the acid taste of fear in her mouth and wished she could slink under the bed. She forced herself to look him in the eyes, and found that they were a most intriguing shade of pale gray. “You look quite acceptable.”
“Acceptable?”
“Nice, I mean.”
“Look, hon, I can call the ranch and have them send another guy if I don’t meet your standards—”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I mean, I’m afraid my friend—the woman who arranged for you to be here—she made a bit of an error in judgment.” Her face must have turned the same color as her shirt by now. She cleared her throat in the futile hope that he’d stop staring at her so blatantly.
“What sort of an error in judgment?”
“She assumed I would agree to go on this trip, but…”
He adjusted his shoulder and winced, and she realized he must have been in pain because of the handcuffs.
“Oh, dear, let me get you out of those. Do you have the key?”
“It’s in my right-hand pocket,” he said. “Just reach in there and feel around for it.”
Lucy’s mouth went dry as she caught his meaning. “You mean, in your pants?”
He nodded, a smile playing on his lips.
“I don’t think my hand will fit in there.” She eyeballed the skintight denim and wondered how she’d gotten herself into such a predicament. Claire. She was going to strangle that woman.
“You could unzip them if you think that would help.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She took a deep breath and tried not to think of the things that could possibly go wrong while fishing around in a stranger’s pocket.
What the heck? This is your one chance to stick your hand into a gorgeous man’s pants.
She lurched forward, the toe of her platform sandal catching in the plush carpet, but found her balance just in time. He didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable as she slid her hand inside his right pocket for the key. It was a tight squeeze, and she had to lean over his torso a little to get her hand at the right angle. Her position forced her to inhale that dreamy scent of his again, and for at least the second time that night she felt certain parts of her anatomy turn tingly and liquid with sensation.
But there was no key.
“Are you sure you put it in your right pocket?” She withdrew her hand and breathed a sigh of relief that she had managed not to bump certain parts of his anatomy.
“Hmm, maybe it was the left pocket.”
Lucy glared at him as she realized that he had possibly sent her fishing in the wrong pocket on purpose, that he was actually enjoying this little game. Okay, so maybe she was enjoying it, too. Just a little.
Bracing her knees on the bed, she leaned further across his torso and started to slide her hand into the left pocket, but that was when she noticed that the sizeable bulge she’d been admiring a few minutes earlier was situated on that side. Her hand froze and she became all too aware of her compromised position leaning over him, at least four inches of her bare waist exposed by the short top.
She said a silent thank-you to the genius who’d invented fat-free yogurt. At least she could rest assured there were no unsightly rolls hanging over her too-tight pants. That is, if Buck were even interested enough to notice, which she doubted.
The quicker she found the key, the quicker she could put a comfortable distance between them, so as she swallowed her fear, she plunged her hand the rest of the way into his pocket and luckily felt the edge of something hard and metal rather than that other something she was trying to avoid. She caught it between her fingers and pulled it out.
“Is this it?” She held it up for him to see, but what surprised her was that she had caught him staring at that little slit of exposed skin at her waist.
“Mmm-hmm.” His gaze held a glint of teasing and she knew then that he’d only been looking because he could—just like any man would—and not out of any particular sense of admiration.
Her hands shook as she inserted the key into the lock on the handcuffs and turned it, releasing Buck from his restraints. He pushed himself up, letting out a sigh of relief as he lowered his arms and rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had been. Lucy watched him, but instead of feeling relieved that there was no longer a cowboy handcuffed to her bed, she felt a new sense of vulnerability. He was a stranger in her bedroom, and now he was no longer restrained.
He must have spotted the uneasiness in her eyes, because he said, “Don’t worry, darlin’. This is my job—I don’t go around preying on women.”
“So what exactly is it that you do besides get handcuffed to strange women’s beds?”
“I work for the ranch, doing various jobs. I normally don’t come to guests’ homes and handcuff myself to their beds, but your friend must like you a lot, because she made special arrangements.”
“My friend’s a little eccentric.”
“Weren’t you about to tell me about her error in judgment?”
Right, she had been, but now as she stared at Buck’s glorious abdominal muscles, she couldn’t remember what error in judgment she’d been about to point out. He was just so…hot.
Lucy imagined he got more than his share of women at the ranch. In fact, they probably threw themselves at him left and right. Women went to places like that to let loose, to get wild, and to forget about their boring everyday lives. He must have thought Lucy was one of those women looking for a good time, and the idea shocked her. After a moment, though, the idea didn’t seem so strange. Why couldn’t she be?
Why couldn’t Lucinda Jane Connors, boringly normal travel agent, let loose and have a wild, unforgettable time? That’s what Claire wanted her to do. Maybe that was even what Lucy really wanted to do.
As Buck rose from the bed and retrieved his white Stetson, settling it on his head of dark brown curls, Lucy realized that this was what she wanted herself to do—to go to the Fantasy Ranch and do things she’d never done before, be a party girl, drink too much and stay in the sun too long, eat sinful foods and flirt with sinful men. And maybe find a man—perhaps even one who looked like Buck—with whom to have a wild, lustful one-night stand that she’d never forget. Then Claire would never again have reason to call her boring. More important, Lucy would never again think of herself as boring.
“Something wrong?”
“Huh?”
“You looked like you were in a trance there for a minute.” Buck had produced a black T-shirt from somewhere and removed his hat again to slide the shirt on. Lucy allowed herself to admire the bronze contours of his torso as he lifted his arms over his head, but she averted her gaze before he could catch her staring.
“I was just thinking about what I have to do before I can leave,” she lied. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here, and I didn’t plan to leave until tomorrow.”
“Your friend told me to tell you she
