Back in the Game: A Stardust, Texas Novel (12 page)

“Don’t believe everything you read.” He laughed, and slid a glass of ice water in front of her. He slouched against the kitchen counter all hot and manly, sipping his coffee, watching her, and looking thoroughly entertained.

By her? He was fascinated by her? How was that possible? Unnerved, she dropped her gaze and took a long sip of water as if it was the most delicious beverage she had ever tasted.

Silence stretched long and wide and deep. Um . . . this was awkward. What should she say? What should she do? She shifted. Cleared her throat. Waited.

He waited too, eyeing her over the rim of his coffee cup.

Unable to bear the silence one second longer, she set down her glass and turned on her computer. “Shall we get started?”

One maverick eyebrow shot up on his forehead. “Shall we?”

She nodded, feeling out of place. “We shall.”

“I’m teasing you, Jane Austen.”

“Please don’t.” God, she sounded desperate.

“I’m a teaser, Breezy. It’s what I do. I tease. If you’re gonna work for me, you’re gonna get teased. Accept it.”

She starched her back against the twinge of excitement that fluttered through her at the thought of being teased by him. “This isn’t supposed to be fun and games. It’s work.”

“To me work and play are one and the same. I love what I do for a living.” He paused, the light dying in his eyes. “Loved.”

She studied his left arm, and that livid pink scar. Her stomach churned up mini-tornadoes of empathy, regret, and adoration. Poor guy. “There’s absolutely no chance of a comeback?”

“Not if I write this book.”

“What do you mean?”

He waved a hand like he was shooing away a fly. “We’ll get to that later.”

She wanted to press, but the regretful expression on his face stilled her tongue. She was reluctant to stir his pain, although surely he knew they’d have to go there sooner or later.

“First off,” she said. “I’d like to start by confirming my preliminary research on you. If that’s all right.”

He sauntered over, a six-foot bundle of testosterone, pulled out the bar stool next to her, and plunked down. A river of heat shot through her bloodstream like level six whitewater rapids. Even though he sat a foot away, his presence was so overpowering she felt engulfed.

He leaned the stool back on two legs, balancing with the ease and grace of athletic perfection.

Her pulse thundered a stormy jolt, since he was just as incredibly erotic as ever, and she categorically wished her body didn’t spontaneously react to him. But how could anyone with a millimeter of estrogen not respond to someone as flagrantly masculine as Rowdy Blanton?

Restlessly, she tapped the keyboard, pulling up her research notes. “You were born right here in Stardust.”

“That’s right.”

“You were the third in birth order of four children, two boys, two girls. Your two sisters, Olivia and Yvette, are older. You have a younger brother, Zach, who is twenty-five.” Her age.

“Uh-huh.” Leisurely, his gaze strolled over her.

Between her breasts, she broke out in a cold sweat that she purposely ignored. “Your father had progressive multiple sclerosis and when you were fourteen, his health deteriorated to the point your mother could no longer hold down a job, be his nursemaid and be a mother, so she sent everyone but Zach to live with different relatives.”

“I stayed with my uncle Mick.”

She consulted her notes. “Mick Blanton is a bachelor geologist who lives in Houston and he let you run wild the two years you lived with him. You got into trouble with the law in Houston, but nothing major. You moved back to Stardust to live with your mom again when your dad died. You impressed a baseball scout your senior year in high school and you were on your way.”

Breeanne paused, giving him a chance to refute her information, but he simply nodded that head of thick chestnut hair.

“Your mother remarried. To an electrician she met on a cruise, and she’s now living in Portland, Oregon. Olivia is married to a government contractor, has two children, a boy and a girl and lives in D.C. Yvette is a first grade teacher and she lives in Midland with her oilman husband and their three boys.”

“Wow, who gave you a shovel.”

Bewildered, she wrinkled her forehead. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been digging deep.”

“Well this
is
Stardust and people love to talk, especially about you.”

“Are all those minute details going into the book?”

“It doesn’t matter whether these details end up in the book or not, I need the information in order to understand the man.”

He took a long pull on his coffee. “Good luck with that.”

“Because you’re unknowable?”

He set down his mug, angled his shoulders toward her. The feeling of being engulfed constricted her lungs again. “Because you haven’t done a lick of living in your . . . How old are you, by the way?”

“Twenty-five, the same age as your brother.”

“Hmm. I pegged you for much younger.”

“I’m almost twenty-six and how do you know I haven’t done a lick of living?”

“It’s written all over you.”

She stiffened her back. “In what way?”

“Straitlaced, blushes easily, inexperienced. Besides, I tasted it on you when I kissed you.”

She reached up to finger her lips. Every word was true and she hated that she was so easy to read.

“Tell me this, Breezy, are you still a virgin?”

Heat bloomed like a rash across her chest and spread up her neck. Unable to believe he’d asked such a personal question, she swallowed the excess moisture in her mouth. “That is none of your business.”

He nodded, more to himself than to her. “You answered my question. Just as I suspected, you’ve not been off the bench.”

“What does my sexuality—”

“Or lack thereof.”

She ignored that. “—have to do with writing your autobiography?”

“How can you possibly hope to understand me, when you don’t even understand you? And how can you understand yourself until you’ve lived a little?”

“What are you saying? That I’m not capable of writing your life story because I haven’t debauched myself?”

“Debauched. Good one.” He chortled. “See there. That Miss Prim expression on your face right now is what gives you away. Debauchery isn’t the issue.”

“Then what is? Why are we getting sidetracked? Everything’s planned. I’ve got my questions all mapped out for today’s interview.”

He snapped the front legs of the bar stool down so hard and fast that she jumped like a jackrabbit. “What are you so afraid of?”

You.

“I’m not afraid,” she lied.

“You can’t run the bases if you never step up to the plate.”

“My great-aunt Polly used to say that.”

“I know. I read
In Her Own League.”

“You read my book?” Snoopy Dancer was back, gleefully bouncing up and down. He’d read her book!

“Cover to cover. I read the other one too.”

“You read my books,” she said, still unable to believe it. He told her he didn’t read, but even so he’d read
her
books.

“You’re a good writer.”

She pressed both palms to her lips to stop a helpless smile. He’d read her books.

“See there,” he said. “I did something that made me uncomfortable in order to improve our working relationship. And in this case instead of it being painful, reading your book turned out to be a pleasant surprise. So now it’s your turn.”

“My turn to do what?” she asked, wondering if he was going to kiss her again, secretly hoping that he was going to kiss her again despite her ground rules. Good grief, what was wrong with her?

“To do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Um.” She gulped. That sounded ominous. Was he talking about more than kissing? Snoopy Dancer was overjoyed by the idea, but Breeanne wasn’t ready for anything like that. Not with him. Nowhere close. “What do you have in mind?”

Mischief turned his eyes wicked. “Have you ever been on a zipline?”

CHAPTER
9

If you’re going to play at all, you’re out to win.

—
D
EREK
J
ETER

Rowdy stood on the zipline platform that marked the highest part of the property, Stardust Lake sparkling in the sunlight at the bottom of the hill. The lake lay just beyond his fence line. While the view was a beaut, it was the woman at his side who captivated his attention.

Breeanne teetered on tiptoes trying to see how far down it was without stepping to the edge of the platform. She wore a pink T-shirt that was a size too big, a pair of white cropped pants that hid too much of those gorgeous legs, and her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail.

The white cotton pants fit snugly, molding to her cute little fanny in a way that made him think—

Stop it, he cautioned himself, and reluctantly raised his gaze to her face.

She waffled between bravery and timidity, fearlessness and uncertainty. As if she was on some personal improvement mission she wasn’t quite sure she should be on. He wanted to help her tip the scales toward embracing life.

Embracing and squeezing and—

Christ, there you go again. Knock it off!

She sank back to her heels. “I’m scared.”

“Feel the fear and do it anyway.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie.”

“It’s still sound advice.”

She shook her head, and backed up. “I don’t think I can.”

“C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could plunge to my death.”

“Okay, let’s say that happens. Which it won’t. But for the sake of argument, how many people can say they went out having fun?”

“Good point, but I doubt I’ll remember that during the plummet.”

“This puppy is as safe as it gets.” Rowdy patted the metal post that supported the zipline. “I have it inspected by a licensed professional every year.”

“Hmm.” She went up on her tiptoes again, stared down at the hill, gulped so forcefully the column of her throat moved visibly. “How do we get back?”

“If you don’t feel like walking back, Warwick will come fetch us.”

“I’m really nervous.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her modest breasts bouncing with the motion.

He couldn’t help staring at them. They were so pert and cute. Plump little oranges just ripe for picking. His mouth watered.

“I’m scared too,” he admitted. Scared of the way he was feeling about her.

She looked over at him and he couldn’t resist cradling her gaze. She looked like she could use some TLC. Why did he feel compelled to be the one to dole it out to her?

“Why are
you
scared?” she asked.

“This will be the first time I’ve been on the zipline since . . .” He lifted his left shoulder.

“Your attack,” she whispered, filling in the blanks.

“Yeah.”

“You wanna call it a morning?” Hope lifted her voice. “Let’s go back and finish today’s interview.”

“Nope.”

She mumbled under her breath. “Nut bunnies.”

“What?”

She waved a hand. “Just something I say when things aren’t going my way.”

“Nut bunnies, huh? That’s different. Where did you pick it up?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, and gazed off as if staring into the past, a slight smile settling over her lips. “When I was a kid my family raised rabbits for extra income. One day my little sister, Suki, fed them some peanuts. The bunnies got really spunky after that, they broke out of their hutch and went running around the backyard like crazed things. It took us forever to catch all those—”

“Nut bunnies.”

“Yeah.” She laughed.

Infected, he laughed too. He liked her. A whole lot. Was he in trouble here? “I’ve got a tandem harness if that makes you feel any better.”

Her impressive green eyes widened. With interest? Or was it concern? “What’s that?”

“I would strap you in with me so we go down together.”

“Oh.”

He couldn’t tell from the look on her face if she thought going down together was a good thing or not. He’d bought the tandem harness for his nieces and nephews when his sisters and their families came back to Stardust for a visit, but mostly, he broke it out at parties for couples to use. This would be the first time he’d ever used it personally.

“Would the tandem harness make riding the zipline easier for you?” he asked.

“Um . . .” She settled one hand on her hip, pressed her lips together, cocked her head as if considering the pros and cons. “Yeah . . . I guess.”

He moved to the metal locker that held the zipline equipment, took out the tandem harness, climbed up on the railing, and set about attaching it to the zipline pulleys overhead.

“Are you sure that’s going to hold both of us?”

He angled her a glance from underneath his left arm as he reached up to double check the connections. “C’mon. What do you weigh? A hundred pounds tops?”

“A hundred and two,” she clarified.

“I’m one-seventy. The zipline is rated for over three hundred pounds. We’ve got plenty of room for error.”

She cringed. “Don’t say that.”

“What?”

“Error.”

He jumped down from the railing, and the platform vibrated beneath his weight.

Breeanne paled.

Ah hell, he’d scared her worse. “You can back out. No dishonor in that.”

She looked tempted to take him up on the offer, but smashed her lips into a determined line. “No. You’re right. You pushed yourself to do something uncomfortable for me, it’s my turn to push outside my comfort zone.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“We have to be able to trust each other, right? This is like one of the corporate team-building activities. It’ll be good for us and maybe it’ll make things easier for you to open up to me.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice coming out thick and heavy in the morning air, ready to tell her that she was right, that this was a bad idea. He swallowed the knot in his throat, thought about all the dark secrets he had to tell her. What would she think of him when she learned the truth?