“Whatever,” she said, with a definitely flirtatious tilt of her head.
Her soft laugh mingled with the music.
“You looked like you were having a pretty good time, yourself,” he said.
She nodded. “I love it. Everything and everybody fades away and it’s just me and el toro.”
Then she bit her bottom lip—a really nice bottom lip—as if she’d said more than she meant to.
“Me, too.” Then he said way more than he’d meant to. “I don’t know what I’ll do when I can’t ride anymore.”
She shot him a look. “I noticed the announcer mentioned that you’re thirty-eight.”
He laughed. “I’m gonna jump him out about that. I’m sick of hearing it.”
And he was. He still had the want-to and he still had the talent.
“To be fair,” she said, “earlier, he also called you a great champion.”
“Fear’s what makes a rider good,” he said lightly, “and I’m scared.”
He took the conversation back to tonight’s ride. Which, after all, was the reason they were dancing together right now.
“I was really glad when Smoke ’Em finally started to spin. I couldn’t believe how high he could kick and how hard he could buck.”
“Yeah, the spin’s what kept you on,” she said. “I sure thought you were hung up bad there at the end, though.”
Good. Great. She’d brought it up herself. Maybe he could get his message across without stirring her up.
“Well, you did come in too soon,” he said. “I was okay.”
She stiffened and gave him a narrow-eyed look.
“You’re the first customer I ever had that complained I tried too hard to keep him alive and healthy. And you looked pretty much hung-up with your hand there in the rope.”
“I wasn’t.” He brought out his most charming smile. “I don’t mean to be critical,” he said. “I like to be in control as long as I can. I was just looking for the best way to get off.”
She was staring at him like he had two heads. “What happens after the buzzer, Chase, doesn’t get you any more points. I could drag you away from the bull by your hair and it wouldn’t change your score.”
The image—and her tone—sent a quick shot of anger through him. Wasn’t it always the cavemen who did the dragging?
“I’m not talking about points. I’m talking about control, and I had it all covered. Winning is all about control.”
“You’re talking about image,” she said, and now she was mad, too. “This is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Ty Murray or Tuff Hedeman or Donnie Gay or Larry Mahan or any of the best bull riders in history never felt any shame at running from a bull, much less being helped to get loose from one.”
“Look,” he said, “I’ll run from a bull just like anybody else. I’m not proud. But I don’t want any help if I don’t need it.”
She studied him, eyes full of fire, but her body still moving flawlessly with his.
“What is the deal here? Tell me, would you be talking to Rocky or Junior like this?”
“Of course.”
“Of course not.” She glared at him. “I’m thinking you just don’t like to be rescued by a woman.”
“I wasn’t,” he snapped. “You didn’t rescue me because I didn’t need to be rescued.”
“You’re criticizing me because I’m a woman in a man’s job. It’s as simple as that. I know it.”
He shook his head and opened his mouth, but she was too quick for him.
“Since when does a cowboy second-guess a bullfighter? At least to his face? If he’s not a woman? I can tell you right now that I intend to be the best. I’m gonna win that new championship contest Bob Moss and those other money men are putting together for this fall. Have you heard about it?”
He spoke without thinking about what he was saying, because what he was thinking about was how good she felt in his arms.
“Yeah, but from what I’ve heard, no way can they call it a world championship. Not compared to what the Wrangler Tour used to be. Rob Smets won that five times and you can’t let somebody who hasn’t fought very many bulls hold the same title as he—”
She interrupted him, snapping each word off like a shot.
“Last I heard, you’re a bull rider and a bronc rider, not king of the world. No matter what the title’s gonna be I am going to win it. Remember that, Lomax. I know what I’m doing whether you think so or not.”
Damn, she was mad. This was exactly what he’d tried to avoid. He didn’t need the bullfighters mad at him for getting into their business and the cowboys mad at him for making their protectors mad.
He tried his charming smile again.
“Look, Elle, all I’m doing is just trying to tell you how to read me when I’m on a bull. Trying to save you until I really need you.”
She gave him a long, mean look, reassessing whatever it was that she’d originally thought of him, no doubt.
But the hell of it was that her body wasn’t reassessing anything. Not one damn thing. It was still dancing on, as close to his, as in sync with his, as if they were longtime lovers.
Insane thought. She was only a kid.
He tried again to make her smile back at him.
“It’s hard to run from a bull and look cool at the same time,” he said, grinning his mischievous grin. “What I need is for you to come in right when I start to run and distract the audience with your guts and skill.”
She kept on giving him that look.
“Since, as Robbie pointed out, you’re such a blur in the arena that they can’t be distracted by your beautiful face.”
“You wouldn’t say that to a man bullfighter, either,” she said. “You may be a control freak, but you can’t control me with flattery.”
He hadn’t defused her one bit.
Lomax, get a grip. This is not worth a big fuss-fight and the resulting gossip. This is stupid. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.
He smiled at her, trying to get back on the easy footing they’d had at the beginning.
“I’m just funny that way,” he said lightly. “I like to hang on a little after the buzzer in case I’ve only imagined that the eight seconds are up. That has happened more than once, you know.”
She scowled at him. Fiercely scowled at him.
“You were in trouble when I pulled you loose, and you know it. Get over it, Lomax. I’ll do my job my way. I’m not going to have it on my conscience that you got hurt or killed when I could’ve saved your life.”
Quick anger hit him. He didn’t even know for sure if he believed it, but he blurted, “All right, it is because you’re a woman. By nature, women are overprotective. Men have sense enough to know that if I get hurt or killed, well, that’s just bull riding.”
Her blazing eyes narrowed to slits.
“I know the danger. And I’m not overprotective.”
“I