Barbara Dunlop - An Intimate Bargain

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You must have guys hitting on you all the time.”

Abigail coughed out a laugh. “Not really.”

She’d spent most of her life in dusty blue jeans, hair in a sensible ponytail, face free of makeup while she worked up a sweat on the land. Things had been slightly different during the campaign. But most of the attention had been on her brother Seth, and most of the people she spoke to in Lyndon remembered her as a little freckle-faced, red-haired girl with pigtails and skinned knees.

Lucky gazed down at her. “First of all, I don’t believe you. Second, I’m betting you don’t usually accept dinner invitations from strange men.”

She took a long, noisy slurp, draining the milk shake. “I do when it’s a mountain burger.”

He gently removed the cup from her hand, setting it on the table behind them. “Spill, Doll-Face. Who are you hiding from?”

“That’s a stupid name.” But she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his.

“Then tell me your real name.”

“No.” She was enjoying this anonymity. For a brief space of time, she wasn’t Seth’s campaign manager, or Travis’s stalwart sister and ranch hand. She was her own woman, nothing more, nothing less.

“Then Doll-Face is all I’ve got.” Lucky’s smooth baritone rolled over her like warm honey.

It really was a silly name, but when he said it, it sounded sweet. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead, and her skin tingled behind the touch.

“Don’t do that.” She closed her eyes, hiding her emotion as the incredible sensation slowly ebbed.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head, regretting the sharpness of her outburst. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You had to know I was attracted to you.”

Had to? No. Suspected? Sure. She wasn’t stupid.

After a long moment, he spoke again. “So why’d you come with me?”

She opened her eyes, and it was her turn to drink in the blackened horizon and the sharpening moon. She hesitated to tell him anything remotely close to the truth, but reality had been burning in her brain all evening long, and it seemed desperate to get out. “Because I’m putting off tomorrow,” she told him on a sigh. “It’s going to be a very bad day.”

She expected him to press for details, was already weighing exactly how much she’d say.

But he didn’t ask. Instead, he shifted, and the wooden table creaked beneath his weight. “I hear you.” He paused. “There’s a better-than-even chance that my tomorrow’s going to suck, too.”

Despite herself, he had her curious. She turned to take in his profile. “Yeah?”

He set aside his own cardboard cup. “Yeah.”

“Family?” she probed, promising herself, whatever it was, she’d keep the conversation to generalities.

He shook his head.

“Girlfriend?” she dared, swallowing a sudden lump.

He turned to paste her with a scowl. “While I’m hitting on you? Thanks tons, Doll-Face.”

She tried not to feel quite so relieved. “Gambling, drinking, illness?”

“Business,” he answered, his tone smoothing out. “There’s a problem with my mysterious, yet perfectly legitimate, business interests. But I take it your problem is family?”

“What makes you say that?”

“It was your first guess for me. That makes it top of your mind.”

She took in his expression, seeing warmth and compassion and, yes, a little bit of lust. But she was okay with that. It had taken her two hours to dress up for the reception tonight. It was nice to know somebody appreciated her efforts.

Her first instinct was to evade his question. But for some reason, she wanted to be honest with him. “My family needs me to do one thing,” she told him. “But I want to do something else entirely.”

He canted his head, and he suddenly seemed closer, his chest looked broader, his voice going lower. “Age-old dilemma,” he rumbled.

She picked up his woodsy musk scent, getting lost in his warm, brown eyes, and momentarily lost brain function. She braced her hand on the tabletop, gripping with her fingertips. “I guess.”

“So what are you going to do?”

She blinked. It wasn’t like there was a choice. “Support my family.”

The pad of his thumb passed over her knuckles, sending a kick of reaction up her spine. He gave a small smile. “I’d have guessed that about you, Doll-Face. You seem like the loyal type.”

“What about you?” she managed to say around a drying throat and laboring breaths. Every single thing about this man oozed sex appeal. “What would you do?”

His hand covered hers completely, warm, broad and strong. “I’d make my own choice. I’d do whatever I wanted.”

She was surprised, but also intrigued. “Even if it hurt your family?”

“My family doesn’t need me.”

“Mine needs me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.”

He lifted an index finger to touch the bottom of her chin. This time, she didn’t wave him off. She drank in the sensation of his touch, anticipating the kiss that was sure to come.

What would it hurt?

What could it hurt?

Tomorrow she’d be back in her blue jeans, and men like Lucky wouldn’t give her the time of day. Surely she deserved one single kiss.

Zach figured there was a pretty good chance he was about to get his face slapped. He also figured it was going to be worth it.

He leaned in, anticipating her taste, the softness of her full lips. But a boat horn suddenly blasted from the lake, and Doll-Face abruptly turned away. Then another horn sounded, and another.

Disappointment clenched Zach’s gut, even as light and color flashed in the periphery of his vision. He looked toward the lake in time to see starbursts of color cascading in the skies above.

A cheer went up from the crowd that had gathered far down the shore and out onto the wharf. A few people had also arrived in the park, taking up spots on nearby picnic tables. Zach hadn’t even noticed them.

Doll-Face settled back to watch the show, bracing her hands and locking her elbows, bringing her dress taut against her breasts, highlighting an intriguing dip of cleavage.

Her skin was honey-toned with a tan. Her neck was long and graceful, her face classically beautiful, with big, golden eyes, dark lashes and a wide, sexy smile.

“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s spectacular.”

“It sure is,” he agreed, gaze fully on her, still desperate to lean down and kiss her mouth. Her auburn hair was slightly mussed. Wisps had worked their way free from the updo, along her neck and forehead. He had a sudden vision of her lying back on a white pillowcase, naked, thoroughly kissed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow.

He gave himself a shake.

“Oooh,” she sang, smiling. Then she glanced up at him. “You’re missing it.”

He wasn’t missing a thing. But he turned to look at the fireworks anyway. “Part of the election celebration?”

“It is,” she said. “I should be standing out there on the dock with a glass of champagne in my hand, toasting my-”

He waited, but she didn’t add anything to the end of the sentence. “You want to go drink some champagne?” he felt compelled to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was join the crowd down the beach.

“No. I was just wondering if anyone noticed I was missing.”

“Did you have a date at the party?” That could easily have been the end of her sentence. Toasting with her boyfriend? Was that what she’d meant to say?

He glanced reflexively at her left hand. No ring. At least she hadn’t been talking about toasting with her fiancé.