Alone with You. Debbi Rawlins

them. “Our flight is in three hours. I’m assuming you can leave your trailer here?”

      Several long seconds later she understood the term “deafening silence” on a whole new level.

      “Our flight?” He emerged from behind the wall, zipping up a fresh pair of jeans. No shirt. No boots. His hair damp and messy. “First of all, I’m not going anywhere with you. More to the point, I don’t fly.”

      “It’s a commercial plane. It’s not as if I’m asking you to take a puddle-jumper.”

      “I don’t care what you call it. If it’s got wings and leaves the ground, I don’t set foot on it.”

      “Oh, please. Now I know you’re baiting me. Who doesn’t fly in this day and age?”

      He jerked a thumb at his very nice chest. “Me.” She watched wistfully as he grabbed a black T-shirt. “I’m not alone. A lot of people don’t fly. You and your little purity circle probably have your own set of back-up wings, so no problem for you all.”

      That almost made her laugh so she was glad he pulled the shirt over his head. Though she’d miss the view. The man took care of himself, the ridges of muscle across his belly and shoulders nicely defined but not bulky.

      “Have you tried a mild tranquilizer?” she asked. “You know, say, an hour before a flight.”

      Walking past her, he grabbed his beer. “I’ll save both of us a whole lot of time. No. That’s your blanket answer for the next two minutes, or however long it takes for you to get your cute little backside out of my trailer.”

      “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

      “Don’t care. It’ll all come down to no in the end.”

      “Sorry, but you don’t have that option.”

      He rinsed the bottle, dropped it in a receptacle and glanced out the window. “The parking lot is almost empty. Your rental should be easy to find.”

      Her patience slipped. She didn’t have time to baby him. “Did you ever read your contract with Sundowner?”

      “Course I read it,” he muttered, turning to frown at her. “At least my attorney did.”

      “As an aside, you might think about hiring a new one. Because he left you wide open.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “The minute you signed, you didn’t only climb into bed with Sundowner but with every arm of The Worthington Group. Which meant you agreed not to accept sponsorship from any company considered a competitor. That list is quite long.”

      Animosity darkened his face. “Nice business you work for. Or own.”

      “I don’t own any of it.” She had to look away. The contract had been horribly one-sided, nothing she would’ve participated in, but that wasn’t stopping her from using it to her advantage. “Perhaps your anger would be better directed at your attorney. The agreement also means you can’t turn down the photo shoot.”

      “You let me worry about my attorney,” he said, the curtness in his tone luring her gaze back to him. He stared out the window, the tic at his jaw working frantically. “You’d mentioned the contract expires in ten days.”

      “Yes, that’s true.”

      “This promotion thing you’re doing can’t possibly be wrapped up that soon.”

      “No, but if you’re selected as the spokesperson, the offer will be quite lucrative and—”

      “I don’t give a shit about the money.” He turned a glare on her. “I’m not the guy for this fragrance crap. You have to know that,” he said, his expression easing as he spread his hands. “There’s a new crop of ambitious, young cowboys out there making names for themselves. Go talk to them. I guarantee you’ll find at least one who’ll be willing to hawk your cologne.”

      Dammit, she was feeling guiltier by the minute. She couldn’t tell him he was a last resort. “I’m afraid they—we want someone with a couple championships under his belt. A man who, like yourself, has been with professional rodeo awhile and has a name—”

      He muttered a curse. “Even without a fancy business degree I know that any one of those young bucks with their Facebook and Twitter and whatever else they use would be a lot more marketable than a guy like me.”

      “Not necessarily.”

      “Come on. You’re a smart woman. You’ve done your homework. Five years ago I was the winning ticket. Now?” He shrugged a shoulder. But his reaction was in no way nonchalant. His jaw had tightened and he wouldn’t look at her. “I’m months, maybe weeks away from calling it quits. Saying adios to rodeo.”

      “Seriously?”

      He swung a puzzled frown at her. “I’m scoring low, spending more money than I’m winning, had two surgeries already and I’m thirty-three. Getting too old for this game.”

      “Lots of guys older than you are still riding,” she said, hating the trace of defeat in his voice.

      Tanner reacted as if she’d slapped him. Plowing a hand through his hair, he brushed past without looking at her. “It happens to everyone sooner or later so do me the courtesy of dropping the pity.”

      “I wasn’t...” Lexy closed her mouth, aware she couldn’t trust herself not to confess it was guilt, not pity that she felt.

      She breathed in deeply, really despising what this trip had come to. Why she’d imagined getting Tanner to Houston would be easy, she had no idea. Part of the problem was that she hadn’t expected to like him. She’d left Oklahoma City assuming he’d be just another cowboy like the ones who’d already turned down the proposition, except Tanner had no choice. He’d honor his contract by doing what she told him, then they’d part ways, and that would be that.

      But she did like him, and yes, there was a little bit of pity roiling inside her, yet she was forcing him to do something he strongly objected to only so she could prove herself. Actually, this foolishness proved nothing. It was her father’s petty way of humbling her. So they were both using Tanner.

      No, this was on her. She could stop this charade right now. Refuse to exploit the lousy contract his attorney had been too stupid or lazy to negotiate.

      She watched a very grim Tanner sit on the edge of his bed and pull on his boots. If only she could explain to him that all he had to do was show up for the photo shoot. She’d be forever grateful and he could walk away free and clear. After she got paid, perhaps she could even give him some money for his trouble. The thought made her uneasy. He wouldn’t appreciate the offer. He’d said he didn’t care about money, and she believed him.

      Her maxed-out credit cards and unpaid student-loan notices flashed before her eyes. Unfortunately, right now, money was her key motivation. “Whether you have any interest in the calendar or not, you understand that you must show up for the photo shoot. If nothing else, it’s a good-faith effort on your part.”

      “See, I don’t get that. I’m telling you I want nothing to do with your new cologne, and the second my contract expires I’m done. So why waste everyone’s time?”

      She shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

      His lips moved, and though she couldn’t hear him, she could well imagine what he was muttering to himself. He tugged the hem of his jeans over his boots and stood.

      A glance at her watch made her breath catch. “I brought a copy of your contract in case you had questions.” They couldn’t afford to miss their flight. Staying over a night translated to expenses her credit card couldn’t cover. “If you have trouble with the legalese, your attorney will verify what I’m saying.”

      Every time she mentioned his attorney Tanner looked as if he wanted to strangle her. She didn’t understand what that was