The Fantasy Factor. Kimberly Raye

into playing games. She hadn’t worried about saying the right things or holding out or maintaining an air of propriety. She’d been straightforward and free and very, very improper.

      And he’d enjoyed every moment.

      But then Sharon had passed away and Sarah had withdrawn and Houston had done what he’d been planning to do for as long as he could remember—he’d left his desperately small town and his sorry excuse for a father, and he’d built his name and his reputation as one of the best bull riders on the pro-rodeo circuit.

      Houston was the middle brother of the notorious Jericho brothers. Austin was the oldest. Dallas the youngest. All had been as bad as a hot summer day was long. They’d been the town’s rebels, a legacy inherited from their hell-raising father and wild-child mother. His mother had died early on, just months after giving birth to Dallas. She’d been diabetic and the birth had been too much for her. There’d been complications and her kidneys had failed. She’d fought for her life on a dialysis machine, but it hadn’t been enough to save her. She’d passed on, and his father had crawled into a bottle and the three boys had been left to fend for themselves.

      They’d all grown up to be independent, none of them depending on anyone except one another to overcome their past and rise above the town’s expectations of them. Dallas had built a successful construction company. Austin was a rancher with the fastest growing spread in the county. And Houston was this close to breaking the national bull riding record of ten consecutive championships.

      He’d worked hard to get to this point. Over the years, he’d spent most of his time on the road, focused on the next practice and the next competition. Always focused.

      Except at night, when the exhaustion weighing on his muscles wasn’t enough to pull him into a decent sleep. Then he would close his eyes and sometimes—oftentimes—picture Sarah.

      They’d made it through the first three of the Sexiest Seven. They’d gotten hot and heavy on the bank of Cadillac Creek on a moonlit night, which had satisfied number one—sex outside in nature. They’d done the wild thing in her Grandma’s Impala, which had satisfied number two—sex in the back seat of a car. They’d set each other on fire in a cheap but clean room at Hotel Heaven just outside the county line, checking off number three—sex in a sleazy motel room. They’d been scheduled to fulfill number four—getting slippery and wet in the shower—when one of Sarah’s best friends had passed away.

      Sarah had changed then and he’d left, and they’d never made it into the shower for number four of the Sexiest Seven, or into a crowded movie theater for number five, or a public rest room for number six, or an elevator for number seven.

      No, they’d never had a chance to finish, but he’d often thought about it. Fantasized about it.

      “…there, sugar?” The voice drew his attention and he turned to see the sultry blonde to his right who had been coming on to him all night. He’d been trying to warm up to what she’d been offering, but then Sarah had walked into the bar and the blonde had suddenly lost all her appeal. Now she licked her lips suggestively. “This place is getting too crowded. What do you say we cut out of here and have a little private party of our own?”

      “I’d love to, honey, but I think I’d better stick around a little while longer.” He eyed the group of men at the bar, all arms raised in a toast to the groom, who wore a foam ball and chain around his neck. “Jack and I go way back.”

      What the hell was he saying?

      He wanted to get out of here. Out of the building, out of his clothes, away from the damned heat. He needed to sate the lust burning him up from the inside out.

      Unfortunately, the lust had nothing to do with this woman and everything to do with the woman he’d spotted only a few minutes ago.

      Correction—the woman he’d imagined only a few minutes ago.

      “Then how’s about an itty-bitty dance?” the blonde asked. She moved her hips suggestively, rubbing her pelvis against his thigh. “I bet I can change your mind about the private party.”

      He tugged at his collar and tipped back his Resistol. “Maybe later. I think I need another beer.” She glared and walked off while he stepped up to the bar and signaled the bartender.

      A minute later, he slid a few dollars across the bar top and raised an ice-cold mug to his lips. The freezing liquid slid down his throat in a rush of cool relief. He grimaced. While the beer hit the spot, he didn’t have much of a taste for it after watching his old man drink himself to death. Which was why he never passed his three beer maximum when he drank.

      If he drank.

      But tonight was a special occasion. One of his old buddies was tying the knot tomorrow and so Houston had come back to Cadillac. Only for a few days, then he was off to practice for the next Pro Bull Riding championship in three weeks. Before then, however, he was going to make another pass through town to say goodbye to Miss Marshalyn Simmons, the most headstrong woman ever to come after him with a switch and a good lecture. The whole town was scheduled to say goodbye to her at a party being planned in her honor over at the VFW Hall.

      She was moving down to Florida to live with her sister. Miss Marshalyn had grown tired of the hot and sticky climate. Tired of living alone. Tired, period. She wasn’t getting any younger and the hassle and responsibility of caring for a three-hundred-acre spread and a fading farmhouse was simply too much for her.

      She wanted peace of mind, and so she’d made Houston and his brother Austin—the two Jericho brothers still single from the original notorious three—a proposition they couldn’t refuse.

      Dallas, the youngest boy, had already found the love of his life and walked down the aisle. He was now only a few months away from becoming a father—a responsibility Houston knew Dallas would take very seriously thanks to their own sorry excuse for a father.

      Miss Marshalyn wasn’t the least worried about Dallas, which was why she’d already handed over a prime hundred acres to him as a present for the new baby.

      It was Houston and Austin who caused her the most concern. She wanted them to trade in their bad-boy ways and settle down. In return, she promised one hundred acres to each of them. But only if they managed to convince her they’d really and truly changed their ways in time for her going-away party.

      Houston slid a glance toward the exit door where his brother Austin had disappeared only a few minutes earlier after having danced with Maddie Hale, the shy, frumpy leader of the Chem Gems who’d turned into a bona fide hottie. Much too hot for Miss Marshalyn’s tastes. She wanted both men to choose a prospect from the town’s pick of nice, quiet, wholesome conservative good girls.

      Maddie no longer qualified, and it was no wonder Austin—who was dead set on making Miss Marshalyn happy—had walked out before things had really heated up.

      Houston, on the other hand, had no intention of taking Miss Marshalyn up on her offer. He wasn’t the settling-down type. He’d worked too damned hard to get the hell out of Cadillac. He certainly wasn’t coming back now. Not permanently. Not ever.

      He’d meant to say as much to Miss Marshalyn. He’d tried, but she’d cut him off in that way that told him she knew best. And so he hadn’t been able to set the record straight about the land and the fact that he was leaving.

      He would, of course. He just didn’t see the need to disappoint her right now. He had a good two weeks. Plenty of time to let her down slowly, easily, before he had to leave for Las Vegas and the Pro Bull Riding Finals, where he was scheduled to compete for his tenth consecutive championship.

      A record-breaking win that would put him right up there with the greatest riders of all time.

      The knowledge didn’t send nearly the jolt of adrenaline through him that it usually did. Understandable, since he was still sore from a hard but high-scoring ride the night before in Cheyenne. A man most certainly couldn’t be excited when it hurt just to breathe.

      He drew a deep breath and an ache gripped his left lower rib