Millionaire Playboys: Paying the Playboy's Price

“Is this another test?” More sarcasm. Okay, he’d definitely read her wrong.

She shifted in the saddle, and then stood in the stirrups and sank back down. She repeated the motion a couple of times. “This saddle feels odd, but comfortable.”

Tugging at the suddenly tight collar of his T-shirt, he looked away, cleared his throat and shifted his stance to ease the pinch of his jeans. The last time he’d seen a woman move like that, she’d been riding him. How long ago had that been? Too long. And hell, he couldn’t remember her name or what she’d looked like.

There had been a lot of nameless encounters in his past—not something he was proud of now, but at the time he’d been floating on a wave of fame, taking the women who fell at his feet for granted and using them to make himself believe he was finally somebody. He’d been somebody all right. Somebody stupid.

His bandmates had used booze or drugs to come down from a post-performance high. Rex had used women—a practice that now disgusted him. He was damned lucky his carousing hadn’t landed him in the morgue or given him an STD the way his father had predicted. Most of Rex’s father’s lectures had gone in one ear and out the other, but thank God the safe-sex one had stuck.

Rex had had a lucky escape, and he planned to put his sordid past behind him in a new city with a new career. He’d be the kind of brother he should have been to Kelly and an uncle Kelly’s girls would be proud to claim. With their father deployed overseas, they needed someone they could depend on when their mom needed help.

Back to business. “The seat of a western saddle is deeper than an English one. It conforms to your shape.” And a damned fine shape it is. “Take the reins in your hand with only one finger between them.”

She did as he instructed, but looked unsure.

“Western horses move away from pressure and they prefer slack reins,” he explained.

She stared down at him with a doubtful expression. “If my reins are slack how am I going to control the horse?”

“Use a soft touch. Your fingers and wrist work the bit, and rely on leg cues more than the bridle.” Which drew his attention back to the length of her legs and the curve of her butt. If he didn’t get his brain out of his briefs, she could get hurt. That kind of publicity wouldn’t help the bar. “You know how to use leg cues?”

“Yes.”

“Then signal her to walk.”

Jelly Bean started forward. Rex kept pace beside them. A light evening breeze carried Juliana’s perfume downwind, filling his lungs with her scent every time he inhaled.

He cursed his uncharacteristic distraction. Usually, he had tunnel vision. He saw what needed doing and didn’t waver from his set course. His career and the destruction of it were perfect examples. He’d wanted to make it to the top and he had, and then, after his parents had died, he’d wanted out, but contracts had held him prisoner. Before leaving Nashville, he’d made sure he’d burned all his bridges. He shook his head to clear it. Focus.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Your motion. You’re perching on top of the saddle instead of sinking into it, and every one of your muscles is strung as tight as a bow. Relax your upper body and your legs. Slump into the saddle.”

“All my life I’ve been taught to sit up straight, and you’re telling me to slouch?” Her haughty tone was exactly what he needed to remind himself of the differences between them.

“Not exactly, but you have to relax here.” He quickly tapped the base of her spine with a fingertip. “Here.” He nudged her thigh with his knuckle. “And here.” His palm brushed her lower abdomen. He quickly withdrew it. Her body heat scalded his skin. He stepped away from the horse and crossed to the center of the riding ring. Ten yards wasn’t enough distance to douse the fire smoldering in his gut.

“Cue her to jog when you’re ready.” Juliana nudged Jelly Bean into a slightly faster gait. Juliana tried to post, rising and lowering in the saddle from her knees as she would if riding English. “No posting. Sit.”

She did and probably rattled a brain cell or two as she—and her perfectly shaped breasts—bounced along.

Rex ground his molars. He’d been attracted to a lot of women, but not this way. Had to be because he knew this relationship—like the ones in his past—would go nowhere. Falling back into old, bad habits was not part of his plan. “Scoot.”

“Wh-at do you m-ean sc-oot?” The jarring broke her words into fragments. The mare snorted her displeasure.

“Rock your hips from the waist down.” She looked at him as if he’d asked her to fly. In frustration he said, “Match your moves to the horse’s. Like you’re with your lover.”

Her lips parted and her cheeks turned the color of a ripe peach. She jerked her face forward to stare straight between Jelly Bean’s ears, but within seconds she had the correct motion. “Sorry. It’s been a while, but I think I have it now.”

Been a while? Riding a horse or with a lover? None of your business, bud. But the image of Juliana as his lover, straddling his thighs and arching to take his deep thrusts flashed in his mind. Heat oozed from his pores and his lungs stalled.

“Yeah. You got it,” he croaked.

Keeping his distance from the bean counter was critical. She knew who he was, knew about his past. Worse, he feared she had the power to bring the self-centered SOB he used to be out of hiding. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

When the man turned off the charm, he really turned it off. Juliana sighed. Rex hadn’t given her a single sign of encouragement. And darn it, she didn’t know how to flirt without looking like a bimbo with something in her eyes.

She reluctantly climbed from the mare’s back. Was she so unattractive, so lacking in basic feminine charms that even a man who’d reportedly had women in every town his tour bus had rolled through wasn’t interested? Ouch.

She had to find a way to get her plan back on track. In accounting, that meant understanding the parameters of the investigation, and the only way to achieve understanding was by asking questions, beginning with the nonthreatening ones and easing into the intrusive ones. She likened the practice to putting a jigsaw puzzle together, borders first.

“I don’t suppose you’d consider selling Jelly Bean?” Not that she had much time to ride anymore, but this evening with a light breeze stirring her hair and the setting sun on her skin reminded her how much she missed having a horse in her life.

“She’s not mine to sell. I bought the mare for Becky and Liza.”

“And Becky and Liza are…?”

“My nieces.”

“You bought them a horse? Did you also buy this property so they’d have somewhere to ride?”

He shook his head and his rope of shiny hair swished between his shoulder blades. The urge to tug the leather tie loose and see if the strands felt as thick and luxurious as they looked was totally out of character for her, but her neatly clipped-above-the-collar world hadn’t allowed her to experience a man with longer hair without the width of a desk and the professional wall of her position at the bank between them. The men she’d dated in the past had all been the preppy, Ivy League type. Like Wally. Clean-cut. No rough edges.

Rex had rough edges aplenty.

“Farm’s not mine. I rent the barn and a few acres from the owner. Her husband died last year. She leases the stable and the surrounding land to pay the mortgage.”

“What made you choose to locate your business in Wilmington? We’re not exactly horse country.”

He flashed an irritated glance in her direction. Oops, had she sounded too much like a bank investigator? For a moment she thought he’d refuse to answer. “My brother-in-law is with Camp Lejeune’s 4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade antiterrorism unit. I wanted to be nearby to help my sister with the girls when he’s deployed. He’s in Baghdad now.”

Another chink in his bad-boy shell. What other discrepancies would she find if she looked past his rebel veneer? And did she really want to know? Her dislike of unanswered questions outweighed the need to keep her emotional distance. “You grew up on a ranch in tornado alley?”

“Yes,” he barked in a mind-your-own-business voice and then took the reins from her and led the mare into the shade of the small four-stall barn.

Juliana’s gaze immediately drifted to his firm behind in faded denim. When she realized what she was doing, she jerked her eyes back to the breadth of his shoulders. In the past, she’d been more concerned with a man’s character instead of his looks, but she had to admit Rex had great packaging.

The smell of oats, hay and fresh shavings, and the hum of insects brought back memories. Until she’d turned seventeen, she’d spent almost as much time with her horse as her books, but when her old gelding had died of colic, she hadn’t had the heart to replace him.

“Did you miss the ranch when you were touring?”

For several moments, Rex ignored her question while he exchanged the bridle for a halter and cross-tied the mare in the stall. He shoved his hand into the caddy carrying the brushes and stabbed a soft bristled-body brush in her direction. “Yes. Groom her.”

Juliana couldn’t imagine leaving Wilmington or Alden’s behind. For as far back as she could remember, she’d wanted to work in Alden’s headquarters. The building’s two-story foyer, with its marble pillars and the wrought-iron railings on the second-floor balcony, had been her own personal castle. She’d loved visiting after hours with her father, listening to the echo of their footsteps across the marble floor and the overwhelming silence of the place after the employees and customers had left for the day.

Because she’d wanted to stay near home and friends, she’d chosen to attend the local state university—much to her mother’s dismay—rather than go to an Ivy League school out of state like so many of her classmates. The University of North Carolina at Wilmington had been her father’s alma mater, and for once he’d spoken out against her mother’s decrees and supported Juliana’s decision to go to school locally and serve an internship at Alden’s.

“Did you ever think of moving back?”

His gaze met hers over the horse’s withers. The grooves beside his mouth deepened, drawing her attention to the dark evening beard shadowing his square jaw and upper lip. “You bought riding lessons not my life story.”

Touchy, touchy. But she dealt with hostile people all the time. Digging into someone’s accounts and revealing discrepancies didn’t bring out the best in anyone. She’d learned to hold her ground and keep asking the questions until she had the information she needed. What exactly was she looking for here? She didn’t know, but she’d keep digging until she found it.

“No, Rex, I didn’t buy your biography, but if we’re going to spend approximately sixteen hours together over the next four weeks, then we have to have something to discuss besides the weather. The story of my life would put us both to sleep, and since I imagine napping is frowned upon when riding or driving, I thought we’d try yours. You’re welcome to volunteer other topics if you choose.”

Scowling, he removed the mare’s saddle and saddle pad, and deposited both on the top of the stall’s wooden half door, and then braced his hands on either side of it. His shoulders, clad in another Renegade T-shirt, looked as stiff and broad as the beams supporting the barn roof.

“Yes, I missed the ranch. And I wish I’d gone back. But, I didn’t. By the time I wised up, my sister had married and moved away and my parents were dead.” He delivered the information in a matter-of-fact tone. His warning not to offer pity or sympathy came across loud and clear, but the ill-concealed pain in his voice brought a lump to Juliana’s throat.

She ducked under the cross-tie, hesitated and then laid her hand on the rigid muscles of his back. “I’m sorry.”

He flinched and stepped out of reach, then ducked to pick up the grooming caddy. Heat zinged through her from the brief contact, crackling and popping along her nerve endings in an unsettling manner. She lowered her arm and closed her prickling fingers into a fist. Before she could separate and label the avalanche of sensations, he straightened and turned. The emptiness in his eyes made her chest ache.

“Don’t be. I got what I deserved. Groom the mare. I’ll put the tack away and get her oats. We have to meet the reporter at Renegade in thirty minutes.” He shoved the grooming box in her direction, snatched up the saddle and bridle as if they weighed nothing, and left.

Juliana stared after him. If Rex thought snarling like a wounded beast would put her off, then he’d miscalculated. The glimmer of softness he tried so hard to conceal had piqued her curiosity, and once Juliana had a puzzle to solve, she never gave up until she had every piece in place.

Three

“So tell me, Ms. Alden, why would the heiress to a banking empire need to buy a date?” Octavia Jenkins, the reporter, asked.

Heiress. Rex’s chair wobbled precariously. He nearly fell over backward. Fighting for balance, he rocked forward. The front legs of the chair hit the floor with a thud. Up until now, he’d been completely relaxed. His half of the interview had gone well. He’d plugged the bar, served the reporter a selection of tasty appetizers and avoided discussing his aborted career.

“Your family owns the bank?” Rex asked. His first impression after the auction had been that Juliana had more money than sense, but he hadn’t expected it to be that much money. Holy spit.

Juliana shifted in her seat and glanced around the restaurant as if checking to see who’d overheard his question. “I told you I worked for Alden Bank and Trust.”

“You never told me your family owned it.” And owned him, or at least the note on his business. It would be her family’s minions who would padlock Renegade’s doors if Rex couldn’t pay off the note. And he’d lose everything—his apartment and his business—since he’d invested all he had into Renegade. “You never told me your last name.”

“You never asked.”

He hadn’t asked because he hadn’t wanted to get involved beyond the lessons. So much for detachment.

The reporter looked up from her furious note-taking with a hungry glint in her eyes and a flush on her cocoa-colored skin. Rex had seen that look often enough in the past to know it meant trouble. “Were you trying to keep your family connections a secret?”

Juliana hesitated. “What would be the point? Every eligible male in the southeast knows who my family is.”

And that, Rex deduced from Juliana’s flat tone, was an issue. Had the banker’s daughter experienced the degradation of being dated for what she represented rather than who she was as a person? He tamped down the empathy budding in his chest because he didn’t want to have anything in common with Juliana. But she’d put a chink in the wall he’d worked so hard to build between them.

“Which leads us back to my original question, Ms. Alden. You should have men standing in line to wine and dine you. Why buy one?”

Juliana looked every inch the poised southern belle as she lifted her chin and smiled—a smile that Rex noted didn’t reach her eyes—at the reporter. “My mother is the auction organizer. I wanted to support her efforts.”

Bull. Rex didn’t know how he knew it, but something in her voice and in her beauty-queen bearing told him that wasn’t the real reason Juliana Alden, banking heiress, for crying out loud, had bought his package. His auction package—he clarified when a neglected part of his anatomy twitched to attention.

“And why did you choose Rex?”

Yeah, why him? He silently seconded Octavia’s question. Lacing his fingers on the tabletop, he awaited Juliana’s response.

“He’s new in town and I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.” More bull. He’d bet his Harley on it.

“You’re playing welcoming committee?” He didn’t bother to sugarcoat his disbelief.

“Is there something wrong with being neighborly?” She eyed him haughtily, but the tension in her features told its own tale. What was she hiding? Curiosity coiled in his gut.

Octavia persisted. “This had nothing to do with your recent thirtieth birthday, coming into your trust fund and your friends Andrea Montgomery and Holly Prescott also buying bachelors?”

Juliana paled and her eyes widened slightly. She inhaled a long breath and then slowly released it. Rex knew because the slow rise and fall of her breasts distracted him. He cursed the arousal strumming through his system, blinked and shifted his gaze back to her face.

“Only because each year Andrea, Holly and I do something to celebrate our birthdays. And yes, this year we each came into our trust funds, but since we all have well-paying careers, we don’t really need the money. We decided to donate a portion of the money to a charitable cause, and the auction to support the disabled children’s camp seemed as admirable a choice as any. Have you heard about the boat Dean Yachts has offered to design, build and donate to the cause?”

Octavia Jenkins waved the diversion aside. “I’ll do a feature on that later. I want to talk about you.” Leaning forward, she grinned mischievously and tilted her head conspiratorially toward Juliana. “You’re a banker and he’s a biker. You can’t get much more different than that. Taking a walk on the wild side never entered into your plans?”

Color rushed to Juliana’s cheeks. She darted a panicked glance in Rex’s direction, and then ducked her head and fussed with the silverware beside her plate. “No. That wasn’t it at all.”

Well, I’ll be damned. If her guilty expression hadn’t clued him in, then her rushed, breathless answer was a dead giveaway. The beautiful bean counter was lying through her perfect white teeth. And for some crazy reason, the prospect of Juliana getting wild with him turned him on like nobody’s business.

Forget it, farm boy. Too risky.

“If you say so.” Octavia closed her notebook and stood. “Well, that’s all the questions I have tonight. I’ll see you next week.”

Rex rose. His mother had managed to drill some manners into his thick skull. He sat back down after the reporter had left and studied Juliana until she squirmed in her seat. She just didn’t seem the type to rebel. And wasn’t thirty a little old to get started on rebellion?

She bolted to her feet. “I should go, too.”

Determined to get the truth out of her one way or another, Rex followed her outside, keeping pace beside her so he wouldn’t be distracted by the sweet curve of her rear. The moon had yet to rise, but he could see well enough in the streetlights to know he was beginning to like the fit of her riding britches a little too much.

“Why did you buy my package?” he asked as they neared her car.

She turned on the cobblestone sidewalk. “I told you.”

“You’re off the record now. No reporter in sight. Let’s have the truth, Juliana. Why me?”

Her face flushed with more than indignation. She shifted uneasily. “I beg your pardon? Are you calling me a liar?”

“Admit it. You fed that reporter a load of manure.”

If she stood any straighter, her spine would snap. “Mr. Tanner—”

“Rex,” he corrected and moved closer. Without the killer heels, the top of her head barely reached his chin.

She retreated, bumping into the lamppost behind her. Milky light streamed over her, painting ribbons of silver in her dark hair. A soft breeze ruffled the strands around her face. She tipped her head back and her lips parted on a shaky breath, and her pink tongue slipped out to wet them.

“Rex, then. Why would you suspect I had an ulterior motive for bidding on you?” Her damp lips and breathless tone hit him like the business end of a cattle prod, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“You turned ten shades of red when the reporter asked if you wanted to take a walk on the wild side. Looked guilty as hell to me.”

Her lashes fluttered and her gaze fell. “I did not.”

“Did too.” He’d learned from experience that the only way to deal with a problem was to confront it. Running didn’t work. Ignoring it wouldn’t either. He propped one arm on the post above her head and leaned in until only inches separated their faces. “Wanting to see if Nashville’s bad boy can live up to his hell-raising reputation?”

“Of course not,” she said too quickly. But her gaze shifted to his mouth and her breath puffed against his chin in shallow bursts. The tight points of her breasts pushed at her blouse.

She wanted him, and damned if the feeling wasn’t mutual. He swallowed the sudden flood of moisture in his mouth and cursed the unwelcome response drumrolling through his veins. Kissing the bank owner’s daughter would be a big mistake, but part of him wanted to forget common sense, taste her red lips and feel her slender length against him.

Go for it, his awakening libido urged. Then maybe the simmering sexual awareness between them would die a natural death and they could get on with the lessons. She wasn’t his type and he sure wasn’t hers.

He cupped her jaw with his right hand. The warm velvety texture of her skin surprised him. Tempted him. His fingertips teased her earlobe, her nape, and then closed around the cool satin of her hair. He tugged, tilting back her head and lifting her lips closer to his.

“Is this what you want, Juliana?” He cupped her jodhpur-covered bottom, pulling her closer, and lowered his head. In his hypersensitive state, her swiftly indrawn breath sounded as loud as a jet engine. Her fingers spread over his belly and dug into his waist, starting a fire he wasn’t sure he could put out. But she didn’t push him away. Her lashes drifted down and his lids grew heavy in response. His mouth hovered above hers, close enough that he could taste her sweet breath, and then sanity slapped him upside the head.

What in the hell are you doing, Tanner?

He hesitated, examining her flushed face, parted lips and the dark fan of her long lashes against her cheeks. Damn. The reporter had nailed Juliana’s motive. The banking heiress was using him. And if he gave in to the urge to kiss her—hell, the urge to take her right here against the lamppost—he’d be using her, too.

Been there. Done that. Not going back.

He didn’t want to be that selfish bastard again, and risking any kind of involvement with a woman whose family could pull the rug out from under his business could be career suicide. Because when the relationship ended—and it would end—there’d be hell to pay.

Swallowing a sobering lungful of air, he battled the need twisting through him like a tornado and shoved himself away. A sexy protest emerged from Juliana’s mouth, but he ignored it.

“If a walk on the wild side is what you’re after, Ms. Alden, find another sucker.” Turning on his heel, he left temptation—and certain disaster—behind.

Thursday evening arrived long before Juliana could get a handle on her reaction to the near-miss kiss and the sting of Rex’s rejection. But she wouldn’t let a little discomfiture derail her agenda.

“Plan B. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed,” she muttered as she turned her car into the stable’s driveway.

Over the past two and a half days, she’d launched a full-scale fact-finding mission. By her calculations, she was as prepared for today’s lesson as she possibly could be. She’d memorized the magazines recommended by her twenty- and thirty-something coworkers, bought clothing deemed appropriate by said magazines for casual dates with a hot guy and learned everything between the covers of the Department of Motor Vehicles booklet Rex had given her. To top it off, on her lunch hour yesterday she’d visited the local motorcycle dealership. The salesman had fitted her with the proper safety gear to the tune of several hundred dollars, and she’d spent a good part of last night curled up with a book—the Harley owner’s manual.

She spotted Rex standing beside his motorcycle. The bees in her stomach buzzed into flight. Once again, he wore jeans and a Renegade T-shirt. His closed countenance brought heat to her cheeks. He hadn’t forgotten their last encounter or her panting eagerness. Neither had she.