact that she was right—his terms had been pretty broad and rather unclear. If she beat him, could she, would she, want to see him for the next year? That would take this thing between them outside their established bounds of competition romps. Make it more than an occasional tryst. As in...dating.
The idea didn’t repel him, and that alone should have been enough to turn him right around and have him back in his room before he lost what was left of his mind.
He decided not to give the thought too much attention, though, so he pushed off the wall and resumed his trek toward the elevator bank.
He reached the elevators just as one opened and dumped off a group of highly intoxicated bridesmaids supporting one barely conscious bride. To a woman, they looked him over as if he were the best thing they’d seen all night. While he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, he still smiled and flirted a little before stepping into the elevator car and winking at them as the doors closed. It was, after all, what anyone who knew him would have expected of him.
He punched the button for the eleventh floor and ignored the way his belly dipped as the car started its upward climb.
Because he knew with the kind of certainty that discomfited a man that the belly drop had nothing to do with the elevator and everything to do with the woman in room 1134.
* * *
KENZIE HAD BEEN fast asleep when her cell phone rang. Part of her had known before squinting at the bright caller ID who it would be. The other part of her had grumbled and threatened to go back to sleep, right up to the point she swiped the answer button on the screen and heard Ty’s voice. His seductive teasing? Pretty much expected. Lust swamping her like a johnboat with a cannonball hole in its center? Not so much.
After disconnecting the call, she lay there considering her parting shot. He’s not going to show up after I challenged him like that.
She had no idea where the idea to challenge him had come from. She’d only known she wasn’t about to simply roll over and let him have his way with her because he was coiled tighter than a self-winding watch on an MMA fighter’s wrist. It didn’t matter that she wanted him just as bad and was wound just as tight. The principle of the thing mattered—the principle and their agreement.
Well, that added to the fact that he wasn’t one to fish the same pond over and over if the catch was too easy. He needed the challenge, and it had to come across as near defiance if a woman thought to reel him in for even a single passionate night.
And she posed a more authentic challenge than most. What she needed was to have a quality man chasing her, not someone simply after the Malone name or associated fortune. As the sole Malone heir, she’d learned this lesson by age fourteen.
At fifteen, Jack Malone, her father and her idol, had pulled her aside to administer some of the best advice Kenzie had ever received. “When we lost your brother, others assumed I’d want another son to pass the Malone legacy on to, but you know—” he’d gripped her arms “—you know I wouldn’t trade you for all the Spanish gold hidden in the ocean’s depths. And when it comes to taking a man as husband, I won’t make that choice for you. I don’t care if the man you fall in love with is an artist, a pilot, a musician, a doctor or a garbageman. I set your trust up for you to be well-off, so your man doesn’t have to be rolling in money to make you happy.” He’d taken her by the shoulders then, his grip just this side of painful. “I have loved your mother through both lean years and flush times. Money can’t make a marriage, let alone a happy marriage,” he’d said softly before clearing his throat, voice gruff when he’d refocused on Kenzie. “You find the man you want to wake up to for the rest of your life, the man you can’t help but give your heart to, and you marry him. Just promise me you won’t elope, baby girl. You’re my one shot to publicly blubber as father of the bride.”
Now here she was, waiting on a man she desired and equally admired to come to her room at her invitation. “Sheer irony. Nothing more,” she whispered, stretching her clasped hands above her head. She should probably brush her hair before—
The rap at her door, soft but firm, had her throwing the covers back at the same time her heart lodged itself in her throat. He showed up. She wouldn’t overanalyze it, wouldn’t overthink it. She’d just enjoy it.
Padding across the room in her cami and thong, she peered through the peephole and bit her bottom lip. Ty stood there, hands in his pockets, and grinned at her. That man wore a borrowed robe better than anyone she’d ever seen. “Hopeless,” she muttered, unsure whether it was him she spoke about or herself.
She opened the door.
Ty slipped inside, bare feet silent on the carpet. He swiftly shut the door and, grabbing her around the waist, spun and pressed her against the wall. Lips, full but soft, teased along her jaw, and he whispered, “Missed you.”
Don’t believe him, her mind volunteered. You’re no one special to him. After all, he’s known as the Rodeo Romeo.
She stiffened.
Lifting
