Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Chance
“ W hat was that?” Dakota asks—or rather, demands.
I wonder if that’s how she sounds in court. Her almost sultry tone is low and forceful, commanding my attention. The thought of her challenging me like this turns me on. I haven’t had many women that have ever tried; they usually go along with whatever I say in the hopes of being the one to ‘change my ways.’
“What was what?” I ask, taking off my jacket and hanging it on the coat rack by the door. Kicking off my boots, I leave them haphazardly in the entryway as I brush past her. I don’t need to impress her. What I do need is a beer to get through the impending conversation.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Chance Declan. Why am I here and what is this ‘proposition’ you have for me?” She balls her hands into fists and shoves them tightly into her luscious hips.
Fuck, she looks sexy when she does that. Her step doesn’t even falter as she squares up against me, straightening her spine to trying to reach my height. She doesn’t, not even close, but it’s cute she tries.
I turn and walk away from her, knowing that she’ll follow. I fight a smile as I hear her soft, but sure, footsteps.
“Do you want a drink?” I don’t turn around as I enter the kitchen and open the fridge. “I think I have wine in the cellar somewhere, but it won’t be chilled. I can get you a beer or whiskey.” I grab the first bottle of beer I find, twisting the top and taking a sip, letting the cold liquid pour down my throat. It’s too early in the summer to be hitting the record heat we usually have in the Interior region of British Columbia, but my proximity to Dakota is making me hot like it’s the middle of August.
“Of course you have a wine cellar,” she huffs. “No, I don’t want a drink. I want you to tell me why you brought me here, why you had your lackey drive my car, and why you didn’t drop the act when I asked you to. Most importantly, I want you to tell me what your fucking proposition is!”
“Wyatt isn’t my lackey,” I reply calmly, turning to her and resting my hip against the countertop. “He’s my ranch manager and best friend, not some paid employee at my beck and call.” I take a breath, assessing the best way to answer her questions. She looks like an angry bull about to charge, and I don’t want to be the one waving the red flag.
Even if I am full of them.
“As for why I didn’t drop the act—as I said before, that was because Laughlin and our audience were watching through the window. You wanted him to believe I was your boyfriend. That’s what I was doing.”
“Are you this much of an asshole with your other girlfriends?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. My gaze flickers down to her full breasts, now pushed up and threatening to spill out the top of her shirt. I don’t dare linger on them too long, knowing it won’t help me get what I need from her.
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t do girlfriends.”
“So why pretend I’m yours?”
“Because there’s something about you I couldn’t say no to.” I halt, shocked at my own admission. I didn’t mean to say that. What the fuck am I doing even thinking about that? I clear my throat, needing to move on before she comments on it. “Plus, I loathe Laughlin.”
“Alright, I get that.”
“As for the proposition—I imagine you know my reputation around town.” I hold her gaze, studying her reaction.
“Yes, I’m aware of your playboy ‘I-don’t-give-a-shit’ status.” Where most women would cower under my gaze, she stands firm. Her back straight, chin lifted, letting me know she’s not going to take anything less than the truth from me.
I admire that.
“Well, it’s causing some problems with the investors of the rodeo. Seems they want to have a say in my personal life, and that means being seen with the same woman for an extended period of time.”
“And what does that mean for me?”
“It means I need you on my arm for all the major corporate events from now until after the rodeo. We’ll also need to be seen in public together, just like any other couple.”
She remains silent, her eyes laser-focused on mine. I don’t dare break from her gaze, but notice the steady rise and fall of her chest as she considers my words. Her breath quickens along with the growing tension between us.
Heat races up my body as I deny myself what I want the most. Not only do I want to look at her now-heaving breasts, but I want to cross my kitchen and take her into my arms. I want to feel their weight in my hands. Find out what it would be like to make her come completely undone.
I give my head a shake. I don’t think like this. I don’t give a shit what makes a woman tick come sundown. I only care about what gets them off and out of my bed before the sun rises.
“How many?” Her voice rips through the silence, bringing my attention back to the matter at hand.
“How many what?”
“How many events do we need to be seen at and over what period of time? I have court dates coming up and I can’t take time away from that just to be seen all over town as your latest buckle bunny.”
“You wouldn’t be my latest buckle bunny; that’s the point.” I remain still for another moment before taking a breath and sagging my shoulders. “You’re the anti-buckle bunny.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.” She narrows her eyes and tilts her head; but the way she regards me isn’t in distaste or anger. She looks at me as if I’m a puzzle. A case to be solved.
A project.
“It’s a compliment.” I don’t look away as I lift my bottle to my lips and sip. This time, I indulge myself in letting my gaze roam over her. She drops her arms from her chest, letting them hang at her side. The black sweater she’s wearing clings to her like a second skin, giving way to dark blue jeans and black socks. She must have kicked off her boots, leaving her that much shorter than me.
“You still didn’t answer my question. You do that a lot.”
“Do what?” My mind draws a blank, trying to recall what she’d asked before I let my eyes wander.
Her curves set her apart from my usual women. Curves that would give me something to hold on to. Let me feel like I won’t break her if I handle her the way I want to.
“You deflect and evade my questions. I can see now why you don’t have a lot of women sticking around.”
“Maybe I like it that way.” I place my beer bottle on the counter behind me, letting the glass tap against the quartz counter ringing loudly through the room. “Plus, they don’t get time to ask questions.”
Dakota rolls her eyes. “Either way. How many events between now and the rodeo?”
“Three. There’s a gala and a dinner the night before with all the sponsors and participants. Plus the rodeo itself which is a three day event.”
“And private dates?” Her tone is flat, unimpressed.
“Undetermined,” I grit through my teeth. Dates are another thing I don’t do. Pick up women at a bar? Sure. Go home with someone from a charity event? You bet. Plan a dinner and night with someone in advance? Never.
She stares at me, using that assessing glare of hers. I find myself wanting to shift under her gaze. It’s one she no doubt perfected for witnesses on the stand, but I won’t let it break me. I won’t let this woman get the better of me.
Turns out, she’s the first to break the gaze, looking around the room, assessing it as she turns in a circle. “What’s with the house?”
“It’s a house,” I answer flatly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s a little…”
“Ostentatious?” I stand straight and walk to her, hovering over her without touching.
“Big word for a cowboy,” she teases, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk.
“What? You think we’re only good for riding horses and tending to animals?” I reach up and tuck a stray curl behind her ear. The citrus scent of her shampoo washes over me, and I have to stop myself from leaning down for more.
“You’re doing it again,” she says, placing her hand on my chest.
My heart races under her touch. I’m sure she can feel it quicken under her palm.
“My dad built it,” I start, once I’ve safely rounded the island. I need distance if we are going to talk. I can’t think while touching her. “The ranch took off about a decade ago, and he was able to buy a lot of the surrounding farms that were struggling. He doubled the size of our ranch in two years.”
“That’s impressive. Must have been really hard for the town.”
“Yeah. He started this to ensure investors from out of the area didn’t come in and take over. He didn’t want industrial buildings and big city landscapes in Whiskey Falls. So, he worked out a plan with the farmers and kept it as farmland. Ended up keeping a lot of them on as employees, letting them rent out the houses they were already in.”
“That was very kind of him.” She moves forward slowly, taking a seat on the stool at the island. She folds her hands and places them on the countertop in front of her. She looks very professional, as if she were interviewing me as a client, not as a potential boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend.
“Yes, he was a good guy.” My voice trails off at the thought of my dad. He always had good intentions, even if he didn’t excite it in the right way. “Once the farm started to get bigger, and we started to sell more cattle out of province, he felt the need to ‘look the part.’ He built this house as a way to entertain those he needed to wine and dine to close bigger business deals.”
“Where’s the house you lived in before that?”
“About an acre back. Wyatt lives there now. I lived with him there until I moved here.” I thought back to living in my old house. Wyatt and I lived like the bachelors we are without a care in the world. It wasn’t quite what I imagined a frat house would be, but we had our share of company. It was my way of having some independence while still working the ranch. Having my best friend there with me made it that much better.
Until my dad died and I moved here. A place I’ve never considered home. If I’m honest, I try to spend as little time here as possible. Usually only to eat, sleep, and do business.
“So why does this place look so bare and cold?” Her tone isn’t judgmental, more curious.
“I sold off a lot of the furniture and art my dad thought he needed while he was trying to impress potential customers. I couldn’t stand looking at them.”
“And your mom?”
“She moved to Alberta to be closer to my aunt after my dad passed. She said she couldn’t handle being on the ranch without him.”
A silence falls over the kitchen as we look at each other. For once, I don’t know what to do next. This woman confuses and frustrates me more than anyone else. If she hadn’t placed us in this situation, I would have told her to be on her way well before our little heart-to-heart.
Which is another thing I don’t do with women. I don’t talk about myself or my family. I don’t talk much at all. There’s something about those hazel eyes that makes me not act like myself, and it’s frustrating as hell.
“So, tell me, Cowboy. When’s our first date?”