Unmasking the Maverick Prince Read online

  He arrived at the table to find his foreman’s fiancée, Stella, sitting with two other pretty ladies whom Mitch didn’t know, nor did he want to know them. His interest was tuned solely into the singing angel who kept her gaze centered on the empty plastic cup clutched in her hand.

  “Hey, Mitch,” Stella said. “I thought you might be with Bobby out at the Greers’ ranch, drinking your self into a stupor.”

  “No time for that.” Mitch kept his eyes trained on Tori who had yet to look at him. “We’re getting ready to move the cattle into the south pasture before the first real norther hits.”

  The redhead bent her elbows and braced her jaw on her palms. “Isn’t it kind of early for that, since it’s only October?”

  “Nope,” Mitch said, and left it at that. He didn’t have the desire to explain the workings of a cattle ranch or the weather to this particular woman. He only had the desire to get this brown-haired angel into his arms to see if her body felt as good as it looked. “Care to dance, Tori?”

  Her gaze zipped to his and she looked as if he’d asked her to strip naked. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Unless there’s someone else named Tori at the table.”

  She stared at the hand he offered like he’d grown claws. “It’s been a long time since I’ve danced.”

  “It’s been a long time since you’ve sung, too,” Stella said. “I doubt you’ve forgotten that, either. And even if you have, I’m sure Mitch would be glad to show you how, wouldn’t you Mitch?”

  “I can do that.” He’d be glad to show her a lot of moves, none that he’d dare undertake in public. First things first. Right now, he had to get her away from the table and onto the dance floor.

  She finally stood, but didn’t take his hand. She did follow him to the middle of the floor, where Mitch faced her and took her palm to rest in his palm and then circled his other arm around her shoulders. She linked two fingers of her free hand on to his belt loop, like she was afraid to really touch him. Hopefully she would relax after a while, once she realized Mitch was only interested in dancing. For now.

  Despite the fact they weren’t that close, Mitch might as well have been covered from head to toe by a goose down blanket, not denim, considering he was quickly warming up. She could dance better than most and he imagined her skills were far-reaching. But that was all he could do—imagine—since she continued to maintain a safe distance.

  She also refused to look at him until he said, “I’m Mitch.”

  “I know who you are.”

  Damn. He’d hoped she didn’t know, but he shouldn’t be all that surprised. His notoriety had followed him to Oklahoma, even if the media attention had waned over the past few years. But that was subject to change at any given moment, especially if the rumors about his father’s retirement were true. Then it would start all over again, the speculation about whether Mitch would step in and take up the political reins. That would be a hot day in Antarctica. The only reins Mitch cared about were attached to a horse’s bridle.

  He decided to focus on something more pleasant, namely the woman with the big brown eyes who was sort of in his arms. He figured if he drew her into a conversation then maybe he could work his way in to drawing her closer. “How long have you lived in Quail Run?”

  “I don’t live here.”

  That disappointed the hell out of Mitch. “But the karaoke guy said—”

  “I’m one of Quail Run’s own, I know.” And she didn’t sound too pleased by that fact. “I grew up here, but I’ve been gone for almost ten years. I moved to Norman to go to college after I graduated from high school.”

  About the same time Mitch had come back from Harvard. “So what brings you to town?”

  She lowered her eyes again. “Stella’s wedding. I’m her maid of honor.”

  At least they had something in common. “Oh, yeah? I’m Bobby’s man of honor.”

  The comment earned him her full attention and the full effect of a smile that threatened to knock the sawdust floor from beneath his boots. “Not the best man?” she asked.

  “Not in Stella’s opinion.”

  Her smile disappeared. “You and Stella dated?”

  “Hell, no!” He hadn’t meant to say that with such force, but that’s all he needed, a rumor he’d bedded his friend’s fiancée. That would be enough to send the rag reporters running back to Quail Run. “Stella’s only a friend. She wanted Bobby to ask her brother to stand up for him. He picked me instead.”

  “I can’t really blame Bobby. If I had to choose between you and Clint Moore, I’d have to say you would be my choice.”

  “You have something against Clint?”

  She frowned. “I have something against guys who can’t control their hands in movie theaters.”

  Mitch wondered if that rule applied to guys on dance floors. At least he’d been forewarned. “So you dated Clint Moore?”

  “I dodged Clint Moore. I’m basing my opinion on hearsay, and that’s probably not fair at all. I’m sure Clint’s really a nice guy beneath that playboy exterior.”

  “Are you dating anyone now?” Good, Mitch. Nothing like being subtle.

  She shrugged. “I don’t have time to date.”

  That pleased Mitch. Nothing stood in his way of seeing her again, at least while she was still in town, if she was willing. “What takes up your time?”

  “Mainly work.”

  “What do you do for a living? Sing?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  She looked away and sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about my work right now. I’m trying to forget about it. Besides, I’d only bore you.”

  He doubted anything involving her mouth would bore him. “What do you want to talk about?”

  She gave him another energetic smile, which also gave Mitch a rush that went straight to his head. “Tell me about you,” she said.

  Mitch wasn’t sure he wanted to go there. “What about me?”

  “I want to know what it’s like to live on a working ranch.”

  At least she hadn’t asked what it was like to be a revered politician’s son. Mitch would have two words to describe that—pure hell.

  They talked for only a minute until the karaoke resumed with a few more wannabes trying their hand at singing in voices that could rouse dead driftwood. Frustrated, Mitch showed Tori to a table in the corner near the dance floor and away from the crowd to continue the conversation.

  The noise in the bar seemed to fade away as they turned the discussion to their favorite pastimes. He learned that Tori loved riding horses, and he told her about his prize gelding, Ray. She asked about his grandfather but never asked about his father, and he appreciated that more than she knew. He liked the way her laughter sounded when he told a joke, liked the way she twisted a strand of her hair when she described her disdain for Dallas traffic and big-city hassles. And it suddenly struck him that he’d told her more about himself in an hour than he’d told anyone in a lifetime. At least those aspects of his life he was willing to reveal.

  After a while, Mitch moved to the seat next to her to hear her better, or so he’d told her, when in fact, the bar had quieted down after the karaoke had ended. In reality, he wanted to be close to her. He wasn’t having a damn bit of trouble hearing her, but he was having one helluva time not touching her.

  When a slow-dance tune filtered through the overhead speakers from the jukebox, Tori sighed and sent him another smile. “Gosh, I love this song.”

  He loved the way her dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. He imagined they would probably do the same when it came to a different kind of pleasure. And man, he’d like to find out. “Do you want to dance again?”

  “Sure.”

  This time, Tori didn’t hesitate coming to her feet or taking his hand to pull him up—not that he was resisting.

  Mitch normally preferred something a little livelier than a love song, but he didn’t mind at all when Tori didn’t bother with his belt loop and ins
tead, brought her arm around his back and laid her head against his chest.

  He doubted she was much more than five foot five, and since he was six foot three, her head fit perfectly beneath his chin. Her hair smelled like flowers despite the fact the bar was hazy with smoke. Her body pressed against his brought back the desire in a rush of heat.

  He slid his hand down her back to the dip of her spine but didn’t dare go any farther, considering her comment about guys with roving hands. He didn’t want to be put in the same class with Clint Moore. Besides, he wasn’t a teenager anymore, and he didn’t have to resort to blatant seduction to gain a woman’s attention. He’d learned a long time ago not only how to satisfy a woman, but also how to read the signs. So far, Tori’s body language told him she was comfortable only with dancing.

  But that only lasted for the next two songs. By the third ballad, the first of a series of tunes involving torrid affairs in tangled sheets, things started to heat up between them. Mitch felt it in the way Tori’s body dissolved into his, knew it when he moved his hand to her hip and she didn’t protest.

  They soon abandoned traditional country-dance form and wrapped their arms completely around each other. Their bodies touched in all the right places—her full breasts to his chest, thighs to thighs, pelvis to pelvis. Their hands roved over each other’s backs where dampness had formed from the heat of the bar, the heat of their close proximity, the heat of the fire building between them.

  Mitch let her go long enough to shed his denim shirt and hat, leaving him wearing only a plain white tee. Tori followed suit, removing the black leather jacket to reveal the sleeveless red sweater that formed to her breasts perfectly.

  They left what clothes they could discard in public piled on the table, while Mitch imagined removing the rest of their clothes and taking her to his bed, beneath the patchwork quilt where he could end this torture. Where he could touch her with his hands, taste her with his mouth, satisfy the unbearable pressure building in his groin. But he had no right to ask that of her, even if he wanted her so badly he could carry her out of here at the first sign that she wanted it, too.

  They came back together, moved together but remained mostly in one spot, in the corner away from the rest of the dancers, only occasionally drifting into another couple’s path, disregarding the muttered cautions and the occasional near-collision.

  Mitch buried his face in her neck, tested the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue. She responded with a soft, pleasurable sound that drove Mitch wild. He nudged her bottom toward him with his palms, until not an inch separated their lower bodies and only one thing could bring them closer. If Tori, with the sweet sexy smile, the voice like an angel and the body that could turn Mitch into a devil, hadn’t known how this unconventional foreplay was affecting Mitch down south, she did now. No way could she ignore his aroused state. No way could he ignore it, either, though he realized it was best if he tried.

  God, he wanted to kiss her, but he wasn’t sure whether to take the chance. If he made the move too soon, she might hightail it out of there, and he couldn’t stand it if she did. First of all, he’d lose his dignity, considering he was hard as a horseshoe and was relying on Tori to hide that fact. Secondly, he didn’t want this time to end without eventually knowing how her sexy mouth would feel against his, engaged in something besides small talk, even if that’s all he would know tonight.

  Maybe someone would play a fast song, something to help him regain control of his libido. He was surprised someone hadn’t, but when he glanced at the jukebox and found Stella and her friends feeding in quarters and giving him a thumbs-up, he realized they’d been the reason behind the barrage of sex songs.

  Then Tori tilted her face up, her warm lips settling against his neck, and Mitch gave up the fight. He danced her toward the dark, recessed area near the far end of the room, lit only by a flickering beer sign and far away from what was left of the late-night crowd.

  Once they stepped off the floor, he guided her to the corner and backed her up against the wall. He braced one hand over her head and the other on her waist, angling his lower body away from her, at least for the time being. Her eyes, dark as a desert at midnight, looked hazy as he brushed a kiss over her forehead.

  “Mitch, this is crazy,” she said in a breathless whisper.

  He trailed kisses along her jaw. “I know. Real crazy.”

  She turned her head slightly, giving him access to her neck. “We probably shouldn’t do this.”

  He pressed fully against her once more, letting her know his body didn’t agree. “Yeah. We probably shouldn’t.”

  “Mitch,” she murmured when he worked his mouth up her throat.

  He lifted his head and palmed her face with one hand, running his thumb along her soft lower lip. “Yeah?”

  She closed her eyes. “It’s hot in here.”

  It was now or never. He chose now. “Do you want to go someplace else?”

  “I want you to kiss me.”

  She didn’t have to tell him twice. He lowered his lips to hers, only a breath away from finally having what he wanted from her now—what he’d wanted all damn night since the moment he’d laid eyes on her—until, “Get the hell away from my woman!” drew him away from her to look around the corner.

  Bobby Lehman stood by the table where Stella was seated, his fists raised and aimed at the hulking deejay named Carl, a man who was twice the ranch foreman’s size with a temper second only to a raging bull defending his herd.

  Mitch could stay here and do what he wanted to do—kiss Tori senseless.

  Or he could rescue the groom from getting a beating the night before his wedding.

  Damn Bobby Lehman for ruining his night.

  Two

  Twenty minutes later, Tori found herself crammed into the front seat of Mitch’s fifteen-year-old faded black truck. She was closest to the passenger door while Bobby Lehman, the big burr in her butt, occupied the place where Tori preferred to be—next to Mitch. But when Bobby had threatened to throw himself out of the truck after they’d pulled away from the bar, Tori had agreed to switch places and block the exit, saving Bobby from the clutches of concrete even if he had insisted, loudly, that he had to go after Stella. However, at the moment, Tori would gladly open the door and shove him out, doing them all a favor.

  She’d never really understood what Stella saw in Bobby Lehman, a stocky-built, non-descript sort of guy with a brown flattop haircut that accentuated his receding hairline, hazel eyes and an overblown opinion of his attributes. Tori liked him less now that he was whining, “Oh, God, Stella’s not going to marry me,” blowing his whiskey breath on the side of her face since she refused to look at him. And she’d liked him even less when Mitch had gotten between Carl and Bobby to stop the brawl and Bobby had inadvertently slugged Mitch in the mouth. If she added the fact that Bobby had stopped Mitch from kissing her in the bar because of his hot head, she would literally despise the pavement he’d crawled upon on his way to the truck.

  Now that Mitch had a small split on the left corner of his bottom lip, Tori doubted he’d kiss her tonight. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. If she wanted him to grant her an interview, she needed to start acting like a professional, not some smitten woman willing to hop into bed with a pedigreed cowboy just because he looked great in jeans, danced like a pro and made her melt with his smile. Besides, she hadn’t really wanted to hop into bed with him. She’d wanted to hurl herself into bed with him without a second thought.

  “I gotta see my woman,” Bobby slurred when they arrived in front of Stella’s tiny white frame farmhouse, situated between the edge of town and the verge of nowhere. Tori’s accommodations until Sunday.

  “That’s not a good idea, Bob,” Mitch said, bracing an arm across Bobby’s chest to hold him back. “You better let her calm down first.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Tori said as she grasped the handle. After she opened the door and slid out of the truck, she smiled at Mitch over Bobby, who was now l
eaning to one side. “Thanks, Mitch. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night at the wedding.”

  “If she marries me,” Bobby whined again.

  Mitch sent Tori a regretful look. “Yeah. Maybe we can finish our dance.”

  His grin, lopsided due to his swollen lip, did things to Tori that she felt all the way to the soles of her feet. “That’s a deal.”

  Just as she reached the gate, Tori heard, “Dammit, Bobby. Get back here!”

  Bobby rushed past her, pushing her against the fence as he tore into the house. Stunned, Tori turned to find Mitch rounding the hood, verbalizing the curses she had silently uttered at the drunken groom-to-be.

  “He’s determined to talk to her,” Mitch said when he reached Tori’s side.

  “I think we both should go in there and referee.”

  “I think you’re probably right.”

  Tori entered the house with Mitch behind her, finding wobbly Bobby facing off with stern Stella.

  “Carl was only congratulating me, you jackass!” Stella shouted, her face stained with tears.

  “He had his hand on your back…Stel…” Burp. “…la.”

  Mitch approached Bobby and grabbed his arm. “Come on, Bob. You need to sleep it off.”

  Bobby wrenched his arm away and stumbled back against the wall. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere till she talks to me.”

  Stella folded her arms beneath her full breasts. “I’m not talking to you right now, Bobby Joe Lehman. I’m not sure I’m even going to marry you.”

  Without warning, Bobby pushed off the wall and snatched the keys out of Mitch’s grasp. “Stella and me are going for a drive.”

  “No way, Bob,” Mitch said. “You’re drunk, so give them back.”

  But before Mitch could snatch them away, Stella grabbed the keys from Bobby, dropped them down her maternity blouse and grinned.