Second Chance Bride (Montana Born Brides) (2 page)

And then she heard Jasmine’s, “Welcome to Bella’s, I’m Jasmine,” and a cold shiver of apprehension snaked down her spine as she summoned up a smile. She opened her eyes, her hundred watt smile fully charged and ready to dazzle the client despite the nerves clawing at her insides. “Welcome to B—
”

She stopped and blinked, and tried again. “Welcome to...”

But there was no finishing. Because it didn’t make sense. Because
he
didn’t make sense. She’d been expecting middle aged and desperate whereas the man in front of her was anything but. He was nowhere near middle aged for a start, his short cropped hair dark blonde and thick, and—she flicked her eyes down his denim clad legs and up again—there wasn’t so much as a hint of a paunch in sight.

Far from it.

Instead, he was
built
. Six foot two of hard-packed built, if she wasn’t mistaken, with a face that looked in the glow from the red light like it had been chiseled from outback rock itself, full of rugged angles and red planes and secret, shadowed depths.

Since when did someone who looked like him have to visit a place like this?

“You must forgive Scarlett,” Bella said from what sounded like a long way away. “She’s new.”

“Excuse me,” she said, snapping to, her smile getting tangled in the confusion on her lips.
“Welcome to Bella’s.”

And with that he was gone, disappeared with Bella back into the office to make his choice.

Like he needed time for that.

She dropped back into the sofa, her face in her hands. Oh god, was there nothing she could do right? Nothing she couldn’t screw up?

Apparently not.

She might as well pack her things right now.

“Scarlett!”

She looked up, resigned for the dressing down if not the sacking from Bella she knew was
coming, that she knew she deserved. “Yes?”

“Congratulations.” Bella looked as surprised as Scarlett felt. “You just got your first client.

“Me?” Scarlett looked over at Jasmine. “But...?”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Jasmine, flopping back down on the sofa, “I’ve got a regular coming in at two, it would be nice not to have to rush.”

“But...”

“Well, get going,” said Bella, shooing her with her hands. “Rule number one, remember?” Scarlett remembered all right. Don’t keep the customer waiting.

And she also remembered what she was doing here and why. Cold hard cash. Soon she’d have the price of a one way ticket home. The first client
—the first day—would be the hardest. It would get easier after that.

Keep telling yourself that!

So she put on a brave face, collected her client and calmly led him to the room that would be theirs for the next however long, while her insides buzzed and frayed. And not just because she was nervous about what was coming.

But because of him.

Her first impressions hadn’t told her the half of it. He had the rugged good looks and the broad shoulders of a Montana cowboy, not to mention long legs and strong thighs that were born to be wrapped in denim, and probably then around a horse or a bull. Even the way he moved said he knew his place in the world.

Somehow she knew he’d be no slouch in the sex department.

And didn’t that just make her insides buzz all the more?

“Shower first,” she said with a tight smile, handing him a bundle of towels and whipping her hand away at the zap as their fingers brushed.

And he took them and turned and she reminded herself to breathe as he headed for the private bathroom.

The breathing helped.

Right up until the moment he stopped short of the bathroom and sat down on a chair instead, pulling off one of his boots. The second one followed, landing with a thunk on the carpeted floor. His socks were off before she could blink. He was already standing, putting his hands to his belt when she found her voice.

“Um, what are you doing?”

He paused, considering her a while. “Is that a trick question?”

Her eyes narrowed. After three weeks in Australia, she was becoming aware that Australians didn’t always say exactly what they meant. It was kind of funny when she could keep up. But how did you respond when you weren’t sure? “I don’t
—think so.”

“So what’s it look like I’m doing?”

“You’re taking off your clothes?”

He smiled, and she damn well wished he didn’t look so happy with it. “Bull
’s eye.”

“But...”

“But...
what
?”

She blinked as he stood and undid the belt at his jeans and then unzipped his fly. She felt every one of those zipper teeth scorching a heated trail down her backbone. “Nothing.”

“You’re not shy, are you?”

“No! I’d just hate for you to catch cold.”

He hesitated with that, the start of a smile tweaking his lips. “I didn’t expect Bella’s Belle’s to take care of
all
my physical needs.”

“All part of the service,” she said breezily, willing the floor to open up and swallow her whole and spit her out the other side of the world. Anywhere would do. Anywhere at all would be preferable to being here. “Which reminds me,” she said, latching onto an alternate means of escape, albeit temporary, “how about I get you a beer or something?”

“Had one,” he said, a slight frown creasing his brow while the fingers of one hand casually flicked open the buttons of his shirt. In spite of herself and her needing to flee, her feet stayed exactly where they were as her eyes were drawn to his chest, tan-skinned and dusted with hair. Firm skin. A dusting of hair rather than a forest. Just the way she liked it. Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms to stop them aching to reach out and run her fingers through it. “And the last thing I want right now is brewer’s droop.”

She blinked, and had to drag her eyes away to meet his. “Excuse me?”

“Too Aussie for you, sweetheart? I do want to be able to perform.”

“Oh.” Heat scorched her cheeks and she looked away, although she wasn’t really sure it was because she was embarrassed at his words, or because he’d
peeled off his shirt and dispensed with his jeans in quick succession, leaving nothing to cover him but a band of black, that hugged the nether regions of his body and left nothing to the imagination.

Absolutely nothing.

Suddenly her lungs felt as if they were flapping around like freshly landed trout on a lake shore. She put a hand over her chest to try to calm their flailing tails before they flapped right out of her. “Right,” she managed at length. “That would a shame.”

He looked at her then, his eyes going from the cowgirl hat on her head all the way down to her boots and back again until her skin tingled inside and out, and he smiled a broad hungry smile that this time set every organ inside her flapping. “
Cowgirl, that would be all kinds of tragedy.”

And he turned and swiped off his underwear, picked up his towels and padded naked to the
private bathroom.

Breathe
she reminded herself, as the sight of the most perfect male buns she’d seen in a long time disappeared from view. Buns with dimples nestled just above, either side of the spine that bisected the two perfect halves of his back. Buns that sent a rush of heat to her blood and a tingling anticipation between her thighs.

Because soon he and his buns and his dimpled spine and his hungry eyes would be back and they’d climb onto that big wide bed together and make love and...

Whoa, right there!

What the hell was she thinking, constructing some kind of fantasy version of what was happening here? There was no
making love
. No matter what his hungry eyes might say, this was sex, pure and simple. A business transaction pure and simple, nothing more.

Business, she reminded herself, as she busied herself checking that everything was in order even though she already knew it was
—the sheets freshly changed, the box of Kleenex at the ready, the condoms that were waiting on the bedside table.

Three condoms, she couldn’t help but notice.

Gulp.

Mitch
wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it sure hadn’t been the green-eyed cowgirl waiting for him in the bedroom. Sure, she looked hot enough with scarlet hair that matched her name and dressed in that cute little black and pink number and those perky little boots, Oh man, if those provocative little boots on the end of those pins were enough to make him hot under the collar, it had definitely been too long. Yes sirree, he’d been looking for hot. He just hadn’t expected the skittishness.

But then, Bella or whatever her name was had said
this girl was new. Maybe that was why.

Or was that just part of the act?

Maybe some guys went for that?

He shrugged as he put his face into the stream of water to rinse his hair. He had no idea what other guys went for. But he’d handed over his credit card and he was paying the money and he was already half primed in anticipation. Something about that
nutty combination of black satin and pink bows and red hair and green eyes and a name like Scarlett—because what else could she be called in a place like this? Whatever, he could do a hell of a lot worse than an hour or two with someone who looked as good as this temporary cowgirl.

And if it meant he’d be in a better mood by the time he got to Broome for
Robbo’s wedding, so much the better. He didn’t want to go anywhere near Kristelle with anything like a hungry look in his eye or she’d take it a sign of victory. And he was so not giving her one of those.

He felt himself wilting and cursed, snapping off the
flow of water. Why the hell would he be thinking about Kristelle when he had princess in boots waiting in bed for him, and when he was paying for her time?

Why waste a minute of it?

Scarlett was sitting on the bed, her legs crossed, trying to look casual when the guy emerged from the bathroom. It was his fault entirely that she wasn’t able to carry it off, emerging as he did with his hair beading moisture at the ends and with a towel slung low on his hips.

Dangerously low.

Dangerously...
delicious.

Just business
, she reminded herself, when in truth it was all she could do not to drool at that glorious expanse of chest and abs, and that beguiling line of hair that separated the two sides of his abs and circled his belly button before heading south and disappearing under a knot of fluffy white towel.

She looked up and found him smiling at her, and she knew she’d been sprung. But he looked so good when he smiled that it was all but impossible to stop herself from smiling back. And somewhere in the back of her mind she knew one shouldn’t drool at a client, or smile without having to make some kind of effort. Shouldn’t actually be tingling at the thought of having sex with this man.
But the way he looked at her made it so damned hard to remember this was business.

He took her hands and hauled her to her feet. “I thought we were going to bed.”

And the jolt she felt on contact, a hundred times more powerful than when their fingers had brushed, warned her that the six times tables or even the sevens weren’t going to cut it. It was time to bring out the big guns.

One times eight is eight.

Two times eight is sixteen.

“Sure,” she said, with her head back in a Marietta Elementary School classroom with a wall filled with numbers and tables and charts and old Mrs
. Henson with her stick pointing out the next line in the chant and she felt better already.

Three times eight is twenty-four.

“In that case,” he said, as he swiped the hat from her head and spun it away into a corner, “it appears one of us is over-dressed.”

Four time eight is...

He touched his hands to her shoulders—long-fingered hands that brought with them that jolt of electricity and the wall of charts and tables blurred and faded in the knowledge that these hands—these electric long-fingered hands—would soon be all over her, and that thought damn near sucked the air from her lungs along with her recital.

Four times eight, she persisted, finding her place. Four times eight is thirty
-two.