Page 18 of My Cowboy Valentine

“If you want to make it in the fashion industry, you must be demanding, neurotic, and religiously dedicated to perfecting every detail. There’s no other way.”

I rub my chest absent-mindedly. “And let me guess. You don’t see any of those traits in me, so I’m going to fail. Is that it?”

The redhead frowns, peeling another label from her current beer bottle as she thinks. Finally, looking up, she says, “Demanding? Not nearly enough. Your team isn’t there to be your friends. They’re there to respect you and do what you ask. Period.”

“And does your team do that?” I ask.

Red’s eyes narrow, and her face looks torn. Pressing her lips firmly together, she admits, “Ninety-nine percent of the time. Respect for women is tough, though. You’re either a pushover or a bitch. There’s no in-between.”

“Well, there’s got to be a cunt category for bosses like you,” I challenge.

She almost chokes on her beer, laughing. “You keep getting funnier with age. Fascinating to see actual humor in a creature with such a low IQ.”

I smile begrudgingly.

“As for neuroticism, you always were a strange little kid, but did that translate into neuroticism in adulthood? I’d have to be around you more to know for sure.”

“Here’s your chance,” I mutter, feeling warmer by the minute, thanks to the beer and the stunning woman across from me. As she struggles with her next answer, my eyes consume her whole, my heart races, and all the blood in my body beelines for my cock.

God, I want her…

“And as for attention to detail, I think you have everything you need if you’ll stop second-guessing yourself—” She looks up, catching me examining her. “Okay, you seriously need to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me the way you’re looking at me. Like some wild animal about to pounce.” She fans her face with her hand, her cheeks flushing again.

“I can’t help it,” I reply, immediately kicking myself for my forthright statement.What the fuck is Red doing to me?

“And why can’t you help yourself, Ronald?” she croons in a voice far too seductive for me to ignore. For once, I appreciate the intimacy of her using my actual first name instead of the rodeo nickname I’ve gone by for years.

“Because despite hating your rude, presumptuous, New Yorker attitude, you still manage to be one of the sexiest women on the planet. How do you do that?”

Licking her full bottom lip, Red swallows loudly. “I suppose the way you manage to be one of the hottest fucking cowboys I’ve ever seen.”

Her words knock me back, and my pulse jumps. Steeling my voice to give her one more out, I observe, “You just flew direct from New York City. I imagine I’m the only cowboy you’ve seen in years.”

She smiles mischievously, her cheeks crimson. “We’re both adults here, and considering we’re theoretically engaged, what would your thoughts be about…you know.”

Is she really asking what I think she’s asking?

“Hate fucking each other?”

“You make it sound terrible.” She smiles seductively.

“It does sound terrible,” I admit in low tones. “But something tells me it would be mind-blowing…and something I’d regret to high heaven tomorrow.”

“Can you keep your mouth shut?”

“As in, keep it a secret? Of course.” I’ve kept secrets about Red since before I started shaving.

“That. But also, as in, don’t talk while we do the deed. Because if I’m reminded it’s you, Rowdy, it’ll ruin everything.”

I laugh, feeling the painful strain of my cock against my jeans. “See, that’s the thing. I want to be reminded it’s you. It’s a fucking turn-on to think about you berating the hell out of me as I grab onto those juicy hips of yours and rail the hell out of you.”

“Well, if you’re going to talk like that,” she replies with a wicked smile, her eyes rounding. “I suppose I might let you open your mouth.”

“Oh, you’ll let me open my mouth once you get wind of what I can do with it,” I promise, feeling the heat and sting of the sparks flying between us.

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