Bet on a Cowboy. Julie Benson
Pretty city woman? Maggie almost laughed and asked him whether he was delusional or needed glasses.
No one, not even her family, who loved her dearly, had ever described her as pretty. The closest she came was passably cute, and she hadn’t heard that word used in conjunction with her name since she was twelve. Obviously, the horse beside her wasn’t the only charmer around.
“Have you ever thought about being on TV? You’re a natural.” Viewers would love Griffin. His charisma would leak out of televisions across America.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, leaned back on his heels and smiled.
Lethal.
“I got to admit, a woman’s never used that line to get my attention.”
He thought she was coming on to him? Once again she doubted his sanity. No way would a woman like her think she stood a chance with a man like him. Griffin belonged with models or Miss Colorado, not a plain Jane. “It’s not a come-on. I’m Maggie Sullivan. We spoke on the phone.”
His smile evaporated. “I told you I wasn’t interested.”
“Since I flew here from Los Angeles to talk to you, it would only be polite for you to hear me out.”
“I didn’t ask you to come. That gets me off the hook.”
He turned and stalked off toward the barn, Maggie chasing after him. She smiled. There was nothing better than walking behind a man with an exquisite butt in a pair of jeans.
“I brought pictures of this season’s bachelorettes.”
Griffin stopped at the barn door and faced her. “Lady, can’t you take a hint?”
She held out the file. “Look at the women’s pictures.”
“What part of I’m not interested is hard for you to understand?”
“I understand it. I just don’t accept it.”
He shook his head. “If I look at the pictures will you leave me alone?”
“Absolutely.” She resisted the urge to shove the folder into his hand, and instead held it out.
He took the folder and then reached for the barn door. Wood groaned and hinges squeaked as he tugged it open. They stepped inside. “If you have hay fever you should head out now.”
He wouldn’t get rid of her that easily. Little did he know that a girl with three older brothers learned persistence as a survival skill. “Hay doesn’t bother me.”
Griffin turned on the lights. Next, he pulled out the photos and flipped through them. Maggie shoved her hands into her pants pockets and crossed her fingers.
She bit her lip. No smile. No twinkling eyes. Where was his excitement? From his deadpan expression, she’d guess he was reviewing his tax return rather than photos of beautiful women. How could the sight of that many gorgeous females fail to elicit at least a grin?
“You’re right, the women are attractive, but I’m still not interested.” He handed the file back to Maggie, but she refused to accept it.
“Oh. Wait a minute. Are you gay?”
He stiffened, carefully set the folder on a stool and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What makes you ask that?”
“Most red-blooded heterosexual men show some interest when they look at pictures of stunning women, but you didn’t.”
“You think I’m gay because I didn’t get all hot and bothered looking at those photos?”
Griffin stepped closer until they stood inches apart. His sparkling gaze pinned her. When he glanced at her mouth, all coherent thought deserted her. He leaned forward as if he might kiss her, sending her body into overdrive.
Reality check, Maggie. You’re not his type.
He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his hard form, leaving her dazed. She couldn’t breathe. His mouth moved toward hers.
He’s going to kiss me.
I can’t let him kiss me.
Why would he kiss me?
She jumped backward. Never graceful at the best of times, their feet tangled and she lost her balance. Her rear end hit the cement floor hard, with a decidedly unfeminine thud.
“I bet you’re used to women falling at your feet all the time,” she quipped in an attempt to ease her embarrassment.
“Not like this.” Griffin held out his hand, but she shook off his offer.
As she stood, she resisted the urge to rub her sore backside. That fall would leave her with a nice bruise.
“I am not gay.”
“I believe you.” Maggie looked away from Griffin’s piercing gaze to regroup. Once in control again, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t read the bios on the other side of the photos.”
“You said you’d leave me alone if I looked at the pictures.”
No bachelor meant no show. No show meant no job and no money, which meant she’d have to put her dreams of motherhood on hold.
“I know I did, but you don’t understand how great this opportunity is. The television exposure will be phenomenal. It could bring in a lot of business to the ranch, and who knows what other opportunities. Is there somewhere we can go to talk more?”
“You’re as persistent as the horseflies around here.”
“You might as well hear me out, because I’m not going away until you do.”
He stalked across the barn, dismissing her. “I need to get to work.”
Again she trailed after him as he strolled through the barn and stepped inside the last stall. A minute later he came out, a hay bale in his arms. His cotton shirt stretched tight across his chest. His biceps flexed and bulged. Maggie’s mouth went dry. If Griffin decided to go into politics he’d win by a landslide on the women’s votes alone, and he wouldn’t have to say a word.
After dumping the bale on the cement floor, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out wire cutters, drawing her attention to his rear end again. The faded denim emphasized his rock-hard thighs, and the air around her grew thin. The temperature in the barn was sweltering.
He snipped the twine and pulled off a hunk of hay. Bits of golden dust swirled in the air, the musty smell tickling her nose.
“I can’t take time off work. My answer is still no.” His earthy male scent, mixed with the fragrant hay, wafted over her as he strode into the next stall.
“Did I mention we’ll pay you three thousand dollars an episode?”
This time when he exited the stall, his eyes gleamed with interest. “You should’ve told me that first.”
Men went on her show for one of three reasons—the money, the gorgeous women or the exposure. She and Samantha were wrong. Neither the women nor the publicity interested Griffin. Money was the key.
“How many episodes are we talking about?” He pulled off another chunk of hay and walked into the next stall. Maggie followed.
“Ten. That’s three thousand an episode for ten weeks. Thirty thousand dollars. That’s what you’d be paid in compensation for taking two and a half months off work.”
Inside the stall, the cinnamon-colored mare’s ears perked up at Griffin’s entrance, and the magnificent animal whinnied. “I know, girl. I’m running late and you’re a little ticked with me. It’s not my fault.” He nodded toward Maggie. “Talk to her. She’s slowed me down this morning.”
Maggie wanted to laugh.