Girls' Night Out (Bad Boys) (3 page)

“Not really. I’m
gold.
”

“Oh boy!” She laughed. “Whoa, just confirmed. You are so full of yourself. Do you have to check that inflated head of yours?”

He glanced down to his groin, then back up at her. “Not lately, but around you things certainly could change.”

She stared at him speechless. Her cheeks burned. She’d lassoed herself, alright, and with her own tongue.
Score one for Goliath.

With her brothers and cousins, she’d met enough of their friends to spot trouble in the form of a smooth-talking stud. For sure, this smiling gorgeous guy was all that and more the way he rustled the butterflies in her stomach into a storming mess.

“No matter where you’re off to, I know you’re not from the part of Texas I come from,” she said, raising her eyebrow at his large, extended hand.

“You just don’t cut a guy a break.” He pushed his outstretched hand closer. “My
name
is Brett Gold.”

“Oh,” she said, taking hold of his hand. The moment their palms touched, a zinging current traveled up her arm, and she couldn’t help smiling over at him.

“Oh,” he echoed playfully.

Cory noticed how small her hand was in his while he rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “Sounds like the perfect name for Hollywood. Are you some sort of actor?”

~~~

He laughed, shaking his head at the beauty in front of him. No need to tell her he was a tight end for the Dallas Devils.

Holy smokes. This girl was the type his gut told him to steer clear of and, of course, that was not what he was doing. He leaned in closer and it was as though a bomb had blasted apart in his head. She had no idea who he was and obviously didn’t care, except for some desire to stand her ground like a pissed-off wildcat. Her wide sapphire eyes, smart-aleck mouth, and body that didn’t quit had him scrambling in moves he’d not put into use since the Devils played hard defensive ball on the field three weeks ago and nearly took out his rotator cuff.

He could tell in a split-second, this spitfire was a down-home cowgirl all the way from the heart of Texas. A filly who’d been born and bred to rule a man. By instinct, his reaction was to fall in line, but then his past caught up with him, and a slew of alarm bells went off. Loudly. The hazard lights flashed brighter when he suddenly wondered if she was even twenty-one yet. Oh, brother, from all directions a shrill warning sounded, signaling him to get the heck away from this girl…
now
.

A year or so ago, he’d been engaged and on his way to wedded bliss until his fiancée had decided otherwise—along with his buddy. Now, he had an ex-fiancée and an ex-friend. The woman in front of him had a prickling quality he’d avoided since all hell broke loose in his personal life. He preferred hassle-free hookups and fought to stay clear of entangling situations, on and off the field. There was only one thing to do and that was to say
adios
. He’d go his way and she could go hers.

Right
, he exhaled, preparing to get back to reviewing a sponsor’s offer when he looked down at the Bruins logo on the rhinestone-encrusted lanyard attached to an identification badge at the end.

Brett flipped over the ID badge and asked, “UCLA? You go there?”

“Since that’s my photograph, and the date is current, and I’m carting it about, chances are I’m enrolled.”

Her sass drew his attention down to her pink, wet mouth and his skin tightened as he thought of ways to curb her barbed tongue. He stopped staring, feeling himself grow erect, and looked down at her ID. He read her name.
Corinth Hera McLemore
.

“In the school of marketing.” He started to laugh. Really hard. So hard that he leaned over to grab the side of the seat.

“It’s not funny. You’ve got some gall. Hand it over.”

“This is the first time I’ve met someone perfect for school. I mean that sincerely…you know, as a compliment.” Brett lifted his hands and bit his lip. “Here, wildcat, before you start spitting and clawing again.”

“And you have no part in that, of course.” A blush stole over her as she reached out toward her badge and he pulled back, wanting to bring her closer. God, she smelled amazing, like soap and the outdoors back home. Fresh flowers came to mind—a scent utterly feminine and he inhaled again.

“Whoa,” he whispered, unsure of this odd sensation that made him want to school her good. It wasn’t the first time. Back in the corridor, when they’d bumped, he had the distinct impression he needed to... damn, he didn’t even have words for the sensation other than
guard her.

“That’s mine.” Miss McLemore raised her eyes to his hand lifted high above his head. She was a shade of innocent he’d not seen in years.

His throat constricted, strangling his voice into a serrated croak. “Your mother would be less than pleased at how you’ve forgotten your manners. Again.”

Her blue eyes darkened and her brows pulled together. “And a gentleman never publicly embarrasses a lady. So dude… I. Guess. We’re. Even.” She popped upward, a cork flying from an expensive champagne bottle. “Thank you. Now, give it back.”

She reached, grazing over his bandaged right hand.

“Sorry,” she said as she gently held his fingers. “What happened to your knuckles?”

“Nothing much,” he said softly.

His busted knuckles didn’t hurt anymore. It was the newspapers that featured the story of how he’d gotten drunk and ended up in a bar brawl that irritated him. It stung when his mom asked about it, but not as sharp as the sting from this little wildcat in front of him.

Dressed in a clinging skirt, her legs were in plain view to him as he kneeled in front of her. His gaze traveled down her long as hell limbs until he got to her high-wire height heels. God, she was something, alright. She captured his hand as his arm came into contact with her hip, and the effect was a thunderbolt to his chest and dick. He rose as well and stared down at the color spreading across her lovely cheeks, at her slightly parted moist lips, at the way she licked those same full lips—a storm inside a teacup.

He drowned in her fiery eyes for a beat. Christ, it wasn’t his habit to stop dead in his tracks like this. He’d never been a deer caught in the headlights. Moves like that got him trampled by a defensive line. He preferred flowing like a river and sought the clear escape route to cut away and make tracks. Evaporate.

That was what he should be doing here except the connection with this woman was palpable like a tripwire waiting to detonate something explosive. The impact of staring at this spitfire was a ball that targeted the front of his helmet and knocked him senseless. Corinth McLemore had him scurrying on the tip of his toes. He straightened, unwilling to buy into this blitzkrieg about to happen.

“Departure for Flight 311. Please, all first class passengers approach the departure desk with your ticket confirmation and ID available.” The whole departure lounge came alive. Besides this livewire activation, the energy in the space crashed in on him.

“That’s my flight,” he managed to choke out. The ticking bomb in his head was about to go off if he didn’t cut loose. He shifted his bag on his sore shoulder, wondering what it was about her that made it hard to move on.

“Not mine,” she grinned. “Lucky you.” Then another announcement came for Flight 117 and the whole place was in an uproar.

“You’ll need this,” he said, unhanding her badge.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Wait.” An embroidered handkerchief lay under a chair and he bent down to retrieve it. When he stood, she’d picked up her own bag, hoisting the expensive strap over her dainty shoulder. “My mom used to carry one. I didn’t know that women still did.”

“This woman does.” She smiled up at him. A ray of sunshine that heated the blood in his veins.

The urge to ask if he could help her swamped him, but at the same time his gut knotted. To tangle with this girl spelled all types of trouble. He had to let go. And fast. When an impossible play wasn’t going to happen, the best thing a tight end could do was somehow stop the clock.

“Well, nice almost meeting you. Miss McLemore. Enjoy the holidays. Going home to be with your folks?” He didn’t know why he wanted to hear her say yes and not mention a boyfriend or fiancé.

“Yes. I will,” she responded. He nodded curtly to her, taking in the slight widening of her eyes. “Likewise, Mr. Gold. And thank you for helping me pick up everything.”

She extended her hand and he took her slim, warm fingers and squeezed. Gently. He backpedaled away from the warning sirens in his head. What if by chance her family was actually going to the AT&T stadium tomorrow? He could get her box seats, or even have her come down on the field. Anything, just to see her again.

“Oh hell,” he groaned. “I don’t guess you’re family is the type to do live football on Thanksgiving?”

“No. We have a huge get-together. Sit-down dinner with all the trimmings. Why?”

“Nothing. Just a crazy idea.” The last call for his flight came and he nodded. “Gotta run.”

“Go on. Or you’ll be the one stuck here, daydreaming,” she giggled.

CHAPTER 2

Cory walked out the gate and rushed into her father’s open arms. “Daddy, I made it home. Finally.” Who knew a simple flight from L.A. could take so long? She could have driven here in less time. But oh no. Mama wouldn’t let her. She’d suggested the drive from California to Texas and her mother threatened to come and take her car if she as much left the city on wheels. So far her parents had come to L.A. three times since she’d checked into the dorm in August, and she knew darn well her mom didn’t mess around.

“Gosh darn, Corinth. Your mama won’t believe her eyes.” Daddy held her off, his dark eyes misting. They both laughed. “You sure are growing up fast, little girl.”

Her eyes scanned his face. “Mama’s not here?”

Her father’s fingers tightened on her arms. “With the fight delays…you know how she wants everything perfect for when you get home.”

“I hope she didn’t go all out. It’s just Thanksgiving break.” She nodded. Oh yeah, she knew how Mama would be busy as a beaver getting things perfect for Thanksgiving.

Daddy shrugged. “Let her be. You know how she’s been looking forward to this moment.”

A lifetime, I suspect.
“I can only imagine.”

She was lucky to have escaped Annona in the first place. It had been a little over three months since she officially became a California girl at UCLA. Truth be told, she’d always be a Texas cowgirl at heart, but that one immense piece of information she kept to herself. Otherwise, her parents, not to mention her brothers, would overrun her life, trying to guide, probe, and prod her existence back to their one-horse town.

They just didn’t understand her need to spread her wings. And she didn’t need to keep defending her choice of Los Angeles as the place. Thank God she’d gotten a full scholarship to study marketing and communication, and she’d had the freedom of choice where to go to college. Betwixt her family and friends, they’d have preferred she marry one of the locals and start right in on producing future cowboys and cowgirls. Another brood mare for Evermore Ranch. No, thank you.

“Well, we’d better go fetch your luggage then,” Daddy said. “Your brothers met up with a friend down yonder.”

“It’ll be good to get home.”
Evermore
…she sighed, thinking of the cattle and horse ranch owned entirely by her family for the last hundred years and more than likely for the next hundred as well. Everyone lived on it except for renegades like her brother Miller and her cousin, Guthrie. Yes, she was lucky to have made the break. So far only she and Matt, her oldest brother, had broken away from Texas to go to school.

“As I live and breathe. She’s back.” Stephen’s unmistakable voice boomed over her head. “And all grown up.”

“Oh brother, you’re in trouble.” She stepped into Stephen’s bear hug. Her older brother’s jacket was cool against her cheek and smelled of familiar leather and smoke. “Where is Gillian?”

“Dance recital coming up. Problem with your welcoming committee, little sister?” The side of his mouth curled in a dry-humored grin.

“Yeah. I was expected some women. Not handlers.”

“Yee haw!” Rory called out. Her twin brother had snuck up from behind her. “Lord, you can take the girl out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the girl.”

“Let me at him,” Cory laughed, swinging around to stare at her other brother.

“Sass and vinegar. Speck L.A. is breathing easier with a reprieve from you.” Rory ruffled her hair.

She bracketed her hands on her hips. She’d grown up as the only girl among five brothers and a slew of male cousins. This she could do blindfolded. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I get to rub elbows with stars while you have to sit home and watch ‘em on the television.”

“Nah. You can keep those Hollywood types. We got enough to keep us busy right here,” Rory replied in his cutting edge tone. “You know, working and keeping things going while you’re off studying…what is it again? Professional shopping?”

“Whatever.” She laughed, facing her two brothers and dad, shaking her head. “All in all, even with Rory braying like a donkey, I’m happy to be home.”

Cory had been neon green when starting college at UCLA four months ago. From small town party girl and speed dial number one on many cellphones, her social circle had shrunk to microscopic. Back home in Annona, floating as cream in the popular crowd meant having the right clothes, attitude, and money to burn. But out in L.A., Cory had found herself a fish way out of water, and that fact had put her cowgirl boots sorely out of step. She’d been stuck in the stacks one afternoon when she found herself staring at the university activities board. Dr. Peterson had a stack of leaflets and was pinning one to the corkboard. She’d recognized Cory and handed her a copy of the announcement, informing her that the marketing department was looking for recruits to help with a project. So Cory signed up.

Apparently marketing and communications were a larger version of what Cory had already done with the online business she’d developed and maintained through Amazon. She had her own website, online store front, and had grown large enough to stock a couple of clothing boutiques in Texas with seasonal accessories. A natural fashion bloodhound, Cory scrounged out the lowest prices and kept a finger on the pulse of what trended.