Paying The Playboy's Price

Juliana stared after him. If Rex thought snarling like a wounded beast would put her off, then he’d miscalculated. The glimmer of softness he tried so hard to conceal had piqued her curiosity, and once Juliana had a puzzle to solve, she never gave up until she had every piece in place.

Three

“So tell me, Ms. Alden, why would the heiress to a banking empire need to buy a date?” Octavia Jenkins, the reporter, asked.

Heiress. Rex’s chair wobbled precariously. He nearly fell over backward. Fighting for balance, he rocked forward. The front legs of the chair hit the floor with a thud. Up until now, he’d been completely relaxed. His half of the interview had gone well. He’d plugged the bar, served the reporter a selection of tasty appetizers and avoided discussing his aborted career.

“Your family owns the bank?” Rex asked. His first impression after the auction had been that Juliana had more money than sense, but he hadn’t expected it to be that much money. Holy spit.

Juliana shifted in her seat and glanced around the restaurant as if checking to see who’d overheard his question. “I told you I worked for Alden Bank and Trust.”

“You never told me your family owned it.” And owned him, or at least the note on his business. It would be her family’s minions who would padlock Renegade’s doors if Rex couldn’t pay off the note. And he’d lose everything—his apartment and his business—since he’d invested all he had into Renegade. “You never told me your last name.”

“You never asked.”

He hadn’t asked because he hadn’t wanted to get involved beyond the lessons. So much for detachment.

The reporter looked up from her furious note-taking with a hungry glint in her eyes and a flush on her cocoa-colored skin. Rex had seen that look often enough in the past to know it meant trouble. “Were you trying to keep your family connections a secret?”

Juliana hesitated. “What would be the point? Every eligible male in the southeast knows who my family is.”

And that, Rex deduced from Juliana’s flat tone, was an issue. Had the banker’s daughter experienced the degradation of being dated for what she represented rather than who she was as a person? He tamped down the empathy budding in his chest because he didn’t want to have anything in common with Juliana. But she’d put a chink in the wall he’d worked so hard to build between them.

“Which leads us back to my original question, Ms. Alden. You should have men standing in line to wine and dine you. Why buy one?”

Juliana looked every inch the poised southern belle as she lifted her chin and smiled—a smile that Rex noted didn’t reach her eyes—at the reporter. “My mother is the auction organizer. I wanted to support her efforts.”

Bull. Rex didn’t know how he knew it, but something in her voice and in her beauty-queen bearing told him that wasn’t the real reason Juliana Alden, banking heiress, for crying out loud, had bought his package. His auction package—he clarified when a neglected part of his anatomy twitched to attention.

“And why did you choose Rex?”

Yeah, why him? He silently seconded Octavia’s question. Lacing his fingers on the tabletop, he awaited Juliana’s response.

“He’s new in town and I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.” More bull. He’d bet his Harley on it.

“You’re playing welcoming committee?” He didn’t bother to sugarcoat his disbelief.

“Is there something wrong with being neighborly?” She eyed him haughtily, but the tension in her features told its own tale. What was she hiding? Curiosity coiled in his gut.

Octavia persisted. “This had nothing to do with your recent thirtieth birthday, coming into your trust fund and your friends Andrea Montgomery and Holly Prescott also buying bachelors?”

Juliana paled and her eyes widened slightly. She inhaled a long breath and then slowly released it. Rex knew because the slow rise and fall of her breasts distracted him. He cursed the arousal strumming through his system, blinked and shifted his gaze back to her face.

“Only because each year Andrea, Holly and I do something to celebrate our birthdays. And yes, this year we each came into our trust funds, but since we all have well-paying careers, we don’t really need the money. We decided to donate a portion of the money to a charitable cause, and the auction to support the disabled children’s camp seemed as admirable a choice as any. Have you heard about the boat Dean Yachts has offered to design, build and donate to the cause?”

Octavia Jenkins waved the diversion aside. “I’ll do a feature on that later. I want to talk about you.” Leaning forward, she grinned mischievously and tilted her head conspiratorially toward Juliana. “You’re a banker and he’s a biker. You can’t get much more different than that. Taking a walk on the wild side never entered into your plans?”

Color rushed to Juliana’s cheeks. She darted a panicked glance in Rex’s direction, and then ducked her head and fussed with the silverware beside her plate. “No. That wasn’t it at all.”

Well, I’ll be damned. If her guilty expression hadn’t clued him in, then her rushed, breathless answer was a dead giveaway. The beautiful bean counter was lying through her perfect white teeth. And for some crazy reason, the prospect of Juliana getting wild with him turned him on like nobody’s business.

Forget it, farm boy. Too risky.

“If you say so.” Octavia closed her notebook and stood. “Well, that’s all the questions I have tonight. I’ll see you next week.”

Rex rose. His mother had managed to drill some manners into his thick skull. He sat back down after the reporter had left and studied Juliana until she squirmed in her seat. She just didn’t seem the type to rebel. And wasn’t thirty a little old to get started on rebellion?

She bolted to her feet. “I should go, too.”

Determined to get the truth out of her one way or another, Rex followed her outside, keeping pace beside her so he wouldn’t be distracted by the sweet curve of her rear. The moon had yet to rise, but he could see well enough in the streetlights to know he was beginning to like the fit of her riding britches a little too much.

“Why did you buy my package?” he asked as they neared her car.

She turned on the cobblestone sidewalk. “I told you.”

“You’re off the record now. No reporter in sight. Let’s have the truth, Juliana. Why me?”

Her face flushed with more than indignation. She shifted uneasily. “I beg your pardon? Are you calling me a liar?”

“Admit it. You fed that reporter a load of manure.”

If she stood any straighter, her spine would snap. “Mr. Tanner—”

“Rex,” he corrected and moved closer. Without the killer heels, the top of her head barely reached his chin.

She retreated, bumping into the lamppost behind her. Milky light streamed over her, painting ribbons of silver in her dark hair. A soft breeze ruffled the strands around her face. She tipped her head back and her lips parted on a shaky breath, and her pink tongue slipped out to wet them.

“Rex, then. Why would you suspect I had an ulterior motive for bidding on you?” Her damp lips and breathless tone hit him like the business end of a cattle prod, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“You turned ten shades of red when the reporter asked if you wanted to take a walk on the wild side. Looked guilty as hell to me.”

Her lashes fluttered and her gaze fell. “I did not.”

“Did too.” He’d learned from experience that the only way to deal with a problem was to confront it. Running didn’t work. Ignoring it wouldn’t either. He propped one arm on the post above her head and leaned in until only inches separated their faces. “Wanting to see if Nashville’s bad boy can live up to his hell-raising reputation?”

“Of course not,” she said too quickly. But her gaze shifted to his mouth and her breath puffed against his chin in shallow bursts. The tight points of her breasts pushed at her blouse.

She wanted him, and damned if the feeling wasn’t mutual. He swallowed the sudden flood of moisture in his mouth and cursed the unwelcome response drumrolling through his veins. Kissing the bank owner’s daughter would be a big mistake, but part of him wanted to forget common sense, taste her red lips and feel her slender length against him.

Go for it, his awakening libido urged. Then maybe the simmering sexual awareness between them would die a natural death and they could get on with the lessons. She wasn’t his type and he sure wasn’t hers.

He cupped her jaw with his right hand. The warm velvety texture of her skin surprised him. Tempted him. His fingertips teased her earlobe, her nape, and then closed around the cool satin of her hair. He tugged, tilting back her head and lifting her lips closer to his.

“Is this what you want, Juliana?” He cupped her jodhpur-covered bottom, pulling her closer, and lowered his head. In his hypersensitive state, her swiftly indrawn breath sounded as loud as a jet engine. Her fingers spread over his belly and dug into his waist, starting a fire he wasn’t sure he could put out. But she didn’t push him away. Her lashes drifted down and his lids grew heavy in response. His mouth hovered above hers, close enough that he could taste her sweet breath, and then sanity slapped him upside the head.

What in the hell are you doing, Tanner?

He hesitated, examining her flushed face, parted lips and the dark fan of her long lashes against her cheeks. Damn. The reporter had nailed Juliana’s motive. The banking heiress was using him. And if he gave in to the urge to kiss her—hell, the urge to take her right here against the lamppost—he’d be using her, too.