Last of the Red-Hot Riders (10 page)

“We're trying to bring in families. No wives are going to consider this a family event if women are up for auction. The kissing booths are one thing, because they're harmless. Everyone stays in their booths, and there's no contact, nothing beyond a quick smooch. But auctions, that's a serious thing. Implies a time commitment, where anything can happen.” She smiled at the displeasure that was clouding over his brow again. “You know what? I think you're scared.”

“Of what?” He looked none too pleased with her assessment.

“Of being kissed.” She smiled, enjoying teasing him. “Or maybe of the Horsemen getting more customers than you do. It's okay, Saint. We'll make sure the Outlaws have the best booth in town.”

“We're leaving!” Harper called out to where they stood under the trees. “I have to get Michael to bed. See you at training in the morning, Cameron. Thanks for letting us use your house, Saint!”

The door closed. Cameron looked at Saint. “I should probably be getting home to bed too. Training comes early.”

He lightly caught her wrist. “Maybe I'd feel better about the kissing booth if I had a bit of practice.”

She laughed. “That's a terrible line. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“But I'm not.” He tugged her to him. “It's going to be no fun if we're out of practice.”

“I'm fine,” Cameron said, pulling her hand away from him, even if she hated to do it, and headed inside. He followed right behind. The man was gorgeous and cocky, and he was making a move on her, which to be honest, she was flattered by—but he was just sort of tire-kicking, testing her. “I believe I'll raise my fair share of kissing funds,” she continued.

“I know. That's exactly what's bothering me.” He scooped her to him again, lowering his lips to hers. She went still, hovering under his mouth, letting him kiss her and not backing away, because it felt so wonderful.

Then she realized he'd pulled back, and her eyes snapped open. “That's all the practice you need?”

A wry smile twisted his lips. “Practice isn't really my problem. I don't want anybody else kissing you.”

Her lips parted in astonishment, and he took full advantage, sweeping in for a lingering kiss that stole her breath and scrambled her brains. She pushed against his chest, and he slowly released her, after taking his time running his lips over hers, stroking her mouth with his.

“What did that mean, exactly?” she demanded. “You don't want anybody else kissing me?”

“I don't.”

“You can't just say something like that and not explain yourself! We're in charge of the kissing booths!”

He shrugged. “I'm suggesting an auction so you can buy me and take me home. Or vice versa.”

She blinked. “Take you home? Why would I want to do that? There'll be plenty of other souvenirs at the parade.”

He laughed. “I know you like me, Red.”

He tried to tug her back to him, but she resisted.

“I might like you,” she said, “but it's not anything I'm not going to get over.”

“That's a good thing. You're a smart lady. I don't want to hurt you, and I will eventually.”

She raised a brow. “I don't think so. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home.” She scooped Lucky up.

“Cameron.” He touched the back of her sweater. “Don't go mad. I never said I was good at this romance stuff.”

She froze in her tracks, staring at him, astonished. “ ‘Romance stuff'?”

He nodded, his eyes strangely open and honest for a change. “I think so.”

“Oh, no.” She backed up a step. “I think I like you better when you're being a jackass and telling me how you'll eventually hurt me.”

She gathered her things up. He watched her, leaning against a wall, his arms crossed. “Cameron.”

She stopped, looked at him, her heart in her throat. “Yes?”

“Don't go.”

God, how he wanted her to stay.

Cameron's blue eyes were fixed on him, huge in her pale face.

“Oh, hell. I'm not handling this very well. Ignore me, Cameron.”

She slowly put Lucky back on the floor. “Why don't you say exactly what's going on?”

Did he want to do that? Maybe. After all, things were already at the real uncomfortable stage now; how much worse could they get?

“There's a lot of kissing going on in Hell, and I'm pretty sure I'd like to be doing more of it with you.”

There, that was better, wasn't it?

She waited.

Maybe it wasn't better.

“You're a special woman. I like you, a lot.”

“And you don't want anyone else kissing me at the fund-raiser.”

He shrugged. “If there's another option, that would be great.”

“Meaning?”

“If you don't want to do an auction, let me just make a donation.”

She put a hand on a sexy hip. “I'm supposed to tell everyone in Hell that the reason I'm not participating in my own booth is that you bought me out.” She glared. “Oh, that won't get tongues to wagging or anything. Besides, when did this possessive streak hit you?”

“The first time we kissed,” he said honestly.

“You want me to be available for kissing, but you won't train me, and you say you'll hurt me one day. I'd be totally deranged to get mixed up with you.”

He put a hand out to stop her as she headed for the door. She looked at him, one brow raised.

“I really do like you, Cameron. I'm not saying I'd be good for you, or that I'm some kind of Prince Charming. I don't blame you for not wanting to give me a chance. You deserve a man who'll be good to you.”

“But you're not him.”

“I don't know,” he said. “I haven't had a girlfriend in years. There aren't many chances for one when you're a SEAL in remote locations.”

He thought some of the stiffness went out of her.

“I'm not totally immune to you,” she said softly, which was possibly the understatement of the year. “But you're moody and ornery and stubborn, to be honest.”

“All good things, right?” He winked at her, but she refused to let herself be seduced. She couldn't. She didn't want to fall for this handsome, sort of off-the-wall cowboy. It didn't fit the plan, her plan for her life, which was all that was keeping her from heading back to Houston to hunt for a job in the real world.

“They're good attributes for a bull. Not necessarily for a man who's so locked up emotionally that he wants to talk me out of my fund-raising duties by buying me out.”

“Stay a little longer. Let me try to dig myself out the doghouse I built. It may take me a while, but eventually I'll figure it out.”

She shook her head. “I know where this goes, Saint. I go to bed with you, we date a few months, you decide you're not ready for a relationship, and I end up resenting you because you never thought enough of my skills to train me.”

He looked at her, and Cameron reminded herself,
Breathe, breathe. Don't fall under his spell.

“Is that what this is all about? You're pissed because I won't train you?”

“I respect that you have your reasons not to. Just please try to accept that I have my reasons for not wanting to fall into your arms just because you tell me you might like me but you'll probably hurt me one day, and that you're not going to train me, even if you did work with Ava.” She shook her head again. “It just doesn't make sense.”

“It makes sense to me. I wasn't falling for Ava. She was Trace's problem.” He stared down at her, his eyes glittering.

Cameron backed up a step. “You're not falling for me,” she protested. “Liking me a little and falling for me are not the same thing.”

“No, they're not.”

She was a little nervous now. “So which is it?”

“Don't expect me to show you my cards when you're not showing yours, Red.”

He removed his arm from her, stepped away. Went into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge. On the table, the platter of veggies had been thoroughly scavenged by Harper, Michael, and Declan. Saint watched her, then shrugged.

“Make up your mind, beautiful. Either you're afraid of the big bad wolf, or you're not. Either way, it's your move.”

If Saint thought he was out of practice, he had no idea—she had no practice at all when it came to having a boyfriend. You didn't put in the hours she'd put in learning to ride and taking care of horses and working to help out with the family expenses, to do a lot of dating. She'd had some dates, but the guys she'd gone out with never seemed very serious.

And she was serious about training all the time—she had to be.

Saint's offer—if one could call it that—didn't sound very serious. And yet, she knew him to be a serious man. If he said he hadn't had a girlfriend in a long time and he wasn't that good with romance, he was being honest.

Which kind of warmed her heart. Not in the pissed-off, he's-giving-me-heartburn way—but in the slow way when suddenly you realize that someone's being absolutely up-front.

And he had no idea that she was a virgin, that she had almost no track record with men sexually. It wasn't like she could take a page out of Ivy's girls' books and seduce him.

She stared at him watching her like a hawk, drinking his beer, letting her think. Not that she was doing very good thinking about it—more like trying not to overthink and do something she'd regret.

Like walk out the door.

I really want to stay.

She didn't want to be a virgin forever. And the fact was, she was pretty crazy about Saint, in spite of the reasons she could think of that making love with him would be such a bad idea. But maybe it wouldn't…and wasn't that what falling in love was about? Trusting yourself to trust another person?

She put Lucky down again. “Okay.”

He put his beer down. Straightened up tall, which pushed her heart into an uncomfortable overdrive. She tried to make her breathing more relaxed.

“Not in the guest bedroom,” Saint said.

“Well, it would be kind of hard to do what I think you're asking me to do if I'm in one room and you're in the other,” she said.

His lean body went very still, the room so quiet all she could hear was Lucky scrabbling on the floor with his toy.

“You're sure about this?”

“Don't ask me if I'm sure, Saint,” she said, “because neither of us is that.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Just so we understand each other, you're not participating in the kissing booth scheme of Judy's.”

“What?” She stared at him, stunned.

“What did you call me? Ornery, possessive, and—”

“A dumb-ass,” Cameron supplied. “Why are you so worried about that stupid fund-raiser?”

“Because.” He crossed the room, scooped her up. Her breath lodged somewhere north of her bra, got tangled up in her throat. “Because I've kissed you. And I'd like to keep your kisses just for me.”

She couldn't take her eyes off his. “Are you going to be one of those my-way-or-the-highway guys? All your way or nothing?”

His brow shot up. “Did you ever think I'd be anything else?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Disappointed?”

“Annoyed.”

“I can deal with annoyed. Mad, maybe not so much. But annoyed…I make you a solemn promise: In a couple of hours, you'll be anything but annoyed with me.”

Okay, she had no breath left that was doing her any good. All she wanted was to be in his arms. “There's an awful lot of bragging going on.”

He carried her into his bedroom, laid her carefully on the bed. Leaned her back, kissed her gently. Gently and unhurriedly, his tongue sweeping hers, kissing her so deeply she felt her body come alive.

“Hello!” a deep voice called from the front door.

They broke apart. “What the hell?” Saint said, and Cameron giggled.

“It's Steel,” she said.

“Holy Christmas. Stay here. Do not move,” he growled.

“I'll go talk to him.” She could hear Steel greeting Lucky, and Lucky trying out a few puppy barks. “You have a problem that may take a minute or two.”

“Glad you noticed,” he said, and she laughed again, and went to find Steel.

“Hi, Cameron.” Steel didn't look all that surprised that she was there. “Hey, I was driving by, and did you know that your truck is missing its tires?”

“What?” She ran outside. “Oh my God!”

Someone had, in fact, stolen her tires. The truck sat on its axles now, deflated. She whirled to look at Steel. “Who would do something like this?”

“I don't know yet, but I could hazard a guess.” The big, handsome sheriff looked grim. “It's going to take a few days to get new tires. They'll have to be ordered in from the city.”

Of course they would. This was Hell, and the garage was a tiny outfit that took care of basic emergencies. Most parts had to be ordered and could take anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks to arrive.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

Saint came outside. “Holy shit.”

How could they not have heard someone doing this between the time Harper and Declan left and the sheriff showed up? It had been less than an hour. She and Saint had been out back, engrossed in each other. It had almost been magical—until this.

“Can you get prints, Steel?” Saint asked.

“I can try. I've got my deputies on the way.”

“Frick and Frack? Damn, Steel, are they really up to the job?” Saint demanded.

“Not really,” Steel said, “which is why I'd really like to add some IQ power to the squad.” He glanced at Cameron hopefully.

Rage at Ivy or the Horsemen or whoever had decided to pay her back for the other night at the Honky-tonk, fear of a zero balance in her checking account, lack of a desire to go back to Houston with her tail between her legs, and a sudden realization that she'd been chasing a pipe dream that wasn't going to happen had Cameron nodding
enthusiastically.

“Congratulations,
Sheriff. You've got yourself a new recruit.”

“No,” Saint said.

Cameron locked eyes with him. “Ornery and possessive isn't going to cut it with me right now.”

Saint didn't say anything else. He looked at her truck, shaking his head in disbelief.

Her truck was the one thing standing between her and poverty. It was how she traveled, it was how she hauled her trailer and thus her horse. She could take a loan for the tires, but damn it, she'd already taken a loan to buy the gas to get here from Houston and to provide her with a slight cushion of savings in her bank account.

She needed real employment—and she needed it fast.

“Can I get a ride back to the Honeysuckle Bungalow, Sheriff?” she asked.

“Sure. It'll give us a chance to talk about what you're getting yourself into.” He looked at Saint. “If you don't mind holding a flashlight for Frick and Frack when they get here, Saint. They'll want to look the truck over, too. Maybe take a peek around your yard and house in the morning. I doubt very seriously that all the thieves touched was Cameron's truck—most likely they peeked in the windows to make sure they had a clear opportunity. You folks sure must have been busy plotting those kissing booths not to have heard anything.”

Steel walked toward his truck. Cameron ran into the house to grab her purse.

“Cameron, I'll drive you back into town.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, anyway.”

She couldn't explain it, but she had to get away—from him, from her emotions. She'd slipped, hadn't been paying attention, and the thing was, she'd known better.

It frightened her that somebody was trying to make her life miserable. And she couldn't tell Saint that. To him, this was just a set of tires.

To her, it was everything.

And the fact that he didn't want her becoming a recruit was the last straw. She'd listened to his reasons for her and her team not bullfighting; she'd put up with his nonsense about not wanting any other men kissing her. But this—this was somebody declaring war on her. There were no coincidences in Hell. Everything was done strategically.

Of course, Saint didn't see it that way. He was too busy making sure that nothing got in the way of his careful construction of what he wanted her to be, which was a dainty doll he could put somewhere and protect.

Her mother had given up everything to be a wife and homemaker and raise a bunch of kids for the man she loved. Money had been tight, but Dad hadn't wanted her mother to work. Said family was the most important thing on earth. But after their last child was born—her sister—he'd walked out. And they'd never heard from him again.

It had been hard for her mother to get a job with seven kids. Poverty had been painful, but the pain of having watched her mother build her life around her husband and children, only to find the rug jerked out from underneath her as she hit middle age with no job skills, had been even worse.

And now here she was, enticed by hot, sweet kisses from a man with a fixed vision of how a woman should be.

But I'm not that.

“Goodbye, Saint,” she said, heading outside to Steel's truck. She got in without looking back. Steel waved as they trundled out of Saint's drive onto the main two-lane road, one lane going one way, one going the opposite. Sort of like her and Saint.

“Sorry as hell about your truck,” Steel said.

She shook her head. “Thanks for stopping to let me know.”

“Strange things happen in Hell. I guess you know that by now.”

She tried not to think about how Saint's kisses had warmed her, heating her in ways she'd never felt. The memory sent a shiver over her. “Yeah. I know strange things happen here.”