Читать книгу His Enemy's Daughter - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 12

Three

Chloe’s hands were shaking as she sat at her makeshift makeup table in her makeshift dressing room. Which made applying her false eyelashes somewhat of a challenge. She forced herself to take a few deep breaths.

She was going to kill Pete Wellington. It wasn’t a question of if. It was a question of how.

She’d love to run him down with her glossy palomino—but Wonder was at home, enjoying her hay and oats at Sunshine Ridge, Chloe’s small ranch retreat northeast of Dallas. With all the things she had to juggle, she couldn’t handle taking care of her horse, too. It wasn’t fair to Wonder and it wasn’t fair to Chloe. So she was borrowing a horse for her big entrance tonight.

Frankly, it didn’t feel right running Pete down with a borrowed horse. Too many complications.

That man was up to something. If Steve Mortimer had had a problem getting his horses to the Bootheel, he would’ve called Chloe. It was obvious Mortimer had no such problems.

What kind of deal had Pete made with the stock contractors?

And how did backing her up when she was under siege figure into it? Because he wasn’t doing it solely out of the kindness of his heart. This was Pete Wellington she was talking about—there was no kindness in his heart. Not for her or anyone in her family. She didn’t want to offer him a job. She didn’t want him anywhere near her. But...

If she didn’t hand off some of the responsibilities to Pete, would people break their contractual obligations in protest? She could hire someone else but then she’d have the exact same problem—the people who made the rodeos work would balk at dealing with an outsider. By the time she found a workable solution, the All-Stars might very well die on the vine. And who would take the blame for that?

She would.

Maybe she could arrange a stampede. Watching Pete get pulverized would be immensely satisfying.

There. Her hands were steady. Who knew thinking of ways to off her nemesis would be so calming?

Now she applied the false lashes easily. She wore them for the shows because she was moving around the arena at a controlled canter. If she didn’t have over-the-top makeup and hair—not to mention the sequins—people wouldn’t be able to see any part of her. She’d be nothing but an indistinct blur.

And if there was one thing the Princess of the Rodeo wasn’t, it was indistinct.

She was halfway through the second lashes when someone knocked on her dressing room door. If one could call this broom closet a dressing room, that was. Hopefully, that was Ginger, who sat on the local board of this rodeo. If anyone could talk some sense into those stubborn old mules, it’d be Ginger. She took no crap from anyone.

Chloe still had an hour and a half before showtime, but the gates were already open and she needed to be out in the crowd, posing for pictures and hand selling the Princess clothing line. She was behind schedule thanks to Pete Wellington, the jerk. She finished the lashes and said, “Come in.”

Of course it wasn’t Ginger. Of course it was Pete Wellington, poking his head around the door and then recoiling in shock.

“What do you want?” she asked, fighting the urge to drop her head in her hands. She didn’t want to mess up her extravagant eye shadow, after all. Then she’d be even further behind schedule.

He was here for a reason. Was it the usual reason—he wanted his rodeo back? Or was there something else?

“I want you to put on some damned clothes,” Pete said through the open door. At least he wasn’t staring.

Chloe frowned at her reflection. “It’s a sports bra, Pete. It’s the same one I wear when I go jogging. The same basic style women across the country wear when they’re working out.”

It was a really good bra, too. Chloe had perfectly average breasts. And she’d come to a place in her life where she was happy with perfectly average breasts. She liked them. They were just right. Anything bigger would make cantering around arenas every weekend downright painful.

That didn’t mean she hadn’t gone out of her way to buy a high-end sports bra that provided plenty of padding. Everything about the Princess of the Rodeo was bigger, after all. She did a little shimmy, but nothing below her neck moved. She was locked and loaded in this thing and her boobs looked good. And completely covered. “It’s not like you can see my nipples or anything.”

“Dammit, Chloe, it’s a bra,” he growled back through the door. “I can’t... You’re... Look, just put on some clothes. Please.”

Oh, she liked that note of desperation in his voice. Was it possible she’d misread the situation? For almost ten years now, she and Pete had been snarling at each other across arenas and in parking lots. She’d always thought her physical attributes had no impact on him because he’d never reacted to her before in that way.

But he was reacting now. She could hear the strain in his voice when he added, “Are you decent yet, woman?”

She stood, her reflection grinning back at her. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” she said, plucking the heavily sequined white shirt off the hanger and sliding her arms through the sleeves. “I’d be willing to bet large sums of money you’ve seen your sister in a sports bra and never thought twice about it. And yes, I’m decent.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Lawrence—you are not my...” Pete pushed his way into the dressing room, which was not designed to hold a man his size. The space between them—no more than a foot and half—sparked with heat as his gaze fell to her chest. “Sister,” he finished, his voice coming out almost strangled as he stared at the open front of her shirt.

“Thank God for that,” Chloe said lightly as she brushed her hands over the sequins—which conveniently lay over the sides of her breasts. “I pity Marie for having to put up with you, I really do.”

She’d never had a problem with Marie Wellington, who worked her wife’s ranch in western Texas. But then again, Marie had made it clear some years ago that she didn’t care if the Wellingtons got control of the All-Stars or not. “It’s just a rodeo,” Marie had confided over a beer with Chloe one night. “I don’t know why Pete can’t let it go.”

In the years since then, Chloe hadn’t gotten any closer to finding out why, either. But if the man was going to torture her, she was going to return the favor—in spades.

Her hands reached the bottom of the shirt and she took her time making sure the hem was lined up.

Pete’s mouth flopped open as Chloe closed the shirt, one button at a time. She probably could’ve asked him for the keys to his truck and he would’ve handed them over without even blinking. She had him completely stunned and that made him...vulnerable.

To her.

She let her fingers linger over that button right between her breasts as Pete began breathing harder, his eyes darkening. The cords of his neck began to bulge out and she had the wildest urge to lick her way up and down them. The space between them seemed to shrink, even though neither of them moved. Her skin heated as he stared, tension coiling low in her belly.

Crap, she’d miscalculated again. Did she have Pete Wellington at her mercy? Pretty much. But she hadn’t accounted for the fact that desire could be a two-way street. He’d always been an intensely handsome man. She wasn’t too proud to admit she’d had a crush on him for a couple years when she’d first started riding at the rodeos, until it became clear that he would never view her as anything more than an obstacle to regaining his rodeo.

But the way he was looking at her right now, naked lust in his eyes instead of sneering contempt?

He wanted her. And that?

That took everything handsome about him and made him almost unbearably gorgeous. Her pulse began to pound and, as she skimmed her fingers up her chest to ostensibly reach for the next button, she had to fight back a moan.

“There,” she said as she fastened the last button, and dammit, her voice came out breathy. “Is that decent enough for you?”

Pete’s gaze lingered on her body for another two seconds before he wrenched his whole head up. His eyes were glazed. She probably couldn’t have stunned him any better than if she’d hit him on the head with a two-by-four. Chloe had to bite her lower lip to keep from saying something wildly inappropriate, like I’ll undo all of those buttons while you watch or maybe just a simple, effective your turn.

Talk about wildly inappropriate. Instead, she said, “What do you want?” because that was the question she needed the answer to.

His presence wasn’t an accident and he was plotting something. But her words didn’t come out as an accusation. At least, it didn’t sound like one to her. It almost sounded like...an invitation.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. The look in his eyes said one word and one word only—you. “We, uh, have to talk. About the job.”

Right, right. The job. The rodeo. The feud between their families, going back over thirteen years. The way she knew he was here to undermine her but she wasn’t sure how supporting her was going to help with that.

None of that had a damned thing to do with the way his eyes devoured her.

She turned and bent at the waist to check her makeup in the small travel mirror. Pete made a noise behind her that sounded suspiciously like a groan. She glanced back at him in the reflection and saw that he was, predictably, staring at her behind. “Yes, the job. The one you volunteered yourself for?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed again. “That job.”

She reached over and picked up her chaps. They were show chaps, bright white leather that had never seen a speck of dirt or a spot of cow manure. With supple fringe at the edges, the chaps had “All-Stars” worked in beads running vertically down each of her thighs and then, at the widest part of the chaps at the bottom, “Princess of the Rodeo” had been spelled out in eye-popping gems of pink and silver. Nothing about these chaps were subtle and everything was designed to catch the eye. She always wore the white outfit on the first night of the rodeo. The second night, she had another matching outfit in patriotic red, white and blue. Those chaps were so covered with rhinestones she needed help mounting up in the saddle.

“What I’m trying to figure out,” she said, propping one leg up on the chair and strapping the chap around her upper thigh, “is why you want the job, Pete. By all accounts, you don’t need the money. I know Marie’s ranch does well, too.”

Chloe had done her research—he was quite well off. He wasn’t at the same level the Lawrence family was, but his net worth meant he didn’t need this job. Gorgeous, wealthy, rugged—Pete Wellington was a hell of a catch no matter how she looked at him.

And she was looking at him right now. He stared at her with naked desire and she could feel her traitorous body reacting. If it weren’t for his hell-bent vendetta, she’d be tempted.

A shudder worked through her body as she went on, “And you haven’t exactly shown a willingness to work beneath a woman in general or me in specific.”

He had his thumbs hooked into his belt, but he was gripping the leather so hard his knuckles were white. She’d put a lot of money on the fact that he wouldn’t be able to tell her what she’d just said.

But this man was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? “I never said I have any problem working under you,” he said in a low voice that made that tight coil of desire in her stomach painfully tighter. “In fact, I’m beginning to think it’s a good idea to have you over me.”

Her fingers fumbled with the strap and she had to stop before the heavy leather fell off her leg entirely. Her hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t with rage.

Damn this man. Even when he pissed the hell out of her, he still had the capacity to make her want him. At least this time, she knew she’d made him want her, too.

It wasn’t so much cold comfort as it was outright torture, however.

She took a deep breath, hoping to clear her head—but it didn’t work because now his scent was filling this tiny space. Leather and dirt and musk. He smelled exactly like a cowboy should, rough and maybe a little dirty but so, so right.

“Good,” she managed to get out, but she didn’t sound in charge by any stretch of the imagination. “I’m glad you’re coming to your senses.” There. She managed to get the straps on the first chap done and turned her attention to the second chap. Which required her to switch legs. She leaned into the mild stretch and this time, Pete definitely groaned.

She couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t come out as “Could you help me with this?” and no matter how hot he was making her, she was absolutely not about to have sex with Pete Wellington in a glorified broom closet.

Or anywhere else, she mentally corrected.

Sex with Pete Wellington was completely off the table. Or any other flat surface. That was final.

So she kept her mouth shut as she worked at the buckle. When she had that one done, she belted the chaps at her waist, which finished the whole look off with the giant belt buckle that had Princess worked in Swarovski crystals. Her dad had commissioned it for her when she’d turned eighteen.

She turned back to the mirror, trying not to look at the man behind her, but it wasn’t easy. He must’ve taken a step forward at some point because he loomed over her now. She could feel his breath messing up her carefully curled hair and it was tempting—so damned tempting—to lean back into that broad chest, just to see what he’d do. Would he push her hair to the side and press his lips against the little bit of skin right below her ear? Cup her breasts through the sequins? Run his hands down her waist and around to her denim-clad butt?

She physically shook as these thoughts tumbled through her mind. She never hooked up at any of the All-Stars events—which was both company policy and her own personal rule. Cowboys were off-limits. But she lived out of a suitcase seven months of the year, which didn’t make it easy to have relationships, either.

It’d been too long since a man had gotten this close to her.

Why, oh why did it have to be Pete freaking Wellington? He might be turning her on and she might be driving him crazy, but a little raw sexual attraction didn’t change anything. He wasn’t here by accident and she couldn’t give him any more leverage over her. For all she knew, this attraction was part of whatever con he was running. Get her in a compromising position and blackmail her or something.

She leaned forward and plucked her white Stetson out of its travel case. The hat had a fancy sparkling crown that matched her chaps. She carefully set it on her head, making sure not to disrupt the curls she’d teased into her hair. There. Now she was the Princess of the Rodeo.

“Chloe...” Pete spoke the moment before his hands came to rest around her waist.

Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of his strong hands touching her. Had they ever touched before?

Ten years they’d been dancing around each other, slinging insults and innuendos in a never-ending attempt to come out on top—but had they ever actually touched?

She didn’t think so because she would’ve remembered the electric feel of his fingers on her body, the rush of heat that flowed out from this connection.

How would his rough, calloused hands feel against her bare skin?

“Yes?” Her gaze caught his in the mirror. She wanted to cover his hands with her own, lace their fingers together. She wanted to pull him closer.

She had lost her ever-loving mind.

But even that realization didn’t make her move. She couldn’t. She had to know what he was going to say. His mouth opened and she held her breath.

Bam bam bam. The crappy door to this closet practically bowed under the force of the pounding as Flash called out, “Chloe! You in there?”

Pete dropped his hands and backed up so fast he tripped over her rolling luggage and all but fell into the far corner of the tiny space. Chloe tried not to groan out loud. There was no situation her brother couldn’t make worse. “Yeah, I’m almost ready.” To Pete, she hissed, “Here’s the deal, Wellington. I know whatever you’re doing is a trap, but...”

“But?” he replied, almost—but not quite—pulling off a nonchalant look. He was breathing too hard to look casual about anything.

She didn’t miss his lack of a denial. Right. Nothing like a confirmation that he was completely untrustworthy to help squash her rampant desire.

She took a deep breath, inhaling more of his scent, and did something she’d sworn she’d never do. She admitted weakness to Pete Wellington. “But you’re not wrong that I need a little help handling the stock contractors and the cowboys. Do you legitimately want to work with the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo?”

He had the nerve to look indignant. “Isn’t that all I’ve ever wanted?”

“No,” she whispered furiously. “You’ve always wanted to put me in my place.”

“Did we determine if that was above me or below me?” he asked with a sly grin.

And just like that, they were right back to the same place they’d always been. She ignored his question. “I will tolerate your presence as long as you do what I say, when I say it. If you can convince the locals to get on board with my ideas, then you can stay. But the moment you undermine me, you’re gone and I’ll see to it you never set foot at an All-Stars event ever again. Understood?”

Flash banged on the door again. “Chloe? Is everything all right? I heard Pete Wellington is here. Do you know what that asshole wants?”

Irritating little brothers would always be irritating, even if they weren’t little anymore. She had no idea if she was pissed at Flash or thankful that he’d interrupted the madness she and Pete had been barreling toward at top speed. “One second, for God’s sake,” she snapped. She jabbed a finger in Pete’s direction, but she made sure not to touch him. “Understood?”

It took him a while before he responded. She could practically see the lust fading away, replaced with his usual condescension. “Understood, boss.”

“Can you handle leaving my dressing room without getting caught?”

He gave her a dull look. “Go before he breaks down the damned door.”

She threw the door open—which conveniently slammed into Pete’s chest. She gave him one last warning look and then had to dodge Flash’s next knock as she quickly walked away from her dressing room. “What?”

Thank God Flash followed her. He already had his chaps belted on, but unlike hers, Flash’s weren’t all that flashy. Dirt and muck from the arenas he’d been riding in for the last six years had permanently worked into the creases. Chaps that had once been a light brown with a darker brown diamond pattern down the leg were now just...dirty brown. “Who’s the act tomorrow night?”

“You had to interrupt me getting ready to ask me a question you could have looked up on the internet?”

She was so done with this day, honestly. She needed a stiff drink and maybe a video call with her sister-in-law, Renee Lawrence. She and Renee had been best friends back when Chloe had grown up in New York City, before Milt Lawrence had won the All-Stars in that ill-fated poker game and relocated his entire family to Dallas.

A few months ago, Renee had gotten into a little trouble—which was the nicest way anyone could say her husband had committed suicide rather than face charges for his part in what the newspapers had dubbed the Preston Pyramid, the largest financial con in American history. Renee had come to Dallas looking for Chloe but had found Oliver, the oldest of the Lawrence children and somehow, two people who had driven each other crazy as kids had absolutely clicked as adults. Now one of Chloe’s oldest, dearest friends was her sister.

She could use some girl time, frankly, away from the overwhelming masculinity of the rodeo. Renee had no history with Pete Wellington either, so Chloe could work through her suddenly complicated feelings.

But instead she had Flash.

Her brother scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just wondering...you know, if the act had changed.”

Flash was many things—a cocky pain in the butt, mostly—but hesitant wasn’t one of them. To see him hemming and hawing was unsettling, frankly. “What? Were you hoping to see someone else?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

She stared at her brother. Why did she think this was about a woman? When it came to Flash Lawrence, he only cared about two things—women or earning his place at the All-Stars table.

Then it hit her. “Is this about Brooke Bonner?”

“No,” he answered quickly, but his cheeks shot red.

“Uh-huh.”

At the All-Stars rodeo in Fort Worth early in the season, Brooke had been an up-and-coming country star. And it hadn’t escaped Chloe’s notice that Flash and Brooke had both disappeared about the same time after the rides and before Brooke’s show. They’d had to delay the start of the concert for twenty minutes before Brooke had reappeared, claiming she’d gotten lost backstage.

If Chloe had the time or mental energy, she’d go for Flash’s jugular over his country-star crush because the man had earned more than a little crap for all the times he’d made Chloe’s life that much more complicated. But today, she didn’t have it in her. She was late, still flustered from whatever the hell had happened between her and Pete and still furious that none of the stock contractors were willing to agree to her ideas until Pete declared them okay. So instead of ribbing her brother, she only said, “If there’s any change in the music lineups, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks.” Her baby brother smiled at her, the good smile that drew buckle bunnies to him like moths to a flame. But underneath that cocky grin was relief.

“But,” she went on, “you owe me.” Before Flash could interrupt her, she went on, “Yes, Pete Wellington is here. And I’ve hired him—on a trial basis,” she practically had to shout over Flash’s holler of disbelief. “He’s going to run interference with the stock contractors. I’m asking you as a sister and ordering you as your boss not to start anything with him. Okay?”

“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” Flash demanded, scuffing the toe of his boot into the dirt. “You can’t trust that man. He’s out to take us all down.”

“Who said I trusted him?” No, she didn’t trust Pete at all. But aside from Flash, she was alone in that judgment. Everyone else here had made their feelings crystal clear—they’d pick Pete over her every day of the week.

She just needed a little help while she pushed the All-Stars through this transition phase, that was all. She’d make full use of Pete’s ability to get cowboys to shut up and go along with the plan and then, when she had the All-Stars positioned properly, she’d cut him loose.

All there was to this...relationship with Pete Wellington was a calculated risk. He was betting he could trick her out of the rodeo, somehow. She was betting he was no match for her. He might be gorgeous, wealthy and awfully good with a rope, but she was a Lawrence.

Flash looked doubtful, so Chloe went on, “Look—trust me. I know what I’m doing and I know what he’s trying to do—but I can handle him. Just don’t pick a fight with him, okay?”

“If you need someone to run interference, why not just ask me?”

The hell of it was, Flash meant that. He hadn’t seen the messes she’d had to clean up after all his other attempts to “help.” Flash would always be a big bull in a very tiny china shop.

“Because,” she explained, “you want to be a rider, not a Lawrence. You start meddling in the show management and no one will ever believe you’ve earned your ranking.”

Flash was hell-bent on being one of the best all-around riders in the world, which meant riding with the All-Stars. But the problem with riding the rodeo circuit your family owned was that no one believed he hadn’t just bought his way into the rankings. Everyone—even the competitors who watched him ride night after night—believed he was here only because he was a Lawrence.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “You’re right. But why does it have to be Pete?”

Chloe grit her teeth. “Because everyone else already respects him. They listen to him.” And not to her.

She pushed that thought aside and went on, “If I bring in someone new, it’ll take months—maybe years—before they’re willing to try something different and I have plans, Flash. I want them in place before the next season starts.” That was the one area where Pete had her up against a wall.

No, no—wrong mental image. Because Pete would never have her up against a wall.

But she needed his connections and goodwill now.

Flash scowled. “If Pete gives you any crap at all, I’ll beat the hell out of him.”

“Agreed,” she said and then pasted on her big smile as a family with two little girls spotted them. “Well, now—who are these two beautiful princesses?”

The girls squealed and hugged her and Chloe posed for pictures with the mom and her daughters and then, with surprisingly good humor, Flash posed with the dad.

By then, other people had noticed the Princess of the Rodeo and a crowd formed. As Chloe posed for another picture, she saw Pete Wellington in the distance, talking with a few of the riders. As if he could sense her gaze upon him, he turned. And tipped his hat in her direction.

Another thrill of pleasure went through her at the gentlemanly gesture. No, she didn’t trust him. Not a damned bit. But it looked like they were working together from here on out.

This was a bad idea.

After what had almost happened in the dressing room? It was a horrible idea, one that almost guaranteed failure.

But as long as she kept her fantasies to herself and Pete’s hands off her body, it’d be fine.

No problem, right?