Gil Addison showed a definite talent for stripping.
If he’d undressed any slower, Bailey would’ve ripped the shirt off. But she had asked for this. All she could do was watch in torment.
With her training, Bailey could bring most men down. But Gil … Gil was the real deal. His body rippled with muscle.
“Cat got your tongue?” he taunted.
Her legs shaking, she curled her arm around the bedpost. “Just admiring the view.” She touched his chest. “I want to please you.”
“You do, in every way. I love your strength, your integrity. The way you treat my son.”
“He’s lucky to have you.”
His finger on her lips silenced her. “I spend all my time being Cade’s father. Tonight … tonight I’m just a man. A man who wants you.”
* * *
Beneath the Stetson is a Texas Cattleman’s Club: The Missing Mogul novel Love and scandal meet in Royal, Texas!
Beneath
the Stetson
Janice Maynard
JANICE MAYNARD is a USA TODAY bestselling author who lives in beautiful east Tennessee with her husband. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary school teacher to pursue writing full-time. Now her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance stories.
Janice loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books. Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website, www.janicemaynard.com, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.
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For my wonderful Texas friends,
Karen, Rob, Elaine and Bob. Thank you for the fun,
the laughter and the “tall” tales of life in Texas.
I count you among my blessings!
Contents
One
Gil Addison didn’t like Feds. Even when they came wrapped in pretty packages. Perhaps it was the trace of Comanche blood in his veins that kept an atavistic memory alive...all those years of government promises made and broken. Gil was a white man living in a white man’s world, no doubt about it. Nothing much of his Native American heritage lingered except for his black hair, brown eyes and olive skin.
But the distrust remained.
He stood inside the house, hand on an edge of the curtain, and watched as a standard-issue dark sedan made its way down the long driveway. Technically, the woman for whom he waited wasn’t a Fed. She was a state investigator. But she had been trained by Feds, and that was close enough.
“Who is it, Daddy?”
His four-year-old son, Cade, endlessly curious, wrapped an arm around his father’s leg. Gil glanced down at the boy, smiling in spite of his unsettled emotions. “A lady who wants to talk to me. Don’t worry. It won’t take long.” He had promised Cade they would go riding today.
“Is she pretty?”
Gil raised an eyebrow. “Why would that matter?”
The child with the big, far-too-observant eyes grinned. “Well, if she is, you
