A Little White Lie
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- About the Author
- Look for these titles by Mackenzie McKade
The truth could make their one perfect night crumble into dust.
It’s Friday night and advertising agent Stella Sinclair’s plan to catch the red-eye back to New York is fading with the Montana sunset. She’ll do anything to land this western-wear company’s account, but what’s she going to do all weekend in this Podunk town?
On the way back to the hotel to watch paint peel from the walls, she makes a quick stop in a local bar to answer the call of nature. One slippery spot later, her stiletto heels are flying—and her fall is broken by the most delicious cowboy she’s ever laid eyes on.
Heaven just dropped into JD Foster’s arms. City girls—and city life—aren’t his style, which made it easy to skip out on his grandfather’s business meeting earlier today. For this classical beauty, though, he just might make an exception.
A drink, a dance, and their chemistry takes the reins. Then JD remembers why Stella’s name seems familiar. She’s courting the family business. JD wants her sighing in pleasure tonight, but for the right reasons. And he’s not above withholding a vital detail or two in order to seal the deal…
Warning: This book contains lies, explicit sex, and betrayal. All necessary elements to light a fire between two people and lay the foundation for some really hot makeup sex.
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
A Little White Lie
Copyright © 2010 by Mackenzie McKade
ISBN: 978-1-60928-140-3
Edited by Sasha Knight
Cover by Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: July 2010
A Little White Lie
Mackenzie McKade
Dedication
To all those women out there who love to read about men in tight blue jeans, boots and a Stetson. I hope you enjoy
A Little White Lie
.
Chapter One
Life was a variety of choices, which included the current assignment Stella Sinclair had agreed to accept—chasing a new account halfway across the United States. She squirmed behind the wheel of her rented car and looked out into the darkness surrounding her.
“Montana,” she moaned. Not exactly a city girl’s preference for the weekend. Yet if it could jump-start her career, she might even consider facing that rustic old barn they called a bar looming in the distance. ’Cause this girl had to go and go badly.
As if her bladder spoke telepathically to her foot, she pressed the gas pedal, shooting from forty-five to sixty. For a moment she pondered her options. Grin and bear it for the remaining twenty minutes of her drive to her hotel or risk soiling her favorite red cocktail dress. Of course she could pull over and squat. The thought of the possibility of urine and mud splashing on her two-hundred-dollar stilettos made her cringe.
Mouth pulled into a thin line, she inched her chin higher. “I’d rather die.” Once again she eyed the lights ahead.
The lounge hadn’t appeared threatening when she passed it previously this evening. Then again night hadn’t fallen and she hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the place earlier, choosing to focus on her meeting with Jonathan David Toliver.
An eerie glow rose against a pitch-black night as she neared the bar. The large building, stuck out in the middle of nowhere, made her think of one of those horror movies where the girl goes into an establishment but never comes out—alive.
Nervous laughter followed her wayward thought. “How’s that for an overactive imagination?”
Served her right for leaving the Tolivers’ ranch without stopping to powder her nose first, but her potential client had insisted on walking her to the car. A smile found its way to her lips.
Seventy-two-year-old Toliver was the epitome of a gentleman. The western-wear mogul had prefaced every sentence with “Ma’am”, which had made her feel beyond her twenty-four years. Yet she had to admit it had been nice, and tonight she had scored points.
Toliver liked her.
“It would have been nicer if he had agreed to give me—Maritime Marketing—a chance.” She’d counted on landing this account tonight. Instead he’d required the weekend to make up his mind.
Fine.
But the man hadn’t fooled her with his laid-back, charming personality and “aw shucks” manner. He was sharp as a tack. The gleam in his eyes and the way he scrutinized her every word spoke loudly. Two-to-one odds he was verifying the stats she had shared with him regarding her company. Not to mention thoroughly checking out her credentials.
By tomorrow he’d know she’d been with Maritime for less than eight months and that she’d graduated with honors from Columbia University. She’d lay a bet he would even uncover that she was an only child born to career-minded parents. Her life had consisted of nannies, boarding schools and college. She wouldn’t put it past him to discover that she was single and that the last time she’d had sex was six months ago. Even that had been nothing more than a night of pleasure.
Stella briefly glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, not liking what she saw. She had become her mother. “Guess it’s true. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. So, girl, you’re stuck in the boondocks until Tuesday morning. However will you entertain yourself?” She chuckled.
A coworker had informed her that country towns had little-to-no nightlife. The number of vehicles pulling in and out of the establishment contradicted her associate’s appraisal. In fact, it was Friday night and the large barn-like structure appeared to be bursting at the seams.
“That squashes my haunted-house theory,” she mumbled as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe a toss in the hay with one of the local yokels would pass the time and take away the itch to feel a naked body pressed to hers. She’d always dreamed of making love to a cowboy. Something about their primitive reputation appealed to her. Besides, it would be a welcome change from the suits she’d dated in New York.
The glaring headlights in the rearview mirror made her avert her gaze and attention briefly to the multitude of boxes lying on the passenger seat. Toliver had gifted her with a variety of different clothing samples, including a pair of boots she never planned on wearing. The three-inch Pradas she wore were more her taste in shoes. Designer jeans were the closest thing western she had ever touched.
As the bar drew closer, she raised her eyesight to the large neon sign glowing “Rusty Nail”. Beneath it the words “Everyone gets nailed here” blinked off and on.
“Catchy and inviting.” Her amused grin died instantly when the urge to pee pinched her thighs together. Her entire body shook, fighting the inevitable. “Oh God.”
Should she? Stop that is.
A glance in the rearview mirror at her perfectly styled updo reminded her she was overdressed for a place like this. “City girl” might as well be tattooed across her forehead. Wearing a strapless red evening dress that brushed midway up her thighs, she would stand out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd. Of course, if she had known Mr. Toliver’s plan was to eat at the ranch, she would have worn a suit.
Foot on the brake, she slowed the car down. Weathered wood siding sported burn spots that made her think they’d rescued the lumber from a forest fire, perhaps a hundred years ago.
Stella squinted. What was that out front? A hitching post?
Lord. She had truly fallen back in time, finding herself smack-dab in the middle of an old western. Broken laughter tickled her throat as she looked around for the horses, maybe a carriage or two. But it was a truck that tore out of the parking lot, swerving as someone chucked a beer in its direction, that caught her attention. Glass shattered as the bottle struck asphalt. The man inside the vehicle leaned out of the window cursing as he flipped the assailant the bird.
She shook her head. “Rednecks.” Thank God she lived in a city of civilization and culture. Okay. The finger was universal and now that she was being honest so were the obscenities. Still, the Rusty Nail didn’t appear to be the safest place. Peeing could wait until she was tucked safely in her hotel room.
Mind made up, she accelerated, turning her gaze back to the road. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a man stumbled into her headlights.
She gasped. Her eyes widened. A million possibilities flashed before her eyes, including her striking the pedestrian and ejecting him into the air.
Slamming her foot on the brake, she jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left, barely missing the cowboy. Tires screeching filled her ears along with a silent scream that shook her from limb to limb. The scent of burnt rubber rose as the car came to an abrupt stop, propelling her forward before throwing her against the seat and forcing the seat belt to bite across her chest.
Startled, the man flailed his arms. He almost fell on his ass as he staggered backwards. For a moment he swayed back and forth, managing to get out of the street without tumbling over.
Ohmigod. Was the man injured or just drunk?
As white-hot adrenaline flooded her veins, her pulse sped. God. That was close. She released the air held captive in her lungs before sucking in a cleansing breath. When she had a second to clear her mind, fear turned to anger.
Her fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. “Damn idiot.” Anxiety played across her bare shoulders, arms and legs, making goose bumps rise. Her bladder squeezed, taking the opportunity to remind her of her predicament. “Dammit.” She couldn’t hold out twenty minutes. “That’s it.” The choice had been ripped from her hands. It was pee now or pay later.
Frowning, she pulled into the parking lot where trucks outnumbered cars. Then again, what had she expected? She was just outside Billings, Montana. The hayseed town specialized in western wear, cattle, sheep and cowboys.
“Yes.” Her luck was holding out as she spied a parking place up front and pulled into it. As she turned off the engine, the booming sound of country music and someone crooning flooded the car. A couple wrapped in each other’s arms walked out of the double doors that swung wide, giving her a brief glimpse inside.
The immediate urge to pee washed away her curiosity as well as her concern. She wasted no time exiting the vehicle and heading for the front door. A cool breeze brought the scent of evergreen sweeping around her and raised the hem of her dress. A small squeak pushed from her pursed lips. Her hands grasped to take control of the material before she bared it all. A couple of wolf calls followed her hastened steps. Another time she might have had something witty to say, but at the moment she had only one thing on her mind—the restroom.
As she approached the two large doors, alcohol, cigarette smoke and a hint of wood shavings assailed her. The brawny bouncer gave her a toothy smile. “Hey, little lady. You look to be far away from home.”