Chapter 6
Chapter Six
RED
“ J ust for the record, I’m not okay with any of this. Not one bit. But do I have a choice?” Rowdy laughs thinly, shooting a stern glance over his shoulder in my direction.
“I know how you feel.”
“This morning alone, I had three calls from investors ready to go all in, and Cowboys & Indians contacted PR to upgrade the four-hundred-word front-of-book article they agreed to into a four-page feature spread with you and me modeling the clothes and discussing our ‘inspiring love story.’” He uses air quotes to emphasize the last three words, frowning. “To top it off, PR has also received calls from Avant , Western Runway , and Cowgirl, to name a few. So, yeah, as much as I hate this idea, I also realize that heading upstream without a paddle makes no sense. But the moment I see Billy in person, I’m strangling the bastard.”
“Get in line,” I answer. “I spent the morning aligning my PR team with the official narrative. Believe me, that wasn’t easy. And calls from mainstream fashion mags have also started pouring in— Vogue , Town & Country, Oprah … You and I are the best thing since sliced bread.” I shake my head, dismayed.
“Makes you wonder what they see that we don’t…” the cowboy remarks tensely, looking out the large window of the conference room at the sweeping view of the mountains and forest towards the horizon. Both hands rest on his hips, his stance formidable.
I swallow loudly. Have I given myself away without meaning to? Struggling to contain my attraction for this guy feels like a losing battle. “What do you mean?”
He turns, shrugging and holding my gaze. “Why do they think you and I could be in love?” His eyes simmer, and I have to look away.
Maybe because every cell in my body longs to jump his bones right here, right now…even though he’s my baby brother’s best friend and eight years my junior. Remember your strict no dating younger guys policy, Red? It feels mighty irrelevant with this smoking hot man around.
Inhaling deeply and working hard to control my voice, I reply flippantly, “It’s not about love. It’s the whole power couple thing. That’s all.”
He nods slowly, looking wholly unconvinced.
I add, “If we’re smart, we’ll use this to our advantage no matter how inconceivable you and I both know it actually is.”
He chuckles in dangerously low tones, side-eyeing me warmly. I’d give anything to read his mind.
I continue, “If we’re going to do this, we might as well do it right, making the biggest media splash possible. Both our companies deserve this.”
“Agreed.” He forces the one-word answer out, his shoulders hunching as if saying it takes something from him. “If we’re going to fuck up our lives this thoroughly, we might as well have something to show for it.” Rowdy shakes his head, grimacing some more. “And you and I together would fuck up our lives. At least, that’s the general consensus, right?” He cocks his head to the side, glaring at me.
What is that supposed to mean? My heart pounds against my chest.
He orders gruffly, “Alright, then, let’s get this fit testing reboot on the schedule, along with interviews lined up.”
He motions for me to have a seat, and instead of arguing with him for once, I take it. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and a quizzical look captures his face. Pulling out my lavender planner and pen, I say, “Alright, what does your schedule look like for interviews and some possible PR stunts?”
“PR stunts?” he asks, furrowing his brows.
“Yes,” I reply with a mischievous smile, feeling like I’m leading a lamb to slaughter. “It’s time for you to start thinking like paparazzi, Rowdy. That means taking advantage of the media coverage that goes with stuff like public dates, unexpected appearances the media gets tipped off to…stuff like that.”
“Is that what you did with that prick you married?”
The rawness in his voice and the uneasy implications of the question grab my attention. But his face remains frustratingly unreadable. I shrug. “My whole life is a PR stunt when things are going well.”
“That sounds miserable,” he replies, shaking his head.
“Don’t act like you don’t know anything about publicity,” I scold. “When you broke up with that barrel-riding skank, it was all over the Western lifestyle magazines.”
He grimaces. “Not because of staged media photo shoots.”
I don’t say anything else because I hate even thinking about that bitch. We spend the next two hours hashing out schedules and managing to agree with each other more than we argue. Although he keeps his answers brief, it’s the most I’ve talked to Rowdy in forever. As much as I hate to admit it, I find comfort and relief in our conversation. I don’t have to put on airs with him or pretend to be something I’m not. It’s intoxicatingly refreshing and dangerous…
Not nearly as dangerous as the scorching fireworks flying between us, though. I must be fucked in the head, feeling such an undeniable, uncontrollable attraction to the man I babysat as a little boy. What would a therapist say about this? But he’s a little boy no more, and I can’t help my visceral response to him any more than I can help breathing or blinking.
Rowdy pushes away from the table, reclining back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Anything I’m forgetting?”
My heart pounds against my ribcage, and my cheeks burn. I have no idea what my body’s doing. But the unhinged sexual tension has reached a fever pitch.
“Besides PR stunts, be prepared to get followed.” I’m not sure this will happen, but I have to warn him with the way #RedRowdy trended this morning. “That means no other women in your truck or house for a while.” By this, I mean the idiot blonde I flipped off earlier.
“Get followed? Nuhuh,” he says, firmly shaking his head. “Anybody who follows me onto my property will be staring down the length of a double-barreled shotgun. I don’t take well to trespassers.”
I rub my hand over my face. Please don’t let this become the next big Dateline true crime podcast . “Well, you do you, Rowdy.”
He clears his throat. “You know, the same goes for you. No men in your car or hotel room.”
I laugh, taken aback. “If I didn’t know better, Rowdy, I’d say you’re jealous.”
“So are you,” he replies matter-of-factly.
The words stun me… because they’re true . We stare at each other uncomfortably, the air sparkling with the kind of tension that precedes crazy lovemaking or a gunfight.
I clear my throat. “That’s more or less it…except for one final thing.”
He raises an eyebrow.
I look down at the grain of the tabletop as I say the next part, muttering more than clearly projecting my voice. “We should probably get a kiss out of the way.” My eyes shoot up to his, noticing how his baby blues darken and his pupils enlarge. I shrug, trying to play it off even as he drills into me, hyper-focusing on my face and words. “You know, so we don’t look awkward when we’re together during photo shoots and candid appearances.”
He hesitates for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, he stands, confidently striding towards my seat. Offering me his hand, I barely have a moment to take it, rising with an embarrassed sigh as his arms wrap around my waist, and he leans down, unleashing a firestorm of need inside of me. My body shivers as his fingers, hands, and arms awaken my flesh, igniting every point of contact like a Roman candle, and my breath comes faster than it should.
Slowly, he closes the distance. At the last moment, I pull back, startled, and he scolds testily, “I’ve known you my whole life, Lesley. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” The way he speaks my name sends desire crashing down my spine, and I melt into him as he claims my mouth unrepentantly. His palms slide up my body, trailing flames until he cups my cheeks so I can’t skitter away, treating me tenderly but firmly like a wild horse he’s gentling.
Rowdy’s warm, skillful lips dance over mine, teasing and tasting me as my pulse thunders like a runaway freight train. I can’t help myself, sucked into the painfully tender sensuality of the moment despite the warning thrum in my head.
We shouldn’t be doing this…
My hands tremble with urgency as my arms snake around his waist, my fingers looping into the back of his waistband and sliding under its edge. I pull him so close I can feel the heat and firmness behind his zipper, my body shamelessly thirsting for him.
A dark growl rumbles from his chest, shaking my core with deep vibrations. But he doesn’t pull back, exacerbating the insane waves of lust rocking my body and converging between my legs. Fuck, I’ve never wanted a man this much in my entire life. Not even my ex-husband.
Reality fades in the flames sparked by his sensual lips, and I whimper, forgetting everything. His age. His relationship to me. Our history. Poof! All gone in the masterful way his lips pleasure mine, his velvety tongue announcing a far darker agenda…
What in the hell am I doing? My body tenses at the inner chiding, even as I pull him more desperately against me, my fingers sliding boldly beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs to the top of his firm, round ass.
Rowdy moves his head back slightly, feathering his lips over mine and nipping at my mouth playfully until I relax again, opening my lips enough for his demanding tongue to plunge between. His hands slide to the back of my head and neck, holding me firmly and possessively as he sweeps into my mouth with a newfound authority. Lust clobbers me hard, and I whimper again. All reason and logic dissolve as my brain spins ecstatically, a whirling dervish in the throes of blissful worship.
When he pulls back a couple of inches, I follow his lips unrepentantly, and he has to pull back even more, chuckling. I am fucking pathetic, but I can’t help myself.
His hot breath caresses my face as he pants, “Will that do?”
“Yes, Rowdy,” I nod. “Nothing about that seemed fake…or awkward.”
Except for my fingertips buried beneath the band of his underwear, my hands poised to grab his muscular ass. Oh my God! I slide them free, trying to play it cool. But there’s nothing cool about my burning cheeks or my heavy panting. My eyes dart around the room for a hole I can crawl in and die.
Stepping back, he turns away, barking, “I’ll see you at the fit testing tomorrow afternoon.”
Is he dismissing me? Normally, I’d have plenty to say about it. Instead, I struggle to breathe, the electric feel of his touch lingering on my skin.
God, what is wrong with me? I have to pull my shit together. I’m the dragon lady, and business always comes before all else…even crazy, wild sexual tension, urging me to lock the door and find new uses for the conference table.
Swallowing hard, I say more breathlessly than I mean to, “I need to familiarize myself with the line before then. Would you…umm…mind walking me through everything? Let me take a look at the original tech pack you submitted…along with your…umm…initial changes?” Never has stringing a sentence together proven more challenging.
But my recent conversation with Mr. Pharrell and the chance to get my company back gnaw at the corners of my mind, accompanied by a hefty dose of self-disgust. I can’t believe I’m helping Pharrell do to Rowdy what he did to me. But it’s not the same thing. Rowdy can’t care about Jameson & Cash like I do about The Red Brand.
Turning, Rowdy barely glances at me as he walks past, his arousal evident despite adjusting his jeans. My cheeks flame with satisfaction, and my heart throbs, knowing he feels it, too. Thank God .
Of course, a new set of problems follows this revelation. For starters…how my flesh responds to seeing the bump from his thick, long rod in his jeans. I need a new pair of panties. And a cold shower and my vibrator…
He growls, “Shelley can help you with that. I’m going riding.”
I’ll give you a ride, cowboy. Okay, Red, stop this! I bark in caustic tones, “In the middle of the day? But we have so much to do.”
“I’ve got to clear my mind,” he grumbles, his face storming as he exits the conference room that leads into the reception area and lobby. “See you tomorrow,” I hear him call over his shoulder as I collect the melty, quivering mass that is my mutinous flesh back into something resembling a functioning whole.
Thirty minutes later, I stand in front of Shelley’s desk, the blonde I flipped off earlier in the parking lot.
She frowns, looking down and refusing to make eye contact. I’m curious how much the eavesdropper managed to hear of my car conversation.
“Rowdy told me to come see you for a walk-through of the new line and the tech pack. You know, before we redo the fit testing.” I say the last part to needle her, frowning. I can tell repeating the test has her panties in a bunch. The bitch should’ve done it right the first time.
“I’m quite busy right now, Ms. Cash. I’m sure you understand how hectic fashion industry schedules are.”
“That wasn’t a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, Daisy Duke,” I reprimand, my voice rising. Who the hell does this woman think she is? “Last time I checked, I’m half-owner of Jameson & Cash, which makes me your employer.”
She frowns. “I don’t know what Mr. Jameson sees in you.” No doubt she’s referring to our fake engagement.
I shrug, the corners of my mouth turning down. “It’s the blowjobs. He’s hooked. What can I say?”
She looks horrified, but she rises, acquiescing to my request. As Shelley leads the way, I realize I’ve been too loud. The whole office is looking in my direction, their faces shell-shocked. Internally, I chide myself to take it down a notch. This is not NYC, after all.
But between the handcuffs yesterday, my earlier talk with Mr. Pharrell, and the steamiest fucking kiss of my life, I have less than zero tolerance for snooty, back-talking employees. Especially ones who like Rowdy in more than a professional manner.
Wait a second. Am I jealous of Shelley?
I stare at the snarky woman before me, realization crashing into me. Yes. One hundred percent wildly jealous. What are Alpha Ridge Creek and Rowdy Jameson doing to me? I’ve got to get Pharrell whatever he needs, so I can flee this shithole and get my company back… before my hometown or its delicious rodeo star complicate my life any further.