Do Him Right (5 page)

She moaned, never having known how she yearned for a man who
sweet-talked her with such delicious dirty words. She reached for his cock that
stood up, proud and red and ready. “Give me that.”

He stretched up to the sink top and extracted a condom from
a package. In a fast roll, he had the damn thing on his penis and his hands
spreading her thighs wide. In one sure thrust, he was inside her. Buried balls-deep,
he grunted and held.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything except
being possessed by him. “Come on, baby, fuck me.”

And he did. If their first fuck was furious, and the second
fiery, this one was a sensuous, slow ecstasy. The water on their bodies made
them slip together so smoothly and their growing instinct for how the other
paced the tempo made them graceful in their joining and lusty in their
execution. When she cried out in a never-ending series of tiny orgasms, he rode
her longer, more surely until she milked him and had him shouting and sinking
over her in his own completion.

Exhaling, she wound one arm around his shoulders and ran a
hand through her wet hair. Astonished at her body’s languor, she thrilled at
the ways she could enjoy him. Had enjoyed him. She chuckled.

He propped up on one elbow, his palm covering one breast so
that his lips could suck on one grateful nipple. “How do you feel now?”

She laughed up at him, replete with sexual release and oddly
testy. “Hungry. Starving. Did you manage to cook any food in the two minutes
you were in the kitchen?”

He tsked. “Irritable when you’re hungry, huh? I’ll make a
note to always feed you well. Time to eat. Come on, crabby.”

* * * * *

Jeff blew a gasket when he heard her describe the terms of
her deal with Chet.

“You told him you’d take two grand plus your expenses?” he
yelled into his phone.

Holding her cell away from her ear, Shana winced. Good thing
she’d decided to go out on the front lawn of Chet’s house to call her boss. “Look,
Jeff, you gave me permission to negotiate.”

“Negotiate. Not donate!” He cursed.

She set her jaw, pushed her sunglasses up her nose and
scanned the cloudless, blue sky over her head. “I’ll take a cut in salary.”

“You’re damn right you will!”

She huffed. He could have agreed without rubbing it in. Why
did she think, that because she had been exempt from his tirades that she
always would be? Because he had the hots for her, that was why. And now she
knew that money and profitability would always rule his mind, even with a woman
he wanted. Besides, no one talked to her like this. No one.

“Are you still there?” he bellowed. “Shana? Listen to me.”

She was. Just barely. Anyone yelling at her became just a
roaring in her ears.

“I know you wanted this client. God knows why. But I said
you could go after them. And you’ve landed them.”

“Congratulate me, Jeff,” she demanded.

“I know you can do the job,” he conceded, his belligerent
tone mellowing. “All those years on that cutting horse ranch and your father on
the circuit means you know a lot about rodeos.”

“I know I can do this too.”
Better than you. Or anyone
else in the firm.

“Do you have a signed contract yet?”

“This afternoon. Chet Stapleton is taking me over to meet
the president of the rodeo corporation in a few minutes.”

“And how is Stapleton?”

She smiled, happy to tell him what she’d learned today about
Chet. “A smart businessman. Kind. A gentleman.”

Jeff snorted. “Hell. The Romeo of the Rodeo now has manners?”

His use of Chet’s old nickname had her scuffing the dirt
with the toe of her shoe. “Yes, he does.”
More than you.

“You be careful, you hear me? That man has more charm than a
Texas gambler. You do not want to let him persuade you to do anything you don’t
want to do.”

She couldn’t help the grin that sprang to her lips. This
morning she had done as much of the persuading at Chet had. “Don’t worry.”

“I mean business.” Jeff’s tendency to corral Shana did not
intimidate her. From the day he hired her he had run rings around her with rules
and instructions. That he also treated her more politely than his other female
employees had not been lost on her. So what if he had designs on her? She had
none on him. Whether that had been evident to him or not, Shana could never
figure out. But now he had removed his kid gloves and laid down his laws. “Do
not get mixed up with the likes of him. He had more fancy women in his riding
days than a dog has fleas. You do not want to be bitten by the Stapleton bug.
It’s an itch you can’t scratch.”

So far, so good, I’d say.
Gazing toward the front
door, she saw Chet emerge to stand on his porch, hitch his fingers in his jean
pockets and watch her with a lopsided grin. His easy grace had the possessive
look of a lover.

She quivered at the remembrance that she had made love to
this man, not once, but three times in the space of as many hours.

“Shana? Are you there?”

“Yep. Gotta go, Jeff. Talk to you later.” She powered down
her phone.

She had better things to do with her time than listen to
Jeff Wentworth grouse at her. She headed for the house.

“So your boss is upset with our deal?” Chet asked as he drew
her inside the front door.

She draped her arm around Chet’s hips and admired his cool,
handsome face. “Yeah, he loves being in charge.” Come to think of it, he may
even enjoy letting off steam.

Chet climbed into his truck, shut the door and hung his
white Stetson up in his visored, overhead hatrack. He pulled out of his
driveway and they zoomed down the road. “You are gonna charm the pants off Sam
Trunbridge.”

She grimaced. “Oh dear, I hope not. One man with his pants
off today is more than enough for me.”

“I’m making certain this man with his pants off is all you’ll
ever need.” He grasped her hand, lifted it to his mouth and put the tip of his
tongue to the center of her palm.

She yelped and pulled her hand back. “You better stop this
or I won’t have my right mind for this meeting.”

Chet grinned, eyes on the road. “Trunbridge will be easy for
you to persuade. He liked your proposal. Loved it, in fact. His big problem was
the retainer. And now that you’ve reduced that, he’ll be ready to sign on the
dotted line—provided you kill the bit about the headliners.”

“But that’s crazy. Big names are what we need.”

“Yeah, well, you are not going to change Sam’s mind.”

“Why not?”

“Personal history.”

“Really? What?”

Chet shot her a glance. “Sam doesn’t talk about this.”

“Okay then. Only you and I do.”

Chet nodded. “Sam is the third richest man in Texas.”

Shana shrugged. “Meaning?”

“He’s got money, land, cattle, horses, looks and a saddlebag
full of charm.”

Now she was puzzled. She shook her head. “And?”

“He keeps it all for himself and his daughter.” Chet
grimaced as he looked in the rearview mirror and turned a corner onto a feeder
road. The land ahead was bound by an electric, barbed-wire fence. A huge white
sign with a gold lone star at the entrance read, “Welcome to Trunbridge Ranch.
Home to Angus and Cutting Horses Since 1876.” Beneath stood the ranch’s brand,
a Rocking Bar T.

Chet drove up to the electronic code box, rolled down his
window, punched in a few number keys then called into the audio box. “It’s Chet
Stapleton, Willa. Comin’ in to see your dad.”

As the giant iron gate swung wide to let them in, Shana
fingered a wisp of hair back into her ponytail. “Tell me what else I need to
know about Trunbridge before I go in here and stick my foot in my mouth.”

“You’ll have your work cut out for you on the Nashville
headliners because years ago Sam Trunbridge bought into Dell-a-tone Records and
met a singer who took his heart and stomped on it. Or so he tries to say now
with a big dose of false objectivity and Texas humor. And just who is that
heartthrob? Well, god. None other than Kylee Farrell.”

At the mention of the three-time Grammy award-winning
singer, Shana dropped her mouth open.

“Yeah. My reaction too.” Chet nodded at Shana with poignant
humor. “Sam does not mention it to many. He told me only after we’d read your
proposal and Kylee’s name was on there as a possible for the grand opening.”

Oh, boy.
“But she—”

“Doesn’t have to be the opener.”

“Well—”

“You can get someone else. Kylee might not want to come
anyway, if she knew Sam was involved. Plus, she’ll think we’re small potatoes
and—”

“No.”

“And she won’t see any profit in coming to Hayward. So that
lets us open for—”

“Stop!” she yelled at Chet.

He jammed on the brakes. “What’s the matter?”

“You have to understand that Kylee
is
the grand
opening act.”

“What? How can that be? If you and I have just agreed to
work together this morning, then she’s—”

“Committed to starring in the season opener October twelfth.”

“That’s crazy.” Stunned, he shoved the gearshift to neutral.

“Tell me about it.” She nibbled on her lower lip.

“You can cancel the contract,” Chet said, waving a hand.

“Can’t.”

He scowled. “Why not?”

“She was in our office the day Jeff and I talked about our
draft of our proposal.”

“How’s that?”

“She was in San Antonio because she’d done a concert at the
Alamo Dome the night before. She dropped in to see Jeff, who used to live next
door to her in Abilene. He told her about this, that we needed a headliner. It
would help sell the proposal, he told her. And she volunteered.”

“Oh hell.” Chet stared straight ahead.

“Tell me more about their relationship,” she said, her eyes
outlining the yellow-stone ranch house that rambled over the acreage in front
of her.

“Honey, that’s all I know.” Chet turned to her. “You’ve got
to forget you have her. You won’t get him to agree. He won’t sign your
contract.”

Her heart fluttered in fear. She’d come this far to help
Chet, she wasn’t going to let some man’s old, failed love affair stop her from
fixing what she’d done. “Drive on up there, Chet. Let’s do this.”

“Shana, if you have a plan I’d like to hear it.”

She faced him. Her mind was blank. His face was lined with
anxiety and concern for her. She dissolved in delight and smiled at him. He was
so sweet, she could eat him with a spoon. If she could meet this man and
instinctively care for him so strongly, maybe, just maybe, she could employ her
instincts to wipe away this last obstacle to her plan. “Just help me with him,
Chet. Help me.”

* * * * *

Sam Trunbridge should have been in westerns. Tall, rawhide
tan, lanky, with black hair and a devil’s shock of white at the temples and
over his brow, he was the personification of a filthy-rich, movie screen, come-to-daddy
cow man. With hand-tooled, Lucchese brown boots, jeans that fit like his skin,
and a snowy shirt starched to an inch of its life, the rancher walked and
talked no-nonsense wealth and acid-tongued humor.

“You two look hungry. Had lunch?” he asked, ushering them
into his living room, the walls of which were studded with one stuffed bobcat,
a javelina’s head and more than a dozen whitetail deer antlers. Shana smiled to
herself, knowing this kind of hard-drivin’ Texan like the back of her hand. She
took one of the two brown leather chairs, while Chet sank into the other and
crossed his long legs with his cowboy hat perched on his knee. Across from them
on the sofa, sat Sam’s statuesque daughter, Willa, who dissected Shana with the
skill of a surgeon.

“Yes, we’ve eaten,” Chet told him. “Thanks.”

Sam inclined his head toward Chet as he gazed at Shana. “Did
he cook for you?”

Shana tried not to blush. Did he suspect she and Chet were
already lovers? “Yes, sir, he did.”

Willa looked stricken, but she tossed her silky black hair
over her shoulder and came out like a whiplash. “He cooks for only a few
people. Special ones. Right, Chet?”

Shana examined the young woman openly. Probably slightly
younger than she, twenty-two or so, Willa Trunbridge had all the earmarks of a
Texas heiress. Proud as whiskey. Straight as a ramrod. Impeccable grooming of
her straight waist-length raven hair and porcelain-doll-like complexion.
Designer jeans that looked as if they’d never ridden a horse. Red-lacquered
nails that might never have washed a dish. And darting black eyes that focused
daggers of interest on Chet Stapleton. An interest that Chet, thank you, God,
ignored.

“Practice,” Shana responded, as if it were quite natural for
him to cook for her, “does make perfect.” Then she crossed her legs and smiled
at Chet who acknowledged her praise with a grin.

Willa arched a brow. “And you two got to talk business?”

“Willa,” her father sounded rueful, “mix us a couple of
drinks.”

“Margarita?” Willa asked Shana. “I know Dad will have one.
You?”

“No thank you,” Shana refused politely. “I don’t drink
before sundown.”

Sam hooted. “Well, Shana, in this part of Texas that means
you’re not drinking until after nine. Too long to wait for me. Mix us up some
margaritas, Wil.”

Willa turned her attention to Chet, her expression sultry
and wicked. “Lemonade, still, for you, Chet?”

“Yep. Thanks, Willa.”

“Oh, come
on
, Chet. You can climb down off that high-and-mighty
wagon.”

Her father glared at her. “Willa, you heard the man. If he
doesn’t want to drink, so be it.”

“Sure.” Her resentment of her father and Chet hardened her
fine features. She turned on her heel and walked toward the built-in bar that
commanded the entire wall of the living room.

“First time in west Texas, Shana?” Sam sat back in his own
leather chair.

“No. I was born in Marathon near Big Bend but grew up in
Uvalde County, in fact.”

“Is that right?” Sam chuckled.

Chet widened his eyes, smiling. “You didn’t tell me that.”

You didn’t give me time.
She grinned at him, then
Sam. “Yes, I went to high school there.” She was happy to break the ice talking
about what had become a very happy four years. “My aunt and uncle took me in after
my parents died. They raised Angus, like you.”

“I’ll be damned,” Sam laughed, then looked at Chet. “You
know any of this?”

“No, sir. First time I’m hearing it all. And so I would
guess this means you’ve been to lots of rodeos?” Chet prodded.

She was tickled to reveal more. “Been a competitor too.”

Chet arched both brows. “Is that right.”

Sam chuckled. “What as? Rodeo Queen, I bet.”

“Once,” she admitted. “But twice, I was the barrel-racing
queen of the Uvalde Country Fair.”

The men slapped their thighs.

Willa chimed in with, “So this qualifies you to do public
relations and improve our rodeo?”

Shana fought the impulse to ask this petulant child where
her manners were.

“Willa,” her father scolded with a low tone, “do hurry up
with those drinks, and just listen, will you?”

Shana would tell them all her background and Willa would
have to eat crow. “I went to UT Austin and majored in communications, worked
for a newspaper for about a year then went to Wentworth and Associates more
than three years ago. Yes, I am new at what I do, but I do know the rodeo.
Well. My uncle competed for a few years before he quit. And my dad too, before
he died.” She considered her hands in her lap for a moment. She hadn’t spoken
of her father in years. More than a decade.

She felt Chet’s eyes on her for a long minute. If he
detected a change in her tone, he only blinked. “Well, I am pleased to hear
this. Now that really helps with what you are going to do for us.”

Sam looked at him, confused. “Is she? You made her an offer?”

Chet shook his head. “No, Sam. She made me an offer I couldn’t
refuse.” Then he gave him the details.

Sam’s black brows knit together as he accepted his margarita
from his daughter. “That’s mighty generous, Shana. Why?”

“Thank you, Willa.” She took her lemonade from the tray then
looked Sam in the eye and gave him all the details in her arsenal. “I want this
job. I can do it. I can do it for a sum that you can afford. There is no one
who can do it for a comparable fee and bring you the kind of results I can in a
limited time period.”

“Well!” Sam chuckled. “Guess that says it all.”

She took a sip then put her drink down on the coffee table
in front of her. “Except for one thing.”

“Which is?”

Chet flinched.

Shana sat forward. “One of the reasons I’m going to be able
to help you build this rodeo in less than a year is because our events
department has strong relationships with three major Nashville talents who can
be your headliners.”

“I understand your reasoning, Shana,” Sam said with a tone
of stone-cold finality. “But those three you listed don’t work for me.”

“No. They work for the audience we’re trying to build for
you. For the reputation we want the Hayward Rodeo to have. For the traffic we
need to—”

“I will not do this.” Sam cursed beneath his breath. “I told
you, Chet, none of this.”

“Hear me out, Sam,” Shana insisted.

“No.” Sam almost spit out the word.

“For your opening, I have Kylee Farrell.”

Sam vaulted to his feet. “But I won’t have
her
.”

Willa stared at her father’s back as he walked toward the
window. She tipped her head, frowning at him.

Shana swallowed her trepidation, this one piece was vital to
their quick success. “Kylee wants to come, Sam. I never invited her. She
volunteered. In fact, she demanded that Jeff Wentworth write her in.”

“She did, eh? Well, good of her,” Sam rasped. “But I don’t
want her.”

“Daddy?” Willa cooed, so saccharine in her attempt to draw
out her father that Shana’s teeth got cavities. “Not want Kylee Farrell? How
could you not? She is the hottest thing on the circuit.”

“Leave it alone, Willa,” he warned.

“Why?” Willa persisted and got no response from her father.

Shana licked her lips. “Sam. I don’t know why Kylee insisted
she do this. I didn’t ask her, and I didn’t ask Jeff. I just know they grew up
together in Abilene, she came to see him one day when she was in town and he
happened to tell her we were bidding on this project for you. Kylee is asking
for only one-tenth of the ticket price for her one performance. She’s also
asking for accommodations in town for that night. We could not ask for a bigger
name, Sam. Couldn’t want for a better financial split. And if you don’t want
her, we won’t be able to find anyone of her caliber to fill the spot. Not on
such short notice and not for such a small share of the take. Money is money,
Sam.” She’d get him where he lived with that. “And I do hear you are a man who
knows money.”

When he turned, his face was harder than rock, his eyes a
shade of hell.

Desperate now, Shana continued with other arrows in her
quiver. “Kylee’s appearance would make the difference between Hayward Rodeo’s
success and Hayward Rodeo’s instant
huge
success.”

Sam shook his head.

The silent room seemed hollow.

Shana felt gut-punched. If Sam didn’t agree to this, not
much else would make as much difference. She glanced at Chet who nodded at her.