woman would ever fool him again, and after his liquor arrived, Carter downed the drink in celebration of escaping the hangman’s noose.
Thirty minutes later and fortified with the best whiskey money could buy, Carter stepped out of the restaurant and was hit with a blast of humid August night air. It was the only thing about New York that reminded him of Texas—cloistering humidity. The heat crept up his collar and made him sweat.
All of a sudden a crowd emerged, swarming a woman who was trying to enter the restaurant. Bulbs flashed, the rush of footsteps sounded on pavement, shouted questions flew through the air. More than a dozen paparazzi crammed her as she made a feeble attempt to push her way out. Her shoulder was bumped once, twice. She swiveled right, then left, trying to break away. Questions were leveled at her like grenades. When her eyes met his, in that brief moment, Carter saw a caged animal struggling to get free. She was trapped.
Recognition struck him smack between the eyes. She was the woman he’d glimpsed at the auction yesterday.
Someone yanked at the scarf hiding her jet-black hair. Long, luxurious curls spilled down her shoulder, and she reached behind her head to put the scarf back in place. Carter had seen enough. He muscled his way through the crowd, giving a few well-placed shoves himself to get to her. When he finally faced her, he gripped both her hands in his, firm but gentle. She gazed at him with desperate, deep lavender-blue eyes. Carter had no time to dwell on her beautiful face. He blocked a cameraman’s shot with his body, and the Stetson riding low on his forehead lent another measure of concealment. Use everything in your arsenal, he’d learned in the marines.
He leaned in real close. “I can get you out of here. But you have to trust me.”
Two
Fraught with panic, Macy faced the man from the auction, certain she was hallucinating. It couldn’t be him. She’d dreamed about him last night, and this morning, when she should have forgotten all about him, he’d still marched into her thoughts during quiet moments.
Shouted barbs, flashbulbs snapping and body heat from tabloid junkies brought her back to the here and now.
“Got yourself a cowboy,” shouted a photographer from the back of the pack.
“Are you doing nude scenes with him, Macy?” another asked.
The vultures chuckled.
It angered her that they called her by her first name, as if they were her friends, when the question itself was rude enough to warrant enemy status. Tina knew how to handle the paparazzi. Macy did not. And she paid the price for not being as charming as her famous mother had been.
Her heart pounding, her body abused and her head clouded with uncertainty, Macy glanced down to find her tightly wound fists encased in strong, protective hands. When she gazed up into the cowboy’s eyes, he reassured her with a nod. His words had been like velvet to her ears.
Trust me.
She did.
Someone bumped her from behind, and the cowboy’s gaze grew fierce, giving the photographer ample warning. “Back off.”
Then he met her stare again. “You coming?” His voice was a little more insistent this time.
Macy didn’t have to think twice. She was out of options. The crowd herding her had become more curious now that the cowboy had intervened on her behalf, peppering her with questions as to who he was.
She honestly didn’t know.
But she was about to find out.
She nodded, and he gave her a fast smile. “Let’s go.”
The cowboy’s grip was steady on her hand as they took off at a run. Mentally she cursed the Paciotti pumps slowing her down. She struggled to keep pace with his strides.
“Don’t look back,” he ordered. He guided her down an alleyway, dodging garbage cans. She ran on the pads of her feet to keep from stumbling on three-inch heels. her scarf flew off her head, clinging on by the knot at her throat. The material whipped at her shoulders. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her nerves rattled as the cowboy led her away from the tabloid hounds dogging her.
The sound of labored breaths and footsteps shuffling from behind dropped off a little at a time as they hurried along the narrow alley. It wasn’t a herd following them anymore, just several hangers-on. Those few were persistent, and the cowboy tightened his hold on her hand when they reached the end of the alley. He took half a second to glance both ways on the side street before gesturing to the right. “There.”
She followed him, running quickly to a shiny black Lincoln Town Car. “Get in and we’ll be off.” She glanced behind her to see four photographers snapping pictures at the base of the alleyway.
Her savior opened the back door for her, surprising the chauffeur, who was eating a burrito in the front seat. She climbed inside and slid over. He joined her a second later. “Give it some gas, Larry. And be quick.”
“Yes, sir.” The chauffeur tossed his food down and fumbled for a second, obviously caught off guard. Then the engine revved to life. Before the paparazzi got within twenty feet, they had pulled out, Larry driving as fast as traffic allowed.
“Wow.” Macy leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. The past twenty minutes were a blur. One second she was on her way to meet Avery for dinner, and the next she was being pursued by overly zealous tabloid maniacs.
She tried to slow her breathing, but then there was the Stetson-wearing cowboy to think about. From the moment she’d laid eyes on him, he’d thrown her off balance.
She turned to face him and caught a whiff of his musky cologne. The scent was a turn-on in its own right, but on him, now that was really something. She’d already put him in white knight status; he didn’t need any more help. “I don’t usually accept rides from strangers,” she offered, clearing the air.
He chuckled and deep twin dimples appeared, softening the sharp planes of his face. Okay, this was just not funny anymore.
“But you made an exception for me?”
“I knew I could trust you. I saw you yesterday at the, uh, the auction. I was there, too.”
He gave her an appraising stare. “I know.”
“You know me?”
“No, can’t say that I do. But I noticed you. You were trying your best not to look conspicuous. Guess the designer sunglasses and scarf gave you away. It’s kind of hard not to notice a beautiful woman covering herself all up. Not that I blame you for trying to disguise yourself.” He gestured with a tilt of his head to the direction they’d just come from. “Does that happen to you often?”
He thought she was beautiful, even under the disguise. “Lately, yes…unfortunately.”
They were traveling down the street, and Macy had no idea where they were headed. All she saw behind him through the window was a flash of streetlights and neon signs.
He took care with removing his hat and laid it between them. He continued to watch her. Normally she’d squirm under the heat of a stranger’s stare, but oddly all she
