Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VIII. Kimberly Raye

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      THERE WAS A NAKED WOMAN in his bed.

      Pete Gunner came to that conclusion the moment he yanked aside the curtains leading to the rear of the sleek black tour bus.

      The woman sat up. Dark brown hair spilled down around her shoulders. Excitement fired her gaze. The sheet fell to her waist. Yep, she was naked, all right.

      As an eight-time PBR champion and the circuit’s reigning wild child, it was a scene he was all too familiar with. Buckle bunnies were par for the course. And bare-assed buckle bunnies? An added bonus.

      If it had been any other night.

      “It’s really you, isn’t it?” she murmured. “The Pete Gunner.”

      “So they say.”

      Her gaze narrowed for a split second. “You look different than you do in your poster.” She licked her full lips. “Better. Much better.”

      He tipped his hat and gave her the famous Gunner Grin. “You’re not so bad yourself.” And then he did the one thing he would never have done if it had been any other night. He took a step forward and retrieved her tank top and jeans that were draped across a nearby chair. “As much as I’d like to take you up on the offer, I’m afraid now isn’t a good time.” He set her clothes on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll get my bus driver to fetch an autographed picture and a few rodeo passes for you?”

      A pout tugged at her lush bottom lip. “But I’ve been waiting all this time for you.” She pushed up on her knees and the sheet fell to the bed. “I thought we could have a little fun. You do like to have fun, don’t you?”

      Hell, yeah. Fun was his motto. He’d been wild and reckless from the get-go, hitting the rodeo circuit hard at the age of seventeen, and the local bars even harder after that. He lived to cut loose and live it up. Damn straight, he did.

      At the same time, it was already this close to midnight and he was more than six hours away from home. That meant he would be on the road all night if he intended to reach Lost Gun by sunup.

      He’d figured on leaving right after he’d run into that pretty little blonde wanting his autograph on a certain body part. Hell, he hadn’t even had the chance to imagine which part—her luscious breast or maybe one rounded hip or a tight ass cheek—before he’d been side-swiped by several Wrangler reps wanting to talk to him about yet another endorsement. They’d wasted over an hour and so now he was really pressed. That, and his back was aching something fierce. Jasper, one of the meanest bulls this side of the Rio Grande, had thrown him pretty hard after that last buzzer.

      Not that a few aches and pains would have held him back from having some fun with his new bed partner. Hell, no. He would have ripped his clothes off in a heartbeat if tonight had been like any other.

      But it wasn’t. His kid brother was counting on him to make it back to West Texas for his eighteenth birthday, and so time was of the essence.

      “Thanks for the offer, sugar, but I’ll have to take a rain check.”

      “What about that autograph?” Her voice followed him as he turned.

      “Get dressed,” he called over his shoulder. “And it’ll be my pleasure.”

      He started toward the front of the bus. He was halfway there when a different woman stepped out of the bathroom, a redhead with brown eyes and an interested smile. She wore a leather halter top, a miniskirt and a come-and-get-me-cowboy expression. She blocked his path and waved a Sharpie at him.

      “I’ve been waiting for you—” She started the same spiel he’d heard after every rodeo since he’d won his first bull riding championship twelve years ago. She was ready and willing and able to do whatever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. In return for bragging rights and the ever-popular autograph, that is. He’d scribbled his signature on too many places to count—a hand, a thigh, a breast, a butt cheek. He’d even done matching autographs for the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders last year—left shoulder blade. Except for that one cheerleader. They’d needed someplace a lot more private than Cowboys Stadium for what she’d had in mind. And, being the ever-obliging cowboy, he’d gone out of his way to make her happy.

      Then and now, he reminded himself. Even if the only thing he wanted to do at the moment was ice down his shoulder and pop a few Tylenols.

      “—thought maybe you and I could get acquainted,” she went on. “I’ve been a fan for years and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do—”

      “That’s great, sugar,” he cut in, giving her his infamous smile, “but I’ll have to take a rain check.” He sidestepped her and left her staring after him.

      He wasn’t trying to be rude. Hell, he loved women. All women. Brunettes. Redheads. Blondes.

      Especially blondes with green eyes.

      His thoughts torpedoed back to the arena and the woman he’d stumbled into earlier. She’d been all stuffed up with her button-up blouse and stiff black skirt, her hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. Nothing like most of the buckle bunnies who hung out near the chutes. Then again, he’d learned never to judge a long time ago and so he knew the hands-off vibe he’d gotten off her had been just an act. Obviously a damned good one since he was still thinking about her. And her luscious body. And her eyes. She’d had the prettiest he’d ever seen. Rich. Potent. Mesmerizing. Like ripe pastureland after a month of April showers.

      Her image haunted him for a few more heartbeats before he managed to tuck it away and focus on the situation at hand.

       Women.

      Yep, he loved ‘em and he never failed to make time. And he sure as hell didn’t mind signing autographs for each and every one. He loved his fans.

      But this was different. It was crunch time. His younger brother’s birthday was tomorrow and Pete intended to be there when Wade rolled out of bed. He’d never let the kid down before and he sure as shootin’ wasn’t going to start now. Wade had seen enough disappointment in his young life. They both had.

      “Don’t tell me,” Eli McGinnis said when Pete stepped off the bus and found him standing nearby. “One got past me.” Eli had a head full of steel-gray hair and a mustache to match. He wore a straw cowboy hat, a pearl-snap shirt and a pair of starched Wranglers. Word on the circuit had it that he was seventy-five if he was a day, but to hear Eli tell it he was barely legal. “Dammit to hell, I hate a crafty gal.”

      “It was two gals,” Pete told his driver. “Aren’t you supposed to be standing guard until we’re ready to pull out?”

      “I cain’t be standing around all day babysitting this big old bus like I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”

      “That’s what I pay you for.” Eli had been working for Pete ever since the man had retired from the rodeo circuit himself. Pete had learned the ropes from Eli, so he owed him. He’d given him a job and a place to live after he’d retired. Eli had been a permanent fixture in his life ever since.

      “You pay me to drive,” Eli СКАЧАТЬ