okay. No harm done. You can turn around now.”
“Are you dressed?”
“Sort of.”
Her cheeks were burning. She still felt a little woozy. The last thing she’d eaten were the early-morning cheese crackers at the Will Rogers Airport.
“I’m assuming you’ve seen a naked man before.”
“No. Never.” She pushed away from the wall and turned around. “I’m single.”
Tanner wore a grin on his face and a towel wrapped around his hips. That was it. “You’re pretty good,” he said. “Remind me not to invite you to a poker game.”
“I’m not lying. Where I come from lots of women and men take purity pledges. We’re saving ourselves for marriage.” She kept her eyes level with his, as if she couldn’t bear to look down at all his nakedness. She threw in a bit of lower-lip nibbling. The drama classes she’d taken to spite her father seemed to have paid off.
Tanner’s wavering smile and uncertain frown gave her some satisfaction. “I’ve got to get to my clothes,” he said, motioning that she needed to move.
“Yes, of course.” She averted her gaze, mostly to keep from bursting into laughter, then kept her head down all the way back to the couch. The trouble was, she wanted another peek before he got dressed. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she said and glanced toward the bed. But he’d already put the dividing wall between them. “Our flight is in three hours. I’m assuming you can leave your trailer here?”
Several long seconds later she understood the term “deafening silence” on a whole new level.
“Our flight?” He emerged from behind the wall, zipping up a fresh pair of jeans. No shirt. No boots. His hair damp and messy. “First of all, I’m not going anywhere with you. More to the point, I don’t fly.”
“It’s a commercial plane. It’s not as if I’m asking you to take a puddle-jumper.”
“I don’t care what you call it. If it’s got wings and leaves the ground, I don’t set foot on it.”
“Oh, please. Now I know you’re baiting me. Who doesn’t fly in this day and age?”
He jerked a thumb at his very nice chest. “Me.” She watched wistfully as he grabbed a black T-shirt. “I’m not alone. A lot of people don’t fly. You and your little purity circle probably have your own set of back-up wings, so no problem for you all.”
That almost made her laugh so she was glad he pulled the shirt over his head. Though she’d miss the view. The man took care of himself, the ridges of muscle across his belly and shoulders nicely defined but not bulky.
“Have you tried a mild tranquilizer?” she asked. “You know, say, an hour before a flight.”
Walking past her, he grabbed his beer. “I’ll save both of us a whole lot of time. No. That’s your blanket answer for the next two minutes, or however long it takes for you to get your cute little backside out of my trailer.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”
“Don’t care. It’ll all come down to no in the end.”
“Sorry, but you don’t have that option.”
He rinsed the bottle, dropped it in a receptacle and glanced out the window. “The parking lot is almost empty. Your rental should be easy to find.”
Her patience slipped. She didn’t have time to baby him. “Did you ever read your contract with Sundowner?”
“Course I read it,” he muttered, turning to frown at her. “At least my attorney did.”
“As an aside, you might think about hiring a new one. Because he left you wide open.”
“What do you mean?”
“The minute you signed, you didn’t only climb into bed with Sundowner but with every arm of The Worthington Group. Which meant you agreed not to accept sponsorship from any company considered a competitor. That list is quite long.”
Animosity darkened his face. “Nice business you work for. Or own.”
“I don’t own any of it.” She had to look away. The contract had been horribly one-sided, nothing she would’ve participated in, but that wasn’t stopping her from using it to her advantage. “Perhaps your anger would be better directed at your attorney. The agreement also means you can’t turn down the photo shoot.”
“You let me worry about my attorney,” he said, the curtness in his tone luring her gaze back to him. He stared out the window, the tic at his jaw working frantically. “You’d mentioned the contract expires in ten days.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“This promotion thing you’re doing can’t possibly be wrapped up that soon.”
“No, but if you’re selected as the spokesperson, the offer will be quite lucrative and—”
“I don’t give a shit about the money.” He turned a glare on her. “I’m not the guy for this fragrance crap. You have to know that,” he said, his expression easing as he spread his hands. “There’s a new crop of ambitious, young cowboys out there making names for themselves. Go talk to them. I guarantee you’ll find at least one who’ll be willing to hawk your cologne.”
Dammit, she was feeling guiltier by the minute. She couldn’t tell him he was a last resort. “I’m afraid they—we want someone with a couple championships under his belt. A man who, like yourself, has been with professional rodeo awhile and has a name—”
He muttered a curse. “Even without a fancy business degree I know that any one of those young bucks with their Facebook and Twitter and whatever else they use would be a lot more marketable than a guy like me.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Come on. You’re a smart woman. You’ve done your homework. Five years ago I was the winning ticket. Now?” He shrugged a shoulder. But his reaction was in no way nonchalant. His jaw had tightened and he wouldn’t look at her. “I’m months, maybe weeks away from calling it quits. Saying adios to rodeo.”
“Seriously?”
He swung a puzzled frown at her. “I’m scoring low, spending more money than I’m winning, had two surgeries already and I’m thirty-three. Getting too old for this game.”
“Lots of guys older than you are still riding,” she said, hating the trace of defeat in his voice.
Tanner reacted as if she’d slapped him. Plowing a hand through his hair, he brushed past without looking at her. “It happens to everyone sooner or later so do me the courtesy of dropping the pity.”
“I wasn’t...” Lexy closed her mouth, aware she couldn’t trust herself not to confess it was guilt, not pity that she felt.
She breathed in deeply, really despising
