Cowboy Strong. Kelli Ireland

alone should have been enough to turn him right around and have him back in his room before he lost what was left of his mind.

      He decided not to give the thought too much attention, though, so he pushed off the wall and resumed his trek toward the elevator bank.

      He reached the elevators just as one opened and dumped off a group of highly intoxicated bridesmaids supporting one barely conscious bride. To a woman, they looked him over as if he were the best thing they’d seen all night. While he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, he still smiled and flirted a little before stepping into the elevator car and winking at them as the doors closed. It was, after all, what anyone who knew him would have expected of him.

      He punched the button for the eleventh floor and ignored the way his belly dipped as the car started its upward climb.

      Because he knew with the kind of certainty that discomfited a man that the belly drop had nothing to do with the elevator and everything to do with the woman in room 1134.

      * * *

      KENZIE HAD BEEN fast asleep when her cell phone rang. Part of her had known before squinting at the bright caller ID who it would be. The other part of her had grumbled and threatened to go back to sleep, right up to the point she swiped the answer button on the screen and heard Ty’s voice. His seductive teasing? Pretty much expected. Lust swamping her like a johnboat with a cannonball hole in its center? Not so much.

      After disconnecting the call, she lay there considering her parting shot. He’s not going to show up after I challenged him like that.

      She had no idea where the idea to challenge him had come from. She’d only known she wasn’t about to simply roll over and let him have his way with her because he was coiled tighter than a self-winding watch on an MMA fighter’s wrist. It didn’t matter that she wanted him just as bad and was wound just as tight. The principle of the thing mattered—the principle and their agreement.

      Well, that added to the fact that he wasn’t one to fish the same pond over and over if the catch was too easy. He needed the challenge, and it had to come across as near defiance if a woman thought to reel him in for even a single passionate night.

      And she posed a more authentic challenge than most. What she needed was to have a quality man chasing her, not someone simply after the Malone name or associated fortune. As the sole Malone heir, she’d learned this lesson by age fourteen.

      At fifteen, Jack Malone, her father and her idol, had pulled her aside to administer some of the best advice Kenzie had ever received. “When we lost your brother, others assumed I’d want another son to pass the Malone legacy on to, but you know—” he’d gripped her arms “—you know I wouldn’t trade you for all the Spanish gold hidden in the ocean’s depths. And when it comes to taking a man as husband, I won’t make that choice for you. I don’t care if the man you fall in love with is an artist, a pilot, a musician, a doctor or a garbageman. I set your trust up for you to be well-off, so your man doesn’t have to be rolling in money to make you happy.” He’d taken her by the shoulders then, his grip just this side of painful. “I have loved your mother through both lean years and flush times. Money can’t make a marriage, let alone a happy marriage,” he’d said softly before clearing his throat, voice gruff when he’d refocused on Kenzie. “You find the man you want to wake up to for the rest of your life, the man you can’t help but give your heart to, and you marry him. Just promise me you won’t elope, baby girl. You’re my one shot to publicly blubber as father of the bride.”

      Now here she was, waiting on a man she desired and equally admired to come to her room at her invitation. “Sheer irony. Nothing more,” she whispered, stretching her clasped hands above her head. She should probably brush her hair before—

      The rap at her door, soft but firm, had her throwing the covers back at the same time her heart lodged itself in her throat. He showed up. She wouldn’t overanalyze it, wouldn’t overthink it. She’d just enjoy it.

      Padding across the room in her cami and thong, she peered through the peephole and bit her bottom lip. Ty stood there, hands in his pockets, and grinned at her. That man wore a borrowed robe better than anyone she’d ever seen. “Hopeless,” she muttered, unsure whether it was him she spoke about or herself.

      She opened the door.

      Ty slipped inside, bare feet silent on the carpet. He swiftly shut the door and, grabbing her around the waist, spun and pressed her against the wall. Lips, full but soft, teased along her jaw, and he whispered, “Missed you.”

      Don’t believe him, her mind volunteered. You’re no one special to him. After all, he’s known as the Rodeo Romeo.

      She stiffened.

      Lifting his head to stare down at her, Ty’s gaze roamed her face. “Something wrong?”

      “No.” She smiled absently. “I’m good.”

      He curled a finger under her chin and lifted until met his stare. “Surely you can do better than that.”

      “It’s the middle of the night, Ty. ‘Good’ is pretty damn spectacular.”

      He laughed quietly, pulling her into his arms and backing her to the bed. “I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t regret answering your phone.”

      “Your first task is keeping me awake.”

      He nipped her ear. “This is my fantasy, Malone. That starts with you being awake and receptive to my cunning seduction.”

      “And it ends with?”

      Again he lifted his head, but all signs of teasing had disappeared. Dark brown eyes bored into hers, the weight of their intent scattering goose bumps along her skin. “It ends with you screaming my name.”

      Her mouth formed a small O, but no sound emerged. She was too surprised at his directness to utter anything more than the most fundamental thought. “When did you get so serious about sex?”

      Ty leaned forward, his lips brushing hers as soft as a butterfly’s caress. “When you answered your phone. I need you as much as I want you tonight, Mackenzie.”

      The way her name rolled so richly off his tongue made her whimper.

      She should answer. She really should. But the words were stuck in her throat behind her thundering heart.

      He wants me, needs me.

      Never had he admitted to anything more than “craving” her. The hunger to hear him confess it again almost had her asking for him to repeat his words, but pride intervened. Then he slid a hand between them, deft fingers manipulating her sex with skill born of experience, and all thoughts of admissions evaporated. Heat built between them faster than sheer winds from a prairie storm’s dry line. He’d never been this way with her, never been anything more than a fun bed partner she enjoyed when their paths crossed and she was in the mood. This man? He was different, in control, almost predatory. Closing her eyes, she gripped the looped cotton weave of his robe and let her head fall back, gasping slightly when he laid his lips to the hollow of her throat.

      His huffed out a small laugh against her skin. The smell of mint hit her—toothpaste—as his breath wafted up, strong and clean.

      “Kiss me,” she murmured, tossing his hat aside in order to run her fingers through his hair.

      “Demanding little thing,” he answered, weaving a hand of his own through her mass of curls and fisting it in her hair just tight enough her eyes widened. He stared at her for several seconds before placing his cheek next to hers, so close that his lips caressed her ear as he spoke. “Tonight’s my fantasy. You agreed to the terms when I called. Clear?”

      “You going to bite me again?” she asked, exhaling slowly.

      “Absolutely.”

      “Then, hell yes, we’re clear, but only if you quit stalling.”

      Ty chuckled as he shrugged out of his robe and stood before her, gloriously nude and unashamed of his body. His