Breaking Rule Seven (Cowboy Casanova #1)

Breaking Rule Seven

Cowboy Casanova #1

by

Bridget Hollister

The material in this document contains explicit sexual material that is intended for mature audiences only and is inappropriate for readers under eighteen years of age.  

©Bridget Hollister, 2014. All rights reserved.

Editing by Phoebe M. West. Cover by 
Cormar Covers
.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination, have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All characters depicted in this book are assumed age eighteen and older.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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About This Story

Rule Seven: Never Sleep with Anyone You Represent

Charity Marks lives her life with a personal set of rules that she never breaks—and for a good reason. After getting fired from her job in Southern California, she takes a job in the tiny town of Broken Branch as a public relations expert for the Professional Rodeo Riders Association.

Clay Cooper is the PRRA's hottest star and wildest bad boy. When Charity goes to talk to him about toning down his ways, she is surprised to find that there is more to the cowboy than meets the eye. Will the oh-so-delicious Clay be the death of rule number seven?

Breaking Rule Seven

"Somebody had better be dead," Charity Marks grumbled, fumbling with her cell phone in the darkness.

It had been three months since she had moved to Broken Branch for a public relations job with the Professional Rodeo Riders Association, and she still wasn't quite used to getting phone calls at all hours of the night.

Glancing at her caller ID, she cursed under her breath. "Yes, Garrett?" she answered with a heavy sigh. "What'd
he
do
now
?"

"Sorry to wake you up again, Char. DUI this time." Garrett Blevins was in his late fifties and just as frustrated as Charity was. Keeping Clay Cooper out of trouble wasn't what either of them wanted to do, yet they continuously found themselves in the position of dealing with his messes.

First, there had been a fling with a socialite down in Dallas. She'd thrown a fit when she caught Clay in the middle of a threesome with two other women in a hotel room, and threatened to use her father's money to take the entire PRRA down. Then, there had been a bar brawl in Kentucky that had left another cowboy competitor's jaw wired shut for a month. It seemed that wherever Clay was, trouble followed.

"Luckily, I went to high school with the cop and talked him into making the paperwork disappear," Garrett continued on the other end of the line. Charity could almost hear him shaking his head through the phone. “The sad part is the kid is just so talented. He's about to piss away an entire career. We’ve got to figure out a way to control him. I’m just not sure how.”

Charity frowned. She’d had tough clients before, but never
this
tough. Clay Cooper—self-proclaimed bull riding badass and Casanova extraordinaire—knew how to get on her last nerve. And it didn't help that he looked like he came straight out of the pages of
GQ
, which somehow seemed to turn any amount of feminine sensibility she previously had completely to hell the moment he walked into the room. 

To put it bluntly, she'd been incredibly attracted to the man since the moment she first laid eyes on him.

As someone who kept a strict set of personal and professional rules, it unnerved her how badly Clay got under her skin—and how badly she wanted to feel him against her body.

Telling him off wasn't exactly an option, either. Usually, the association didn't meddle in the lives of its competitors. But, when it came to the PRRA, Clay's popularity was what held the circuit together. Without his fans and the advertising money they generated, they'd all be out of a job. That was why it became Charity's role to ensure he behaved in the public eye and didn't do anything stupid enough to compromise all of it.

“He's a grown man who obviously does what he wants," Charity huffed at Garrett, her soft spot for the older man's kindness tugging at her heartstrings. As much as she wanted to see the chip on Clay's shoulder fall off, she knew it was important to Garrett that someone keep him in line. "But… For you… I’ll talk to him. Where is he at?”

“I picked him up. He’s sleeping off the whiskey in the loft apartment in the barn. Ginny would kill me if she knew I brought him there.”

Charity raised an eyebrow and flipped on the bedside lamp. Ginny Blevins, Garrett's wife, was not a woman that anybody wanted to cross. Ginny had long since made her mind up about Clay's bad-boy behavior and was vocal to anyone with ears about how she felt. "It's okay. I get it. I'll be there in twenty minutes to take care of this and get him out of your barn before Ginny finds out." 

"Thanks, Charity," Garrett replied before hanging up, a hint of relief in his voice. 

Setting her cell phone back on the bedside table, Charity groaned. This task wasn't going to be fun.

Having to confront this gorgeous man and force him to get his head out of his ass in the middle of the night would require getting her professional game face on. Without enough time for a shower, she threw on her favorite pair of jeans and a white button-down cashmere sweater. Topping it off with a slight coat of mascara, a tiny bit of lip gloss, and pulling her long brown tresses into a quick bun, she threw on her favorite worn cowboy boots and was ready to go.

As promised, she steered her Jeep Wrangler off the highway and onto the dirt road that led to the Blevins ranch less than a half an hour later. Even though she felt exhausted and quite tired of dealing with Clay, she couldn't believe her luck of finding this job and moving to this quaint little Texas town. 

Of course, the job required her to travel all the time. Fifty cities in forty weeks definitely kept things exciting. But, Charity was always happy to come home to her little town and little apartment at the end of every week. Broken Branch had somehow become her home now, changing her Southern California roots into something a little more grounded.

She worked herself up mentally for dealing with Clay on the drive over, but still wasn't sure how she should approach the subject when she saw him. Of course, sobering him up with coffee was also important. Gas stations in Broken Branch weren't usually open at one o'clock in the morning, so she had filled up two cups from her tiny kitchen to bring with.

Frankly, she'd love to throttle the man. Pulling a stunt like this the night before the biggest rodeo event of the year—in the circuit's hometown, nonetheless—made her want to wring his neck. 

Carefully balancing two paper cups full of steaming hot liquid, Charity made her way through the barn and up the wooden stairs to the loft apartment above. Figuring Clay was sound asleep or passed out from the booze, she didn't even bother to knock before entering the front door. 

Big mistake.

Before she knew it, cups of coffee were flying and she found herself soaked, standing face-to-face with Clay. Worst of all, he had nothing on but a towel wrapped strategically around his waist.

"Oh, damn it!" she cried, trying her hardest to look away from his half-naked body.  But, something about the way his broad shoulders and muscular chest tapered down to slim hips made her completely unable to tear her eyes from his exposed flesh.  "What the hell are you doing? And where are your clothes?"

"Well," Clay started, a sly smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. "I could ask you the first question. I assumed since I was spending the night here, I'd be alone long enough to take a hot shower." She frowned as he looked her up and down, staring at the way her previously stark white blouse, now covered in brown liquid, clung to her chest. "As far as the second, I'll reserve that one to ask you later."

Charity started to open her mouth to say something smart, but decided better of it. She was tired, cranky, and now covered in coffee. Anything that came out now would most likely end with quitting her job, which wasn't even an option. Instead, she just rolled her eyes.

The apartment was tiny; small enough that she could easily find a roll of paper towels in the kitchen. Blotting her sweater with a sheet, she tried to eliminate the stain as best as she could. Instead, it just made her nipples stand at pert attention and she felt as though she could die of embarrassment. This wasn't shaping up to be anything like what she'd talked herself into on the ride over.

Reaching into her purse, she grabbed a stain-remover wipe and ferociously dabbed at the spill. "Rule number three," she whispered under her breath. "Always be prepared."

"Garrett called you, right?" he asked, strutting back to the cramped apartment's bathroom. "Probably said I was shit faced out of my mind and needed you to come give me a stern talking-to."

"Uh, yeah…" Charity admitted, grabbing more paper towels and cleaning up the spilt coffee on the tile floor. "But only because you would have gotten a DUI had he not bailed you out with that cop."

"Say, what?" A confused and startled expression flashed across Clay's face as he walked back into the room, wearing a pair of tight Wranglers that hugged his ass in all the right spots. "Tell me exactly what he said. Verbatim." 

A slight blush crept up Charity's cheeks when she realized she had stared a little too long at his still exposed torso, wanting desperately to run her fingertips through the curls of dark hair that sprawled across his muscular chest. "He just said that you had gotten a DUI, but that he knew the cop so you weren't in any legal trouble."

Clay let out an incredulous laugh. "Nobody pulled me over, darlin'. And I sure as hell haven't been drinking tonight. I never drink the night before I compete. Ever."

It only took a mere moment before the sly grin returned to Clay's face, exposing dimples that made Charity's stomach do flips. "That son of a bitch! He wanted you to come up here in the middle of the night on purpose."

"Excuse me?" Charity asked. She stood and plopped the soiled paper towels into the trash can. Now, she was the confused one.

"Oh, boy. That sly son of a gun." Clay laughed again and plopped down on the leather love seat, propping his feet up on the coffee table casually. "Darlin', I'm pretty sure we've been played."

An annoyed look crossed Charity's face. She had no idea what was happening, but she was certain that Clay was either still drunk or just completely crazy.

"I'm really not sure what you are talking about. But, I didn't come here in the middle of the night without a reason." Crossing her arms over her chest, she perched herself next to him on the sofa. "Clay, we really need to talk about your career and your—"

Clay raised his eyebrows. "Wild ways?" he finished.

"Yes," she replied, pleased at the thought that he already knew what she wanted to talk about. Maybe this conversation wasn't going to be as bad as she envisioned in the car.

"Let me guess, you think I should give up women, forget whiskey, and concentrate on my career? Buckle down and work on settling down. That it would be for the best of the circuit if I showed everyone that Clay Cooper wasn't all about getting drunk and laid." 

Charity felt shocked about how well the conversation went. In fact, he seemed to be right on the exact same page. "Exactly!" she squeaked with a little too much enthusiasm. "Um, exactly. That's exactly what I came here to say."

"I see." Clay set his jaw and she could see his irritation growing. Dread crept up in her, leaving an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps they weren't on the same page after all. 

Of all the clients she had ever had, he was the only one that she couldn't read. She never quite knew what his next move would be and that scared her.

But, Charity knew what she
wanted
him to do. She wanted him to take her in his arms, make wild love to her, and promise her the whole world. "
Fat chance that'll ever happen
," she thought silently to herself.

Almost as if he had read her mind, Clay placed a rugged and a callous hand on her thigh. Without saying a word, his lips crashed down upon hers in a pussy-heating, mesmerizing kiss. Charity's brain told her to pull back and end the fiery passion building between them. But her heart and her body had other ideas, letting him deepen the kiss until she was sure she would melt into a pool of lust at his feet.