LITMIR.BIZ

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was just what the get-over-him doctor ordered.

      Chapter Two

      Mug in hand, Tony Young walked over to a corner table where he could watch the whole room, not just the star attraction, Maggie McShane. She was so focused on the game she was playing, she hadn’t noticed him come in, hadn’t looked his way once, which he found interesting. He would’ve thought she’d be aware of everyone in a public place like this.

      She was a good-looking woman, even prettier without all that movie makeup. Seemed to him she hadn’t bothered with any tonight, like maybe people wouldn’t recognize her with a clean-scrubbed face. Hell, he’d known it was her the moment he’d come into the room, without even seeing her face. The woman had a body on her that—Well, it was fine. Why she’d always been billed as the girl-next-door type made him scratch his head. She played those roles, sure, but didn’t anyone factor in her body? Images of red satin sheets came to his mind right away, not country-blue denim.

      America’s Sweetheart, people always pegged her. It was kinda sad they couldn’t be more clever.

      He wondered how she felt about the nickname. Was curious, too, about how big her ego was.

      He watched her line up her next shot, leaning over the pool table, giving him a nice full-on view of her rear, all tight and round in her second-skin jeans. She was friendly with the guys, but not overly, and they were respectful of her, for all that she was wiping the floor with them at pool.

      Tony kept an eye on the other patrons, too. He didn’t know any of them, as he wasn’t a regular anymore. What drinking he did was usually at home, with trusted friends. His hard-drinking days had ended with his rodeo career. He didn’t miss either of them much.

      The music on the jukebox stopped. He was thinking about choosing some songs when the two other women in the place went over and plunked some quarters in the machine. One of them gave him the eye, smiling a little. Hell, she was young enough to be his…well, his little sister, anyway. He was forty, and she probably hadn’t been legal for long. He looked away, then something made him look back. She was focusing on Maggie McShane with her cell phone camera.

      Tony let his chair drop to all fours. He shoved himself up and moved into her line of vision, then kept going forward, hitching a thumb toward Tex to take care of the woman. Tony kept walking until he came up behind Maggie, still blocking the view.

      Maggie straightened slowly. He didn’t move. Although he wasn’t quite touching her, he was close enough to feel heat, so he knew she could, too.

      “Move back,” she said calmly.

      Her friends descended on him. He stopped them with a look, then waited for Maggie to turn around and face him, which she finally did, blushing slightly when she met his gaze.

      “Unless you want a photograph of your pretty little behind spreading like wildfire around the Internet, you’ll stay right here with me until Tex deals with that amateur paparazzi over by the jukebox. She got a good bead on you when you were chuggin’ your beer, America’s Sweetheart,” he said, continuing to be her personal barricade from photo ops. “And maybe you could call off your posse, too, since I’m just tryin’ to help.”

      “It’s you,” she whispered. “John Wayne.”

      “No,” he said slowly, wondering about her sanity. “The name’s Tony Young.”

      “Oh, I—I know. I asked…”

      She’d asked? About him? When? Why?

      “You own the ranch.”

      “Well, technically, it owns me,” he said, then was bumped from behind by one of her friends.

      “Look, cowboy, you need to give her space. Now.”

      He did. Not because the guy said to, but because he could see Tex escorting the picture taker and her friend out of the bar. Two men followed, swearing the whole way, but whether it was at Tex or the women, Tony didn’t know. Maggie peeked around him, watching the scene.

      Heat. She was all fire and heat. On top of that, up close she was stunning, all bright blue eyes and dark, rich hair and soft, full lips—and freckles, pale and scattered across her nose and cheeks.

      “She’s used to having her picture taken wherever she goes,” her friend said.

      “I don’t doubt that.” He didn’t take his eyes off her, and she was staring right back.

      “I appreciate your running interference, Mr. Young,” she said.

      “Tony.” Her head reached his chin. It was rare for a woman to match him so well in height. “Where’s your entourage?”

      “I ditched them. I…needed to get out. Had something to think over.” She leaned around him again and said to her friends, “I’ve taken enough of your hard-earned dollars tonight.”

      Tony noticed her smile didn’t reach her eyes. He also noticed she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. Woman like that should be sporting a rock that would blind you. “You know the two-step?” he asked her.

      Her brows arched high. “Actually I just learned it for the movie. Big scene at a barn dance. Why?”

      He tossed his hat onto a nearby table and held out a hand in invitation. “Let’s see if you had a good teacher.”

      It took her a few seconds but she finally stepped into his arms, where she fit perfectly. Tony liked the two-step. It was one of those dances where the closer you got, the better you did together. Man leads, woman follows. Simple. Could be a sexy dance, depending, but didn’t have to be. Given the heat flowing from both of them, though, he figured it was going to knock sexy into the next territory.

      He was right. The heat was combustible as he drew her a little closer every so often, until he could feel her breasts touch his chest. He heard her suck in a breath, but she didn’t try to move back. Their thighs glided against each other—

      “How am I doing?” she asked, a little breathless, her gaze not leaving his.

      The music stopped, leaving only the sound of their boots against the old wood-plank floor. He didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to let go of her.

      “One more dance, and you’re probably good to go,” he said as another song started.

      She moved herself even closer and stared at his mouth. “You’re easy to follow.”

      “That’s my job. I’m easy about other things, too.”

      Her lips parted. “Yeah? Like what?”

      “For one, listening when a pretty lady has a problem.”

      “What makes you think I have a problem?” she asked, her gaze lifting to meet his again.

      “Intuition.” He had a problem, too. A physical one, especially when she angled her body differently, pressing against his pelvis, a sparkle of something he couldn’t quite define in her eyes.

      “You’re making me forget everything,” she said.

      “Is that good?”

      “I’m not sure.”

      Time passed. Fire burned. Need intensified. “What was with the John Wayne deal?” he asked, changing subjects.

      She looked away, as if deciding what to say. He waited. Patience was something he had plenty of, too. Plus, he was enjoying the hell out of dancing with her, her body close to him, all curves and temptation, his body painfully aroused as they moved around the floor, the rhythm of the music powerful and enticing. He wanted to find the nearest bed, and dance skin to skin.

      “When I spotted you on the set today,” she said, “I thought you looked like him. John Wayne.”

      “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

      “You should. He’s

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