Lone Star Baby Scandal

He chuckled, a deep, sexy sound that drew more looks from the women within hearing distance. Instead of allowing them to negatively affect her mood, she stopped arguing, closed her eyes and let herself be swept into the music. The band was playing a ballad, one of her favorites. With Clay’s arms around her, they danced to the slow rhythm. He smelled so good. A mix of spicy cologne and essence of pure male. The combination was intoxicating. His silken tux jacket felt smooth against her cheek. At some point the song ended and Sophie moved to return to the small table in the back of the great hall.

“No,” he said, his warm breath on her ear. And before she could argue, the band struck up another song. He dropped her hand, held her with both arms around her waist, pulled her closer until she could feel every movement, every pulse inside a hard body laden with muscles. More muscles than she’d ever felt on a guy. She didn’t know what he did in his spare time, or if such a thing existed for him, but she doubted he sat around knitting sweaters.

One thing was clear: she had his attention and his body hinted at his response. With every slow step, side to side, she felt him move against her belly, driving her crazy. A fog of heat enveloped her as her own body reacted to his. Her hands clutched his broad shoulders and she drifted into a dream world of his making.

Clay was a cowboy through and through. It was in his stride, his way of talking. It was in those deep emerald eyes, so piercing, as though they could see into her very soul. , In those full lips just waiting to cover hers and savor the heat that would surely flare between them. Even the years away from the rodeo arena couldn’t weaken that persona. Since the two-ton bull had turned an evening at the rodeo into the nightmare from hell almost ending his life.

The doctors had said he would never walk again, but they didn’t know Clay. He had surprised everyone. Everyone except Sophie, who knew Clay was a man who just didn’t quit. Ever. After the injuries he’d sustained and the months of grueling physical therapy Clay had been through, it was a pure miracle he was here tonight at all. He’d astounded everyone when he put aside his cane and took to the dance floor, ignoring the limp and the pain that accompanied it.

He’d been America’s number-one cowboy, his talent propelling him to superstardom. After he healed enough to be released from the hospital, faced with the fact that he’d never ride rodeo again, he’d found a new outlet for his talents. Today he was a successful cloud-computing entrepreneur, changing his star status from millionaire to billionaire in only five short years. That was just the kind of man he was. If he could imagine it—he could make it materialize. If he wanted it—he got it. And right now, tonight, he wanted her.

Slowly his hands slid down her back, coming to rest above the surge of her hips, pulling her even closer to him. The feel of his muscled body propelled her to an immediate and impulsive response.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said in a voice that sounded more like a growl as the third song ended. Without waiting for a reply, he took her hand and led her through the dancing couples toward the exit.

When he summoned the elevator, the doors opened almost immediately with a muffled ding. Stepping inside, Clay pushed a button that sent the elevator skyrocketing to the penthouse where he was staying during the masquerade ball. Then he lost no time gathering her in his arms.

Sophie had been kissed before but never like this. It was raw, passionate—hungry. His tongue traced the line of her lips, moistening them for penetration. He filled her then, his hand clenching her hair in the back, holding her head exactly where he needed her to be. He was so male. His scars that remained from his accident only served to increase his air of desirability.

He had spent his life dueling with the devil and in spite of impossible odds, he had come out on top. Every time except the last. Even then, Clay had pulled his raw courage from someplace deep inside and survived when any other man would have rolled over and admitted defeat. It was part of that rock-hard determination that she felt now, in his arms, his emerald eyes giving off signals as to just what he intended to do to her when they reached the bedroom. He was going to forever change their relationship, and in spite of any thoughts to the contrary, she knew in that moment, she was going to allow it. Blame it on the cocktails, the music or a weakness within her own heart. She had fantasized about this man for far too long. She would probably hate herself in the morning, but tonight she would sample what heaven was like.

At some point the doors opened with an almost silent swish and they stepped out of the elevator into a vestibule with marble floors and occasional tables laden with huge bouquets of freshly cut flowers. Beyond a black door trimmed with gold paint was the penthouse. He guided her inside with a single-minded purpose. It was in his face, in his eyes. He was going to make love to her.

And she was going to let him.

This is wrong, said the small voice in her head. So very wrong. He was her boss. Their relationship should be kept strictly platonic. But she followed as they walked toward the bedroom and the word no disappeared from her vocabulary.

“Would you care for something to drink?”

She shook her head. If she was really going to do this, she wanted nothing to mar the memory of this night in his arms—a once-in-a-lifetime moment that could never be discussed or thought of again except in her dreams.

He turned a switch and the lights dimmed. He pressed her backward against a wall and his hungry lips again found hers. His shirt and jacket hit the floor before he turned all his attention to her. Leaning over, he kissed her ear, alternately nipping and kissing down her throat until he returned to her mouth, his tongue filling the deep recesses until she couldn’t suppress the moan that emerged from deep in her throat. She knew a moment of freedom from the constraints of her strapless gown as it slid down her body to the floor.

Then she was in his arms as he carried her to the master bedroom, his long strides eating up the carpet. When he put her down, the silken sheets of the bed felt cool against her back as Clay disposed of her panties. Then he was hovering above her, directing her lips to his in the darkness. He kissed her jaw, taking little nips as he went toward her ear. It was seduction of the purest form by the master of the game.

“You are so damned sexy,” he whispered in her ear, causing chills to run over her skin. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment you walked through my door.”

He continued to kiss his way down her body, nipping at her throat, sucking first one breast then the other, playing with the stiff peaks, teasing until she wanted to scream. Then he suckled her rosy tips, stopping just short of painful, and the feeling burned hot all the way to her core. Then he moved farther down, as though intent on tasting all of her. As he found the spot at the center of her being, he pushed her legs apart and claimed her forever. She opened to him without any rational thought, her mind sent in a whirlwind by what he was doing. She wanted more. But even in her delirium she knew who it was that was about to push her over the edge. Her boss. She couldn’t follow the thought far enough to care. Before any further doubts could work their way into her mind, she was exploding, gasping for air, clutching him as the climax went on and on.

One heavy hand remained on her stomach while he opened a drawer next to the bed with the other. She heard the almost silent tear of a packet. Repositioning himself over her he entered her then. Time and all conscious thought disappeared. All she knew was Clay, his scent and the slight rasping of his five-o’clock shadow as he kissed her with full abandon. What was he doing to her body? Incredible things. Touches that singed her until she was drowning in the abyss of his arms. His deep, raspy voice broke the silence as he encouraged her, praised her, whispering raw demands that sent her over the top yet again. Eventually he came with her, his big body straining as they both soared to the heavens. By then she was so inundated with his touches she couldn’t rationalize how many times or how long he’d made love to her. Finally, he separated their bodies, placing her head on his broad shoulder, holding her close. She could hear his rapid heartbeat and feel his lungs gasp for air. With a smile, she closed her eyes and nothing existed but the two of them and the gentle, loving space around them.

* * *

“Sophie?” Clay’s deep voice brought her out of the daydream. “Sophie! Hello? Are you okay?”

A heated blush ran up her neck and over her face as reality came slamming back. She was seated at her desk, staring blindly at her monitor while the phones rang and Clay called her name. She had to get a grip on herself. She kept reliving their one night of passion, first in her dreams then during the day while she was at work. It had to stop. They were attracted to each other but their encounter had taken place more than two months ago and it would not be repeated. It was past time to let it go and move on. Each time he had offered to talk about it, she would find a way to stop him. She didn’t want to talk about it. The night had settled inside her heart as a treasured memory. It had happened. It wouldn’t happen again. End of subject.

“Yes. Ah...yes. Yep. I’m fine.”

“I’ve been calling your name for five minutes. Are you sure you feel up to working today?”

“Yes. Really, I’m good.” She struggled for composure and cleared her throat. If he had any idea of her wayward thoughts, he would never let her live it down. “Just a slight headache. I’ll be fine,” she lied and reached for the phone.

Clay laid a file folder on her desk with a sticky note attached bearing instructions. Then pursing his lips as though hiding a smile, he walked out the door.

Sophie hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath and released it now in a sigh. It was almost as if he knew what she’d been thinking. Impossible. He couldn’t read minds. Could he?

* * *

Clay Everett stood in the massive glass-walled lobby of the main barn at the Flying E Ranch. He was surrounded by countless photographs and awards. In the corner were silver-embedded saddles on their holding racks with matching bridles hanging over the horn. Oversize belt buckles with gold and silver inlays were displayed in black velvet-lined shadow boxes. Trophies and large silver cups, the competition date and event imprinted on the front of each, rested on the enormous mantel of the natural-stone fireplace. Still more lined the bookcases around the large room. In between were dozens of action shots of various bulls and horses as they tried with all their might to tear their equally determined rider off their back. If you looked at some close enough, you could hear the angry cries of the animal, recognize the fury in its eyes. But you could also see the grit and determination in the rider’s eyes. For the bull, eight seconds to kill. For the cowboy, eight seconds to walk away a champion.

Then there were older pictures of a young boy: riding his first bull, roping his first calf, his legs barely reaching the shortened stirrups of the saddle. The largest picture in the room was of a man holding up a two-by-six-foot check, made payable to Clayton Everett in the sum of one million dollars, proclaiming him the new American Rodeo Champion. Standing next to him were his barn manager, George Cullen, and Sophie Prescott, his secretary and maybe his best friend in the world.

He wandered out of the foyer, down the main hall to the east wing. Climbing up a few bleacher steps that overlooked one of the outside arenas and the sloping fertile pastureland beyond, he sat down, marveling at the view all around him. He would never tire of it. Rolling hills, the few that existed in this area, and white pipe fencing as far as his eyes could see. In the distance a herd of longhorns grazed on the irrigated spring grasses. In the first part of October, hundreds of breeders of Texas longhorn cattle would gather at the Lazy E Arena in Guthrie, Oklahoma, to find out who owned bragging rights to the bull with the longest horns in the world. Word had reached him that his ten-year-old bull, Crackers, had horns three-tenths of an inch longer than his chief competitor’s. That should have made Clay happy. But there was more to life than watching horns grow on a damn cow. No one knew it better that he did.

It had been Sophie’s idea to move his office from his Dallas headquarters to the ranch. At least temporarily. But the arrangement had turned permanent after almost two years. The maze of awards from his cowboy days had been cleared out and moved to the main barn lobby and the workings of his current office had been moved in. Sophie had overseen the move and, as usual, he couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d slid into the burgundy leather chair behind the massive mahogany desk like it was still at the high-rise in Dallas. Everything, from files to computers to office equipment to Sophie’s office, had been arranged almost exactly the way it had been at the other location, thereby eliminating the need to learn a new setup. He could find his way around the new office blindfolded.

He’d given Sophie free license to do what she wanted with the trophies and awards that had hung for years in the current office space. She’d done it all while he was still in the hospital, his gut torn open by an angry bull named Iron Heart, his left leg shattered by pounding hooves. In the blink of an eye, Clay had been thrown from the animal and gorged before landing squarely on his head, the compression causing him to break his neck, barely missing his spinal cord. It had taken less than six seconds, from the moment the chute door opened to the crack he heard from within and sweet oblivion, which brought his days as a superstar in the Professional Bull Riding League to an end. He’d known a bull like that would someday come his way. It was inevitable. Nothing went on forever.

She’d had a glass room built in the foyer of the main barn and moved everything there. She’d set about filling it with memories of his life. From boy to man. From child to champion. It was both shocking and humbling. Lord, he’d come a long way over some of the worst roads in the country. He’d also traveled some of the best. The road to Cumberlin County and the Brahma bull who’d awaited him was a culmination of the worst and the best that could happen to a man. The accident had come as close as possible to ending his life but at the same time, it had brought out the true colors of Clay’s money-grubbing fiancée, who had suddenly lost interest, finally admitting she simply could not marry a man who had to limp to the dance floor. She’d refused to be saddled with a “cripple” for the rest of her life. She had packed her bags and disappeared faster than a cube of sugar in a cup of boiling coffee. And she hadn’t even had the guts to tell him herself. No, the news had been relayed as gently as possible by Sophie.

It had been just one more setback to add to the list. Clay had had to accept that his rodeo days were over and his life was going to change. Hell, it already had. Once he’d been released to come home, it had taken a month of prodding by the stubborn, unshakable, relentless Ms. Sophie to get up off his ass—as she’d put it—and do something. Clay had started tinkering around with some ideas, found one he liked and threw himself into developing it. It was partly to keep his mind off the injuries that were still healing and partly because that was the way he was built; he was a self-made man and risk taker by nature. And Sophie never let him forget it for a second. He loved nothing more than a challenge, regardless of whether it was a two-thousand-pound Brahma bull or a billion-dollar company. A challenge was still a challenge.

He’d set about building a cloud-computing company he named Everest, specializing in providing ironclad infrastructure to corporations. With the usual Everett finesse, it took off like a rocket, making him a multimillionaire almost overnight with no indication it was anywhere near slowing down. And neither was he. No one who really knew him was surprised. He knew only that he wasn’t ready for his life to be over. At thirty-four, it was too soon. But while he was forced to set aside the thrill of bull riding, there were other trials to be fought and won.

Like what to do about his attraction to Sophie Prescott.

As if on cue, she popped her head around the corner.

Two (#u239ef7b8-3120-5c64-973c-907c8c651812)

“I thought I would find you here. What do you want for lunch?”

When he merely shook his head, she said, “Then I’ll have Rose grill a steak and throw some sides together. It should be ready in about thirty minutes.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That’s too bad. You’ve got to eat. Nothing good is going to come out of you sitting around with your head in the clouds.”

“I was thinking, not daydreaming.”

“Thinking, huh? I’ll bet. More than likely thinking about that old bull and how you would do it better if you had a second chance.”

He glared. “I’ll be in for lunch in a few.”

She tapped her watch as a silent way of saying she would expect him sooner rather than later.

Damn, she was beautiful. For reasons he couldn’t understand, she chose to tone down her natural beauty, pulling the amber hair into a ponytail and using very little, if any, makeup. Not that she needed any. Her sky-blue eyes couldn’t hide behind the glasses always perched on her nose. And those full, slightly pink lips... A man could lose himself in them. And he had done exactly that almost two months ago, the night of the Texas Cattleman’s Club masked ball held at the Bellamy Hotel.