“Really?”
“Those pretty little horseshoe ones? I liked ’em.”
Those pretty little horseshoe necklaces had been her Waterloo. Her Achilles’ heel. The snake hidden in tall grass. “Well, I should have gotten you to endorse me.”
“You didn’t need me. Those necklaces were all over Hollywood.”
There was no way she was going to ruin this moonlight by talking about those necklaces. She looked at him sideways and changed the subject. “I have a hard time imagining you in Hollywood.”
“That’s where the pretty girls are.” He waggled his eyebrows but then stared at his boots. “I was only there for a while. The relationship didn’t last much past that necklace I gave her.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“No, I really liked your necklace—”
She laughed. “Los Angeles.”
“Good God, no.” He shuddered. “Not my scene at all.”
“That city must have loved you, though.” With that hair and those eyes, the way he moved, part cowboy, part cat, but all man. Casting agents must have fallen over themselves to get to him. To say nothing of the women.
“What about you?” he asked.
“That city does not love me.” If there was one thing she could be sure of it was that Los Angeles barely knew she’d been there, which was such a bitter disappointment when she’d gone intending to light the streets on fire. And she’d been close. So damn close.
She spun the bottle between her hands. Her chest ached as if there was someone standing on her rib cage. I guess that’s what failure feels like.
“Hey.” His shoulder nudged hers, his heat a wave through her body that shook her out of her musings. “This is the closest I’ve been to a date in months so please don’t cry. If you do, I’ll probably start, and I’ve sworn off crying on dates.”
Charmed, despite her crap mood, she smiled at him. “Does that get you laid?” she asked. “Crying on dates?”
“No, actually. It’s a very effective birth control.”
He was watching her, a strange smile on his face. It was as if he’d turned around and found a treasure sitting on this porch next to him and for a long moment she got lost in the blue of his eyes.
I’m going to kiss him, she thought, delighted by the idea. Drunk on the notion. Before leaving his house tonight, she was going to taste this man.
She was a serial monogamist—hadn’t had a one-night stand in fifteen years. For her, it was one long-term relationship after the other. She didn’t just date, she contemplated marriage over dessert. But she did like to kiss.
Her life hadn’t been very easy the past few months. Stress and worry and regret and fear had worn her down to the bone and she’d grown so used to the sensation that sitting here, contemplating kissing a gorgeous cowboy in the moonlight, seemed like the sweetest relief.
He lifted a finger and brushed back a long strand of dark hair that had fallen over her eye.
Her skin sizzled at his touch and the rest of her body cried out in jealousy.
“You remind me of Hollywood,” he murmured.
“What do you mean?” she whispered, so lost in his eyes that if she was being insulted, she didn’t care.
“Beautiful and sad, all at the same time.”
She cleared her throat and looked away. It was one thing to kiss a handsome cowboy in the moonlight. It was another thing to have him see her so clearly.
“So how did you end up with a drunk cowboy on your couch?” She rolled the bottle between her hands, liking the click of the glass against her rings. The sound was loud and chased away her thoughts of kissing handsome cowboys.
“Reese? He showed up yesterday. He won big down at the rodeo in Fort Worth and was looking for some help spending the purse.”
“And the guy in charge of three young boys was the logical choice.”
His smile was thin and drawn. “He didn’t know. Nobody really knows. I just faded away after my accident.”
“I saw that footage!”
“YouTube?”
“It was awful. You were like a rag doll.”
“I know.” He laughed. “I was there.” His lightheartedness amazed her; she could only gape at him.
“How can you laugh? Didn’t you think you were going to die?”
“I did. But somehow I didn’t.” He finished his beer and set it down beside him. “But that’s part of the job. A rare part of the job, but there isn’t a rider out there who doesn’t watch that gate get thrown open and know that he might be living his last seconds on earth.”
“That’s crazy.”
“That…” His eyes sparkled, his grin widened. Her breath caught at the danger that glittered around this man, the thrill. It was like breathing in sparks. “…is the beauty of rodeo.”
“You miss it.” It wasn’t a question because it was all too obvious the man lived and breathed that kind of excitement.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, staring up at the large moon that hung over the junipers at the edge of the lawn.
Oh, no. She set down her beer bottle and put her hands between her knees. If there was one thing she loved more than a handsome man in the moonlight, it was a sad, handsome man in the moonlight. It was a sickness, she knew that—one more weakness in her already weak character.
She liked to think she could save men. A doomed proposition every single time, but it didn’t stop her from trying.
She stood and turned to face him. He looked up at her, his eyes alight with interest, with a sexual speculation that made her entire body hum and purr. It had been so long since she’d been touched and stroked and she planned on being noble right now, and walking out of this house without having removed her clothes. But not without taking a little something for herself.
“Stand up, cowboy,” she murmured, feeling that same reckless thrill that spelled disaster.
The moonlight danced in his hair and the corner of his smile where it tipped up toward heartbreaking. Toward devilish and risky.
When he stood, his chest brushed her breasts and she gasped slightly at the pleasing pain of her nipples getting so hard so fast. They had barely touched and she was panting.
But so was he and that was about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.
“What are you going to do with me, Lucy?”
“I’m still deciding.”
“Take your time.”
Her hand found the hard curve of his biceps, the soft cotton of his T-shirt brushing the back of her hand as she reached under it. Her palm embraced the soft skin of his arm.
“I’ve decided.”
“Thank God.”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
CHAPTER TWO
ONCE, A LONG TIME AGO, Jeremiah had been a gentleman. It was a point of pride in his life. He could afford to go slow, or take his time. Or even refuse if the moment didn’t quite feel right.
And not just women and sex. He could turn down advertising contracts, another cup of coffee, a role in a movie. It didn’t matter. He could be a gentleman because he was never desperate.