Violet hadn’t gone to a movie in a theater with a man since college. Delon didn’t count because Beni was always planted between them. She’d forgotten the hum of anticipation, the intimacy of sitting shoulder to shoulder as the lights went down and the darkness folded in.
Joe was close enough for her to breathe in his spicy aftershave and feel the heat radiating off his body. Prickles of awareness raced across her skin, cranking her nerve endings to maximum sensitivity. Every neuron in her brain tuned into Joe’s wavelength like a million tiny antennae, amplifying every breath, the slightest shift of his weight. She braced for the move he was sure to make, anticipation winding tighter and tighter until she thought she’d suffocate from the tension.
And Joe did…nothing. No hand on her knee or arm across the back of her chair. Not even an accidental brush of hands over the shared armrest. He just sat there popping Junior Mints into his mouth one at a time and staring at the screen like the stupid movie had a plot. Her emotions spun, whirling from arousal to confusion to irritation and back again. He’d stopped sneaking peeks at the front of her shirt once the silicone princess starting flashing her rack on screen. Not that Violet wanted him to look down her shirt. She just wanted him to want to.
Suspicion hit her like an overripe tomato, splattering slimy seeds of doubt in every crevice of her brain as she pictured the redhead in the Corvette again. She might be with Wyatt, but Joe could have a woman like that, and he’d chosen Violet instead? Maybe he’d never been all that interested. Just bored. Or on an ego trip. She’d challenged him. He’d won. Damn this shirt. She might as well have answered the door naked. Same message.
And then she had to go parading around town. Forty minutes farther down the road and they could’ve been in Amarillo, where there wasn’t a chance in a million of Delon waltzing in. But hey, at least now Violet didn’t have to figure out how to tell him about her date.
She jumped when Joe stuck a hand in front of her face, Junior Mint resting on his palm. “Want the last one?”
“No!” she snapped. The couple two rows ahead glanced over their shoulders. Violet winced and lowered her voice. “I mean, no thank you.”
“Okay.”
Joe popped it in his mouth, folded the box into thirds and stuffed it into the cup holder. Then he lifted his arm and looped it over her shoulders as casual as if he had a right. Violet’s heart revved, stuttered, then took off, pinging around her rib cage like a pinball. The banging inside her chest was so loud it nearly drowned out the explosions on screen as robot aliens laid waste to New York City, which was pretty much a waste to begin with in Violet’s opinion, but she’d heard a rumor people there felt the same way about Texas.
Okay, she might be getting a little delirious. Probably because she’d forgotten to breathe. Which she did now, but it made a weird gulping sound that had Joe shooting her a concerned look.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, but that made her hair slide from under Joe’s arm, which left his bare skin pressed against hers and that was not helping. “Hiccup.”
“Want me to get you a drink?”
Only if it was ice water in a cup big enough to shove her face into. She shook her head, and that caused more rubbing of skin against skin. She was surprised the ends of her hair didn’t start smoking, the heat was so…wow. Then his fingers stroked her arm, and she thought the top of her head might actually be sizzling. Breathe, Violet. In. Out. In…oh hell, brain, do not go there—
Crap. Too late.
Joe’s fingertip traced a circle over her biceps while his thumb brushed the supersensitive flesh on the inside of her upper arm, and honest to God, her toes actually curled. If he extended that thumb one measly little inch, he’d be touching her breast. Or she could just take a deep breath…
Right. Like her lungs would expand that far, considering they’d gone on strike the second Joe touched her. The least this shitty movie could do was provide a smidgen of distraction, but no, they just ran around swearing and shooting and creating excuses for the leading lady to bend over and give the camera a clear shot down the front of her strategically torn uniform.
Violet tilted the cell phone clipped to her belt, intending to sneak a peek at the time, but it lit up like a strobe light when she touched the button. A man five seats to their left gave her a death glare. And these morons had at least another forty-five minutes of chasing their asses in circles and blowing stuff up before they got around to saving the world. She slapped her hand over the phone, then lifted her head and gave a little squeak of surprise when she found Joe’s face only inches from hers.
“Another hour?” he asked.
Violet nodded, rendered mute by his proximity, the way his eyes locked on hers. Hoo boy. So much for not interested. His gaze wandered down to her mouth, the arm around her shoulders drawing her in. Slowly. Inevitably. Oh God. He was going to kiss her. And she was going let him, even though the oldest Shackleford girl was sitting right across the aisle, so Lily would get a text message complete with photos before Violet got her tongue untangled from Joe’s.
She jerked back and blurted, “Let’s get out of here.”
All three of their nearest neighbors cranked their heads around to glare. A dozen others stared in avid curiosity.
Joe lowered his voice and leaned in, so close her eyes crossed. “If we do that, we won’t get to see how it ends.”
“Boom! Crash! More boob shots. Defeat is certain until the hero pulls off the impossible save at the last possible second and the robots explode and everyone lives happily ever after.”
“You forgot my favorite part.” He met her eyes again, his smile a lazy challenge. “Where the guy and the girl sneak off and get naked.”
Her pulse thudded hard and her mouth went dry. There were so many ways this could go horribly wrong, and then they’d either be minus a bullfighter again or Joe would be underfoot for another two and a half weeks. If things went sideways, it would be beyond awkward. But if it went well…
When the last rodeo ended, Joe would be on the first plane back to Oregon and Violet would slide back into her rut with a smile on her face. A big, big smile, if the energy crackling between them was any indication.
Joe raised his eyebrows, questioning. “Where are we going, Violet?”
Straight to Hell, probably, but if she was this turned on just sitting next to the man, it might be worth it. She made up her mind. Perhaps she’d made it up days ago. “I know a place…”
Joe’s answering smile was hot as Tabasco sauce, burning all the way down. He popped to his feet, dragging her with him. “Lead the way, darlin’.”
Violet drove, mostly as an excuse to not have to look at him until the car bumped to a stop a few miles out of town, on a patch of beaten dirt at the edge of a bluff. Joe climbed out and stretched, arching that long, lean body. Just watching the man move was more excitement than she’d had in months. Until tonight, she’d seen him in either baggy soccer shorts or loose-fitting grubby jeans with an untucked T-shirt over top. These jeans were not grubby or loose. His belt fit snug around narrow hips, framing what was possibly the nicest butt she’d ever laid eyes on. And would soon be laying hands on.
The thought sent a jolt of lust through her so powerful she checked for scorch marks on the steering wheel before she got out of the car, trailing behind as he strolled to the edge of the bluff, then stopped abruptly. “Whoa. That’s quite a drop.”
Three feet from the toes of his boots, the flat plain dropped two stories, down to a wide green valley scattered with clumps of trees. The Canadian River meandered through them, more like a sluggish creek this late in the year. Beyond the river, the lowering sun lit up the striated colors of the breaks, row upon row of convoluted ridges and canyons, carved into the earth by centuries of wind and water.
“Hank’s family owns all of this?” Joe asked.
“Only down to that curve of the river,” Violet said, pointing. “The rest of their property stretches north. The ranch house is a couple miles over that way.”
Joe glanced over his shoulder at the rutted dirt road that skirted the top of the bluff. “Their driveway could use some improvement.”
“The main road comes in from the west. This is a shortcut.”
Joe went back to studying the landscape, shadows skimming across his eyes. “Reminds me of the Painted Hills in Oregon.”
He really was homesick. And why wouldn’t he be? This land, Violet’s home ground, tugged at her soul with an ache that was never quite satisfied, even when it rippled all around her in a sea of earth and sky. Homesick didn’t begin to describe how it would feel to be evicted, even temporarily.
She glanced down and vertigo pulled at her, spinning her head and making her feel as if she would tilt into the void. She backed off a couple of steps.
“Don’t like heights?” Joe asked.
“Sure. Looks great from here.” She allowed herself another long, appreciative look at his body, framed against the glow of the setting sun. “I suppose you’re into bungee jumping off bridges and kayaking waterfalls.”
“Hell no. Never been a fan of unnecessary pain.”
Violet raised her eyebrows. “Interesting choice of careers.”
“Totally accidental.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, gaze fixed on the shadows that crept across the valley floor. “I started working for Dick when I was in high school, stacking hay bales, pitching manure, all the grunt work. One day at practice they needed a bullfighter, so I gave it a shot. Turned out I had a knack for it.”
An understatement, if she’d ever heard one. “Are your parents rodeo people?”
Joe laughed. “My dad’s an electrician, born and raised in Tacoma. He moved back right after the divorce. And Roxy—my mom—she comes to the rodeos, then hides her face ’cuz she can’t stand to watch.”
“Did you try competing?”
“Not once I started fighting bulls.” He gave a dismissive flick of his fingers. “Riding is a crap shoot—gotta draw good, ride good, hope the judges like you—but the bullfighter always gets paid. A lot better money than what most eighteen-year-olds can make.”
“Were you supporting yourself?”
“By choice. Roxy—my mom—was engaged to a financial planner from Portland, and no damn way was I moving to Yuppieville.”
“What about your dad?”
His expression didn’t change, but somehow all of his edges became harder. “Like I said, I was eighteen. I could take care of myself.”
And would rather be on his own, straight out of high school, than ask for help from either of his parents? Just Joe. No family to give him a leg up. Everything he’d done, the career he’d made, he’d built for himself. He’d earned the right to some arrogance. Possibly, he’d needed it to survive.
Possibly, she’d misjudged Joe in a dozen other ways, and suddenly getting to know him felt a whole lot more dangerous than jumping his bones.
* * *
She led him to a trail that angled down the side of a narrow, brushy draw, a path worn by ancient feet. This area had been home to the earliest human settlements recorded in the southwest. A side path curved below the rim of the bluff, ending in a room-sized niche scooped out of the crumbling dirt and soft rock. Easy to imagine the natives resting here, high above the river bed in this tiny fortress. The charred remnants of a campfire were fresh, though.
Joe looked around, then gave her a slow, heated smile that said he knew exactly what this place was. “Come here often?”
“Not lately. It’s called The Notch.” A place for the younger crowd to sneak beer and kisses. Chances of anyone coming along on a weekday were slim, but she assumed the privacy code still applied; see a car, stay clear, in case there was more going down than a few drinks.
Speaking of alcohol…she could use a shot. How was she supposed to do this? Did they chat first, or get right down to business? And crud…condoms. Should she have brought her own instead of assuming a guy like Joe would be prepared? Then she pictured stopping at a store in Dumas and bumping into one of the ladies from her mother’s garden club while holding a pack of Trojans in her hand. Oh, hell no.
She occupied her jittery hands by spreading the blanket from the trunk of her car at the base of a rock outcropping, the warm, smooth surface providing a decent back rest when she sat down. Her pulse skipped when Joe lowered himself beside her and draped his arm over her shoulders, sending a shimmer of heat across her skin.
He bent one knee and rested his arm on it. “Ah, yeah. Much better than that stupid movie.”
She willed herself to relax, tip her head back against his arm and savor the feel of warm, hard muscle against her neck. The sun was a blazing semicircle sliding below the horizon, setting fire to the wispy layers of clouds and reflecting off the ragged edges of the breaks, turning them into a glowing maze of pinks and reds and golds. Violet inhaled. Joe’s cologne tickled her nose and made her want to bury her face in the crook of his neck.
“You should see the Palo Duro Canyon,” she said, her nerves bubbling over into words. “It’s lot more impressive than this. And not very far. Just south of Amarillo.”
“Maybe you can show it to me while I’m here.” His fingers skimmed over her arm, his voice sliding into a scale that raised goose bumps even though the words were harmless.
The trailing edge of the sun flared, then shrank to a brilliant pinpoint before flickering out. Dusk settled in around them, softening the edges, blurring the lines. Darkness. Yes. That would be good. Much less…revealing. The smell of damp earth and cured grass rose off the riverbed; and birds chittered in the trees, settling in for the night. Joe’s arm was a pleasant weight on her shoulders, his hands still for the moment.
“Is your mom still in Portland?” she asked, not ready to move past conversation just yet.
“Boise. Portland was Number Two.”
“What number is Boise?”
Joe made a show of counting on the fingers of his free hand. “Five. Well, three and five, if you count marrying the same one twice.”
“I take it she doesn’t have great taste in men.”
“The best. They keep getting richer and smarter, and they’re all decent guys who spoil her rotten.” Joe’s eyebrows lowered in disapproval. “Except Four. He was her one bad call. I think she was so irritated at herself, when Frank came back around she gave him a second shot.”
“What went wrong the first time?”
“She has a short attention span.” His voice went bone dry. “It’s genetic.”
The implication was about as subtle as a two-handed shove. Violet echoed his tone. “Guess you’re not lookin’ to settle down with a little woman and a passel of kids.”
“Nope. Roxy has dibs on all the ‘I do’s’ for our family.”
Okay, then. They were clear. Crystal. Whatever this turned out to be with Joe, she knew the expiration date. She’d written it on his contract.
“Do you live at Browning’s ranch?” she asked.
“Geezus, no.” His smile was a razor-edged glint in the half light. “I rent a place in town. Working with Dick and Lyle is enough. I don’t need to look at them across the breakfast table every morning.”
“If you don’t like them, why do you stay?”
The hand that had been dangling on his knee clenched into a fist, then slowly loosened as if Joe had forced it to relax. “There’s no place like the High Lonesome. Ten thousand acres of desert that’s never seen a plow. It’s…well, you know how it is.”
His words were infused with a yearning so fierce, it stabbed at her heart. Her roots were buried deep in this red dirt. She might shrivel right up and die if she was transplanted, but she owned her piece of ground. Joe was at the mercy of a man who, by all accounts, wasn’t the merciful kind. It seemed to her that investing his heart and soul in the High Lonesome was asking to be ruined.
“Why do you fight bulls? And don’t tell me it’s for the money. There’s a lot easier ways to make a buck.”
“Be the hero. Get the girls. You know…” Then he trailed off, and an odd expression flickered on his face, as if he’d had a sudden realization. His gaze focused on her. “You do the same thing. Make a difference, save the day. Sounds corny as hell, but it’s a rush, knowing you’re the reason somebody walked out of the arena under their own power.”
Yeah. She knew. Felt it even now, quivering in her muscles, though she wasn’t sure if she was feeling her own reaction, or his, or both—their bodies vibrating like twin tuning forks striking the same note. Heat zinged from her scalp to her toes, then settled halfway in between. He shifted, rocked onto his hip so his body tilted toward hers.
He rested his hand on her shoulder, his thumb skimming the nape of her neck as his voice dropped to the purr that made her mouth go dry. “I saw you after that save on Sunday. You were fired up.”
“It gets your blood pumping,” she admitted.
“Darlin’, you have no idea.” Joe leaned closer, his warm breath fanning across her cheek. Her body tightened. Anticipating. Aching. “Watching you in action…I never knew how hot that could make me. Especially now—” His finger trailed lower, over her collarbone and down to the bottom of the vee of her shirt, and everything adjacent throbbed in response. “That I can see all this.”
His fingertip circled, drifting over the inner curves of her breasts as Joe’s mouth hovered over hers. “Makes me want to drag you off that horse and shove you up against the nearest fence, see just how hot we could get.”
The air shuddered out of Violet’s lungs. She barely had a chance to gulp in more before Joe took her mouth in a kiss that felt like it could melt the rock she leaned on. For a beat, all she could do was accept. Adjust. Then she opened up and gave herself to the heat and the sensation. His fingers splayed to cup the back of her head as his tongue toyed with hers. He kissed like he fought bulls. Bold. Aggressive. Advancing, retreating, forcing her to chase him. She curled her hand around the back of his neck, fingers tangled in the ragged ends of his hair, dragging him closer.
He hooked his hand around her bent knee, rolling her into him, taking the kiss deeper as she slid her hand down, palm flat, along the long sleek line of his back. Her body screamed for contact, the hunger immediate, relentless, no time for slow and gentle. He scooped an arm around her shoulders, lifted, turned, and lowered her in one smooth motion, following her down without his mouth missing a beat.
Damn, the man was good.
Then she lost the ability to think at all when his thigh slid between hers. His fingers skimmed along the waistband of her jeans, found bare skin beneath her shirt. She arched into his touch, wanting more. More. Skin to skin, flesh to flesh. She tugged at his polo shirt, but it was tucked securely into his jeans. Her greedy hands went lower, fingers curling, digging into the hard curve of his butt through taut denim, feeling it flex as he responded to the pressure by rocking his hips into her. The only thing firmer was pressed hard against the front of her jeans. He rocked again and she made a sound that would have been embarrassing if she hadn’t been pretty much out of her mind with need.
His nimble fingers found the place where her shirt was tied and, oh thank the Lord, those laces weren’t just for decoration. He tugged and they came loose, the shirt falling away at the push of his hands, leaving nothing but a lacy bra in the same shade of red.
He pulled back, looked down at her and sucked in a shaky breath of his own. “Halle-fucking-lujah.”
His mouth came down again, planting another hard, hot kiss on her mouth before heading south, sending shockwaves of sensation over her skin as he went. Violet slid her hands around to his hips and at the command of her last functioning brain cell ran her thumbs over the front pockets of his jeans, feeling the gratifying crinkle of plastic.
Joe pulled back, looked down at her.
“Just checking,” she said.
“Got it handled.”
Hot damn, did he ever. That mouth of his deserved a championship buckle all its own. She tugged at his shirt, hissing her annoyance when it didn’t budge. His mouth kept moving, tasting, teasing as he lifted his hips and reached between them to pop first his buckle free, then the button on his jeans before settling over her again. The zipper gave as she shoved her hands down to pull the shirt free and, finally, finally, found hot silky skin. Joe stopped just short of the promised land, her breasts aching in protest as he sat up to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside. His torso gleamed in the near darkness, lean, taut, with smooth flat muscles, like a swimmer’s. Violet almost wished he’d stop and let her admire the view. Then he lowered his body onto hers, pressed all that lovely muscle against her and her eyes crossed.
Hallelujah indeed.
She arched and moaned as Joe’s mouth and then teeth found her nipple through the lace. Light exploded, glowing red through her eyelids, as if the two of them had generated their own bonfire—
“Violet?”
She froze. Oh dear God, no. Her eyes popped open and for a second she couldn’t see anything but a bright glare. Then the light bobbed and she heard, “Give me the damn flashlight, Hank!” and it veered skyward and blinked off, leaving pinpricks of brilliant color dancing in front of Violet’s eyes. She shoved so hard against Joe’s chest she heard the air go out of his lungs in a small Oof! He rolled away, blinking like he’d been yanked out of the movie theater into broad daylight.
“What the fuck—”
He followed Violet’s stricken gaze up to the two people silhouetted against the darkening sky. She couldn’t see their faces, but she knew those voices like her own. Violet fumbled to cover herself as she watched realization dawn on Joe’s face.
“Fuck,” he said again, with feeling.
Her sentiments exactly.