Gettin' Lucky
Auteur
Kimberly Raye
Lezers
19,3K
Hoofdstukken
14
Chapter 1
FOR CABDRIVER Lucky Myers, the only thing worse than bursting into tears was doing it smack-dab in the middle of Houston’s largest airport. On a busy Friday morning. And on a major PMS day.
“Yo, Lucky!” came the familiar male voice.
And in front of Buster would-you-look-at-the-hooters-on-that-one? Sinclair, fellow cabdriver and male chauvinist extraordinaire.
If it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. She swiped at her eyes and handed the passenger who got out of her cab a travel bag.
“Thanks so much for being understanding,” said the woman, dressed in a cherry-red suit. “And for listening.” She shoved her suitcases at a nearby baggage clerk. “I just knew I was going to miss my plane, but thanks to you I’ll make it!”
A treacherous tear slid from the corner of Lucky’s eye and she dashed it away, disgusted with herself. Geez, she could sympathize with the woman, but she didn’t have to do it in front of hundreds of travelers. Besides, people had heart attacks every day. Just because the woman’s father had suffered a severe one and was, at this moment, hanging on to life by little more than a thread didn’t give Lucky any call to act like a blubbering idiot. She hardly knew her, much less the father.
But she knew how the woman felt. Lucky had lost her own father last year. When the passenger had climbed into the back of the cab and poured out her tearful story, Lucky might very well have been hearing her own. Minus the husband and daughter waiting at home in some little rinky-dink Texas town, of course.
She sniffled, struggling for her composure as Buster headed straight for her.
Black hair slicked back à la Elvis, he wore a neon-pink flamingo-print shirt unbuttoned to midchest and a dozen faux gold chains around his neck. Shirttails flapped in the wind, giving an occasional glimpse of the overstuffed waistline of his much-too-tight white jeans.
But the absolute worst thing about Buster, who looked at anything with breasts, was the fact that he never even spared Lucky a glance. Not that she wanted him to, mind you. But it was the principle of the thing. All of her life, male attention had passed her by in favor of better faces, bigger breasts, more shapely rear ends. That bad-luck thing again.
“Hiya, babe,” he said, coming up to her. “You just drop off the fare you picked up at the Four Seasons? I bet she tipped out the wazoo. Stella said she was loaded.”
Oh no! Lucky shot a watery gaze at her meter box. A sick feeling churned in the pit of her stomach. Forget the tip. The woman hadn’t even paid her fare and Lucky had been too worried about helping the poor, distraught thing unload her luggage to notice.
She whirled, blinking furiously as she strained to see through the crowd. She caught a glimpse of a red skirt, red three-inch heels clattering behind a cart of speeding luggage.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Wait!” But the flash of color was gone and so was Lucky’s eighty-dollar cab fare.
Eighty dollars. The sick feeling graduated to full-blown nausea. More tears burned her eyes.
“So how much tip—whoa, do my eyes deceive me? Can this be tough-as-nails Lucky Myers crying?”
“I’m not crying. It’s just allergies.”
“You have allergies and moved to Texas? This is the pollen capital of the South...” The words faded when a blonde in a halter top swayed past them. “Wow. Would you look at the hoo—”
“Is that all you ever think of?” Lucky snapped.
“What can I say? I’m a romantic kind of guy.” He waggled his bushy black eyebrows, the expression like two caterpillars doing a mating dance.
Lucky couldn’t hold back a smile. Buster’s outlook on women was so totally clueless, it was hard to keep a straight face, much less stay mad at the guy. “So you skipped all the way across the taxi lane to tell me what a Valentino you are?”
“Actually, no,” he said, his hand going to his hip pocket. Due to the extraordinary tightness of his pants it took him a good thirty seconds before the envelope finally squirmed free. “When I checked in for my shift at the cab company, the mailman was there with this letter. Stella asked me to give it to you since I was headed your way. She thought it might be important.”
Lucky took the envelope, her attention stuck on the return address: Marshall Nursing Home. She ripped open the seal and read the statement of account. The dread churning in her stomach settled into a hard lump by the time she reached the sum printed at the bottom. Oh no.
“Your grandma?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s okay, right?”
“She’s fine.” Lucky folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket. “Everything’s fine, as long as I win the lottery.”
“That nursing home really eating up your cash?”
“Yeah, but it’s worth it.” Despite her mood, she managed a smile. “It’s got this beautiful flower garden, with roses and daisies. That’s why Daddy moved her down here from Chicago.” Her eyes burned with a new bout of tears and she blinked. “He managed the expense when he was alive, and so will I. There’s still three weeks until the payment is due. I’ve got nearly two thousand saved for school...” Suddenly the lump in her stomach felt like burning lead. If she drained her savings, she wouldn’t be able to pay her tuition in the spring. At the rate she was going, she would never finish her teaching degree.
But her granny was the only family she had left now.
“I can do this,” she said, more for herself than Buster. “With my savings and a few extra shifts on the weekends, I can make the three thousand.”
“Whew!” Buster whistled. “Three thousand. I guess bowling with me and the guys is out tomorrow night then.”
“I’m afraid so.” Though that in itself was a blessing. Lucky wasn’t in the mood for another Saturday night spent watching Buster and the guys guzzle beer and ogle women at the Bowl-A-Rama. She’d started Saturday night bowling in a desperate effort to beef up her nonexistent social life. How was she supposed to meet Mr. Perfect if she didn’t get out and mingle? Unfortunately, Mr. Perfect, or even Mr. Almost Perfect, didn’t hang out at the Bowl-A-Rama.
A good man. That’s all she wanted out of life. That, her teaching degree and three thousand dollars. The last two she could earn, but the man was another story. How could she find herself a good one when even the not-so-good ones didn’t give her the time of day?
“Geez, babe,” Buster went on, “we’re bowling against the Fast Cab Kangaroos and we really need that arm of yours—” He fell silent when he saw an attractive woman, bags in hand, standing near his abandoned cab. “Later, babe. I think I’m in love.” He made a beeline for his taxi.
“Lucky?” came the female voice from the CB mounted on Lucky’s dash. “Are you finished at the airport yet? I’ve got a fare going from the Hyatt Regency to the convention center.”
“I’m on it, Stella,” she said into the mike. Then she climbed into the back seat of her cab and bent to retrieve a gum wrapper. “Holy Moses,” Lucky breathed when she spotted a man’s wallet stuffed with a wad of bills. Not fives, or tens, or even twenties, she quickly discovered. No, there were a few fifties, and the rest were hundreds. Hundreds!
The answer to Lucky’s feverish prayers. No more overtime. No more double shifts...
Before she could drop to her knees and thank the powers above, the red-dressed woman’s desperate words replayed in her head. “One minute my poor daddy was fine, and the next, he was at Death’s door. I just don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him.”
The wallet had to belong to the woman. Lucky had a habit of checking the cab after every customer, and she knew it hadn’t been there before the stop at the Four Seasons. Sympathy swept through Lucky like a heat wave through Houston. The woman had probably been in such a hurry, she hadn’t bothered to transfer the money and credit cards to her own wallet. She’d simply grabbed her husband’s and rushed off to be with her father. Now the poor thing had no money, no wallet, nothing. She was destitute. Unless...
Lucky could turn over the wallet to the police and let them make the return. But with her string of rotten luck, it would likely get stuck in a bunch of red tape. No, speed was important. The woman’s father was dying. Death didn’t wait for the mail, or even Federal Express.
Lucky opened the wallet, her gaze flicking over the dozens of credit cards peeking from the leather slots. Finally she found an ID card with a man’s name—undoubtedly the husband’s —and an address for their hometown. Locking up her cab, she rushed to a nearby pay phone and dialed Information.
“I’m sorry, but that number is unlisted,” the operator said.
“But this is an emergency, a major emergency. You see, one of my customers left her husband’s wallet in my cab, and I’m afraid she doesn’t have any other money and she’s off to see her father who’s dying and—”
“Rules are rules. Would you like me to check another number for you?”
“No,” Lucky replied. “Thanks, anyway.” She slid the receiver into place and walked back to her cab.
She knew what she should do, but that would mean giving up an entire day’s worth of work. The nursing-home bill burned through her pocket. Remember me? Remember Granny and the three-thousand-dollar flowers? On the other hand, her conscience wouldn’t let her forget the woman’s frantic voice. “He’s dying. My poor daddy’s dying.”
“Okay,” she finally said. She hauled open the door to her cab. “The Lucky Express to the rescue.”
Reaching into her own pocket, Lucky counted out eighty dollars and slid the money into the fare box. She’d do the Good Samaritan thing, take the wallet back to the husband, then collect her eighty bucks from him. Better to cover the fare with her own money and wait an extra day than go back and tell Stella and the other cabbies she’d been stiffed.
That would be almost as bad as the crying—
She was not crying.
Lucky placed the wallet on the seat next to her, revved the engine and pulled into the flow of traffic. Grabbing the CB mike, she radioed Stella that she was taking the day off, much to the other woman’s astonishment. A quick road trip and the wallet predicament would be solved. Then she could concentrate on making the nursing-home money, and go back to hunting for Mr. Perfect.
Of course, she’d have to try a new hunting ground. The Bowl-A-Rama was a complete bust. Maybe she could answer one of those singles ads. Or call one of those dating services. Yeah, those were possibilities. Okay, so maybe they were more like long shots, but a girl had to start somewhere.
HELL. She’d driven straight into the middle of hell.
Only hell could be this hot in October.
Just her luck, she thought, blowing a large bubble with her chewing gum. Lucky had never lived up to her name. Now, if she’d been called Unlucky Myers, well, that would have hit the nail right on the head. A flat tire, a broken air conditioner and at least a hundred extra miles she hadn’t counted on—all in the past four hours. What a way to kill a Friday afternoon. So much for this trip being simple.
At least it couldn’t get any worse, she thought as she blew another bubble. She hefted the tire she’d just changed into the trunk, then leaned against the bumper to catch her breath.
On second thought... The pressure built and she crossed her legs. Blast that six-pack of diet soda! She should have thrown every can back into the cooler when she’d stopped in Ulysses, the last resemblance to a town she’d seen since getting stuck in a maze of back roads. It seemed that Tyler Grant, the name written on the ID card, didn’t actually live in Ulysses. The Grant spread was just “a spit and a throw past the Grant County limits,” the waitress at Big Bubba’s Diner had told her when she’d stopped to ask directions. If only Lucky knew exactly how far “a spit and a throw” was, she’d be in business.
Somebody upstairs was definitely out to get her. First the heat, and now acres and acres of land with no sign of civilization, much less a rest room. Right now, she’d settle for a tree. A quick glance around at the endless stretch of pasture-land, and she realized that was about as likely as Brad Pitt beating down her door for a date—Come on, Brad! Her gaze fixed on a patch of trees in the distance.
She slammed the trunk closed. “Sorry, baby, but you’re on your own for the next few minutes.” She stroked the Chevy’s hood. Her father had loved this car with a vengeance, and Lucky had loved him. and while he might be gone, there was a part of him still with her. She smiled and patted the Chevy again. “Don’t go picking up any men without me.” Then she grabbed a few tissues and headed for the white wooden fence lining the road.
Shade! her heated body screamed.
Relief! cried the six-pack yearning to be free.
She walked and sweated. And sweated and walked, until her cab disappeared behind her and perspiration drenched her T-shirt. Finally, after a good ten minutes dodging her way past cow patties, she reached the blessed shade. Not merely a few trees, she quickly realized, but a full-blown forest. She walked deeper before finding a spot to relieve the drought for a patch of thirsty grass.
Afterward, she turned to head back the way she’d come. Then turned again. And again. Lost. Great. Just great.
Her ears perked up when she heard a noise. Clop-clop... Desperate, she followed the sound through the maze of trees. Either she found a way out of here, or she’d melt. Like an ice-cream cone in a microwave oven.
Not that she was whining. Okay, so maybe a little. But even old Satan would be confessing his sins in this heat, if he found it bearable. Which he wouldn’t. It wasn’t hell, it was hotter than hell. Yep, the devil would have already bargained his soul and packed a bag for the Poconos.
Then again, she admitted several minutes later as she stared past the branches of an enormous tree, the Poconos were a little overrated. Her attention fixed on the very big, very dangerous-looking man who’d just galloped up to the river on one of the most beautiful horses Lucky had ever seen.
So the devil rode a horse. Well, she was in Texas.
TYLER GRANT REINED his mount to a halt, slid to the ground and unzipped his pants. Seconds later, he stood on the isolated riverbank completely naked, and mad as hell.
Damn that woman!
The past twenty-four hours rushed through his head with all the fury of a tornado. Hell, he felt as if he’d been hit by one.
He had. One in the form of an educated, attractive, reputable nanny, who’d turned out to be nothing more than a thieving con artist. He still couldn’t believe it. He’d handpicked the woman from a dozen applications provided by the Dalton Agency, one of the most reputable employment agencies in the state, and checked each one of her impeccable references himself. It had all been a lie, he’d been scammed, and now he was in big trouble.
And he always came here when he was in trouble.
The water winked at him, its mirrorlike surface catching rays of sunlight that spilled through the branches of the towering trees sheltering the river. Memories pulled at him of long-ago summers: inner tubes tied to the surrounding trees, excited boys swinging out over the river, plunging into the water...
He stepped into the river. The water embraced his heated, tense body, pulled at his muscles to relax. Despite the past few hours, the never-ending demands of the ranch, the phone calls to the local sheriff about the thieving nanny, he smiled. The water was heaven. Home. God. it had been so long. Too long.
Guilt shot through Tyler and fired his resolve. He was home now, and he was staying, or so he hoped.
He had to find a new nanny, and fast.
His mother-in-law arrived tomorrow and she expected a governess for her granddaughter. If Helen Bell-Whitman didn’t find one—one that met her high standards—he knew she’d cause such a ruckus they’d hear her all the way to the next county. His ears still rang from the moment he’d told Helen he was going home, and that was almost two months ago.
“You’re going to go play nursemaid for a man who’s had simple eye surgery? Hire someone to nurse him, Tyler. His condition is far from life threatening.”
“It’s not that simple,” he’d told her. “Someone has to look after the ranch. Dad’ll be out of circulation for at least a couple of months until his eyes heal from the surgery. He just purchased a new stud and somebody has to oversee the breeding.”
“Breeding? Tyler, you’re a partner in one of the largest private investment firms in the country, for heaven’s sake! You run board meetings, not breeding sessions. Hire someone to handle that revolting work for you.”
“He’s my father, Helen.” And I owe him, he added silently. For all those years I left him alone.
“There’s no need to dirty your own hands over some misguided sense of duty. You’re an investment banker, not a rancher.”
In another life, he thought. That part of him was dead and buried alongside his late wife. Nan had wanted him to be a banker, just as his own mother had wanted it. He’d given up the ranch for them, for a different world where he’d never fit in.
But this he was doing not only for his father, but also for his daughter, Bernadette. To show her another side of her heritage and see her smile again. And he liked getting his hands dirty. Working cattle involved dirt and sweat, calluses and aching muscles, and he’d never felt more alive.
Of course, Helen couldn’t comprehend such a thing. And nothing would keep her from drawing battle lines and forcing Bernadette to choose, when—if—Helen found out what had happened with the nanny. Ulysses or Houston. Tyler or Helen.
Bennie would never have to make such a choice and suffer the consequences. Tyler would see to that. He closed his eyes and waded out deeper. Water lapped at his thighs. He would just have to find somebody, anybody, and soon. Helen flew in at Stoney’s airstrip tomorrow afternoon for her first visit/ checkup. Surely he could find somebody by then? He had connections. A few calls and he could have somebody here by late morning. She wouldn’t be a Dalton woman, but he would just have to make do. Any nanny was better than no nanny at all.
OKAY, so he wasn’t the devil, Lucky concluded after drinking in every incredible inch of his backside, from broad shoulders to narrow waist, to the most gorgeous rear end she’d ever seen. She’d only had a glimpse when he’d tossed off his clothes and headed for the water. But now that he stood in the shallow part of the river, she had a much better view. He was definitely just a man. A very naked man. Oh, boy.
He had buns that put Mel Gibson’s to shame.
She blinked, but he didn’t disappear. They didn’t disappear.
Tight, tanned, muscular and curved just so...
And lethal to her sanity, she decided as she glanced down and saw that she’d stepped from the shelter of trees. She inched backward and took cover behind a thick tree trunk. Peering around the tree’s edge, she directed her attention back to him.
To them.
She couldn’t help wondering what kind of workout would yield such spectacular results. Undoubtedly a rigorous one, with a lot of flexing, pumping, grinding... A Flex Your Fanny video? A Terrific Tush workout seat? Probably some pumping and grinding of an entirely different nature.
Water rippled and she shrank back behind the tree just as the man stared over his shoulder. All she needed was to be caught trespassing. From what she’d seen of Ulysses, the county seat and home to the world’s largest pecan, she’d be strung up to the nearest tree—
Her thoughts ground to a halt as her eyes riveted to his face. It wasn’t so much that he was handsome. He was, in a Marlboro man sort of way. Rugged, tough... But more than anything, he was...male. There was nothing feminine about his strong jaw, firm lips, chiseled nose. And his eyes... She couldn’t see the color, but somehow she could feel their heat. The heat when a man looks at a woman that way. The way Rhett looked at Scarlett. The way Romeo looked at Juliet. The way Buster looked at anything with breasts bigger than his. But Tight Tush wasn’t looking at a woman, he was looking at her, and she felt that gaze head-on for the first time in her life.
Panic bolted through her and she even stopped chewing her gum for an endless moment. Surely he’d seen her. He looked as if he’d seen her. She felt as if he’d seen her.
Infinite seconds ticked by until his gaze passed the spot where she hid. Then he turned back around. Lucky resumed her chewing. Of course he hadn’t been looking at her. He didn’t even know she was there. Story of her life.
Reason kicked in and she inched backward. She had to get out of there before he really did catch a glimpse of her, not to mention that she had a wallet to return. Time was money. But then he scooped up several handfuls of water, doused them onto his body and she lost what little common sense she had.
The muscles in his arms rippled, catching gleaming rays of sunlight. Water streamed over his shoulders, down the curve of his back and those spectacular buns. She’d wind up dangling from the nearest tree for sure, but at least she’d die a happy woman. Lucky wiped at another trickle of sweat. Hot. Miserable. Thank God she’d brought an extra pack of chewing gum, otherwise her throat would be sandpaper—
Pop!
The bubble burst. Gum flattened against her face. And Tight Tush jerked around. Lucky ducked back behind the tree trunk, snatched the gum from her mouth and threw it away disgustedly. How could she have forgotten about it? Because she’d been chewing gum for ages, a habit that even hypnosis hadn’t been able to cure. She was addicted. And stupid, she thought as she clamped her eyes shut and held her breath.
Water rippled, but otherwise, she heard no sound. Nothing, just her own breathing and the frantic beat of her heart. She kept her eyes closed, her back glued to the tree, out of his sight. Maybe she’d finally lucked out. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. Lord knew she was due...
Her skin prickled with the strange awareness that someone was watching her and she changed her mind. She’d been caught in the act. A Peeping Tom. She could read the headlines now: Love-Starved Cabbie Resorts To Spying On Unsuspecting Men—
“Enjoying the view?” The slow drawl, rich and deep and slightly amused, slid into her ears.
Lucky’s heart stalled, only to rev full speed ahead when she lifted one lid a fraction and saw a pair of large, tanned feet, the toes mere inches from the tips of her sneakers.
Her one eye opened farther and her gaze traveled up a pair of muscular legs encased in faded and slightly damp jeans. The material molded every muscle, showing off his lean calves, powerful thighs. Her gaze hit his zippered fly that was only half zippered, and stopped for a long moment. A wave of heat rushed to her cheeks and she forced her other eye open to get the full view. Not that she actually saw it, not that she wanted to, of course. Where the metal teeth parted, she saw only tanned skin and a funnel of dark, silky hair that swirled up over an incredibly tight abdomen. But the sight was enough to make her swallow. Hard.
“I guess you are.” Tyler folded his arms across his chest and swept his gaze over the woman. At least he thought it was a woman. It was hard to tell, dressed as she was in faded baggy jeans—He did a double take. Make that unfastened jeans.
He stored that information for safekeeping and pushed his attention higher to the T-shirt plastered to her chest. The white material clung, to her, outlining small but perfectly shaped breasts. Her nipples swelled, stretching the material to taut little points and he did some heavy-duty swallowing of his own. Okay, it wasn’t that hard to tell. Definitely a woman.
“W-what?”
Her question forced his gaze to the final frontier. Her hair lay hidden beneath her cap, with the exception of a few dark tendrils collapsed against the slender curve of her neck. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, her pink lips parted, her face damp with perspiration.
“I’m sorry,” she went on. Wide eyes the color of warm cocoa collided with his. “I didn’t hear you.”
He smiled. “I asked if you were enjoying the view.” But Tyler was doing a little enjoying of his own. Not so much from the sight of her, even though that was agreeable enough. No, it was the way she looked at him. Like a child eyeing the last cookie, the want plain and undisguised in her big brown eyes, and she didn’t even know the size of his bank account Of course, his money wasn’t all women were interested in. He’d met some who just wanted a roll in the hay. But this one was different. Mixed in with that hungry light was an innocence he hadn’t seen in a long time. And with all that hungry innocence directed at him, his jeans grew awful snug in certain strategic places.
“So are you?” he asked, shifting his stance to give a specific body part a little more room.
“Yeah—I mean no. I mean...” She shook her head. “Yes, the view was—is nice, but that’s not why I’m standing here.”
“Really? Then why are you standing here?”
“I had a flat tire on the dirt road back there.” She turned and pointed, but couldn’t quite make up her mind in which direction. “Some dirt road. Anyway, I’m not sure where it’s at now. That’s why I’m here. I’m lost.”
“Lost? So that’s why you were spying on me?”
“Exactly—no, not exactly. Look, I heard water and thought I might find someone who could steer me in the right direction.”
“So why didn’t you ask me for directions instead of hiding behind this tree?”
“I wasn’t hiding.” He raised his eyebrows and watched her face flush an even brighter crimson. “Okay, so I was hiding.”
“Not a very effective way to get directions. I would have come right out and asked.”
“Oh, really? You’d ask a naked stranger for directions?”
“I would if the naked stranger were me.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. You can’t be your own naked stranger.”
“Good point. Let’s see, who could be my naked stranger?” He stepped closer, one arm shooting out to lean against the tree. He gazed at the unfastened button on her jeans. “Wait a second. You could be my naked stranger.”
“What are you talking—” She glanced down. “Uh-oh.”
“Planning on joining me in my nakedness?”
“Of course not.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Great. This is just great.”
“Not yet, but it could be.”
Her eyes snapped open. “What?”
“This—you and me—two naked strangers.”
“I think one naked stranger is enough.” She grabbed at her waistband with frantic fingers.
“Here. Let me.”
“No, that’s all right. This always happens to me—” His fingers brushed hers. Flesh met flesh and her hands stilled. Their gazes locked as they waited to see what he would do next.
Another breathless moment and Tyler slid the button into place. The action seemed to relax her. Relief eased her expression. “Do you always walk around with your pants undone?”
“My pants, my shoelaces, a few buttons on my shirt.” She gave him a look that said she’d given the subject a great deal of thought. “I try, but it seems I’m always missing something.”
“That must be quite a sight. A shame you’re not from around here.”
“No, it’s fortunate.” She blew out a long breath. “Geez, but it’s hot here. Speaking of which, where is here?”
“Here is private property.”
“Oh.” As if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, instead of simply ogling the cookie, she added, “I’m sorry. If you’ll point me in the right direction, I’ll be going.”
“I thought you didn’t ask naked strangers for directions?”
“You’re not naked. Not anymore.”
He glanced down at his bare chest. “Almost.”
“Well, almost isn’t naked.” She ducked under his arm and moved around him. “Is it?”
“No, but it’s close enough.” He turned toward her, closing the few inches of distance she’d opened between them.
“I could scream.”
“You could, but what for? Because I’m a stranger, or because I’m almost naked?”
“Maybe both.”
“But I’m not the stranger here. You are. Besides,” he said, holding up his hands. “I never molest trespassers. Shoot them maybe. But never molest them.” His words drew a smile from her. “So tell me, how did you get this far off the road?”
“I was looking for a tree. One tree.” She laughed. “Now I’m surrounded by them.”
“Well, to get unsurrounded, you head that way.” He pointed to his left. “Straight through those trees about five minutes, then you’ll be in open pasture. You’ll see the road from there.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
“No,” she said over her shoulder as she started off through the trees. “It was definitely my pleasure. You’ve got a great set of buns.”
“I wish I could say the same.” But her jeans were too baggy and he couldn’t quite make out any curves. And that was the real shame, he thought as he watched her disappear between two towering oaks, because it had been quite a while since Tyler Grant had wanted to look. Really wanted to look. Damn.
If he’d had even half the wild child left in him, he’d have coaxed her out of those pants and seen for himself. But sixteen years away had tamed the hellion he’d once been. At thirty-two, he was exactly what his mother had always wanted him to be: a gentleman. Funny thing was, Tyler Grant had never regretted it until now.
