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  Mason wanted her. But did he want her as much as she wanted him?

  Charlene wasn’t sure. She knew only that the truth waited on the other side of the door, and she just didn’t know if she could face it yet. Sinking onto the porch swing, she picked up a box of Mint Crème Extreme cookies. Five percent mint and ninety-five percent chocolate, which put them near the top of her Hands Off list.Right beneath Mason McGraw, who’d occupied the top spot for as long as she could remember.

  The thought stirred an image of him naked and panting over her, surrounding her, inside her….

  She opened the box and dived in. She was on her sixth cookie when she heard the front door open.

  “Those must be some cookies.” Mason pulled the door closed and stepped toward her.

  “They’re all right,” Charlene said after swallowing a mouthful and trying to calm her frantic heart. “Want a taste?” she said, holding the box out to him.

  “I definitely want a taste.” Then he took the box and set them aside. Before she knew what was happening, he’d dropped to his knees in front of her and was reaching for the waistband of her skirt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Helping myself,” he murmured as he tugged her zipper down….

  Dear Reader,I would love to say that I was the coolest/prettiest/most popular girl in high school, but exactly the opposite was true. I wore braces for six years, had what I like to refer to as a bad-hair “decade” and was voted (get ready to gag) Most Studious. I look back now and I’m extremely proud that my classmates recognized my smarts. But at the time, I might as well have had a great big G branded on my forehead (for Geek, of course). Like most other girls, I secretly dreamed of being Homecoming Queen, wearing the trendiest clothes and dating the captain of the football team. Deep sigh…

  The heroine in my newest Harlequin Blaze novel is no different. Charlene Singer is queen of the Late Bloomers. In high school she was awkward and geeky and practically invisible to the cool kids, including Mason McGraw, the hunkiest cowboy to ever saddle up a horse. But that didn’t stop her from fantasizing.

  Little does she know, but Mason spent his youth nursing a few erotic thoughts of his own. And when he returns to Romeo, Texas, to take over his family’s ranch and reclaim his home, he’s got more than just horse wrangling on his mind. Sexy, sophisticated Charlene is just what Mason needs for his own happily ever after, and he intends to prove it to her. The temperature isn’t the only thing that gets hot down in Texas when these two join forces to breathe life into their most erotic daydreams.

  I hope you enjoy my latest Harlequin Blaze book featuring the McGraw brothers! I love to hear from readers. You can visit me online at www.kimberlyraye.com or write to me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  Much love from deep in the heart!

  Kimberly Raye

  KIMBERLY RAYE

  Texas Fire

  This book is dedicated to Late Bloomers everywhere.

  We make the world go ’round, ladies!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  1

  CHARLENE SINGER STOOD near the rear exit of the Elks Lodge, stared at the man leaning against the bumper of the black 4x4 pickup truck directly in her line of escape and wished with all of her heart that she believed in alien abductions.

  She needed a quick escape.Her day—okay, make that her month—was quickly going from bad to worse. It had started when the queen of the gourmet sex desserts had moved to town and started poisoning the good women of Romeo with the insane theory that the way to a man’s heart was through his senses. To add insult to injury, the women actually believed such nonsense. Miss Sweet & Sinful had just preached her message to a lodge full of Juliets— Romeo’s local women’s club—and had received a standing ovation. The Juliets had practically fallen over themselves to get to the table of hand-outs detailing several explicit recipes for sexual success. Sex. As if that were a solid basis for any long-term relationship. Feed him this and tease him with that, and he’ll fall hook, line and sinker from this day forward, ’til death do us part.

  Yeah, right.

  Charlene folded the tip sheet she’d swiped and stuffed it into the pocket of her slim-fit beige skirt. The Juliets had been too enthralled by the advice to notice that Dr. Charlene Singer, Romeo’s one and only relationship therapist, had actually attended one of their self-help luncheons. Talk about fuel for Skeeter McBee and his gossip circle down at the diner.

  Romeo was the typical small Texas town. And like any typical small Texas town diner, the Fat Cow Café had become notorious for its platter-sized chicken fried steak smothered in cream gravy, served up with a generous side of homemade mashed potatoes and a great big scoop of “Didya hear? Willie McIntyre got caught wearing his wife’s pantyhose…”

  The ringleader of the gossip? Old Skeeter McBee, the reigning domino champ and leader of the lunch bunch—a handful of retirees who met every afternoon for the daily lunch special.

  The Juliets were already questioning Charlene’s doctrine. The last thing she needed was for someone to get the idea that she’d jumped ship and was now anxious to try out Miss Sweet & Sinful’s recipes herself. Old Skeeter and his cronies would have a field day spreading that around.

  Charlene had come strictly to size up the competition, and now she intended to make a nice, clean getaway before the meeting officially adjourned and someone singled her out.

  Fat chance with her only available out—a beige Lexus she’d bought last year—parked several feet away. On the opposite side of the man and the truck.

  From bad to worse to disastrous.

  Charlene closed her eyes and fought down a wave of panic. There were only three things in life that made her truly miserable—chocolate, The Bachelor and Mason McGraw.

  It wasn’t the sweet, rich taste of chocolate that put everything dark, delicious and sinful at the top of her “unbearable things” list. She’d come closer to an orgasm with a bottle of YooHoo and a box of truffles than with most of the men she’d dated. It was the dreaded “morning after,” as in zits, a face full of them that lasted longer than the dehydrated macaroni and cheese her mother had kept in their bad weather emergency kit, along with batteries, bottled water and multiple cans of Spam.

  The Bachelor ranked in the top three because of its blatant objectification of women. Sure, there was a lot of blah-blah on the man’s part about finding a soulmate with brains and ambition, and Charlene supposed there could be a thread of truth to it. What guy wanted to spend ’til death do us part with a dumb, lazy woman? But it wasn’t an issue that any of the bachelors had yet to address. Thanks to the show’s casting manager, brains and ambition came wrapped in a drop-dead gorgeous body, preferably with perky breasts, blond hair and a laser-bleached smile. So much for reality TV.

  As for number three on the list…

  Her gaze slid to the hot body in question. He’d obviously not heard the rear exit door creak open because his attention remained fixed on the front entrance of the lodge. An all-important fact which allowed her a few blessed moments to breathe, plan and study his profile.

  Okay, so forget the breathing and planning. Mason McGraw had been back in Romeo all of two weeks and this was her first up-close look at him.

  He wore faded Wranglers that molded to his long, lean legs and cupped the tush which rested on the
front bumper of the jacked-up truck. Scuffed, tan Ropers hooked at the ankles, the toes scarred and worn from climbing into one too many saddles. His back rested against the massive silver grille, his arms folded. His biceps bulged, stretching the sleeves of his white T-shirt into a tight second skin and a beat-up straw Resistol sat low on his forehead. The brim curled down in the front and shielded his eyes from the blistering noonday sun, the straw edges ragged from years of handling. Dark hair curled out from under his hat and brushed the collar of his cotton T-shirt. The faintest hint of stubble darkened his strong jaw and circled his sensuous mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed and the muscles in his jaw tensed as he chewed at a piece of straw that hung from the corner of his mouth.

  Dark, delicious and sinful… Check!

  Mason still looked as tempting as the most decadent piece of Godiva, which wasn’t a problem in and of itself. She’d eyeballed many a good-looking man. But he wasn’t just handsome. He had this peel-off-your-clothes grin that made women want to strip now and think later—much later—and Charlene was no exception.

  Not that she would sink so low as to hook up with a man who’d made no secret that he liked his women beautiful and dumb. But seeing that grin full-on…Well, it made her at least contemplate the notion for a full five seconds before coming to her senses and realizing that this was the same guy who’d paid a quarter back in the sixth grade to see Lolly Langtree’s underpants.

  Objectifies women… Check!

  It hadn’t mattered that Lolly had been as intelligent as a bag of rocks, and about as sensitive. She’d had a pretty face to go with her pretty pink Charlie’s Angels panties, and so Mason had been the first in line when Lolly had stepped into the closet to give sneak peeks at Sandra Huckaby’s first girl/boy party.

  Meanwhile, Charlene had stood as far away as possible, not the least bit anxious to have anyone see the white cotton Hee Haw briefs her mom had bought on the clearance rack at the local K-Mart.

  As if any of the boys would have given even a nickel to see them.

  Charlene hadn’t been one of the cool girls—daring divas as they’d called themselves back in junior high school—with their lip gloss and Calvin Klein jeans. Rather, she’d been the tallest girl in the class, and the most awkward. Her jeans—whatever brand that happened to be on sale at Sears or Montgomery Ward—had always been an inch too short for her body. Her one attempt at a tube of Lip Smackers had created enough of a glare—can you say Mick Jagger lips?—to temporarily blind the captain of the basketball team and screw up a winning three-pointer during the semifinals. At least that’s what Sandra and Lolly and the other “divas” had said. To make matters worse, Charlene had worn thick glasses and battled monumental zits, and so she’d been snubbed for the most part like all of the other “groupies,” also known as geeks.

  While Charlene’s own mother had been born a groupie—she’d been not only plain and geeky, but poor, as well—she’d managed to turn herself into a daring diva by marrying the mayor’s son who’d gone on to become the president of Romeo Savings and Loan. And so Charlene had been invited to Sandra’s party because their mothers had run in the same social set and played in the same bridge club. A humiliation in and of itself. Unfortunately, it had only been the first of many that night. Before the evening had ended, she’d become known to every kid at Romeo Junior High as Charlie Horse Underpants.

  “Hey, there, Charlie Horse Underpants!”

  “Here comes Charlie Horse Underpants!”

  “How’s it going, Charlie Horse Underpants?”

  The memories echoed in her head and her throat tightened. The name didn’t matter anymore. And it certainly didn’t matter that Bobby Winchell down at the local Stop-n-Shop still said “Well, well, if it ain’t Charlie Horse Underpants,” every time she stopped off for a loaf of bread or a six-pack of Diet Coke.

  Despite that some immature people still felt the need to tease her, she wasn’t about to burst into tears anymore. She was all grown-up now and she realized that it wasn’t about how a woman looked or what she wore that attracted a member of the opposite sex for the long-term. It was her inner being. Her personality.

  Be yourself and men—the reliable, ’til death do us part, potential soulmate kind, that is—will flock to you.

  That was her motto now, one she preached with complete conviction not only in her private practice as a relationship therapist, but also twice a week at nearby Texas A & M to an auditorium full of enthusiastic sociology majors. Forget the Boobs and Hair, It’s All About Going Bare had become the college’s most popular course, and had earned Charlene tenure just this past year.

  Tenure, she reminded herself. When most of the other professors her age were still working on their thesis papers and building their credentials.

  Charlene had already proven herself.

  And her theory?

  She’d seen the proof firsthand. Her parents, direct opposites, had had little in common, but they’d been attracted to each other anyway. They’d married, and they’d ended up in divorce court. The lust factor simply wasn’t enough of a foundation for marriage. A couple needed common interests for that. Similar personalities. A meeting of the minds instead of the bodies. At least that’s what Charlene had always believed, up until Miss Sweet & Sinful had come to town.

  But after seeing the way the Juliets embraced the woman’s preaching, Charlene couldn’t help but wonder if Holly Farraday was on to something. Maybe a solid, lasting relationship wasn’t built on common interests. Maybe it was just good sex.

  And maybe not.

  She didn’t know. She only knew that she had to make a quick getaway because she wasn’t going to risk her reputation on a maybe.

  She drew a deep breath, gathered her courage and stepped forward. It wasn’t like she had to actually walk in front of Mason. She could go around the rear of the truck and, thereby, avoid a confrontation. The first, in fact, since the night of Sandra Huckaby’s party. Sure, she’d seen him since then. While he’d left town over sixteen years ago, right after high school graduation, he’d been back now and then for special occasions and, most recently, for his grandfather’s funeral.

  But in all the years since Sandra’s party, Charlene had never actually talked to him.

  She’d tried. The Monday after the underpants incident, she’d actually smiled at him in the hallway, but he’d simply stared past her. So she’d contented herself with lusting after him from afar and later, as she’d gotten older, in her most private fantasies.

  It was a situation that suited her just fine. While she’d entertained erotic thoughts about Mason, he was as far from her soulmate as a man could get, and so she was in no hurry to run into him. Charlene wanted only one thing at this point in her life—to marry the right man, one who shared her interests, and to have a solid, lasting relationship.

  She eyed her car. Okay, so maybe she wanted two things. A solid, lasting relationship, and a clean getaway.

  The first wish was this close—she’d found the man, a colleague who shared her love of books and her passion for opera, and it was just a matter of time before he realized how perfect they were for each other. The second was close, as well, if only she could clear several yards of open space without making any—

  Crrrrunch!

  The sole of her Prada pump sank into the gravel and her breath caught.

  Metal groaned and creaked. The pickup bobbed. More gravel crunched and crackled—sounds that had nothing to do with the tasteful, beige pumps she’d paid an obscene amount of money for during last month’s shopping spree, and everything to do with worn boots and strong purposeful footsteps.

  “Charlie?” The deep voice slid into her ears and sent a burst of heat through her.

  Or maybe it was the sudden memory of her most embarrassing moment that did that.

  Either way, she stiffened. Her head snapped to the side and she found herself staring into Mason’s deep green eyes just the way she had that night when she’d accidentally left the bathroom do
or unlocked and he’d walked in on her. He’d had three boys trailing behind him and they’d all gotten a glimpse of her in her Hee Haw panties, her jeans down around her ankles.

  But Mason had gotten the first look. The longest look…before the other boys had started laughing and calling her the name that would follow her all the way to her high school graduation and beyond.

  “I see Paris, I see France. I see Charlie Horse Underpants!”

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Charlie—”

  “I’m not wearing any underpants,” Charlene blurted before he could say the rest of the dreaded name. “I mean, I am wearing underpants, but they’re not the Hee Haw ones. I don’t wear those anymore. I wouldn’t have worn them ever, except my mother had this thing for buying me stuff on sale and I didn’t exactly have a choice. But now I buy my own underwear and I usually stick to solid colors. No horses. Not that the Hee Haw ones even had horses. Technically, they were donkeys, but I guess Charlie Donkey didn’t have the same ring to it.”

  Surprise registered in Mason’s dark green gaze. He tipped the brim of his hat back, as if to get a better look at her. “That’s good to know,” he said.

  And then he smiled.

  No, forget the smile.

  He grinned, his lips curving in that slow, sexy tilt that had made him the most sought after boy in Romeo even though he had two identical brothers just as wild and wicked and handsome.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t the deep, husky, “I’m a plaid man, myself.”

  The statement cut through her line of defense like a hot knife through butter and stirred an image of him wearing nothing but a pair of plaid boxers and a smile. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips. “Well, I do have a pair with tiny hearts on them.”