I know it. I’ve heard it before, and it’s something I’ve felt inside me from the minute I first got on the back of one. I was born to ride. But hearing it from Bailey still does funny things to my insides. Still makes me feel something I hadn’t expected.
‘I bet you say that to all the guys.’ I keep it light, because that’s what I do. Especially when I feel. In fact, the more I feel, the more I cover it with something frothy. Flirting, joking, grinning.
‘Just the ones I’ve seen tossed around a bull-riding arena.’
‘He didn’t toss me too bad.’
‘I heard he threw some guy into the walls last year.’
‘Who you been talkin’ to?’ I ask, liking the thought of Bailey out there shooting the breeze with people in the crowd.
‘I heard it from someone,’ she replies, her throat moving again. Someone jostles behind me and I don’t miss the chance to shift out of their way. Only, I don’t move sideways—away from Bailey—but closer, positioning my body so our knees brush and sparks burst from her to me and back again.
‘It’s crowded tonight,’ I explain, without moving away.
‘Yeah.’ Her lips are soft and pink, parted just enough to show her white teeth. She glances sideways, a little divot forming between her brows. I silently pray she doesn’t ask me to move.
‘You’re not doing the press event?’
It reminds me of how she came into the room last night, then left. It reminds me that I haven’t seen her alone since our bar meal on Thursday.
‘Nah. Some other guys are in the hot seat this time.’
‘Don’t act like you don’t love it,’ she says, a hint of something in her voice. Mockery? Sarcasm?
‘It’s part of the job.’
She rolls her eyes, but shifts her body a little, slightly away from the wall, so our knees that were brushing are closer now, properly connected. And sparking so much heat it’s like an inferno is taking hold. I could move my leg just a little, to be between hers. I could drop my hand and it would tease the side of her body, brushing over her hip. I could … but I don’t. She’s told me she’s off limits and until she tells me otherwise, I’m going to respect that. Of course. Even when I can tell that not touching each other properly is putting us both in a form of hell.
‘So, what are you doing now?’ she asks, and I swear it takes every ounce of my willpower not to suggest that we could both be doing the same thing—each other—if that’s what she wants.
Except the way I am with women is always light and temporary. It’s how I roll, how I’ll probably always roll. I’ve seen what Cole and Beth have; I know that for them that kind of happily ever after is just the right fit. In fact, I don’t know if they could have fought it. But I’ve always been clear with every girl I’ve dated that riding is my first and only love. Sex is just for kicks. But with Bailey, apparently her whole career is at stake, so the best thing I can do is put her, and this, out of my head.
‘Heading to a bar with some of the guys on the tour.’ I let the statement hang between us, try to see if there’s anything like disappointment on her face, but she just nods slowly, her wide-set eyes fluttering closed, hiding whatever she’s thinking from me. ‘Do you wanna come?’ I could kick myself for offering, but apparently, with Bailey, knowing what I should do and what I actually do are two very different things.
‘Oh.’ She lifts a hand to the fine gold necklace she wears and runs her fingers over it. ‘Would that be weird?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, is it something you do—as in, just the riders?’
‘Don’t you want to get to know what life on the tour’s like?’
‘Well, yeah … but I’m media. Won’t some of them resent me being there?’
I let out a throaty laugh. ‘Do you care?’
She grimaces and her hand drops away from the necklace.
‘I thought you were a hard-hitting journalist, here to cover a story.’
‘You’re the story,’ she points out. ‘And I don’t need to go to a bar to talk to you.’
Damn straight.We could get to know each other a lot better in private. But danger sirens blare, so I don’t say what I’m thinking. Don’t issue the invitation that’s on the tip of my tongue. I told her I was available, and I meant it.
‘Suit yourself, Bailey James.’ I pull my hand away and take a step backward to put some space between us. Her eyes drop to my chest and linger there a second, her lips parted so I physically ache to reach forward and kiss her. ‘But if you change your mind, I’ll be out the front in ten minutes.’ And because I clearly have the willpower of a three-year-old at a chocolate buffet, I let my eyes fall to her lips and stay there just long enough to imprint them in my mind’s eyes, to torture myself with later …
The Buckin’ Bronco is as busy as usual on a Saturday night, filled with the regular crowd of riders, fans and the kind of groupies who follow the tour from event to event. A live band is playing covers of country hits, the male singer’s voice filling the gaps in conversation. A group has formed around the pool table across the room, and the line at the bar is at least four deep. I somehow register all that, even while ninety per cent of my brain power is on the woman standing to my right. The fact Bailey decided to come along has had me at sixes and sevens since we left the arena. She still stands out like a sore thumb, every bit as much as she did back there, but at the same time she doesn’t.
