Texas Outlaws: Billy. Kimberly Raye
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I want to be the next Woodward and Burns.”
Or at least, she had back when she’d been a freshman taking her first journalism class and the real world had been four years away. But entry-level journalist positions were hard to come by, and if she did manage to land one, she wouldn’t make enough to cover her rent, much less pay back the mountain of student loans.
Which is the reason that she’d taken a slight vacation from hard-core journalism to write fluff pieces for a few local tabloids and work on FindMeACowboy.com. The fluff coupled with the dating service would pay the bills and then some. Meanwhile, she would keep writing for the few blogs that actually liked her work and build her résumé. She was already brainstorming a new piece—an in-depth look at the bank robbery that had put Lost Gun on the map. Who knew? Maybe she could find a new twist regarding the missing money. She was here, after all. She might as well ask around.
In the meantime, she was going to sign up as many cowboys as possible and get the hell back to the city just as soon as she filled up her database.
“I feel like dancing.” Livi’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “I’m going to head over to that table and ask one of those hunks to dance.” She indicated a handful of good-looking men in starched Western shirts. “And then I’m going to sign him up and find him the love of his life.”
Sabrina smiled as Livi made a beeline for the group. The expression died a heartbeat later when she heard the deep, seductive voice.
“What’s the fun in that?”
“Excuse me?” She cast a sideways glance at the hunky cowboy she’d spotted earlier.
Up close he was even more mouthwatering.
“Love.” His eyes glittered a hot, potent violet. His lips curved in a sexy smile. “Life isn’t about love. It’s about lust.”
“Is that so?”
He shrugged. “Lust makes the world go ’round.”
“So sayeth a commitment-fearing man.”
“I don’t fear commitment, sugar.” He shrugged. “I just don’t see the point in it.”
“And you are?”
“William Bonney Chisholm—” he touched a tanned finger to the brim of his Stetson and tipped it toward her “—but folks around here just call me Billy.”
“As in the Billy Chisholm?” Her mind scrambled, recalling bits and pieces from the posters plastered around town and the commentaries airing on the local radio stations. “The bull rider?”
A grin spread from ear to ear. “You’ve heard about me.”
“Actually, I’ve heard about your brother. He’s the current pro bull-riding champion, right?”
“For now. But he’s getting slow and preoccupied and I can guaran-damn-tee that another win isn’t in the cards for him.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he sold out in the name of love and now his concentration’s for shit. The only plus is that he smartened up and ran for the hills before he embarrassed himself.” He arched an eyebrow. “What’s your name?”
“Sabrina Collins.”
“You a reporter?” he asked, which made sense since the place was crawling with them.
“I wish.” The words were out before she could stop them. She stiffened. “What I mean is, I do have a journalism degree, but I’m not here for that.” She handed him her business card. “I’m with FindMeACowboy.com. We’re an online-dating service for cowboys and cowgirls, and anyone wanting to meet either one. You’d be perfect for our website.”
“What about a dance? Would I work for that?”
Her gaze went to the crowded dance floor filled with sliding boots and swaying Wranglers. “I’ve never really danced to country music.”
He winked. “There’s a first time for everything.” He touched her and her heart stalled.
And then his strong fingers closed around hers and he led her out to the dance floor.
3
BILLY HAD RUBBED bellies with more than his fair share of women over the years. But none had ever felt as soft or as warm as Sabrina Collins.
The notion struck him the moment he pulled her close and felt her pressed up against his body. He trailed his fingertips down the side of her face, under the curve of her jaw, down the smooth column of her throat, until the silky fabric of her blouse stopped him.
“You don’t look like much of a rodeo fan,” he murmured.
She shrugged. “Rodeos I can do without. Cowboys are a different matter altogether. I need as many as possible.”
“I’ve heard a lot of pickup lines, but that’s a first.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She licked her bottom lip and he had the urge to lean down and catch the plump flesh between his teeth and nibble. “This is all about business. My business. FindMeACowboy.com.”
“Sounds highly illegal.”
A grin tugged at her full lips. “It’s a dating service.”
“Why cowboys?”
“Because they’re generally hard workers, trustworthy, loyal.”
“You don’t sound one hundred percent convinced.” There was a cautious air about her and she seemed to stiffen as he stared down at her.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” She shrugged. “It’s about the three thousand, four hundred and seventy-two women that we polled last year. So?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever thought about meeting someone online?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I meet plenty of women as it is, and I barely have time for any of them. I ride bulls for a living and this is my year. This rodeo is the first step to my very own championship in the fall. I don’t have time for dating.”
“Yet here you are dancing with me.” Despite the stiff way she held herself, there was just something about the way she looked at him with those deep blue eyes that said she was hungry for more than she wanted to admit. “One would be inclined to think you’re looking for someone.”
“Maybe, but this isn’t about a date.”
“What is it about?”
“It’s about sex, darlin’.” He pulled her closer, plastering them together from chest to thigh, holding her securely with one arm around her waist. “Lots of breath-stealing, bone-melting sex.”
Billy’s words slid into her ears, coaxing her to soften in his arms the way the warm heat of his body urged her to relax and let her guard down.
Fat chance.
The last thing she needed was to wind up in bed with a cowboy. For all her determination to find as many hunky, Wrangler-wearing hotties as possible, she wasn’t looking for one for herself. Sabrina Collins didn’t do cowboys. She’d seen firsthand just how unreliable they could be, and she certainly wasn’t interested in spending the rest of her life with one.
Then again, Billy Chisholm wasn’t exactly proposing marriage.
“You smell like cotton candy,” he murmured, his rich, deep voice sizzling over her nerve endings.
“A cotton-candy martini. The out-of-towner special over at the bar. About the sex thing, I’m really not interested.”
“Why?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t