Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
elena
“Mom, it’s Montana. Not the moon. I promise I’m fine.”
I prop my cell phone between my face and shoulder, rubbing my temples as I rest my elbows on the bar.
She continues her long-winded and well-rehearsed rant. My life decisions are a constant source of disappointment, as is my lack of direction. And my personal favorite, if I’d just grow up and settle down with their neighbor’s lawyer son, Diego Torres, I could have already started a family by now.
I’m twenty-four. In my mother’s opinion, practically an old maid.
“Your cousin has a beautiful home in Santa Fe, mija,” she says, finally losing steam and getting to what truly bothers her most: her sister’s kid outdoing me. “A handsome successful husband. Two perfect children. Why do you insist on living out of suitcases, Elena? You are not a vagrant.”
Inhaling the last of the strength I have after a long flight, I tell my mother I love her, and that my hotel room is ready, so I have to go.
I’m lying. There was a delay with my hotel room which led me to a small bar nearby while I wait. The Stillery seems nice enough but I’m ready for a shower and some sleep. I’m not typically dishonest but lying to my mother for her own sake might be how I became a decent actress.
After disconnecting the call, I set my phone down and glance up. The bartender is a young woman who reminds me of myself a few years ago. I used to tend bar between acting gigs back when I only got local commercials.
She offers me a sympathetic smile. “Would it help if I said she probably just nags you to death because she cares?”
I smile back at her. “Not really, but thanks for trying. Something stiff would help.”
I mean a drink, but the cowboy next to me snickers.
I hadn’t even realized anyone was beside me. Apparently, he and the bartender caught my family drama playing out.
“Something amusing, cowboy?”
I turn toward him on my barstool, expecting a balding, middle-aged man with a wife and two kids at home to be bellied up beside me at the bar.
What looks back at me is a green-eyed demon with messy blonde hair under his hat and a jaw that appears to be chiseled from stone. He’s ridiculously attractive, one of those dangerous ones a girl could lose her entire identity and all self-respect trying to tame.
My body responds to his proximity before my brain can stop me. My heart speeds in my chest, my legs part just an inch or two wider, opening in his direction, and I wet my lips because my mouth goes dry as all my bodily fluids head south.
Maybe shooting this show in Montana for a few months won’t be so bad after all.
I’d been more than a little miffed about having to come two months early for cowboy training camp.
Seems pointless since I’ve been riding horses since I could walk.
But the network producing the show said it was an insurance liability and there was no getting out of it.
Bless them.
“Depends, princess,” he says through the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen on a man. “How stiff are we talking? Tequila shots or are you looking for something…harder?”
I clench my legs and my teeth together, determined not to fall for this guy’s bullshit. Even though the way he says harder makes my nipples pucker and pussy throb with awareness.
I could show this cocky cowboy just how un-princess-like I am. And enjoy the hell out of making him eat his words, along with a few other things.
“Tequila shots are for kids on Spring Break.” I do my best to appear unaffected. Smile sweetly. “Do I look like I’m on Spring Break? Wait, no. Apparently, you think I look like a princess. Maybe your hat’s on a little too tight.”
He quirks those full masculine lips of his. “You look like you’d taste like cotton candy and make me bend the knee before the night was over.”
You have no idea, buddy.
I can’t help but smirk at him. I’m soaking my panties just thinking about it. Damn. I didn’t realize I’d gotten so hard up. But it’s been a while.
A long while.
Almost a year since I made the colossal mistake of hooking up with the guy my mom has hoped I would marry since we were ten.
Diego is sweet, but I hadn’t been looking for a relationship and he was crushed.
Also, the sex had been the equivalent of plain dry toast. And I do not do dry toast. I am a lime-infused avocado mash with mango habanero salsa and fresh herbs on seven grain toast kind of girl.
Meaning, I prefer adventurous, filthy, wildly satiating sex that doesn’t end until you’re dehydrated and can’t hardly walk to get water.
I’d scared poor Diego to death.
The encounter had been awkward and embarrassing enough that I haven’t slept with anyone since. I haven’t been home much either, because his mom lives next door to my parents and I am avoiding him. Forever if I can help it.
Honestly, sex has been the furthest thing from my mind lately since I’d wrapped my last movie and knew I was coming here immediately after. But then I’d gotten a contract from the network via e-mail yesterday that must’ve been written by someone from the Puritan era.
The contract contained a lot of legal jargon, but the most important stipulation was laid out in plain language.
There is to be no fraternization between the actors or show production staff and the employees of the ranch where training and filming will take place.
All contact is to remain strictly professional.
Anyone involved with anything beyond that will be considered in breach of contract and out of a job.
What is it about being forbidden to do something that makes you want to so badly?
I’ve had issues with my blood sugar for years and every time I have lab work scheduled, the doctor is all, “nothing to eat or drink after midnight.” I don’t typically eat or drink after midnight anyways, but when they tell me I can’t, I find myself pacing the kitchen sneaking cookies at two in the morning.
But this is different. This is a hard rule I have no choice but to follow.
I can’t afford to lose this part. It’s the role of a lifetime—one I feel I was born to play. I haven’t met Ivy Anderson in person yet, but I relate to the character I’m playing so well it seems like she wrote this part specifically for me.
I’m definitely not going to risk losing it to sneak a cookie or two with some sexy ranch hand. But this cowboy, the one watching me with glittering emerald eyes, waiting to see if I’ll take the bait, he’s fair game.
What better way to avoid the temptation of hooking up with someone I shouldn’t on set than getting it all out of my system with this random man who looks like sex in a Stetson? He looks like he’d be more than up for me riding him until we lose feeling in our legs.
“Sure seem to be thinking awfully hard about a simple question,” he teases. Without waiting any longer for a response from me, he turns to the bartender. “Brooklyn, tell this beautiful lady that I’m a man of my word.”
She glances over from where she’s helping the patrons on the other side of him. Two women who’ve started checking him out blatantly.
She shakes her head but she’s smiling. “He’s something all right.”
“Any chance he’s a serial killer?”
She pretends to contemplate this. “Must not be. Most of the women he takes home show up looking for him the next night. And the next night.”
I arch a curious brow at him. “Just a lady killer then, cowboy? Always leave them wanting more, do you?”
He shoots her an annoyed look like she gave away his secret. Like I couldn’t tell he was smooth as butter and probably as slippery.
He shrugs, letting some of the macho bravado fall away. “I try to be very clear right up front. It’s a one-night only type of ride.”
This is good news for me. Very good news.
One night is all I need.
Then I can put the cowboy in the rear view and focus on work.
I’m about to ask him if he wants to go to his place or wait for my hotel room to be ready, when he stands and tells the bartender, “Put whatever she’s having on my tab. All night.”
Before I can thank him, or tell him that won’t be necessary, he braces his arms on the bar, effectively caging me in.
He’s broader and taller than I realized. Men should not be allowed to look like this. It’s hazardous to the health of . . . everyone.
He leans in and presses his gaze to mine. “I’m going to go play a game of pool while you decide if you need more than just drinks. Then I’m going to walk a few blocks down the street to a bar called The Wild Coyote. If you meet me there, I’ll make you a deal.”
Every cell in my body is electrified. I don’t know how big this guy’s dick is, but his balls must be massive.
It’s a serious struggle to breathe normally and pretend he doesn’t have my full attention. I blink up at him, doing my best to appear bored though we both know I’m not.
“And the terms of this deal are?”
His eyes drop to my mouth, then he leans in like he’s going to kiss me. I force myself not to flinch or grab his face and taste every inch of his mouth. When he’s close enough to breathe the same air as me, he only whispers in my ear.
“Guess you’ll have to show up to find out.”
With that, he saunters off toward the pool table like he didn’t just set my ovaries on fire with his proximity.
“Seems your drinks are covered tonight,” the bartender says sweetly, pulling me from my perusal of the cowboy’s denim-clad ass. “What can I get you?”
I turn toward her, trying to remember my order. My name. Anything.
She studies my face. “Looks like cowboy tears. Coming right up.”
She puts ice in a glass, and I glance over my shoulder. “Tell me the truth. Woman to woman. Is he a decent guy or a walking red flag?”
She pauses her preparation of my drink. “He’s . . . from a good family. A little wild and probably not going to settle down anytime soon. So if you’re looking for a husband—”
“I’m not. Definitely not.” My career is just now taking off. Much to my family’s dismay, a husband is the last damn thing I need.
“I hear he’s a real good time. But he wasn’t kidding about the one-night only ride. I’ve never seen him with the same woman twice.”
I watch as he lines up a shot, winks at me, then sinks the eight ball in the corner pocket.
“Sounds perfect.”