The Rancher's Marriage Pact (9 page)

Somewhat miffed, Paris slid the tee over her head, stood and shoved the bra in her back pocket. “I can find my way.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. I'm mad at myself for falling into your trap. Nothing good could ever come of mixing business with pleasure and in reality, this is a business arrangement as you have reminded me several times.”

“Between two consenting adults who have the hots for each other.” He had the nerve to wink. “Darlin', a lot of good could come from it, as soon as you realize sometimes you can't control chemistry. Just let me know when you're ready to explore all our options.”

“Don't count on that happening,” she said to Dallas as he strode away, leaving her alone to wonder why she couldn't resist him. Why she had let him go so far. Why he could so completely splinter her coveted control, and she welcomed it.

He might have caught her in a moment of weakness, but from that point forward, she vowed to reclaim her power. Call all the shots in this sexual game he seemed determined to play. Turn the tables on him. The time had come to shed her insecurities and prove to him—and to herself—that she could be a strong woman capable of going after what she wanted, wisdom be damned. Business be damned. Fact was, she wanted him.

Perhaps she hadn't been born a natural seductress, or acquired any real skills in thirty-two years, but it was never too late to learn. When it came right down to it, celibacy wasn't the least bit fun.

Six

C
elibacy sucked swamp water.

Dallas had discovered that recently but learned long ago the lack of merit in a cold shower. He'd taken one anyway at dawn, following one helluva restless night. Afterward, he'd headed to the kitchen, made a strong pot of coffee, a couple of scrambled eggs and ate them at the kitchen island like he did every morning at the cabin. But his normal news catch-up routine had been disrupted by visions of the woman sleeping down the hall. Just the thought of touching Paris again, going further, going all the way, kept him from focusing on the state of the global markets. But he had to remember the annulment terms—no sex in the real sense.

If he had any hope of maintaining his sanity for the next twelve months, he had two options—take care of the problem himself, or convince Paris they should take care of each other, even if it meant not fully consummating the marriage. He liked the second plan best. Taking it slow seemed to be the only way to accomplish that goal, even though it would damn sure prove to be real hard. Literally. Now if he'd been a dishonorable jerk, he would've crawled into bed with her last night to solve the problem, knowing he'd had her exactly where he'd wanted her before he left her on the dock.

The
problem
only grew more obvious when Paris padded into the room on bare feet, wearing some short flimsy peach-colored robe, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy ponytail. On one hand, she was about as cute as a newborn foal. On the other, she looked sexy as hell, even with her face free of makeup.

She sauntered over to the counter, poured herself a cup of coffee, then turned a sleepy smile on him. “Happy birthday and good morning, handsome husband.”

She looked like a birthday gift he wanted to thoroughly investigate. “Mornin', pretty wife.” He'd never dreamed those words would ever leave his mouth. But then he'd never imagined meeting anyone like her, either. He liked the way she moved. The way she talked. Her intelligence. Her body. And he knew he would seriously like the way she loved if she gave him the chance to partake of all the benefits that most married couples enjoyed.

Wait a minute. For all intents and purposes, they'd entered into a fabricated union. They weren't playing house, they were doing business. If it was up to her, that's all they'd ever be doing.

Maybe not, he decided, when she sauntered over to the island, sat on the barstool across from him and didn't bother to close the opening of the robe, allowing him a nice view of the curve of her breasts. “Sleep well?”

Not hardly. “Fairly well. And you?”

“You mean after you left me alone topless on the dock? I've had better nights.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, although he really wasn't all that sorry, except maybe about the leaving part.

She then leaned completely across the granite surface to study the newspaper in front him, causing the robe to gape more and giving him full view of her bare breasts, nipples and all. “
Wall Street
Journal
, huh? I expected you to be reading some ranching magazine.”

He expected to elevate the island at any moment. “I've been interested in financial news since I acquired my MBA.”

Her green eyes went wide as she sat back down, taking his fun away but giving him some moderate relief. “I had no idea you have a graduate degree. Where did you go to school?”

He couldn't resist rattling her chain a little. “Got it online from the University of Dumb Cowpokes.”

She laughed softly as she rimmed a fingertip around the coffee cup, drawing Dallas's undivided attention. “Be serious for a change.”

He had a serious need to see what else she might be wearing underneath that robe. Or what she wasn't wearing. “I got the undergraduate degree at a small college in Stephenville, Texas, while on a rodeo scholarship. A few years later, when I decided to open the saddle shops, I decided to go for the masters at a bigger university in Fort Worth.”

“Impressive. Why saddle shops?”

Recounting his history could calm his rowdy libido. “When I was growing up, a ranch hand named Gordy taught me how to tool roping saddles. I used his design, started my own line of saddles and began to market it.”

“Gordy doesn't have a problem with that?”

“Nope. He's happily retired living off the royalties.”

“You are a man of many talents, I must say. Do you have any sugar?”

Ignoring the urge to tell her he could give her something really sweet, Dallas nodded toward the cabinet behind her. “Right next to the coffee maker.”

She glanced over one shoulder before sending him another smile. “Oh. I didn't see it,” she said as she slid out of her chair.

She sure had great legs, he realized, when she walked to the counter to sweeten her coffee. The robe was so short that if she lifted her arms, he felt sure he could see her bottom. He should've told her the canister was in an upper cabinet. He'd give a month's worth of pay to find some excuse for her to bend over. He didn't have to let go of a dime when she dropped the spoon on the floor and reached down to pick it up.

Damn if she didn't have on a thing. Damn if she didn't have one fantastic butt. And damn if he didn't have the mother of all erections.

She turned around and leaned back against the counter. “What are your plans for the day?”

He could offer up a few that involved staying horizontal for the next twenty-four hours, but remembered his aim to take it easy. “I thought we'd go fishing.”

She sipped her coffee then set the cup aside. “Sounds like fun. When do you want to do it?”

Right now on the kitchen island.
“We need to get going before it gets much later, while the fish are still biting.”

“Then I should hurry. What should I wear?”

Not a damn thing
. “T-shirt and jeans, I guess. Or shorts. It's going to be close to eighty degrees today.”

While Dallas sat there suffering from lack of sex, Paris rinsed her cup out in the sink and put it in the dishwasher, unaware of his predicament. “I'll take a quick shower and be back in a few. Where should I meet you once I'm finished?”

In my bed. Your bed. Any bed.
“The dock.”

“The dock it is. Maybe I'll just show up without my top to save time.”

Taking Dallas totally by surprise, Paris untied the sash at her waist, turned around and let the robe fall from her shoulders onto the floor as she walked away.

The image of her slender back and shapely butt remained burned in his brain long after she disappeared.

Was she just trying to torture him, or give him a taste of his own medicine? He didn't know the answer, but he sure as hell intended to find out.

* * *

Paris wondered what effect, if any, her little attempt at seduction had had on Dallas. If he only knew how difficult it had been to completely let go of her inhibitions, then maybe he might have said
something
. When she'd left him in the kitchen, she hadn't had the fortitude to wait around. He certainly hadn't sought her out in the shower, or showed up at the bedroom door. Only time would tell what he might have in store for her during their little excursion, and the closer she came to the dock, the more the excitement escalated.

She discovered him waiting for her, dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a sleeveless army-green tank, revealing a pair of very masculine legs and muscled biceps that sent her heart on a marathon. A few moments passed before she noticed the sleek silver-and-red boat with the covered hull tied to the side of the pier.

After sliding her sunglasses into place, Paris stepped onto the creaky planks and made her way to her tour guide for the day. “Is this yours?”

“Yep,” he replied.

“How did it get here?”

“George.”

Clearly he'd decided to be cryptic. “Who is George?”

“My neighbor. He looks after the place when I'm not here, and in exchange I let him use the boat. I called and had him deliver it a few minutes ago.”

Evidently George wasn't going to join them, a very good thing. “I see. I've never been on this kind of boat before. It looks like it costs a pretty penny.”

“About eighty grand.”

Paris nearly swallowed the gum she'd been chewing. “Eighty thousand dollars? For that price, it should clean the house, or at least do more than float around the water looking pretty.”

“It can fly,” he said as he held out his hand. “If you're lucky, I might let you drive it.”

As long as he had sufficient insurance since she'd never been behind the wheel of a boat before. “I might take you up on that, if you're lucky.”

He cracked a crooked grin. “I have a feeling we could both be lucky today.”

She returned his smile. “Could be.” Or not, depending on how far she wanted the seduction scheme to go.

After Dallas helped Paris down into the space-age looking seat, he untied the boat then claimed the space next to her. One hand on the wheel, he backed away from the dock slowly, said, “Hang on,” then turned the craft around and shot off into open water.

Yes, the thing could fly, and she couldn't hold a conversation with him due to all the wind noise. She basically clutched the sides of the seats, gritted her teeth and only breathed easier when he navigated the boat into a secluded cove fifteen minutes later.

She pulled away the band securing her high ponytail and finger-combed her hair. “You need to turn around and go back.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because I think I left my stomach a few miles back.”

He barked a laugh. “I take it you're not much of a thrill seeker.”

Only partially true. She'd married him on a moment's notice, hadn't she? And she was definitely seeking some thrills today. “I've ridden a few roller coasters on several occasions, but I wasn't quite prepared for this.”

Paris
had
prepared to turn on the charms and hopefully turn him on in the process. On that note, she crossed her arms, grabbed the T-shirt's hem and tugged it over her head, leaving her clad in a red bikini top.

Dallas cleared his throat and shut down the ignition. “Didn't know you had a swimsuit.”

“Actually, I didn't either,” she said as she stood. “Jenny thought of everything.” Including massage oil and lubricants, a veritable sex shop in a bag.

“No surprise there,” he replied, his voice sounding somewhat grainy.

Paris realized she didn't have a lot of room to maneuver, so she pointed to the enclosed hull. “What's under there?”

“A live well to keep fresh bait and fish and a place to store equipment.” He climbed over the smoked glass minidash and stood on the decking to toss an anchor overboard into the murky green water. “You basically turn on the trolling motor and stand here to fish, but we're going to stay stationary until you learn how to cast.”

“Or I could sunbathe,” she said as she retraced his steps and stood before him. “I can do that while we fish, right?”

“Not a whole lot of sun with all the trees, but whatever floats your boat, pun intended.”

She shimmied out of the shorts and tossed them back onto the seat, revealing the scant swimsuit bottoms. “I'm ready for a pole now.”

That earned her a wily grin. “I can fix you right up.”

“Fishing pole, Dallas.”

“I've got one of those, too.”

“You have an evil mind.”

“You have an unbelievable body.”

She felt a head-to-toe blush coming on, and the same old belief he'd simply been trying to be nice. “I bet you say that to all your first mates.”

He tucked one side of her hair behind her ear. “You're technically my first mate.”

If only she could say the same for herself. If only she could erase Peter from her past and if only this arrangement with Dallas was real. “Well, I suppose we should start fishing before they stop biting.”

He stared at her a few moments before leaning over, opening a hatch and pulling out a rod. “I've got this rigged to catch a bass. I also have some blood bait for catfish if you'd prefer to try for one of those.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Any bait that includes
blood
in the name is out.”

“Good call, because it's also known as stink bait.”

Ewww... “Definitely bass.”

“Bass it is. Now move to the edge of the boat.”

After she complied, Paris surveyed the wooded bank and noticed not a house, or soul, in sight. “How many people live on this lake?”

“Just me and George,” he said. “It's a private lake.”

Of course it was. “So there's no chance anyone will see me making a fool of myself?”

“Not likely.” Dallas came up behind her and handed her the pole with the little yellow frog-looking thingy dangling from the end. “Hold this in your left hand, and grasp the reel in your right.”

Simple enough. “Like this?”

“Yep. Now push that button with your thumb, pull the rod back to the side and let it go, but not over your head or you'll hook me.”

She did exactly as he'd instructed, yet nothing happened. “I knew I wasn't cut out for this.”

“I don't mind helping you out.” He moved behind her, wrapped his hand around the rod below her hand and replaced her thumb on the release with his. “It's just one smooth action,” he said as he cast the line in the water with ease.

He didn't make a move away from her. In fact, Paris would swear he moved closer. “Okay. What now?”

He rested a palm on her belly and pushed her hair to one side with the other. “It's a top-water jig, so the fish will hit it on top of the water.”

“How long does that take?”

“Until the fish decides to bite.”

When Dallas rimmed the shell of her ear with his tongue, Paris almost dropped the pole. “So it might take a while.”