That Wild Cowboy by Lenora Worth

Author:Lenora Worth
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-04-15T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

VICTORIA NEVER MADE it back to her apartment in town. Clint woke her up on Saturday morning with a soft knock at her door and a breakfast tray waiting on the table out by the pool.

“How’d you sleep, sunshine?” he asked with a grin.

Victoria tightened the sash on her seersucker robe, memories of their evening by the pond still fresh in her mind. “Like a baby. I think it was the wine.”

“Or maybe you finally relaxed a little last night.”

Or maybe she’d had too much to drink and had kissed him one time too many. She’d broken her no-drinking-on-the-job rule, too. But the sweet thoughts moving through her head didn’t seem to mind what she’d done last night. And technically, she hadn’t been working. Amazing, how she could rationalize her actions in the light of day.

Too late to change things now. But she could still salvage the rest of her weekend by leaving. Right after breakfast.

She took the coffee he offered then sank down onto the nearest chair. Yeah, she’d relaxed enough last night to have a rather long make-out session with him. Taking a big gulp of the hot brew, she inhaled too quickly and started coughing.

Clint got up and took the mug from her. “Hey, slow down on the java. I got a whole pot ready and waiting.”

Victoria recovered and sipped slower the second time. “Thanks. Tessa makes the best coffee.”

He grinned again. “Tessa didn’t make that, suga’. I did. Tessa has the weekend off.”

Surprised, she sat up and gave him a big smile. “You make coffee?”

“And eggs and toast and I even cut up some fruit.”

She looked at the tray with new eyes. He’d placed a pretty floral-patterned plate and fancy silverware on it, with a white linen napkin and her coffee. And he’d laid a bright sunflower across the napkin.

How did a tough-acting man like him know how to fix up a breakfast tray? Oh, right. He’d certainly done this many times over for a lot of women. At least she’d had the good sense to sleep in her own bed. Alone.

“The flower is so pretty,” she said, unable to voice her real thoughts. Could this kind, romantic human be the same man she’d heard so much about? The man who loved women and left women? The man who had been called every bad word in the book, from scoundrel to hound dog to Casanova?

Remembering how he’d quizzed her last night about how they’d decided on him for the show, she took a deep breath. A moment of panic had hit her there by the fire. She’d wondered if he’d had her pegged after all, that maybe he’d remembered their one night long ago and had been playing her all along. But his curiosity had more to do with why they’d wanted him, rather than the who of it. And, she reminded herself, Samuel had come to her, asking about Clint.

“I stole that from my mama’s garden,” Clint said, referring to the sunflower. “She plants them every year along the side of the back porch.

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