* * *
When his phone beeped to announce Savannah was waiting, Chase was as ready as he could be. He went down in the elevator to retrieve her. Over hamburgers—her choice for lunch—he laid out his plan.
“I want to sponsor you.”
She choked, grabbed the glass of expensive spring water he’d poured for her and chugged it. “Excuse me?” she sputtered once she could talk.
“You want to go to the National Finals, right?”
She nodded but didn’t speak.
“I know Indigo is out of commission for now. I know you’re on your last dime, almost literally. I know that piece-of-shit truck won’t make another thousand miles, much less the ten thousand you’ll need to drive to hit enough rodeos to qualify for Nationals.”
Savannah just watched him, brow knitted, lips pursed. He really wanted to kiss those lips. Which was crazy, given what he was about to propose. When silence stretched between them, he pulled his eyes away from her mouth and refocused on her eyes.
“I’ll sponsor you. Well, technically, Barron Entertainment will. The company will provide you with a new truck, a new trailer—both carrying our name. I’ve talked to Kade about a replacement horse. He has one in mind and can have it here before the first round Friday night. I’ll pay your gas, all other travel expenses, entry fees, insurance, stall rentals and whatever rodeo-related expenses you have.”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her eyes wide now, and unbelieving. He wanted to chase her tongue with his lips. That could wait. He had to win her over to his plan first. “After Nationals, win, lose or draw, I’ll pay you a bonus of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“There has to be catch.”
His little wildcat didn’t trust easily. That was okay. He had every expectation he could convince her this was all to her benefit.
“What, besides barrel racing, do I have to do to receive this Barron bounty?”
“Marry me.”
“Marry you.” Her voice was flat to her own ears, though she all but screeched her next question. “Are you out of your frickin’ mind?”
“Maybe.”
Savannah stared at Chase, wondering what bizarre thing would come out of his mouth next. “You’re crazy. I’m not going to marry you. I... You...” She breathed through the tightness in her chest. He’d dangled her dream in front of her only to jerk it out of her reach. “No. You’re completely nuts. Less than twenty-four hours ago you had Security perp walk me out of this hotel. Now you’re all...” She fluttered her hands, at a loss for how to describe his actions. “Crazy. Just crazy.”
“Please hear me out, Savannah.”
She folded her arms across her chest, leaned back in the very comfortable chair and cocked a brow. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“I find I’m in need of a wife.”
“Uh-huh.”
“A wife of my choosing, not my father’s.”
She leaned forward, curious despite her misgivings. This explanation was going to be a doozy.
“I’m fairly certain you’re aware of my...reputation.”
The snort escaped before she could hold it back. “Reputation? What? You mean the one that lands you on the front cover of every tabloid from LA to London? A different woman in your bed every night? Or do you mean the sex tapes floating around the internet? Yeah. I think the whole world is aware of your reputation, Mr. Barron.”
He attempted to look contrite but she didn’t buy it for a second.
“Call me Chase, please.” He brushed a manicured hand through his expertly styled hair. “Look, Savannah, this is a win-win for you. And for me.”
“You still haven’t explained your reasons, Chase.”
“My father has decided I need to settle down, and I need to get married in order to do that.”
“So why me?”
“Because he has an acceptable wife picked out for me already.”
She couldn’t breathe for a moment, and her voice sounded slightly strangled as she pushed out words she didn’t want to say. “An acceptable wife. And I’m not. You want to marry me because I’m a dirt-poor, Choctaw cowgirl and it will piss your old man off.” Heat surged in her cheeks and her fingers tingled from adrenaline. She wanted to hit him. Or run. Anything but sit here and be embarrassed by this rich clown.
“No, Savannah. That’s not true. Not really. Yes, I need to be legally married before he gets here Friday. Yes, you happen to be here and in a position where we can help each other out. But no, it didn’t occur to me that you’re...that you would be something to taunt him with. Well, beyond the fact that I’d be preemptively marrying you before he could try to force me to marry Janiece.”
He sank onto the granite block that served as a coffee table, scrubbing at his face with the palms of his hands—hands, she reminded herself, with a better manicure than her own. There he sat in designer slacks, a starched cotton shirt with so many threads she probably couldn’t count that high, his high-dollar haircut and boots that likely cost more than she’d made last year. And here she sat in faded jeans fraying at the back pockets, scuffed boots all but falling apart, a T-shirt advertising a boot company, and her hair semitamed into a braid.
“But I have to be honest, now that you’ve brought it to my attention. Yes, if you marry me, there will be flack. From the old man and probably from my family. I’ve already talked to my brother Chance. He’s an attorney. I want him to draw up a prenuptial agreement.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Chase held up a hand to stay her argument.
“It’s to protect you as much as me. I’m making certain promises to you. You have every expectation that I’ll deliver. The prenup ensures that you’ll be taken care of, as promised. I won’t lie. Chance is not happy with me, but that’s par for the course. I’m sort of the bad seed in the family.” He offered a boyish grin meant to disarm her, and it succeeded—to a point.
“I’m not your type, Chase.” She tried to meet his gaze head-on and add a glower, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from sliding to the side as she spoke the truth. “I’m rough. I live from payday to payday. I don’t wear heels or designer duds. I don’t talk like you. Heck, I bet your hands are softer than mine. No one is going to buy this marriage as anything other than what it is—a marriage of convenience to get you out of trouble with your father.”
Chase couldn’t deny her words, nor would he do her the disservice of trying. She told the truth, but at the same time, there was something compelling about that. Most women—okay, every woman he’d ever dated—wanted something from him and would tell him whatever they thought he wanted to hear in order to get it. Savannah was different. She was...real. What he saw was what he’d get. And what he saw fascinated him.
She was prickly, stubborn, full of pride, curvy, tomboyish—all the things he stayed away from when it came to women. She’d be way more trouble than she was worth. She’d be a crimp in his social life. She’d bedevil him like crazy. And some perverse part of him looked forward to the challenge, actually craved it. He watched her struggle to meet his eyes, realized she was feeling exposed and didn’t