The Rancher's Marriage Pact

Damn, damn, damn...

He should probably turn tail and run, but he worried about leaving her all night in her current state. He could crawl in next to her, or he could be the man Maria had raised him to be. A gentleman.

With that in mind, he strode into the bathroom, dressed in his boxers and a T-shirt, then prepared to sleep in the lounger. But before he settled in for the duration, he paused a few moments to study the gorgeous woman in his bed.

With her arm crooked beneath her head, her hair a sexy, tangled mess, she looked somewhat innocent in sleep, and someone he wouldn’t mind waking up to in the morning. He liked her wit, her brain and her body. Definitely her body. Too bad he hadn’t met her a year ago, when he still had time to court a woman in an effort to meet his match, and circumvent the terms of the will.

But unfortunately that time had passed, and unless he wanted to propose to someone he’d met only a few hours ago, he could just let go of that pipe dream. Then something suddenly occurred to him. Something the mothers had suggested.

Nah. That would be too weird, not to mention she would never agree to it.

Following a quick shower, Dallas took one last look at the pretty lady, turned off the lights and kicked back in the lounge chair. He still had trouble shutting down his thoughts for several reasons, including the damned deadline on the will. He’d be better served if he accepted his fate—his youngest brother would have controlling interest over the ranch. Short of a miracle, that would come to pass. Unless...

Maybe the harebrained idea could work if he handled it right. If he made it worth Paris’s while. Or she could laugh in his face and leave. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask, if he found the courage to do it. Hell, he’d ridden some of the rankest bulls in the world. He could propose a marriage pact to a woman.

Probably best to sleep on it for now and decide in the morning—if he actually got any sleep at all.

Three (#ulink_cd421593-a0f7-553b-8fa1-4475096facfd)

Shaking off the fog of sleep, Paris came into consciousness slowly in reaction to a ribbon of light landing on her face. She opened her eyes and squinted at first, until she spotted the man with an open chambray shirt sitting in the chair in the corner, putting on his boots. Her eyes went wide when she remembered her current location—a stranger’s bed.

Then it all came back to her, one frame at a time, like a mortifying slide show. Dinner with Dallas Calloway. Two drinks. Getting drunk. Getting into his bed. And that kiss she’d instigated.

Paris resisted the urge to pull the covers over her head and hide away until he left. Or she could choose the mature path and apologize again for her stupid behavior.

After scooting up against the tufted leather headboard, Paris pushed her hair away from her face and cleared her throat to garner his attention. “What time is it?”

He glanced at her, rose to his feet and began buttoning his shirt, but not before she caught a good glimpse of his toned chest, ridged abdomen and the thin happy trail leading to his open fly. “It’s after nine,” he said. “I thought for a minute there you might sleep until lunchtime.”

She thought for a minute there she might swallow her tongue due to his sheer male perfection. “You should have woken me sooner.”

“I tried.”

“Apparently not very hard.”

“I nearly shook your shoulder off, but you didn’t budge.” He cracked a crooked smile. “How’s your head?”

“Fuzzy.” But not so fuzzy that she couldn’t recall what a fool she’d made of herself.

“Need an aspirin?” he asked as he tucked his shirt into the jeans’ waistband.

She needed an escape route when she noticed her skirt and top hanging on the end of the bedpost. “No, I’m fine,” she said as she clutched the covers tighter. “I do need to get dressed and go home.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s usually my morning line.”

It suddenly occurred to her she might not remember everything about their evening, although she couldn’t imagine forgetting that. “Uh, we didn’t do anything...you know.”

He buckled his belt and approached the side of the bed. “Unfortunately ‘you know’ wasn’t involved. You did strip down to your underwear, but I didn’t look.”

“I’ve definitely heard that before.” She determined an amendment would be best before he assumed she slept around. “From my ex-husband, and he was telling the truth. He rarely looked at me the last few years of our wedded non-bliss.”

“Your husband sounds like an idiot. No offense.”

“No offense taken. You’ve pegged him right, although my actions last evening would probably qualify as idiotic. I’m so sorry I subjected you to that.”