The Third Kiss. Leanna Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ Cutter Enterprises. She tried to ignore her own reaction to his charismatic eyes and chiseled features.

      “But customer,” she argued, “implies I bought something. I didn’t intend to—”

      He closed the gap between them and cut off her remark. “You didn’t have to.”

      His nearness frayed her carefully controlled nerves. “Why don’t you pick someone else?”

      Hands shot into the air, vying for Matt’s attention. Brooke’s ears rang as the women surrounding them called out to Matt, “Pick me! Me! Me!”

      Matt shook his head. “You’re the one.”

      “I don’t want to be the one.” His one. Anyone’s one!

      “Neither of us has a choice.” His gaze sharpened, and she had a keen sense that he would have liked to have chosen someone else. Anyone else. She wasn’t headline material. She wasn’t the type of woman to grace covers of magazines. She was ordinary…plain. And difficult.

      Peggy jostled her arm. “Your mother is going to flip!”

      Brooke shuddered to think of her mother’s reaction. “The only thing that would make my mother happy is if I showed up with a husband. You’re not selling any of those, are you, Matt Cutter?”

      “Maybe she’ll be impressed with a few other prizes,” Matt said, looping her arm through his. When he tucked her close to his side she felt as hot as a Texas heat wave.

      Pressed against his well-honed frame, Brooke heard alarms go off in her head. He made her feel weak, fragile and incredibly feminine. She bucked against that assessment. But she couldn’t move away from him, no matter how much she wanted to. He held her firmly against his side.

      “Don’t argue,” he whispered, his voice compelling. He gave a smiling nod toward the cameras while moving her toward a platform and up the steps. “You’re the winner.”

      But she didn’t want to win. She didn’t need anything. Not when so many others needed so much more. Faces of children she’d worked with through the years filed through her mind.

      “Come on.” He allowed no other arguments. He faced the audience and kept his hand on her arm as if she might bolt at any second. And she might have. If he’d given her the chance.

      Irritation nettled her. She decided in that instant that Matt Cutter might be handsome, even sexy, but he was arrogant, domineering and overbearing.

      “Good afternoon!” He spoke into a microphone, his voice resounding through the store and reverberating through her entire body. “Cutter’s Western Wear is proud to announce we have now welcomed our one millionth customer.”

      Another cheer went up, and more flashes went off in front of Brooke’s eyes, making her see spots.

      “Tell us your name, Miss…” His focus, as well as the crowd’s, shifted toward her.

      She considered giving another name. Maybe even Peggy’s. She couldn’t imagine how this would look to her clients. Their psychologist making the headlines. But if nothing else she was honest, and so she spoke into the microphone. “Brooke,” she said, “Brooke Watson.”

      “Well, Brooke,” Matt Cutter said, slipping his arm around her waist, holding her close, making her skin tingle, “today is your lucky day.”

      Brooke wondered then if maybe she did have a fairy godmother, who’d gone overboard with the magic.

      Matt Cutter had never met a more exasperating woman!

      He admitted Brooke Watson had warm-brown eyes and a body that could make any red-blooded American male break out in a hormone-overloaded sweat. But what kind of woman resisted all he had to offer…er, all his store had to offer? He’d expected the millionth customer to gush, blush, maybe even throw herself at him. But he hadn’t expected this woman’s chilly reluctance and stubborn resistance.

      He sure hadn’t expected to be attracted to her, either.

      “I really can’t accept this,” Brooke repeated, stepping back from the microphone and him.

      He frowned. Maybe she hadn’t understood. “It’s a lifetime supply of jeans.”

      “I don’t need any jeans. I like the ones I have.”

      He admitted her jeans looked sexy, the way they hugged her like an intimate embrace, caressing every feminine curve she had. His appreciative gaze swept over the tall, willowy brunette. “Those won’t last forever.”

      She shrugged. “They’ll last longer than some things.”

      What the hell did she mean by that?

      “Look,” she offered, “if you have to give away a lifetime supply of jeans, then I’ll choose who they go to.”

      She scanned the crowd. Everyone went berserk, screaming and hollering, waving and jumping, trying to get Brooke’s attention. Then she smiled, really smiled, for the first time since he’d met her. And it gave his stomach a strange sensation.

      “The lifetime supply of jeans goes to—” she grinned while he gritted his teeth “—this woman in front. Peggy Simmons.”

      The redhead raised her arms like Rocky, after winning the championship fight, and turned in a tight circle.

      Now what was he going to do? Brooke gave away prizes as if she was cleaning out her closet of the past year’s clothes. What was wrong with her? What woman didn’t want clothes? Maybe she simply didn’t wear jeans often enough to justify a lifetime supply. Fine. But she wouldn’t be able to resist the next prize.

      “That was very generous of you,” he said into the mike, well aware of the cameras aimed at him and of the wall of reporters taping every word. Maybe the circus atmosphere Brooke had generated would create bigger headlines. Definitely a plus for Cutter’s. “Now, for this next gift you’ll have to sit here.”

      “But I don’t—”

      “Sit.” He barked the command as if to his black Lab, Dodger, and jerked the microphone behind his back.

      Brooke snapped her mouth closed and glared at him.

      Maybe that wasn’t the right approach for this woman. He touched her arm gently, even though he wanted to grab her. This woman brought out a Neanderthal side of him. “Look, it won’t take long. I won’t hurt you,” he said softly so only she could hear. “Promise.”

      “I’m not afraid of you.”

      He ground his teeth and edged closer to her, challenging her, daring her not to step back toward the chair. In spite of her height, she still didn’t meet his chin and had to crane her neck to glower at him. “That’s right, Miss Watson. Right over there.”

      “Doctor. It’s Dr. Watson,” she corrected him in a clipped tone that set his nerves on edge.

      A doctor, eh? He could see that. He could see a lot of things in this woman, some of which he didn’t particularly like. But he saw many things he did appreciate, like the deep-rose of СКАЧАТЬ