SADDLED AND SPURRED by Lorelei James

SADDLED AND SPURRED - Blacktop Cowboys Book 2 by Lorelei James

Hard riders, hard lovers-second in a sexy and romantic new rodeo series from the author of Corralled.

Cattleman Bran Turner is left shorthanded during busy calving season when a bull tramples his hired hand. Rural Wyoming isn't exactly a hotbed of qualified candidates, and the only applicant for the position is the pampered town beauty, Harper Masterson. The curvy cowgirl gets under Bran's skin at every turn, but with no other options, he reluctantly hires her.

When sexual sparks ignite, down-on-her-luck Harper enjoys convincing Bran that not only is she capable of pulling calves, feeding live-stock, and handling backbreaking ranch chores, but she doesn't mind getting down and dirty, either. Harper also discovers the hotbodied cowboy isn't all work and no horseplay...and he's got more than a few tricks up his sleeve. Bran will learn quickly that Harper is no country mouse - and that she might just have what it takes to stick around for the long haul.

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Excerpt:

Due to a partial snowmelt Bran suggested they check cattle with the ATVs instead of the truck. It’d been a month since he’d double-checked a couple problems areas he couldn’t get to in his pickup. After he’d loaded up wire cutters and other supplies, he wondered how Harper would fare helping with the most monotonous aspect of ranching—fixing fence. But he didn’t doubt her ability. She’d done remarkably well with every mundane task he’d set in front of her the last week.

So when Harper breezily assured him that she had experience driving an ATV, he’d sped off ahead of her, expecting she’d keep up.

She hadn’t.

Not even fucking close.

Jesus. The woman drove like a ninety-year-old retirement home escapee. At the rate she was meandering along, it’d take them all damn day to reach the freakin’ fence, let alone have time to fix the damn thing once they actually got there.

Bran waited impatiently by the gate—the gate he’d had to open because his gate opener was a quarter mile behind him.

And when she’d finally putted up alongside him, her cheeks pinkened by the wind, strands of blonde hair sticking to her face and poking out of her hood, looking so goddamn cute and yet breathtakingly beautiful, he got instantly hard. And he instantly got mad about getting hard. He snarled, “Dammit, Harper. Is it too much to ask you to keep up with me?”

She peered at him over the top of her sunglasses. Dark, movie star type sunglasses bejeweled with pink and purple rhinestones in the corners above her eyes, for Christsake. “I didn’t know we were racing.”

“We’re not. But—”

“This is a dangerous job. I’m not about to pitch myself off this thing headfirst into a snowbank because you want to prove you can outmaneuver me. You can. You win.”

“The only danger you’re in, sweetheart, is from falling asleep at the wheel because you’re goin’ too goddamn slow.”

Harper smiled slyly. “Is that what you said to Les before his hip got broken? Hurry up?”

He growled. “Just keep up.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll close the gate, boss.”

Boss. Bran growled again. He zipped through the gate and across the field. All the way across the flattest part he didn’t hear the rumble of her ATV close behind him and since there wasn’t a side mirror, he couldn’t just glance in it to see where the hell she was.

Don’t turn around and look for her.

He resisted the temptation for oh, about...forty-five seconds. He slowed and spun around.

Fury bloomed when she raised her arm, from two hundred yards away, and waved at him like a goddamn...beauty queen atop a parade float.

She is a beauty queen, dumbass.

Like he needed that reminder--it was obvious every time he looked at her, regardless if she wore filthy, ripped, oversized coveralls, she carried as herself regally as royalty. Bran waited. And fumed. When she got within ten feet of his machine, he thought about spinning a cookie and coating her with snow, just to be ornery.

But he didn’t. He clenched his teeth.

“Is there a problem?” she shouted.

Yes. You are my problem. You’ve gotten under my skin like a burr and I can’t stop thinking about you. All the damn time. Further incensed by his crush-like behavior, he snapped, “Do you have to work at the nail salon later this afternoon?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’d better get a move on because a section of fence needs to be fixed. Today.”

“You’re telling me I’m not leaving until it’s done?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” He bumped along the trail to the broken fence line and noticed she’d managed to keep up after his pointed reminder.

Probably made him an asshole, but he slowed down. Way down.

Harper zoomed up, flanking him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. Just makin’ sure we’re safe.” He flashed his teeth at her.

She hit the gas, sped ahead and sprayed him with snow.

Damn woman did have a little sass. And that was more appealing than seeing her in a swimsuit.

Okay. That was a total fucking lie. He’d give his left nut to see her in a skimpy bikini again. The last time he’d laid eyes upon the glory of her nearly nude body? She’d practically been jailbait and he shouldn’t have been gawking at her, but he couldn’t help it; she’d looked damn fine. The years had been good to her. Very good to her.

He was so lost in visions of Harper in a string bikini that he almost plowed over a fence post. He skidded sideways and killed the engine, acting as if he’d intended to get close enough to get splinters in his teeth and his tires.

Bran tossed the roll of barbed wire on the ground and grabbed his pliers. “See that sixth fence post in?” He pointed. “Take this end,” he unwound a section, “and walk down there with it. Keep it straight and keep a tight hold on it.”

“How tight?”

“Tight as you can. I like it tight and hard and I’m gonna be jerkin’ on it harder than you’d expect.”

Harper’s mouth opened, then closed with a bashful smile.

When Bran realized how he’d phrased it, he actually blushed. He almost snapped at her to get her mind out of the gutter, when she inquired sweetly, “Wouldn’t it be easier to put a metal clamp on it and then try to fix it?”

He loomed over her. “Excuse me, Miss Sweet Ass, but how many miles of fence have you fixed?”

“It’s Miss Sweet Grass, Mr. Rude Behavior, and I was just offering a suggestion.”

Fuck. He couldn’t believe he’d called her Miss Sweet Ass. “I don’t need your suggestions, Harper, I need you to do what you’re told.”

She gave him her back and sauntered away. And were his eyes deceiving him? Or had Harper saluted?

Unreal.

Sexy as hell though, that little bit of sass.

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SLOW RIDE - A Free Read by Lorelei James

SLOW RIDE - A Rough Riders FREE READ from Lorelei James

Keely McKay Donohue is enduring the longest wedding reception of her life: her own. The only saving grace is that Jack Donohue is finally hers. Usually her hunky man gives her everything she wants, so why is her groom denying her the one thing she wants right now?

Jack thought his secretive wait-for-the-honeymoon plan was romantic, until he realizes he's only put Keely in a fighting mood. If he wants to get back on his temperamental bride's good side, he'd better find a way to sweep his cowgirl off her boots...fast.

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Excerpt:

This was the longest wedding reception in the history of the world. She wished it were over—which truly was saying something, since it was her wedding reception.

Jack leaned closer and whispered, “Stop sighing.”

His warm breath sent goose bumps cascading down the right side of her body. Keely turned her head so his five o’clock shadow scraped her jaw. She closed her eyes and inhaled his familiar scent: cologne, starch on his shirt collar and the underlying hint of his heated flesh.

Jack Donohue. Her husband. She really and truly was married to this gorgeous, sexy, intense man.

Keely sighed again, not out of annoyance, but out of pure pleasure.

He smiled against her cheek. “Now that’s a sigh I recognize.”

“I have different sounding sighs?”

“Uh-huh. You make that one in bed after I—”

“Bringing up sex when we aren’t having any just makes me cranky, Jack.”

His soft chuckle tickled her ear.

“It’s not funny. Why aren’t we rolling around in bed nekkid right now?” she demanded in a fierce whisper. “We are married. Why are we still stuck at the reception? No one would care if we left.”

He eased back to gaze into her eyes. “As much as I can’t wait to roll around naked with you, if we skip out early, your dad will kill me, turning you into a widow before you’ve had a chance to be a wife.” His voice dropped an octave and the possessive rumble vibrated through her in an electric caress. “My wife.”

“You certainly get off on saying my wife.”

“Yes, I do, Keely McKay Donohue. So go ahead and call me a Neanderthal.”

“I would if it meant you’d employ some caveman tactics and drag me off to your cave. Right now?” she asked hopefully.

“God, I wish.”

“Jack, I—”

The chinking of silverware hitting glassware crescendoed . Knowing what the crowd of family and friends wanted, Keely twined her arms around Jack’s neck and gave him a long, wet, tongue-tangling kiss that probably caused some guests to squirm in their seats. She didn’t give a damn. It was her wedding day. If she wanted to make out with her husband, she damn well would.

When they broke apart, Jack murmured, “Two more hours and I swear we’re outta here.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less, buttercup.”

“So where are we going in one hour and fifty-nine minutes?”

He kissed her temple and said, “It’s a surprise,” for the millionth time. Then his brother Justin snagged his attention and he turned away.

Sneaky-ass tease. Jack hadn’t told her where they were spending their two-week island honeymoon beyond the cryptic hint that she only needed to pack beachwear—preferably a dozen skimpy bikinis.

Normally he’d spill his guts if she bribed him with unlimited, no-strings-attached sexual favors. But this time, the stubborn man wouldn’t budge.

After the Twin Pines banquet workers cleared the dinner plates, the head table was disassembled to make room for the wedding dance and members of the wedding party were relocated. Which would’ve been fine with her, if she and Jack hadn’t ended up on opposite sides of the dance floor.

A hard bump connected with her hip as AJ McKay—her best friend, matron of honor and sister-in-law—sidled up beside her. “Why the frowny face, Mrs. Donohue?”

She plastered on a fake grin. “Better?”

“No, that’s actually worse. What’s up? You seem jumpy.”

Would she sound like a horny ho-bag if she admitted all she could think about was jumping her husband? Wait. Could she even be a ho-bag if she was obsessed about having nonstop, shake-the-barn-rafters sex with the man she’d just pledged the rest of her life to?

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COWGIRLS DON'T CRY by Lorelei James

COWGIRLS DON'T CRY - Rough Riders: Book 10 by Lorelei James

Good girls can play rough too...
Jessie McKay has accepted her marriage to Luke McKay wasn't perfect. After two years of widowhood, she's ready to kick up her bootheels - until Luke's younger brother shows up to spoil her fun. But if Brandt thinks she'll ever take orders from another McKay male, he's got manure for brains.

Brandt McKay has avoided his sweet, sexy sister-in-law ever since the night he confessed his feelings for her weren't the brotherly type. Unexpectedly faced with proof of Luke’s infidelity, Brandt is forced to ask for Jessie's help in taking care of Luke's young son. Jessie agrees on one condition - she wants Brandt's boots exclusively under her bed for the duration.

The sexual heat that's always simmered between them ignites. Brandt is determined to make the temporary situation permanent, proving to Jessie he's a one-woman man. And Jessie is shaken by feelings she's sworn never to have again for any man...especially not a McKay.

Warning: Contains branding-iron-hot sex , the one McKay on earth who wants to be tamed, and a woman who's decided tame is for nice girls who finish last.

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Excerpt:

Talk about being a total chickenshit. Here she was, twenty-seven years old, doing her best wallflower imitation again.

Story of your life, Jessie McKay.

At least she’d had the foresight to bring along a couple of beers for company. Or solace. Or courage.

Jessie swigged from the bottle of Corona as she watched the newlyweds swaying to an old George Strait tune. Keely and Jack fit the love song they’d chosen for their first dance as husband and wife. The happy couple only had eyes for each other, despite repeated attempts from Keely’s assorted male family members to cut in. Although Jack used a charming smile to dissuade interruption, a possessive male lurked beneath his polished demeanor.

Keely deserved a man so perfectly suited for her. A man who worshipped her as a strong-willed cowgirl, but clearly was fierce enough to stand up to her—and her family. Because when you married one McKay, somehow you ended up with them all.

So it wasn’t a surprise that Jessie was still considered part of the McKay family. Well, most of the McKays. They’d been supportive after Luke’s death, especially during the first month of shock and grief. She’d been forced from her home. Forced to find a job. Forced to stand on her own. If it hadn’t been for Luke’s brother Brandt, she might’ve taken the easy way out and driven her truck off a cliff.

But Brandt became her pillar of support. He helped her, no matter if her problem was big or small. He was there for her like a brother would be. Except one night, a year into her widowhood, Brandt had confessed his feelings for her weren’t merely brotherly.

At the time, she’d been shocked. She’d never looked at Brandt in that light. In her heart, in her mind, she would always be Luke’s wife. She hadn’t known how to explain it without sounding delusional.

After that night, everything changed between them. Brandt stopped coming over. He’d quit answering her calls. In a moment of clarity a month or so later, she realized it was time to let go.

In those soul-searching moments, she’d faced a lot of truths, half-truths and untruths. About herself. About Luke. About their marriage. Then she’d taken three steps that helped her move on for good.

One: she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring.

Two: she’d had the McKay “brand” tattoo above her ankle reworked into a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.

Three: she’d decided to have a one-night stand with a complete stranger.

The last step had been a biggie. Not only had Luke McKay been her first and only lover, Luke also hadn’t been faithful during their marriage. So she’d needed to prove—if only to herself—that she could attract a lover.

Which was how she’d ended up at the lake last summer when she’d run into Brandt. She hadn’t recognized him at first. She’d never seen Brandt McKay without all his cowboy regalia—boots, jeans, hat. She’d definitely never seen him shirtless, barefoot, wearing funky board shorts, looking tanned, fit and unbelievably sexy.

Upon closer inspection, the baby fat Luke had always teased Brandt about was gone, replaced with muscle. Lots of muscle. He’d hacked off his dark, wavy hair in a military buzz cut style. Goatee? Gone. Soul patch? Gone. Despite the leaner appearance, Brandt’s angular face was still too rugged looking to be considered handsome in the classical sense, like Luke’s had been.

What hadn’t changed about Brandt? His captivating smile that managed to be both cocky and shy. The stunning blueness of his eyes. His overprotective instinct. The first thing he’d done after seeing her for the first time in months was lecture her on hooking up with a douchebag like Mike.

At that point, Jessie had told Brandt she was predestined to wind up with douchebags like Mike and Luke, and if he were smart, he’d continue to stay away from her.

He’d started to argue and she’d glimpsed something dangerous in Brandt’s eyes she’d never noticed. But true to form, he’d walked away.

Or so she’d thought.

She’d been so eager to convince Mike and his friends she was good-time Jessie the party girl, not a mousy widow with a pathetic past, that she ended up drinking way more than was healthy or smart.

The details were hazy through the veil of alcohol. Except for the humiliation of not holding Mike’s sexual interest even when she was naked and willing. Chivalrous Brandt had taken her home. She hadn’t seen or heard from him until today.

Jessie slumped against the wall. So far she’d been able to avoid talking to him.

Or maybe he’s avoiding talking to you.

She heard, “Miss Jessie!” and saw her boss’s twin daughters racing toward her.

Peyton exclaimed, “There you are,” and attached herself to Jessie’s hip. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Not to be outdone, Shannie hugged the other leg and added, “Yeah, everywhere.”

“I’ve been here the whole time.” Jessie whistled. “You look like princesses in those dresses.”

Both girls beamed and twirled in a flurry of ribbons, ruffles and frills that adorned their pink and lavender dresses. Not matching dresses. Peyton and Shannie were fraternal twins, but they’d exerted their individuality early on. Since Jessie ran the daycare at Sky Blue, she’d watched these girls over the last two years, always amazed by how different they were from each other, and from their older sister, Eliza.

Eliza, who was trying to keep up with her dozen or so boy cousins.

“Will you dance with us?” Shannie asked.

“Please?” Peyton begged.

“Where are your mom and dad?”

Shannie rattled off, “Mama is right over there, see? She’s helpin’ Aunt Ginger with her little babies since Daddy and Uncle Buck hadta take Hayden’s grandpa home.”

Jessie wasn’t surprised Kane and Ginger McKay had brought their twins, Madelyn and Paulson, to Keely’s wedding. Babies abounded at McKay gatherings because there were plenty of hands to help out harried mothers and fathers.

“Miss Jessie, can we ask you something?”

“Sure, Peyton.”

“How come we don’t call you Aunt Jessie? You’re a McKay, just like us, right?”

Boy howdy. How long had these precocious three-year-olds been waiting for a chance to ask her? She snagged a chair and sat. The girls scrambled onto her lap. “I became a McKay after I married your dad’s cousin Luke.”

“But he’s in heaven, huh?” Shannie said.

“Yep. Right after he…went to heaven, I started working for your mom at Sky Blue. We decided it’d be too confusing for the other kids in daycare if you two and Eliza called me Aunt Jessie, so we thought it’d be best if everyone called me Miss Jessie.”

Shannie exchanged a sly look with Peyton before she said, “So if you don’t got a husband hogging all your time, then you can dance with us.”

She smiled at their logic. “I suppose so.”

“Yay!” The girls hopped down, each grabbed a hand and tugged her onto the dance floor.

Jessie spun the girls through two songs. When a slow number started, she started to herd them off the dance floor, but Calvin McKay intercepted, scooping both his giggling granddaughters into his arms for a dance.

Before she reached her table, a firm grip circled her waist and she was towed back to the dance floor. Brandt slipped his arms around her—at a proper distance naturally—and said, “Thanks for dancin’ with me.”

“Like you gave me a choice.”

“You would’ve said no if I asked, so I didn’t ask.”

She couldn’t help it; she smiled.

Brandt’s gaze wandered over her face. “You look beautiful tonight, Jess.”

She blushed. “Thank you. You clean up pretty good yourself.” No lie. Brandt wore a black suit with a silver vest. The same silver vest all Keely’s male McKay relatives wore, but he somehow wore it better…which was really saying something.

“How have you been?”

Lonely. “Busy. How about you?”

“The same.”

The song shifted tempo and he slowed them to a gentle sway.

“It was a beautiful wedding. I’ve never seen Keely so happy,” Jessie murmured.

“Me either.”

They stayed quiet in the moment, just dancing. The song ended and another one began. “I should go,” she said, trying to slip from his embrace.

But Brandt’s grip tightened. “Stay. We need to talk.”

The last thing she wanted was to talk about the fiasco at the lake. “If in my drunken idiocy I forgot to say thank you for…what you did for me that night—”

“You said thank you,” he replied tersely, “repeatedly, and that’s not why I wanna talk to you.”

“Well, thank heaven for that. Because God knows I haven’t relived the most embarrassing night of my life in my nightmares enough times in the last four months.”

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ALL JACKED UP by Lorelei James

Pulling off the ultimate con...if they can keep from pulling off their clothes.

ALL JACKED UP Rough Riders, Book 8 by Lorelei James

Keely McKay knows Jack - and Jack Donohue is a certified pain in her Wranglers. The lone girl in the prolific McKay family, Keely needs another man giving her orders like she needs a hole in her boot. What she does need is a restoration specialist so she can open her physical therapy clinic - and prove she's left her wild-child days behind. That means dealing with buttoned-down, uptight Jack.

Jack is this close to securing a career make-or-break project, until he learns his lack of marital status puts him out of contention. When the notoriously hot-tempered and hot-bodied Keely begs him for help, he proposes a crazy idea. He'll oversee her project - if she acts the part of his loving fiancee.

Their sizzling lust makes it all too easy to go from butting heads to knocking boots - but outside the bedroom they're as mismatched as ever. The McKays remind Jack of the humble upbringing he left behind, and cowgirl Keely feels she doesn't measure up to Jack's big-city lifestyle.

When the dust settles, Jack and Keely must face the fact they're not fooling anyone but themselves - or they'll risk losing the real deal.

Product Warnings: This book by Lorelei James contains one hot-blooded cowgirl and one cool-headed businessman in a stripped-down, revved-up game of sexual truth or dare.

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Excerpt:

Excerpt from All Jacked Up

Copyright © 2009 Lorelei James
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Keely McKay’s lucky cowgirl boots kicked up clouds of dust as she paced across the wooden plank floor.

A mouse skittered in front of her and she jumped like a scalded cat.

So much for maintaining nerves of steel.

Well, at least she hadn’t shrieked like a scream queen from some cheesy slasher flick.

In the last twenty-three minutes and forty-two seconds she’d chewed her bottom lip to the point she tasted blood beneath the cherry-flavored lip gloss. Not only that, her fingers hurt from continually cracking her knuckles. Frogs jumped in her stomach and were stuck in her throat. She’d clenched her jaw hard enough to make her earlobes sting. Given her erratic physical reactions, one would believe she was facing the hangman’s noose. An executioner’s blade. Or a blind date.

She was meeting a man. A man she didn’t know. A man she’d never spoken to. A man who held her entire future in his hands.

And that absolutely chapped her ass, sucked balls and blew donkey dick.

No man ever had that much power over Keely McKay. She’d made sure of it. Even with five older brothers, and a dozen older male cousins, she’d always been the queen bee. Using her stubbornness to get her way, not her feminine wiles.

Not that she was opposed to flashing her cleavage to get a leg up in this situation.

No need. You are a professional, qualified woman. Not a Nervous Nellie. Not a Wild Child. Buck up. Chin up. This is your time to shine.

There were a hundred reasons why good fortune should finally smile on her. She’d done everything right on the business front: secured the funding and found the building to further the cause she believed in. On the personal side: she was a loving daughter, a dedicated sister, a loyal friend, an involved aunt. A proud member of the Wyoming community she’d grown up in and hoped to grow old in. She took pride in her ability to connect with people from all walks of life. She derived great joy from helping people. Heck, she’d chosen her career because she was good at those things.

She wasn’t looking for kudos or glory, just a place where she could do what she loved, help people heal close to home—close to their families.

Now that her dream of giving back to the community—filling a need for rural healthcare—was within her grasp, would this mysterious man help smooth a path to success? Or would he trip her up?

Maybe all this worry was for nothing. Maybe she’d get lucky. God knew if the decision were based on hard work, dedication, knowledge and drive, she’d be golden.

Restless, she wandered through the main floor of the century-old building, originally Moorcroft’s first general store. During the course of its existence, it’d housed the post office and an attorney’s office. For the last thirty years it’d sat empty.

She’d always wondered why no one had renovated the stalwart stone building—an answer she was now learning firsthand. New construction of steel frame structures was easier, cheaper, faster and more efficient. Hence, many historic buildings were lost to the blade of a bulldozer or tumbled by a wrecking ball. A sad situation for a western state with precious few architectural treasures in the first place.

So the State of Wyoming had wisened up and toughened regulations, forming the Wyoming Historical Western Preservation Committee to deal with the lax construction policies and administration of fines. The committee also gauged a structure’s historical merit, determining those to be listed on the official register, as well as overseeing any structural and architectural changes of registered buildings, both on the state level and with recommendation to the National Historic Register.

Talk about a taste of bureaucracy.

After dealing with committees and subcommittees, and tracking down funding sources, Keely discovered the entire house of cards depended upon whether she could convince the certified architectural restoration specialist to oversee the project. The company representative insisted on making a personal appearance to gauge the validity of the proposed project before rendering a decision.

As if the situation wasn’t convoluted enough, she’d inadvertently discovered the restoration company she’d contacted and the company that owned the Sandstone Building she lived in…were one in the same. Western Property Management Services and Full Circle Consulting shared the same PO box in Denver.

If she believed in fate, she’d take that as a good sign.

The door creaked and a shaft of sunlight seared her retinas. Keely blocked the bright ray with her hand, willing her heart to stop racing as fast as a spooked antelope. This was it. Her future. Her destiny.

Please. Just this one time. Let things go my way.

She plastered on a charming smile.

As the form sauntered closer, Keely blinked several times. No way. Had to be a trick of the light. Or a trick of the swirling dust motes. Her eyes—shit, maybe she needed glasses. The male figure with a laconic walk looked like…nah. It couldn’t be him.

Could it?

All six foot four inches, two hundred odd pounds of muscle and grace pulled into sharp focus.

Keely gasped like a Victorian maiden.

Or maybe she had stumbled onto the set of a low budget horror movie.

The man was a stunning example of masculine flawlessness.

And the dead last man in the world Keely ever wanted to deal with.

Her brother’s best friend.

The older brother of the guy who’d dumped her.

The jerk who’d left her high and dry at her brother’s wedding reception three years ago.

Jack Donohue.

That bitch fate had a nasty sense of humor.

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CORRALLED by Lorelei James

First in a new series about some hard-riding rodeo cowboys...and the women who can rein them in.

CORRALLED - Book one in Lorelei James' new Blacktop Cowboys Series


Sports therapist Lainie Capshaw has been rehabilitating injured cowboys long enough to know that a charming western drawl combined with a fine physical form doesn't mean you fall for the man.

So no one is more surprised than Lainie when she finds herself involved with not one, but two different men: Hank Lawson, a bullfighter, and Kyle Gilchrist, a bull rider. Lainie feels guilty about her two-timing, but it doesn't keep her from doubling her fun-that is until Hank catches her with Kyle.

She's shocked that Hank isn't mad. But she's more shocked to learn Hank and Kyle are hometown buddies. But when the men offer to share her-in every way-she knows that she's going to have to choose the one man who can give her the ride of her life.

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Chapter One

“Screwing two guys doesn’t make you a slut.”

Lainie Capshaw darted a quick glance at the crowd in Bucky’s Tavern. Luckily none of her coworkers—her male coworkers—lurked about. “Maybe you could’ve said that a little louder, Tanna. I don’t think they heard you on the dance floor.”

“Puh-lease. The men in this joint are too busy gawking at the cocktail waitress with the watermelon-sized tits to be eavesdropping on us.” Tanna sucked down a healthy swig of beer. “Twenty bucks says ’ol monster jugs pops a strap in the next ten minutes.”

“No dice. If I take that bet you’ll sneak up behind her and slice the damn strap just so you can win.”

“You’re no fun.” Tanna sighed dramatically. “I’m bored.”

Lainie rolled her eyes. A bored Tanna was a dangerous Tanna. “So let’s talk about Lainie’s lewd love life.”

“Let’s not.”

Tanna wagged her finger. “Ah ah ah. Suck it up, chickie. You walk the walk, you gotta talk the talk. Besides, who cares if you’re boning two guys? Cowboys are notorious for having a different buckle bunny every night, in every podunk rodeo town on the circuit. It pisses me off there’s still a double standard for women.”

“True. But...”

“But what?” Tanna looked at her quizzically. “You aren’t feeling guilty, are you?” She shrugged. “Maybe. Wouldn’t you?”

“Hell no.”

Bull. Lainie called Tanna’s bluff. “So if the buff babe in the yellow shirt sauntered over and said, ‘I wanna screw your brains out against my truck right now,’ you’d follow him out into the parking lot without question?”

“Or hesitation. Well, besides checking my purse for condoms.”

“Even when you’re already making time with that studly bulldogger from Austin?” Lainie challenged.

Tanna planted her elbows on the table. “I’d do it in a heartbeat, Lainie. What would you do if both your men showed up here tonight?”

Wet myself. “Umm. I’d probably run.”

“Like a contest to see who wanted you more? Whoever catches you first wins?”

Good Lord. Talk about an overactive sense of drama. “No. More like running from my problem.”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me. Two sexy men angling to thrill you between the sheets.” Tanna smiled brazenly. “Or against the bathroom stall, in Kyle’s case.”

Whoo-ee. Just thinking about the hot tryst with Kyle still fried Lainie’s circuits. Never in her life had she warranted an I-need-you-right-fucking-now bout of raunchy monkey sex. So yeah, it’d earned her bragging rights. Even been there, done that Tanna had been impressed by Lainie’s balls-to-the-wall behavior.

Tanna’s cell phone vibrated on the tabletop. She squinted at the number and snapped, “’Bout time you dumb bastard,” before she flounced out the side door, chewing the caller’s ass.

Lainie hunched over the table to discourage any cowboys from asking her to dance. Probably an unnecessary precaution since tantalizing Tanna usually garnered that type of male attention, not her.

Which was why it was so twisted that Lainie had captured the interest of not one, but two men. Two very hot, very alpha men on two different circuits.

Lainie liked working the rodeo circuits, even though the pay was crap. As a med tech for Lariat Sports Medicine, she split her time between the two largest rodeo organizations: the Cowboy Rodeo Association,known as the CRA, and the Extreme Bull Showcase, known as EBS.

The CRA was comprised of rough stock events—bareback, saddle bronc and bull riding, as well as timed events—calf roping, team roping, steer wrestling, also known as bulldoggin’, and barrel racing. The EBS had just one event--bull riding.

The CRA bull riders didn’t compete in the EBS and vice versa. Which was how Lainie ended up with a hot cowboy hook up on both the CRA and the EBS.

Fraternizing with cowboys could be career suicide for a woman in the male-dominated sport, especially when her job was to examine those glorious bodies. Lainie prided herself on avoiding the sexual temptation for damn near two years.

Until she’d met Hank Lawson.

She’d encountered the intense CRA bullfighter after he’d pulled his Achilles tendon during a CRA event and grudgingly limped into medical services. After she fixed him up, he asked her out on a date. Lainie refused--tempting as it’d been. Not only was Hank a 100% real Wyoming cowboy, who handled bulls with ease and panache, at 6’3”, with inky black hair and ruggedly masculine features, he embodied tall, dark and handsome.

She kept refusing until Hank invited her to dance at a sponsor’s dinner. A simple dance, what could it hurt?

If she appreciated Hank’s moves in the arena, his moves on the dance floor were equally fine. Whenever hard-bodied Hank studied her with those eyes the color of new denim, she experienced a rush of adrenaline that must have been equal to spending eight seconds astride a 2000-pound bull.

Two weeks later, Hank asked her to two-step at another rodeo event. Too much wine and too much Hank went straight to her head. One slow dance led them directly to Hank’s motel room for a little mattress dancing.

Mercy. Revisiting that romp with Hank caused Lainie’s thighs to clench with want. Intense concentration and instinctual reaction were the hallmarks of good bullfighters and Hank had both in spades. No surprise his single-mindedness carried over into the bedroom.

The man took his own sweet time making love; it was as maddening as it was arousing. Leisurely undressing her. Running his work-roughened fingers over every inch of her bared skin. Kissing everywhere his hands roamed. Wringing at least two explosive orgasms from her before he rode her hard and fast, or slow and sweet.

As phenomenal as the sex was, Hank rarely deviated from missionary position. Even if Lainie started out on top showing off her excellent riding skills, she’d end up underneath Hank at the big finish. She’d shoved aside her niggling doubts about Hank’s lack of sexual spontaneity because he made her come so many times she saw stars.

So why had she hooked up with bull rider Kyle Gilcrist from the EBS circuit? True, Kyle and Hank were opposites. Physically, Kyle was wiry rather than overly muscular. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, not intensity. With Kyle’s blonde locks and golden facial hair, he resembled a Viking.

After taking a year off due to knee surgery, Kyle returned to the EBS with a vengeance. He’d started dropping by the sports medicine room to chat, in the guise of having his previous knee injury reexamined. Very polite. Very much interested in showing her in explicit detail how a modern day Viking would utterly ravish her.

Her resistance lasted two months. The square-jawed, sloe-eyed, sweet-talker had literally charmed the pants right off her in a bathroom stall at Denny’s outside Chula Vista. That first weekend she’d had sex with Kyle six times—not once in missionary position.

It’d been freeing. Fun. Hot as sin...until the weekend ended. Away from the temptation of Kyle’s consuming kisses, she questioned if she’d become as loose and easy as the buckle bunnies trailing after the circuit cowboys.

But mostly Lainie wondered if she could juggle both men at the same time.

She and Hank hadn’t discussed exclusivity. For all she knew, Hank could be sleeping with half the barrel racers on the CRA circuit. Kyle hadn’t demanded promises either. Given Kyle’s charm and good looks, she doubted he spent his nights alone watching Country Music Television.

So it wasn’t the “cheating” factor that bothered her. It was the fact she really liked both men and she didn’t know who she’d pick if she had to choose.

Luckily, Lainie was in the catbird seat for a while. In the big world of professional rodeo, the EBS and CRA circuits rarely intersected geographically. Chances were slim she’d run into Hank if she was with Kyle or vice versa.

Feeling a little cocky, she sipped her beer.

Lainie’s smugness lasted all of thirty seconds before two rough-skinned hands covered her eyes and a deep, sexy male voice murmured, “Guess who?”



****



Kyle Gilchrist could not believe his luck. Mel was here. Right here. Her wild curls tickling his cheek. Her powdery scent teasing his nose. The sight of her lithe little body hardened his cock.

And to think he’d dreaded spending the eve of his CRA debut in some dive bar in Lamar, Colorado.

Cool fingers circled his wrists. “Kyle?”

He removed his hands and spun the barstool, forcing Mel to face him. “Hey, sugar. Surprise.”

“Omigod. It is you. What are you doing here? This isn’t your circuit.”

“Came in to have a beer and coerce a pretty woman into dancin’ with me. And look who I found first thing—the prettiest lady I know.” Kyle’s palms slid down her bare arms to grasp her fingers. “Come on.” Allowing her no chance to argue, he tugged her to the dance floor, right into the thick of the crowd.

“Kyle, this isn’t a good idea. What if—”

“It’s the best idea I’ve had in weeks. Come on. Admit it. You missed me.”

“Maybe.” She smiled against his throat.

He wasn’t much of a dancer, so he employed every seductive tactic he’d stockpiled over the years to draw her attention away from his two left feet. Brushing his thumb at the base of her neck. Gradually easing his thigh between hers. Swaying to the beat of the music while their bodies moved to a rhythm uniquely theirs.

The final chord of the tune rang out. He spun them until her back was to the main part of the bar.

She tried to push him away. “Kyle. Let go.”

“Not until you give me a kiss.”

“But, I can’t. Not here where everyone can see—”

Kyle settled his mouth over hers, treating her to the lazy kisses that always distracted her.

A soft protest exited her mouth, which he swallowed in another kiss. She thought too much. Worried too much. The best way to turn off her overactive brain was to turn her on in a whole ’nother way.

As luck would have it, that was one thing Kyle was very good at.



****



Hank Lawson paced in the shadow of the sleazy honky-tonk. “No, sir. I understand. Yes.” He grinned at the phone. “I’m committed to the next three weeks. Uh-huh. Well, sir—all right, Bryson—it’s a good opportunity for me to work with some of the rankest bulls in the CRA. No. I’ll cut it short if I have to. Absolutely I’ll be there. Tulsa. Looking forward to it.” He clicked the phone off and pumped his fist into the air.

“Yes!” Hank couldn’t wait to tell...he stopped. Wait a second. He couldn’t tell anyone. Dammit. That sucked. Biggest news of his career and he had to keep a lid on it.

Bullfighting. In the EBS. It was a callback from his pre-tryout test last month at a second tier event.

As much as Hank loved bullfighting in the CRA, for a bullfighter, the EBS was the big time. More money. TV coverage. More sponsorships. Fans. And he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone? Screw that. Hank scrolled through his contact list and hit dial.

“Hank?” she answered breathlessly. “What’s up?”

“News, but promise me it’ll stay under your hat.”

The noise in the background sounded like she was at a rodeo. “I scored another audition with the EBS.”

She squealed. “Seriously? That’s awesome! When?”

“A couple of weeks. Once I’m done with Cowboy Christmas.”

“They couldn’t get you in sooner?”

“Bryson asked if I’d be available for the Huntington Beach event next week, but I can’t. I’ve already committed to—”

“God, Hank, why can’t you let Gilly navigate the CRA trail on his own? It ain’t like he’s a rookie.”

He scowled. Would she ever get over her beef with his buddy? Probably not. The girl held a grudge like nobody’s business. “I’m not goin’ on the road as a favor to Gilly. Truth is, I’m doin’ this for me.”

“For the money?”

“Partially. But the more bulls I can get in front of the next three weeks, the better my chances in the EBS.”

“Unless you get stomped by one and blow your goddamn big chance,” she retorted.

“Thanks for the confidence, sis,” he groused.

“I have the utmost confidence in you, bro. It’s the bulls I don’t trust. That said, I really am excited for you.”

“I know you are. Remember, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Not even Abe?”

“I’ll tell him.”

“You’d better. But I’m afraid he won’t be as thrilled. Come to think of it, if you do get picked, it’ll be more work for me at the ranch. Maybe I oughta be rooting for the bulls.”

Hank laughed softly.

“Glad I amuse you. Shit. I’m up. Later.”

He said, “Up for what?” to the dial tone. He glanced at the time. Damn. He’d been outside for thirty minutes. Not only hadn’t he said hello to Lainie yet—and wouldn’t she be surprised to see him—he’d left Gilly hanging. Too bad he hadn’t introduced them before he’d taken the call. He headed back inside.

The flashing lights from the stage show inside the honky-tonk screwed with his eyes. Hank blinked a couple times, scanning the tables. The band wailed a decent cover of Billy Currington’s latest love song.

He stopped at the bar and ordered three Coors Light. Hank felt like a fish swimming upstream, juggling three bottles of beer as the people rushed off the dance floor after the tune ended. He’d made it to the table he’d spotted Lainie and her friend sitting at earlier, but there was no sign of her now.

Huh. Hank looked round the bar. No sign of Gilly either.

His gaze wandered to the dance floor. One couple hadn’t left yet, oblivious to the fact the music had stopped. They were twined together, mouths fused, body pressed to body.

Hank squinted. Hey. Wait a minute. Was that...?

Holy fucking shit. That was Lainie—his Lainie—in a clinch with some happy-handed cowboy.

Fury filled him. He’d fucking lay the bastard out cold. Come on asshole, show me your face so I can figure out where I’m gonna put the first bruise.

Then the loser in the cowboy hat kissing Hank’s goddamn woman lifted his head.

Not just any cowboy had his hands and mouth on Lainie; Gilly had his hands and mouth on Lainie.

Hank’s stomach dropped. And so did the bottles of beer.

Lainie and Gilly looked at him the same time the raucous crowd broke into applause at his clumsiness.

But he couldn’t tear his eyes off them. Tempting, to punch his buddy in the kisser for kissing her. Equally tempting to pull Laine outside and ask her what the hell was going on.

The couple stopped right in front of him.

Hank calmly said, “Lainie, sweetheart. I was gonna introduce you to my good buddy, Gilly, but I see you two have already met.”

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