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  She should have left when she became aware of how angry and upset Taylor was. It horrified her when he accused her of being responsible for their father’s death. It was a new allegation, one he’d sucker-punched her with, which not only shocked, but cut her to the quick.

  It had taken every ounce of her control not to say something equally hurtful. She couldn’t stand for him to see that the barbs he carelessly flung at her found their mark. Deep inside her heart, Taylor had re-opened a wound that had never stopped bleeding. She already accepted the fact she was responsible for everything—even her father’s suicide.

  I’m a monster. She put her fingers to her temples, overwhelmed by her feelings of guilt. Oh, God. Just once, she’d like to find someone to simply hold her and tell her it wasn’t her fault. Time in the arms of someone whose eyes weren’t filled with hatred and accusations, someone she could turn to and forget the horrible mistakes she’d made, a few hours to make the world and all her troubles go away, someone who cared for her—if only for a little while.

  She sighed. Her third and biggest mistake was agreeing to meet Duel here at the casino. A woman couldn’t be too careful these days, and she was asking for trouble coming to this place alone.

  And damn it, trouble sat right beside her and wore a sappy grin and a Stetson.

  Why was he so damned happy?

  But Duel had insisted he meet her in the lounge and had promised he’d have his older brother, J.D. in tow.

  From the moment she turned and discovered the cowboy’s gypsy-dark eyes glued on her, she’d squirmed inwardly, shocked at the sensation of warmth that pooled between her thighs. God knew there had never been a set of eyes any blacker than this man’s.

  None more wickedly hot. Certainly, none more inviting. Or appealing. She didn’t think anyone had ever looked at her with such unbridled hunger, or with such obvious intent of pursuing a sexual conquest so blatantly written on his face. Icy chills raced down her spine in direct contrast to the tongues of heat that licked a fiery path through her body. It was his mouth that sent the delicious whips of flame licking through her nervous system. His mouth that had awakened her starved pheromones, hormones, or whatever it was that filled a woman with intense sexual desire.

  His lips were beautifully shaped, mouth wide, and incredibly sensuous. The effect was amorally, blatantly sexual. If one wanted an invitation to sin, then stroll right in, because here was the open door with a personal invitation in the not-quite-a-leer he sent her way. She didn’t think she’d ever been so unashamedly undressed by a pair of eyes blacker than sin or so sexually potent.

  The hard, rugged lines of his face kept him from being beautiful. Almost. Yet despite the harsh planes, or simply because of them, he was strikingly handsome.

  Too bad she wasn’t here to be picked up.

  More the pity, she thought sadly, for even though she’d never done such a thing, she was very tempted to forget her cares in the arms of this handsome stranger. No matter how attractive he was, no matter how tempting, or how sexy, she had to keep her mind on the business at hand.

  And the business at hand was acquiring a job.

  That was the only reason she had set foot in this casino tonight. The only reason she was in this lounge, waiting at a crowded bar—alone. Glasses clinked and people murmured. The music blared. It was all steadily grating on her nerves.

  God, she had to get out of here.

  But there was no way she could afford to blow the opportunity Duel was giving her. She needed the job, desperately. She needed the opportunity it would give her to escape Reno and the trouble she was in.

  Once again, she glanced surreptitiously at the man seated beside her. Her composure slipped a notch as he suddenly gave her the sweetest, sexiest smile she’d ever seen on a man, then boldly winked at her.

  Heat scalded her cheeks. Crap! What was he doing winking at her? Hadn’t she made it perfectly clear she wasn’t interested? Did she have to hit him over the head with his beer mug to make it clear she wasn’t interested?

  She focused her gaze on the drink before her. Her heart beat a rapid ditty in her chest. She’d bet her last dime he’d charmed the panties off many a female with the I-want-to-take-you-to-bed grin he’d just bestowed on her.

  That is, if she had a dime to bet.

  And that wink—suffice it to say the rugged cowboy with the dark eyes was nothing but a big flirt, one who stripped women naked with his piratical gaze and wicked smile. Feeling self-conscious, she clutched the glass containing her drink and glanced at the plain watch on her wrist. Duel promised to meet her at nine o’clock. It was nearly ten.

  Where was he?

  No matter how much she dreaded going back home without securing the job, she couldn’t wait much longer. Taylor was alone, waiting—possibly needing her assistance even though he’d never admit it.

  She stole another quick glance of the cowboy and felt warmth creep into her cheeks. Ohmigod! She stared at the money he’d just slipped under her glass. Shit! He thought she was a hooker! The dress! The freakin’ dress! She snatched up the bill and dropped it in his beer mug. “You’re wasting your time, mister.”

  He eyed her as if he thought she’d lost her mind.

  “How much?” he asked quietly.

  “Nothing! I don’t charge!”

  He lifted a brow as if to say, Oh, you’re giving it away?

  “I–I mean I’m not a–a—”

  “My apologies, I misunderstood.” He fished the bill out of his beer, shook off the excess liquid and shoved it in his shirt pocket.

  Yeah, the dress, it was definitely too provocative.

  Desperate to control the nervous flutter in her stomach, she downed the liquor in the tumbler in one hasty gulp—and swallowed liquid fire. The rich, amber liquid seared the back of her throat, blazed a path to her stomach, and lit a torch to her blood.

  Ohmigod!

  Her eyes watered. Her breath escaped her lungs in a several fierce wheezes, joined by the most peculiar suction noises she’d ever heard, then her throat abruptly closed. No wheezes. No suctions. No air. Nothing but dead air space remained between her ears and her lungs.

  “Uuuuh. Uuuuh.” She tried sucking in a lungful of air. No go. Oh God, she was going to explode or implode, she wasn’t sure which, but the ploy to remain unruffled was lost along with her ability to breathe. She gasped, coughed and thought she just might flop over onto the floor and have a seizure.

  “Are you all right?”

  His voice, laced with a rich drawl steeped with the flavor of the Old West—and spoken far too close to her ear, sounded like heaven’s idea of black velvet seduction. He leaned closer. His movement brought him so near, the rim of his Stetson brushed her hair. It shrouded them in a shadow of false intimacy.

  She tilted back her head, startled to find herself looking directly into his onyx gaze. It was something of a shock to feel his warm hand glide across the bare skin on her back. More shocking to realize he was gently stroking her spine. Oh, shit!

  A jolt of physical awareness shot through her. The caress was oddly soothing, as though he was gentling her to his touch. Breaking her in like a mare he planned to ride hard.

  She jerked away as if a bolt of lightning had struck her.

  “Easy, honey,” he whispered soothingly. He carefully tucked a stray curl behind her ear, then grinned. Deep dimples appeared in his right cheek. “I never harm kids, dogs, horses, or beautiful ladies.”

  His slow, lazy words dripped over her like rich, thick honey oozing over a golden stack of hotcakes. His gaze roamed over her face, restless, searching.

  “You have the most incredible eyes,” he drawled huskily. “Liz Taylor eyes, only prettier—deeper violet—uh—”

  His words broke off suddenly, and he lowered his head, obviously embarrassed. Perhaps he was, for when he returned his gaze to hers, there was a hint of color darkening his cheekbones. Those black-as-sin eyes locked with hers.

  She thought her mouth must be slight
ly agape as she struggled to draw in a breath. She didn’t think she was ever going to breathe normally again. It was damned difficult to concentrate with her brain starved for oxygen. If this was a come on—and, Lord, wasn’t it? Then it was original. Liz Taylor eyes?

  He was so close she saw chips of gold and green in the black depths of his eyes. Strange, she hadn’t noticed them before. She swore his eyes were solid black and bottomless as a cave.

  She tried to speak. It was impossible. Her voice had lodged somewhere between her diaphragm and the back of her throat.

  He laughed softly, his warm breath drifting across her throat like a gentle breeze.

  “Breathe, darlin’, take a slow, deep breath.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. The accent had thickened on the word ‘darling.’ She squirmed. The voice and accent alone were enough to spill heat between a woman’s thighs. Add the sinful mouth, those beguiling dimples, and a lady was simply done in.

  His fingers hovered for a second, as if he was tempted to remove the combs from her hair. Instead, he thumbed back the Stetson, then leaned close until that wicked mouth was just a breath away from hers. “Better? Can you breathe now?”

  Was he serious?

  How was she supposed to breathe with him invading her space? She might never breathe again, and it had nothing to do with the stranglehold the potent liquor had on her senses.

  He smelled manly. Clean and warm with the earthy fragrance of musk and soap, and something else. Something vaguely familiar clung to his skin, hot and inviting. Leather. She’d never thought of leather as a turn-on, but combined with this man’s earthy scents, it was an aphrodisiac.

  Horrified at the desire that washed over her, she prayed he couldn’t read it in her eyes. She clamped her thighs together and fought the sensation, the need, to burrow closer to him. Mortified, she eased away from the soft touch of his fingers that still glided up and down her spine.

  What am I doing here?

  She shouldn’t be here. Not in a casino. Not gulping down liquor she’d never tasted before in her life—and had once heard some cowboy mention—and certainly not enjoying the electric touch of a man who dauntlessly flirted with her, who boldly touched her, as if he had the right to stake a claim.

  “What are you drinkin’, darlin’?”

  If he called her ‘darling’ just once more in that slow drawl, she was going to die. He knew how to seduce a woman with just the sound of his voice.

  “Tequila…straight. A double. It’s…er, very good.” She sounded like a frog croaking for its supper. “Isn’t it?” Now why had she said such a dumb thing? She didn’t have a clue if it was good or not, but she didn’t want to come across as an inexperienced idiot. Her breath finally rushed back to expand her lungs. She drew in a deep lungful of the life-giving element.

  The cowboy burst into laughter. “Jesus, honey, don’t you think it’s a bit much for a Lilliputian?”

  Not darlin’ this time, but the way he drawled honey wasn’t an improvement. It sent butterflies tumbling through her stomach like well-trained gymnasts, butterflies and warmth to mix with the scalding blaze of the tequila.

  She giggled. It was a sound as foreign to her as sitting in this lounge and left her reeling off-balance. “It’s not so bad,” she said.

  “Well there’s nothing like starting at the top,” he murmured dryly, “and falling flat on your face on your way down.”

  He grinned. His eyes glittered with mischief.

  Lord, he has Tom Selleck dimples.

  She’d watched hundreds of reruns of Magnum P.I. while Taylor was in the hospital to know those charming dimples. She blinked, squirming at the heat spreading across her belly like a wild fire out of control.

  Why did he have to have Selleck’s dimples?

  Why did she have to adore Selleck’s dimples?

  This rangy man astride the barstool looked about as rough and tough as any cowboy role Selleck had ever portrayed. He was easily the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Except maybe for Tom, and of course he was an actor, and totally out of reach. But not this man, he was well within reach, and she was seriously considering reaching out and grabbing.

  The gymnastic butterflies flipped through her stomach and tickled her blood. They skipped around like fireflies in the dark, leaving delicious trails of warmth glowing behind them.

  “Obviously you’re unfamiliar with the saying, ‘One tequila. Two tequila. Three tequila…Floor!’” He laughed huskily. “Now that’s a saying that lives up to the potential of its meaning.”

  She laughed. “Do you think it will get better with practice?”

  “I don’t think so, honey, at least, not for you.”

  “You’re probably right, but now that it’s settled, it’s not so bad. Kind of leaves a warm, fuzzy glow.”

  He relaxed, as if he was determined to enjoy their conversation. He grinned and ordered another beer for himself and tequila for her. Well sure, why not? She could probably handle one more drink, then she’d leave.

  A smile flirted on his mouth, a slow, lazy twist of his lips that sent her heart tumbling along with the lithe butterflies. She felt the impact of his smile clear to her toes. The damn butterflies did their little flips-flops, only this time they were headed straight to her heart. Not only was she afflicted with acrobatic butterflies, but her entire body felt boneless and as weightless as an astronaut in space—and scrumptiously warm.

  Was it getting hot in here?

  Maybe she was coming down with a fever. Yes, that must be it, a fever of unknown origin. She cast a suspicious eye at the cowboy. Right.

  He’d ordered her another drink without seeking her permission, but since the butterflies decided to slow down to a more acceptable pace, her nerves agreed to cooperate as well.

  Her body felt as if it had turned into soft wax. She relaxed and decided to enjoy his company. Her first drink hadn’t really been so bad, after all. In fact, she felt downright good. So she swallowed part of the second, and when she didn’t have a spasm of coughing, swallowed the other half. Damn, this tequila shit got better with each swallow.

  The bartender topped her glass a third time and contentment rolled over her, replaced abruptly by feelings of guilt. Her lips trembled, she felt her smile wobble and completely fade away. She had no right to feel this incredible, light-hearted happiness. This mellowness. She had no right to share laughter with a stranger. No right—to flirt. Hot tears blurred her vision and she returned her attention to the amber liquid in front of her.

  Don’t look at him. Concentrate on the reason you’re here. Remember, you’re here on business. Business—and nothing else.

  But she couldn’t ignore the guilt that churned inside her. The tenuous control she’d rigidly maintained for the past year and all evening was on the verge of collapsing. That would never do. Remorse and responsibility clawed at her until she felt like breaking down and bawling like a baby. Fling caution to the wind and live a little.

  Business be damned.

  Her life was a miserable mess!

  For months, she’d been isolated in a capsule of pain, fighting a silent battle against the overwhelming feelings of guilt and fear that had bombarded her since the accident and her father’s death.

  Wasn’t it time to break free?

  Wasn’t it time she had a life?

  No, she argued with herself, she would never be free.

  At least, never free from the guilt.

  What was so wrong with grabbing a little happiness along the way?

  She needed happiness. She needed oblivion, at least for a little while. There was nothing worse than losing a loved one, unless it was discovering the loved one had ended his life in one incredibly stupid act of insanity.

  Her father had done just that, using a .22 revolver.

  Oh, God, she couldn’t think about that right now. Not now.

  It was all so complicated, the accident, her brother’s injury, their father’s suicide and—Smitt Davis. />
  Until the loan shark ruthlessly informed her of her father’s gambling debt, she’d had no idea her father even gambled.

  Bitterness surfaced and she resolved not to let it rule her life, but it was hard not to blame her father for the mess he’d made of things. He had no right to take the easy way out and leave her and Taylor without hope. The three of them had vested their lives in building the ranch and he’d left them to sink in the mire of his debt, left her to cope with the likes of that damn loan shark.

  Her family had once been—if not extremely wealthy—at least a comfortably well-off one. There was nothing left. No ranch. No horses. No money. Certainly, she’d been robbed of what little pride she had left.

  Smitt Davis took everything and demanded more. He didn’t just want the ranch, he wanted her, too.

  She took another sip of her drink, sighed, and determinedly ignored the sexy cowboy. The last thing she needed was to become involved with anyone. It was too dangerous.

  The day her father died, the loan shark hadn’t wasted any time. Smitt walked into her home and thrust the deed to the Spencer holdings in her face, signed, sealed, and delivered to her personally.

  She stared at her father’s body still lying on the floor and couldn’t string two words together to order Smitt out of her home. He laughed and offered her a home. She could stay at the ranch, if she shared his bed.

  He grabbed her so quickly and backed her in a corner she didn’t have time to react. Smitt shoved his hand underneath her T-shirt and fondled her breasts. She stood there, too stunned to fight back, numbed by her father’s sudden death. Her brain had simply shut down and she was too numb to react, to think straight.

  Smitt took full advantage of her shocked state of mind.

  His mouth clamped down on hers, and she thought she’d gag when he pushed his tongue between her lips and thrust his hips against her. He fumbled with the front of his pants. She jerked back to awareness when she felt the hard length of his cock stab at the notch between her thighs. Oh, God, he was going to take her right here, standing over the cold corpse of her father.