me. What about a cab service?”
He shook his head. “Red’s got a thing for TV. Started with soap operas and progressed to late night TV.”
“Good Samaritan?”
His grin was slow and extremely sexy. “At your service.”
“You want to give me a ride?”
His grin grew wider. “In the worst way.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about more than just driving me somewhere?”
“Because I am.” His expression grew serious and his eyes glittered. “I want you and I’d bet my next buckle that you feel the same even if you don’t seem all that anxious to admit it.” He glanced around at the parking lot full of cars. Yet there wasn’t a soul around. Everyone was back inside, dancing and drinking it up. “Seems like fate if you ask me. You run off in a tiff and bam, the car won’t start. Maybe someone upstairs is trying to tell you that I’m not such a bad guy.”
“No, you’re a cowboy.” Which was worse. Much worse.
At the same time, there did seem something almost inevitable about the way he’d shown up right when she needed a hand. That, and he was right. She did want him. More than she wanted her next breath. Her last relationship had been nearly a year ago and she’d been flying solo ever since. She craved a little physical contact in the worst way. So much so that she found herself thinking about him and the way he smiled and smelled and looked so indescribably good. And all when she should have been thinking about the website and how they were going to make their quota.
Yep, she had a craving, all right. One that wasn’t going to go away unless she satisfied it in a major way.
“I’m staying at the Lost Gun Motel,” she heard herself murmur.
Something dark and dangerous and oh so mesmerizing sparked in his violet eyes. “Well, what do you know? So am I.” He opened the car door. “My pickup’s just right down the row.” His grin faded and a look of pure determination carved his expression. “Let’s go.”
Warning bells clamored in her head, but the only thing she seemed conscious of was the frantic beat of her heart.
The excitement.
The anticipation.
The need.
“Just so we’re clear,” she managed to say despite the heat zipping up and down her spine, “this is just sex. We won’t be exchanging phone numbers or going out on a date or anything like that.”
He nodded. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“I’m not interested in getting to know you as a person. This is just physical.”
He nodded. “Purely physical.”
She squelched an unexpected rush of disappointment at his words and concentrated on the trembling in her hands and the desire coiling in her belly. “Then lead the way.”
4
BILLY CHISHOLM’S HANDS actually trembled as he shoved the key into the lock of the Lost Gun Motel, a clean but ancient establishment just off the main strip of town. It had been a long, long time since he’d been this worked up. This hot. This hard. This...anxious.
The knowledge would have been enough to send him running for the next county if the circumstances had been different—if Sabrina had been any of the dozens of marriage-minded women who’d been in hot pursuit since his oldest brother had found the love of his life and gone off the market.
Now Billy was the resident bad boy, which wasn’t a bad thing on account of he liked being bad. He liked making noise and breaking rules and living life.
He liked the rush from all three.
At one time, so did every available woman in town. The trouble was, where they’d once wanted a good time back in high school, they now wanted a walk down the aisle. Marriage. Kids.
They wanted Billy Chisholm to grow up, man up and settle down, and each and every one thought she’d be the one to make it happen. To rope, tie and tame him before he knew what was happening.
Not this cowboy.
He liked being single. Hell, he loved it. He didn’t have to answer to anyone. To worry about anyone. To hurt anyone.
He was the offspring of the most irresponsible man in the county. Silas Chisholm had been a two-bit criminal who’d pulled off the most impressive heist in the county, before pissing it away because of a case of white lightning and a lit cigarette. And all without a thought for his three young sons. The man had been selfish. Unpredictable. Unreliable.
Bad to the bone.
And out of all three boys, Billy was just as bad.
But while he looked like Silas, and even acted like him on occasion, he also knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of someone else’s bad decisions, and so he’d made up his mind to never, ever put someone else in that position. The last thing Billy Chisholm would ever do was get himself lassoed by any one woman.
Even one as hot and sexy as this one.
But Sabrina Collins didn’t want to marry him. With her high heels and tasteful clothes and reluctant demeanor, she was as far removed from Lost Gun as a woman could get. She had big city written all over her, even if she did drive a clunker. Even more, she was a stranger. A single stranger. And judging by the way she licked her lips, she wanted the same thing from him that he wanted from her—sex.
He pushed open the door, stepped back and let her precede him inside. He expected more of an exotic fragrance from her, given her big-city appearance and the whiff of cotton candy he’d caught back at the dance courtesy of the flowing martinis. The scent had long since disappeared. Instead, the warm scent of apples and cinnamon filled his nostrils as she eased past him. She smelled like sweet, fresh-from-the-oven apple pie, and his nostrils flared. A warning sounded somewhere in the back of his brain, but it wasn’t loud enough to push past the sudden hammering of his heart. A bolt of need shot through his body and his muscles bunched. He barely resisted the urge to haul her into his arms, back her up against the wall and take her hard and fast right there under the bare porch light, the june bugs bumping overhead.
He fought the crazy urge because Billy Chisholm didn’t do fast and furious. He didn’t lose his head where women were concerned. He stayed firmly in the saddle, calm and controlled.
Laying a woman down on a soft mattress, peeling away the clothes one piece at a time and taking things slow. That was the way to go. The way he always went, because losing his head wasn’t part of the proposition. A man said things he didn’t mean when he lost his head.
He followed her inside, closing the door behind them. A click sounded as she turned on a nearby lamp. A pale yellow glow pushed back the shadows and illuminated the interior. The room was far from fancy, but it was neat and clean. An unfinished pine dresser sat in the far corner, an ancient-looking television rested on top. A king-size bed took up the rest of the space. Calico curtains covered the one window near a window air-conditioning unit.
