Drilled By The Billionaire Cowboy
Brooke Jordan swore softly as she stubbed her toe against a loose piece of rock lying beside her car. This was an assignment from hell and if she hadn’t talked smart to her boss last week, she knew she wouldn’t now be traipsing through some backwater ranch in six-inch heels and city clothes that stood out like a sore thumb amidst the vast collection of jeans, cowboy hats and boots milling around.
She couldn’t help it though; Henry Collins rubbed her the wrong way. He was the new editor-in-chief at De Luxe Magazine and he seemed to think he was God’s gift to women. If the rumors were true, he had already slept his way through half the bullpen staff in less than two weeks which was quite a feat when one considered that there had to be at least thirty women in the bullpen of the large office in New York.
He had never made any overture to her--which was too damn bad because she would have slammed him with a sexual harassment suit so fast it would make his ancestors dizzy--but he had shown a decided penchant for verbally filleting her in front of her colleagues instead. She had borne his unfair put-downs as long as she could until one day when she had decided she’d had enough; she informed him, in full view of everyone, that she thought he was a ‘chauvinistic Neanderthal who didn’t have the good taste to appreciate talent.’
Henry had been cool to the point of being almost arctic when he had calmly informed her that she had just bought herself two weeks on a farm as appreciation of all her ‘talent’. She had called his bluff and now here she was! She was supposed to interview Tyler Harding and also stick close to the man for a minimum of two weeks to make certain she had gotten enough materials to complete the article De Luxe Magazine was doing on “Twenty Rich and Famous Bachelors of 2015”.
Brooke whistled now, low and long under her breath as she took in the opulence of her surroundings. She had known Tyler Harding was one of the few billionaires around but she hadn’t really appreciated how rich he was until she was looking at the evidence of his wealth up close and personal. The ‘ranch’ had to be the size of at least 50 golf courses with a huge sprawling mansion sitting at the end of the drive. Tyler was the debonair head of the ‘Oil Hardings’, a family known for owning just about half of Texas. They were so wealthy, it was rumored their wealth rivaled that of one-third of the world’s countries put together. Orchids and some very expensive looking flowers lined the driveway, circled the fountain and ended up inches from the door.
Wealth screamed from every inch of the mansion and the surrounding premises; cowboys strode in and out of out-buildings which she assumed were stables or something.
“Mr. Harding?” she said, grabbing the arm of one surly-looking cowboy as he strode past her.
“Best check the stables,” he grunted shortly before continuing on his way.
Brooke blinked. He hadn’t even exchanged pleasantries; so much for Southern hospitality, she thought. She pursed her lips as she walked. At five-eight she was considered tall for a lady. She had ash-blonde hair that someone once said made her look like a porcelain doll with large green eyes and full red lips. She was beautiful, with an hour-glass figure that made her the recipient of many a male's attention--like now. But perhaps she should not have worn the six inch heels currently digging into every inch of loamy soil spread around the stables.
As she traipsed towards the stables, trying valiantly to walk in heels that kept digging into the soil beneath her feet, a little yip drew her attention to the animal racing towards her and she did a double-take. Was that a wolf?
Horror skittered down her spine as she turned and ran the rest of the way into the stables, shrieking like a banshee from hell. She saw two men raise their heads in surprise to look up at her and, without stopping to think about it, Brooke flung herself straight into the arms of the taller man and wound her legs around his hips, safely out of reach of the animal.
“Who the hell are you?” the shorter man grated.
“It’s alright, Roy. It’s not every day a beautiful woman climbs right up my legs and into my arms,” the other man laughed good-naturedly.
Brooke didn’t have time to be embarrassed; she clung tighter to him, plastering her breasts against his chest as her eyes fearfully flew over her shoulders to the wolf. It wasn’t snarling anymore though, instead it was rubbing up against the legs of her ‘savior’ and almost purring.
What the hell?
“Isn’t that a wolf?” Brooke asked, her voice a little more than a petrified squeak.
The man chuckled as he gently unwound her long legs from around his narrow hips and urged her to her feet, “Shelby would be flattered. She’s a dog, not a wolf. She’s also a bully though; she sensed your fear which was why she chased after you.”
Brooke stared disbelievingly as the tall man stooped down to caress Shelby. She shifted, keeping as far out of reach of all that fur as she could. The ‘dog’ had to be at least part-wolf!
“I need to find Mr. Harding,” Brooke said.
“You've found him already, ma'am” the man quipped, looking over his shoulder and blasting her with the full force of his languorous dark eyes.
Brooke stared, her heart skipping a beat as she got her first good look at the man Collins had described as an ornery and eccentric oil tycoon. He had to be the most handsome man this side of the sun! He had a strong chiseled jaw, sexily tousled black hair, intense black eyes and sex appeal out the wazoo. If that wasn’t enough, he also happened to have deep slashing dimples in either cheek, so prominent they were on display whenever he moved his lips. His skin glistened with sweat from his work in the barn and his muscles bunched with every movement, revealing hard, sinewy strength, and a beautifully chiseled stomach. He was insanely hot and more than a little dangerous to any woman; worse, she suspected he knew it.
She swallowed. Dear lord, how was she supposed to get through two weeks beside this man?