Texas True (The Tylers of Texas 1)

She slid into the empty side of the booth. Her eyes were the color of a pretty little agate stone that Sky had once found in a streambed, green-gold with sparks of copper. “Better not,” she said. “This one’s my third, and I have to drive home. In fact, I was about to leave, but that was before you showed up. Here”—she shoved the half-empty glass toward him—“you can finish it for me.”

Sky’s pulse kicked up a notch. If this beauty was playing a game, he wasn’t about to leave until he understood the rules.

“As long as we’re here, I guess we might as well introduce ourselves. I’m—”

“No.” She cut him off. “No names. It’s more fun that way.”

A red flag went up in Sky’s mind. “Jealous husband?” he asked, noting her ringless finger.

She shook her head. “More like an overprotective father. That’s all you need to know. I’m twenty-two and he treats me like I’m fourteen, always blathering on about keeping my reputation spotless so I can find a suitable husband. Tonight we had words about the issue. Things got a bit heated and”—she shrugged, the lace bra shifting beneath the thin white linen shirt—“here I am.”

“So, do you plan on going home anytime soon?” Sky took a sip of her beer, placing his mouth over the lipstick print.

Her direct gaze held a seductive twinkle. “Not if I can find something better to do. Ever driven a Corvette?”

“No, but I think I can handle it.” And he could handle her, too, if he got the chance.

“Come on.” She was on her feet, beckoning him toward the door with a toss of her auburn hair. Sky trailed her outside, staying far enough behind to allow himself a view of her confident stride and taut rump. Whatever the lady had in mind was bound to be interesting.

She led him to the Corvette and tossed him the keys. Sky squeezed his lanky frame into the driver’s seat and adjusted it all the way back. She slid in on the passenger side and fastened her seat belt. “Hope you can drive a stick shift,” she said.

“I can drive a lot of things.” Buckling in, he turned the key and tapped the gas pedal. The engine rumbled to life. “Where to?” he asked.

“Anywhere.” She leaned back in the seat and raked a hand through her hair. “Please, just be quiet and drive.”

Sky shifted the Corvette into reverse and gunned the engine. The car responded like a well-trained cutting horse, shooting backward at a touch of his boot. He adjusted his reflexes as they roared toward the highway and out of town. He wasn’t driving the pickup tonight, he reminded himself, easing back on the gas. This powerful car was as sleek, fast, and elegant as the female sitting next to him.

Who could her father be? Rich, no doubt. Most likely some dude rancher from one of the big, syndicated outfits. And the lady? Clearly not a Texas type. Spoiled, rebellious, and out to break every rule in her daddy’s book.

Sky picked a narrow but paved back road that headed across the rolling plain and wound up into the escarpment. He drove in silence. Even if the woman hadn’t wanted quiet, the noise of the road and the wind rushing past their ears would have made conversation difficult. Sky sensed that, whatever happened, she didn’t want him to know that much about her. This was nothing more than a fleeting adventure with an unknown cowboy, to be savored and forgotten. No messy complications. And that was fine. He preferred things that way himself.

Partway up onto the caprock, he pulled out onto an overlook—a spot he knew and liked. The stars were glorious tonight, with moonlight casting the rugged landscape below into ghostly shadows. Pulling the hand brake, he unbuckled and turned in the seat to face his passenger. Her grin flashed in the darkness as she unfastened her seat belt.

“Kiss me, cowboy,” she said.

With a growl of anticipation, he reached over the console and caught her close. Her mouth was like an autumn plum, ripe and sweet and succulent. Hungry for her, he ground his lips onto hers. She tasted of cheap beer and smelled of expensive perfume—a combination that sizzled like lightning through his senses.

His hand pulled the hem of her blouse free of her belt. Beneath the linen fabric, her lace bra was secured by a single front hook that came apart at a touch. His hand slid over one firm, satiny breast so perfectly shaped that it seemed to have been fashioned for the hollow of his palm. She moaned as he thumbed her nipple, her eyes closed, her hips doing a bump and grind against the leather seat. She reached over the gearbox to tug at his belt. Under different conditions, Sky would’ve been all for it. But in this car? With no protection in his wallet?

“I’ve got a blanket in the trunk,” she whispered, tickling his ear with her breath.

Sky groaned, thinking of the rocky ground and the snakes and scorpions that called this part of the escarpment home. “Lady,” he muttered, “I’m afraid this isn’t going to—”

The squeal of spinning tires on gravel cut off the rest of the sentence. A battered pickup swerved onto the overlook, braking a dozen feet away. Raucous laughter rang from the cab as an empty beer can flew out the window.

“Buckle up.” Sky started the Corvette, slammed it into reverse, and backed onto the road. So much for tonight’s romantic adventure. Some things just weren’t meant to be.

“Where are we going?” She’d fastened her seat belt and was fumbling to hook the front of her bra.

“Back to town to get you some coffee—hopefully enough to ensure you make it safely home.”

She huddled silently in the seat as he drove. She was pouting, he surmised, or maybe thinking she’d picked up the wrong cowboy. But it occurred to him that she could’ve done a lot worse. He’d be remiss not to warn her. “What you did tonight, picking up a stray, it

could be dangerous,” he said. “Not that long ago, right around here, a young woman was murdered and dumped in a bog. The killer’s never been found. For all you know, it could’ve been me.”

No answer. Hopefully she was rethinking her reckless behavior. Or maybe he was sounding too much like her father.

Sky drove into town and ordered a coffee from the drive-through window at Burger Shack. Thrusting the Styrofoam cup toward her, he swung the Corvette back toward the Blue Coyote. “Finish that and you can have your car back,” he said. “But only if you promise to go home.”