The Bull Rider's Collection (59 page)

Chewing on her lower lip, Kathleen weighed her options. She could stay here in the wet sand, risking getting caught by some fisherman or family of four who’d wandered onto her property, or she could get up and run as fast as she could toward the house. The villa staff would not have arrived this early so there was a good chance she might be able to snatch a towel poolside. No one needed to know about last night.

Surreptitiously, Kathleen looked left then right. She angled her head around, but didn’t see anything except clear blue water behind her. Ahead there was only the path leading to the house. The sun rose higher. No time like the present.

Kathleen jumped up, ignoring the heavy drum beats in her skull, and took off across the sand. She’d only taken a few steps when a male voice stopped her cold.

“Leaving so soon?” The words were filled with laughter.

Crap! She had waited too long. She covered her breasts with one arm and used the opposite hand to cover her pubic area. She didn’t turn around.

“I…um…” She couldn’t think of a plausible reason she was naked on the beach.

“Don’t worry about it. I guess we had some night, huh?”

We?
Crap. She’d half-convinced herself it was just her skinny-dipping — after all, there’d been no man present until five seconds ago. She racked her brain trying to recall something, anything from last night. But all she remembered were whirling lanterns, a crisp, white shirt and wrinkled khakis. Happy, Latin music bounced through her mind, warring with the drum beats already in residence.

She was going to give the new and improved Kathleen a stern lecture. Just as soon as she got off this beach.

“…so I guess our clothes are up there, because they certainly aren’t anywhere down here.” Mystery Man had been looking for their clothes while she panicked on the sand. She supposed she couldn’t blame him; she wanted her clothes, too.

Kathleen squeezed her eyes closed. She wanted to pinch the brim of her nose but was too self-conscious to move either of her arms. Even with her back turned, she wasn’t comfortable being exposed to a strange man.

“Could we just — ” she tilted her head toward the path, keeping her gaze riveted on the sand at her feet. “I just want to get out of here.”

He didn’t say anything, simply walked ahead, leading the way up the path. Taking charge of a situation she couldn’t believe she’d gotten herself in to. She took a moment to admire his firm glutes and tight thighs. At least she’d picked up a great looking random guy and not some pot-bellied loser who was the last man left at closing time.

With his back safely turned away and the cover of several low trees, Kathleen shoved one hand into her hair and clenched her fist. What had she been thinking?

Obviously she hadn’t been. She had taken this fling vacation too far. It was one thing to declare her independence, to take a much needed vacation before beginning the final training leg for her horse, Jester. It was quite another to go home — or to the beach — with a man she didn’t know. Had they taken precautions? She didn’t know, but that they’d had sex was obvious from the tightness in her thighs and the leftover heaviness in her breasts. Her nipples were still hard for Pete’s sake, and not from the chill of the early morning breeze.

The incline grew steeper, and the trees gave way to low bushes and ferns. As they rounded a corner, the villa came in to view. Mr. Gluteus-Maximus stopped dead and whistled low. Kathleen made an abrupt move around him.

Now this she remembered. Two A-frames, attached in the middle by a low breezeway, opened to a wide courtyard. Bright morning sunlight created rainbows on the structure’s many windows. Deep purple peonies lined the drive along with more ferns. Violets spilled from pots flanking the door. Around back, the infinity pool practically slid off the cliff and into the ocean below. Heaven on earth. If she could just get rid of Naked Man before the staff arrived.

Kathleen was almost to the front door when she stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting in the corner of the drive under an elm tree was an unfamiliar car. The low-slung coupe was too nice to belong to any of the staff. Eyeing the front door, she quickly walked to the car, placing her hand on the hood. Still warm, so it couldn’t belong to Mystery Man. A tiny blue and yellow sticker in the bottom corner of the windshield caught her eye. A rental.

With sickening clarity, Kathleen knew who the car belonged to. The question was why had he come here? And could she get Mr. GoodBuns to one of the cabanas poolside before they were caught? Only one way to find out.

“The pool’s this way,” she said, hurrying back to Naked Man to lead him around the house. Modesty be damned, she needed both of them clothed not standing in the courtyard where anyone could see them.

“Our clothes could be there,” he said.

Give that man a gold star.

He walked calmly ahead of Kathleen. Was that to protect her from prying eyes if anyone happened to be around? Or was he just used to being in charge?

It was obvious he knew a little about the house. Hmmm. He sounded calm. As if walking into a stranger’s rented home happened every day. Gigolo, maybe? It would be the cherry on top of her morning so far. Kathleen shook her head and followed.

The greenery gave way to smooth tile surrounding an oval swimming pool. The blue water of Mismaloya Bay was still in the morning light. There were two cabanas and a shower to one side, the louvered doors a crisp white. A rock grotto led from the pool to a waiting hot tub. Several lounge chairs were spaced evenly along the other two sides of the pool. On the side facing the ocean, the pool spread to a ledge, making it look as if whoever was swimming could fall over the side of the cliff and into the ocean below.

Kathleen stumbled, bright sunlight singeing her eyes. At once, the man’s hand caught her elbow righting her world. Lockhardt, Texas, a small ranching community just outside San Antonio, had nothing on Puerto Vallarta. Or the man at her elbow.

The brief touch sizzled up her arm, leaving a warm glow around her heart. Realizing her breasts were suddenly exposed to the warm ocean breeze and sunlight, Kathleen jerked free of his grasp, trying in vain to cover herself. Her eyes flew to the man’s face and she froze.

His startled gaze locked on hers.

“Jackson!”

“Kathleen!” They spoke at the same time.

What was Jackson Taylor doing in Puerto Vallarta? Shouldn’t he be in a New York studio, torturing single women across the city? He couldn’t be here. This couldn’t be happening.

Kathleen did the only thing she could do under the circumstances. She dove inside the nearest cabana, prepared to stay there the rest of her life if she looked back outside and saw Jackson Taylor, her college crush, standing beside the pool.

Pressing her back against the closed door she tried to convince herself that the man out there wasn’t Jackson. It was a trick of the early morning light. The hangover. Maybe she was still asleep. Dreaming. Yes, that was it. This had to be a dream. She’d dreamed about him often enough in the past.

Lord knew, most of the female population at the University of Texas–El Paso had dreamed about Jackson at one time or another. He was sensitive, brooding. Artsy. And all male. Deep brown hair, intentionally kept a little shaggy, chocolate brown eyes a girl could melt into and a runner’s lean physique made him a picture perfect man. Secrets surrounded him — he never went home for holidays, didn’t get care packages, didn’t seem to need anyone. He was also funny and blessed with enough charisma that he could have headed to Hollywood and become
People
magazine’s Sexiest Man in the Universe ten years in a row.

Please, please, please don’t let that be Jackson Taylor. She would do anything, would gladly give up the New Kathleen, if the man outside would just be a stranger. She would never come back to Mexico. Never drink tequila or whatever she had drunk last night. She would give up her hopes of running the ranch for Grandfather. Just as long as Jackson Taylor wasn’t standing naked beside that pool.

With her eyes closed, Kathleen twisted around and pressed her face to the door. She pried one eye open, lifting one of the louvers at the same time.

It was him.

Crap, crap, crap. She needed to reevaluate New Kathleen. The entire idea of coming down here and sowing some wild oats before she lost them all suddenly seemed like the worst idea in the world. She should have stayed home. Turned seven months of celibacy into seven years if she had to. She was an experienced woman. Knew how to satisfy herself. She didn’t need a man to help her run the ranch so why did she need a man for the ultimate gratification?

Because all the sex toys in the world don’t equal one touch from a man’s hand.

Especially the memory of the man standing outside, tanned body fully exposed to the rising sun. Jackson Taylor.

And sleeping with Jackson Taylor was the biggest mistake this Texas girl could make.