Vicki Thompson - Cowboys & Angels

Obviously the universe was exactly that generous. Sitting on a stool in front of the mike, strumming his guitar and crooning a solo love song, was the man she was determined to avoid, the man every woman in the room was fixated on. The rest of the band was silent, not that they would have been noticed if they had decided to play backup.

Trey’s face was shielded by the lowered brim of his hat, and he seemed completely absorbed in his music. He cradled the guitar in his lap. One booted foot rested on the floor and the other was propped on a rung of the stool. His supple fingers moved up and down the guitar’s polished neck in a sensuous dance as his voice flowed over her, intimate as a caress.

Lost in a daze of feminine appreciation, she stood motionless in the doorway. The atmosphere in the room was electric. Nobody laughed. No glasses clinked. Trey had them all in the palm of his hand.

Then he looked up, as if he’d sensed her come in, and he gazed straight into her eyes.

Her breath caught. He was no longer singing to some unidentified lover. He was singing to her. The passionate lyrics spilled from his lips with such longing that she took a step closer. His slow smile told her he’d noticed, and she halted, embarrassed by how he’d hypnotized her.

Mercifully, the song ended before Elle lost all sense of propriety. After the raucous applause died down, Trey stepped back and the band launched into a lively swing tune. Another guitarist moved up to the mike to belt out the lyrics, and Elle hurried over to the bar.

Amy, who wore her dark hair piled on top of her head, grinned at her. “Told you.”

“Yes, ma’am, you did.” Elle lifted the hinged part of the bar and scooted inside. “The thing is, I kind of know him already.”

“You do? Then you get dibs. But if you don’t want him, then— Oh, crap. I see orders coming in. We’ll talk later.”

The next twenty minutes were a flurry of drink orders and washing glasses. But at the first lull, Amy brought up the subject immediately. “So how do you know him? Please tell me he’s an old family friend and you think of him like a brother.”

“I wish.” Elle told her about last spring’s incident involving Trey, and their chance meeting in the gift shop today.

“My God, that means he wrote that song about you! He introduced it by saying he’d been rescued by an angel. That totally explains why he focused on you for the last part of the song.”

“He wrote it about me?” Elle’s cheeks warmed. “That’s sort of...”

“Romantic. It’s romantic, Elle. Seems like you hooked him good by going all mystery woman on him for eight months. I envy the hell out of you. He’s mighty fine.”

“I wasn’t trying to hook him.”

“You did, anyway. Don’t look now, but he’s coming over here and he looks determined.”

Elle turned, and sure enough, Trey was striding toward the bar carrying his guitar case. Her breath hitched. “Maybe he wants a drink.”

“I think he wants you, chica.”

Elle had to admit Amy was probably right. The heat in Trey’s eyes was unmistakable.

He set down his guitar case and leaned on the bar. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Elle.”

“Amy needed some help.”

Amy glanced away, but was unsuccessful at muffling a snort of laughter.

“Hmm.” He didn’t appear to be buying that. “I’m glad you did, especially because I happened to be singing your song.”

“I...I didn’t realize you were a musician.” Her resistance to this gorgeous man was fading fast. No one had ever written a song about her. She liked to think she wasn’t susceptible to such romantic gestures, but the butterflies in her stomach signaled otherwise.

“Could we go somewhere and talk?”

“You’re not going to play anymore?”

He shook his head. “That’s enough for tonight.”

“Amy might need me to stay.”

“Nope,” Amy said. “Thanks for the help, but I can handle it.”

Elle took a deep breath. “Okay, then. We can go out in the lobby. There are some comfy chairs in front of the fire.”

He seemed about to comment on that suggestion, but then he didn’t. “All right. Lead the way.” But the minute they were out the door, he put a hand on her arm. “I’d rather go somewhere more private than the lobby.”

She turned and looked into his eyes. That was a big mistake. The intensity reflected there, combined with the lingering effects of his song, tempted her beyond reason. She shouldn’t surrender to his magnetism, but resisting it was proving difficult.

He lowered his voice. “My room?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

His gaze sharpened. “Then tell me where I can find you.”

Dear God, she was considering the possibility of inviting him to her room. She shouldn’t do that. She really shouldn’t. But if they were alone, she could explain why she didn’t want to get involved with him. She could mention his ravings about Cassie.

He was right that they needed privacy for that kind of conversation, and the options were few. They couldn’t very well take a walk in subzero temperatures. But if he came to her room, they could speak freely and clear the air once and for all.

Yeah, right. Their meeting might go that way, but if she didn’t keep a tight rein on her libido, it might go another way, too. He was one potent cowboy. The thought of being along with him made her quiver.

“Please, Elle,” he murmured. “We have a connection, you and I. We need to talk about it, figure a few things out. At least I do.”

She let out a breath. If they didn’t settle this now, it would hang over them all weekend. “Okay. My room, then. But we shouldn’t be seen going there together.” She quickly gave him directions.

“I’ll drop off my guitar and be there in a few minutes.”

She nodded. Heart racing, she hurried out of the lobby and down the hall toward the staff quarters. This was insanity, but then, Trey was making her insane—insane enough to risk being alone with him.

Nothing had to happen if she maintained control. That might be easier said than done, though. She was playing with fire when it came to an emotional man like Trey. Adrenaline fueled her steps as she ran up the stairs.

Once in her room, she straightened up the place, although judging from Trey’s intense focus, he wouldn’t care if the room was trashed. She cared, though. She’d been a military brat, and her parents’ neat-freak habits were deeply ingrained. Order and discipline had been her watchwords since childhood.

Trey’s sentimental approach to life both fascinated and frightened her. His ability to stir an emotional response in her was a warning signal that he could disrupt her carefully managed existence. But he couldn’t knock her off-kilter unless she allowed it. So she’d just have to stay in command of the situation.

3

WHEN TREY HAD packed for the weekend, he’d used his trusty duffel, as always. Maybe, just maybe, he had some condoms tucked in a side pocket of that duffel. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about that. He shouldn’t, but he was.

The whole time he’d been talking with Elle in the lobby, she’d given off sparks. If he had to guess, he’d say she was affected by his song about her. That was okay with him. He’d written it months ago as an expression of joy and gratitude, but it seemed as if everything he wrote came out sounding like a love song in the end.

He sensed that her argument against dating him wasn’t as strong as it had been this afternoon. The tide had turned in his favor, and if, in the privacy of her room, the heat started building...well, he didn’t want to be without the means to follow through. A condom didn’t take up much room in his pocket, and if he didn’t need it, no harm done.