Cowboy Seeks Perfect Wife. Linda Lewis

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СКАЧАТЬ he said, snapping his dark brows together in a menacing scowl.

      It didn’t scare her. She was not in the mood to be intimidated by a…banker. “Not really. I was born here.” She squeezed by him.

      He sucked in his breath as she brushed against him. Sidonie turned her head away, to hide her smug smile. There was more than one way to handle a man, especially the pompous kind, but this way worked so well.

      He let her pass, then followed her so closely Sidonie could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. She walked faster, not caring that speed accentuated her ungainliness.

      “What kind of female are you, anyway? You ought to be afraid of staying the night alone with me.”

      Sidonie laughed. She wasn’t falling for his dangerous man act. “I’m not scared.”

      “Maybe you should be,” he growled. “I’ve been known to take advantage of sweet young things.”

      “I’m not so sweet,” she countered.

      “Not that young, either.”

      She stopped in her tracks. “There’s no need to be insulting.” Twenty-eight wasn’t old, even for a dancer. She still had a few good years left, provided her knee cooperated.

      “I don’t suppose you’re worried about your reputation, either.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

      Sidonie jumped. She could handle him fine, as long as he didn’t touch her. She tried to shrug out from under his hands, but he only tightened his grip. “What does that mean?”

      “A lady would worry about what people will say when they find out she spent the night with me.”

      Sidonie tossed her head, sending her red hair flying. “Would she, really? Is spending the night with a banker considered unladylike in this part of the world?”

      “I’m not a banker,” he said, taking his hands away. He sounded startled.

      At the door to her old bedroom, Sidonie turned to face him. “No? A preacher, then?”

      “Hell, no.”

      She waited. Apparently he wasn’t going to elaborate. “I’m a dancer. And you might as well know—I don’t care what people, say about me.”

      “I didn’t think so. But I do care what people say about me. You can’t stay here.”

      Sidonie arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

      He rolled his eyes back. “I have a lease.”

      “And now you have a roommate to go with it.”

      “I don’t want a roommate! The lease—which you signed—entitles me to exclusive possession of this house for three more months.”

      “You don’t have to stay. I won’t sue you if you break the lease.”

      A muscle worked in his jaw. “I’m staying. You’re leaving.”

      “No, I’m not. Get used to it, McMasters. And don’t worry. Like I told you before, I don’t care what people will say.”

      “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Your type isn’t bothered by gossip,” he said, sneering.

      “My type? Golly, gee whiz. You must be one of those old fogies who think show business isn’t respectable. I’ve heard about your kind. Repressed, inhibited—”

      He reached for her.

      “Hey!” Sidonie slapped his hands away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

      “First I’m going to shut you up. Then I’m throwing you out.”

      “You can’t do that.” Sidonie backed into her room. “I need to stay here. I don’t have anyplace else to go.

      “The motel,” he said, advancing toward her.

      “I took a pain pill, remember?” She whimpered, shooting him her best pitiful look. “Once it kicks in, I won’t be able to drive.”

      “Not a problem. I’ll drive you there.”

      She glared at him. So much for appealing to his sensitive side. The man was a cold, unfeeling clod. And a sanctimonious snob, to boot. How could she ever have thought he was attractive? “I’m not going to a motel, especially not a tacky no-tell motel like the one on 283. This is my home, and I’m staying right here, lease or no lease.”

      “Don’t try to con me, Miss Saddler. You may own this place, but it’s not your home. You haven’t lived here since you were five years old.”

      “I beg your pardon. I’ll have you know I spent every summer here until Daddy—until I was sixteen. And I’ve been back to visit a few times since then, when I was between jobs.”

      He was not impressed. She could tell by the way he continued to look at her as if she were the poster girl for tacky behavior.

      Narrowing her eyes, she tried another angle. “Look, Mr. McMasters. I can’t go anyplace else. I don’t have any money. Medical bills, you know?” She pointed to her knee. “Plus, I used the last of my ready cash to buy a pickup.”

      “I’ll advance you next month’s rent.”

      Exasperated, Sidonie threw up her hands and turned her back to him. She wasn’t getting anywhere with the arrogant, stubborn son of—“Oh, look. Isn’t that cute?”

      With a triumphant grin, Sidonie pointed to the dog curled up in a ball in the middle of her white fourposter bed. “We can’t go to a motel. They don’t allow pets. Where are the sheets? As soon as I make up the bed and take a quick shower, I’ll—”

      “The dog can stay. You can pick her up tomorrow. What’s her name?”

      “I don’t know. We just met. Go away, McMasters. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.” Sidonie sat on the edge of the bed and unfastened the brace. Then she kicked off her shoes and began rolling the leg warmer down her right leg.

      “You ought to give the dog a name if you plan on keeping her.” His gaze shifted from the dog to her. “What are you doing?”

      “Getting ready for bed.” She took off the other leg warmer, revealing a tiny scar on her left knee. Grabbing the hem of her sweater, she pulled it up far enough to expose her midriff.

      “You won’t take your clothes off in front of me.”

      “Oh, yes, I will.” Sidonie grinned. Modesty was one virtue a dancer lost early. She’d undressed onstage, offstage and backstage, in crowded, communal dressing rooms for years. She gave him a pitying look. “Give it up, McMasters. Me and the no-name dog are staying.”

      She pulled the sweater over her head. When she could see again, the door was closing. Slowly.

      “Good night, Mr. McMasters,” she cooed sweetly.

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