The Fantasy Factor Read online

  He still couldn’t believe it. He’d been home a time or two over the years, but he’d never run into her. They kept company with totally different crowds now. While they’d both been into fast and furious fun way back when, Sarah Buchanan had since changed her ways. She spent her Saturday nights hibernating at home while he burned up the dance floors when he wasn’t riding a thousand pound bull on the pro-rodeo circuit.

  At least that’s what Houston had heard about her.

  He still couldn’t believe it.

  His gaze shifted across the room, to the table filled with familiar faces. Her nerdy friends, or so they’d been in high school. Age and success had turned them into a fairly nice-looking group.

  Back then Sarah had fit in with them when it came to brains. As for her body… She’d been centerfold material, with a beautiful face, long hair, luscious breasts, a round, soft bottom and long legs.

  Despite the talk around town, he didn’t think she’d changed much at all. She still had a killer body, though it looked as if she tried to hide it. She wore a white, long-sleeved blouse with tiny pearl buttons rather than a tight T-shirt or sweater. Slacks rather than snug, fitted jeans. Conservative pumps rather than the come-and-get-me red cowboy boots she’d flaunted along with a lot of attitude.

  She was still as hot as ever.

  And she wasn’t there.

  He blinked and eyed the familiar four faces. Four, not five. Christ, he could have sworn he’d seen her just a few seconds ago.

  Then again, maybe it had been wishful thinking. An extension of any one of the fantasies that had haunted him over the past years. Sarah, naked and beautiful, in the shower. Sarah, naked and beautiful, in a public rest room. Sarah, naked and beautiful, in a dark movie theater. Sarah, naked and beautiful and riding him, in a moving elevator. Sarah, naked and beautiful, in any and all of the last four of The Fantasy Factor: Sexiest Seven Places to Do It, a self-help sex video that had caused quite a stir back in his high school days.

  By today’s standards, the content seemed extremely tame. There were no below-the-waist shots, though the video had hinted at total nudity. It had been primarily an instruction video for couples who wanted to spice up their sex life. But to a bunch of giggling teens in a small town, it had been a veritable porn fest.

  The bootleg copy, courtesy of one of the football players who’d found the original in his parents’ bedroom, had circulated throughout the senior class. It had been passed from one hand to another until a teacher had confiscated it from someone’s locker.

  By then, however, practically everyone had seen it, including Houston.

  He’d caught his glimpse of it at an after-game party, the crowd made up primarily of seniors and a handful of freshman from nearby Kendall County Junior College. Sarah had been there, too, caught in a groping session with some junior college jerk who’d been pushing her too far, way too fast.

  Houston had stumbled upon them in one of the back bedrooms when he’d been looking for the bathroom. They hadn’t made it past second base, but the guy was quickly gunning for third despite Sarah’s struggles. Houston could still remember the fear in her eyes and the relief when she’d caught a glimpse of him standing in the doorway. He’d pulled the guy off her, tossed him on his ass, and then he’d offered her his jacket to cover her torn blouse.

  She’d taken his hand and, together, they’d slipped out the back door and headed for his souped-up Corvette. She hadn’t wanted to go home for fear of facing her grandmother while she was still so shaken up, nor had she wanted to go back to the party and face her friends. She’d been fearful that the jerk would run his mouth and blow her hot-to-trot image. And so they’d wound up down by the creek with a bottle of homemade strawberry wine, an ice chest and some 7UP. They’d poured the wine and soda into the chest and mixed up some homemade wine coolers. Then they’d sat on the hood of his car and talked for the rest of the night until the sun had come up.

  She’d admitted the truth to him then. Despite her ready, willing and able image when it came to sex, she was really only two out of three. She’d had only two sexual encounters and neither had been nearly as wonderful as she’d anticipated because they’d both been with assholes like the Junior College Jerk.

  She wanted great sex. Wild sex. Hot sex. The stuff fantasies were made of.

  She wanted Houston.

  Even then, he’d had a reputation for being outstanding in the sack, and so she’d asked him to help her beef up her sexual knowledge by playing out the Sexiest Seven from the video.

  He’d been a little shocked at her request, and a lot turned on because, like every other guy in school, he’d thought about being with her. Pleasuring her. Making her feel so good that she’d scream his name and come apart in his arms.

  He’d kissed her then and they’d started that very night.

  He’d expected it to be good. Sex was always good. But with Sarah, it had been phenomenal. She was so uninhibited when it came to her body, so vocal when it came to her feelings, and the combination had turned him on in a major way. Every time he’d touched her, kissed her, plunged into her, he’d seen the pleasure in her eyes and on her face, and he’d heard it in her loud, frantic cries.

  Unlike most other girls, who’d been more interested in having him as a boyfriend than a lover, she hadn’t been into playing games. She hadn’t worried about saying the right things or holding out or maintaining an air of propriety. She’d been straightforward and free and very, very improper.

  And he’d enjoyed every moment.

  But then Sharon had passed away and Sarah had withdrawn and Houston had done what he’d been planning to do for as long as he could remember—he’d left his desperately small town and his sorry excuse for a father, and he’d built his name and his reputation as one of the best bull riders on the pro-rodeo circuit.

  Houston was the middle brother of the notorious Jericho brothers. Austin was the oldest. Dallas the youngest. All had been as bad as a hot summer day was long. They’d been the town’s rebels, a legacy inherited from their hell-raising father and wild-child mother. His mother had died early on, just months after giving birth to Dallas. She’d been diabetic and the birth had been too much for her. There’d been complications and her kidneys had failed. She’d fought for her life on a dialysis machine, but it hadn’t been enough to save her. She’d passed on, and his father had crawled into a bottle and the three boys had been left to fend for themselves.

  They’d all grown up to be independent, none of them depending on anyone except one another to overcome their past and rise above the town’s expectations of them. Dallas had built a successful construction company. Austin was a rancher with the fastest growing spread in the county. And Houston was this close to breaking the national bull riding record of ten consecutive championships.

  He’d worked hard to get to this point. Over the years, he’d spent most of his time on the road, focused on the next practice and the next competition. Always focused.

  Except at night, when the exhaustion weighing on his muscles wasn’t enough to pull him into a decent sleep. Then he would close his eyes and sometimes—oftentimes—picture Sarah.

  They’d made it through the first three of the Sexiest Seven. They’d gotten hot and heavy on the bank of Cadillac Creek on a moonlit night, which had satisfied number one—sex outside in nature. They’d done the wild thing in her Grandma’s Impala, which had satisfied number two—sex in the back seat of a car. They’d set each other on fire in a cheap but clean room at Hotel Heaven just outside the county line, checking off number three—sex in a sleazy motel room. They’d been scheduled to fulfill number four—getting slippery and wet in the shower—when one of Sarah’s best friends had passed away.

  Sarah had changed then and he’d left, and they’d never made it into the shower for number four of the Sexiest Seven, or into a crowded movie theater for number five, or a public rest room for number six, or an elevator for number seven.

  No, they’d never had a chance
to finish, but he’d often thought about it. Fantasized about it.

  “…there, sugar?” The voice drew his attention and he turned to see the sultry blonde to his right who had been coming on to him all night. He’d been trying to warm up to what she’d been offering, but then Sarah had walked into the bar and the blonde had suddenly lost all her appeal. Now she licked her lips suggestively. “This place is getting too crowded. What do you say we cut out of here and have a little private party of our own?”

  “I’d love to, honey, but I think I’d better stick around a little while longer.” He eyed the group of men at the bar, all arms raised in a toast to the groom, who wore a foam ball and chain around his neck. “Jack and I go way back.”

  What the hell was he saying?

  He wanted to get out of here. Out of the building, out of his clothes, away from the damned heat. He needed to sate the lust burning him up from the inside out.

  Unfortunately, the lust had nothing to do with this woman and everything to do with the woman he’d spotted only a few minutes ago.

  Correction—the woman he’d imagined only a few minutes ago.

  “Then how’s about an itty-bitty dance?” the blonde asked. She moved her hips suggestively, rubbing her pelvis against his thigh. “I bet I can change your mind about the private party.”

  He tugged at his collar and tipped back his Resistol. “Maybe later. I think I need another beer.” She glared and walked off while he stepped up to the bar and signaled the bartender.

  A minute later, he slid a few dollars across the bar top and raised an ice-cold mug to his lips. The freezing liquid slid down his throat in a rush of cool relief. He grimaced. While the beer hit the spot, he didn’t have much of a taste for it after watching his old man drink himself to death. Which was why he never passed his three beer maximum when he drank.

  If he drank.

  But tonight was a special occasion. One of his old buddies was tying the knot tomorrow and so Houston had come back to Cadillac. Only for a few days, then he was off to practice for the next Pro Bull Riding championship in three weeks. Before then, however, he was going to make another pass through town to say goodbye to Miss Marshalyn Simmons, the most headstrong woman ever to come after him with a switch and a good lecture. The whole town was scheduled to say goodbye to her at a party being planned in her honor over at the VFW Hall.

  She was moving down to Florida to live with her sister. Miss Marshalyn had grown tired of the hot and sticky climate. Tired of living alone. Tired, period. She wasn’t getting any younger and the hassle and responsibility of caring for a three-hundred-acre spread and a fading farmhouse was simply too much for her.

  She wanted peace of mind, and so she’d made Houston and his brother Austin—the two Jericho brothers still single from the original notorious three—a proposition they couldn’t refuse.

  Dallas, the youngest boy, had already found the love of his life and walked down the aisle. He was now only a few months away from becoming a father—a responsibility Houston knew Dallas would take very seriously thanks to their own sorry excuse for a father.

  Miss Marshalyn wasn’t the least worried about Dallas, which was why she’d already handed over a prime hundred acres to him as a present for the new baby.

  It was Houston and Austin who caused her the most concern. She wanted them to trade in their bad-boy ways and settle down. In return, she promised one hundred acres to each of them. But only if they managed to convince her they’d really and truly changed their ways in time for her going-away party.

  Houston slid a glance toward the exit door where his brother Austin had disappeared only a few minutes earlier after having danced with Maddie Hale, the shy, frumpy leader of the Chem Gems who’d turned into a bona fide hottie. Much too hot for Miss Marshalyn’s tastes. She wanted both men to choose a prospect from the town’s pick of nice, quiet, wholesome conservative good girls.

  Maddie no longer qualified, and it was no wonder Austin—who was dead set on making Miss Marshalyn happy—had walked out before things had really heated up.

  Houston, on the other hand, had no intention of taking Miss Marshalyn up on her offer. He wasn’t the settling-down type. He’d worked too damned hard to get the hell out of Cadillac. He certainly wasn’t coming back now. Not permanently. Not ever.

  He’d meant to say as much to Miss Marshalyn. He’d tried, but she’d cut him off in that way that told him she knew best. And so he hadn’t been able to set the record straight about the land and the fact that he was leaving.

  He would, of course. He just didn’t see the need to disappoint her right now. He had a good two weeks. Plenty of time to let her down slowly, easily, before he had to leave for Las Vegas and the Pro Bull Riding Finals, where he was scheduled to compete for his tenth consecutive championship.

  A record-breaking win that would put him right up there with the greatest riders of all time.

  The knowledge didn’t send nearly the jolt of adrenaline through him that it usually did. Understandable, since he was still sore from a hard but high-scoring ride the night before in Cheyenne. A man most certainly couldn’t be excited when it hurt just to breathe.

  He drew a deep breath and an ache gripped his left lower rib cage. He hadn’t broken any bones this time, but he’d come close. She’d almost stomped him square in the chest. She would have if he hadn’t rolled just in time.

  In time, but still too late. He was getting slower each and every time he hit the ground. No one else noticed, but he did. He felt the weariness pulling at his bones and it bothered him.

  PBR champion cowboys weren’t slow. Slowing down meant losing, and Houston had been winning much too long to stop now. Even more, he liked winning. He loved it. He lived for it.

  He just wished it didn’t hurt like hell.

  “I hate to bother you.” A soft, sweet voice drifted from behind him. “But would you care to dance?”

  “I’m afraid not—” he started to say as he turned. The words stumbled to a halt in his throat when he found himself staring at the sultry redhead who’d lived and breathed in his memories for the past twelve years.

  His pain faded into a rush of heat and his heart thundered because Sarah Buchanan wasn’t a figment of his imagination this time.

  She was real. With eyes as warm as the hot fudge he loved to pour on his favorite vanilla ice cream, and just as decadent. And she was standing so close he could actually touch her.

  And that’s just what he did.

  2

  HOUSTON JERICHO HAD TOUCHED his fair share of women. But none had ever felt as soft or as warm as Sarah Buchanan.

  The notion struck him the moment he trailed his fingertips down the side of her face, under the curve of her jaw, down the smooth column of her throat, until the silky fabric of her collar stopped him.

  “You’re real.”

  “I…yes.” She licked her bottom lip and he had the urge to lean down and catch the plump flesh between his teeth and nibble. “And, um, so are you. Not that I had a doubt. I mean, I saw you and I knew right away that it was you, even from a distance. But you look better up close. Bigger.” His grin widened as she stumbled over her words.

  A crazy thing, because Sarah Buchanan had never had trouble finding the right words for anything. She’d always said what was on her mind, in her thoughts. She didn’t look for the right words the way she seemed to be doing right now.

  His mind flashed back to the few times he’d been home in the past to see his brothers. The visits had always been brief. Two days at most, just like this time. He’d always been in such a hurry that he’d never actually run into her. But he’d heard about her.

  That she’d changed. That she’d outgrown her rebel attitude like a trendy pair of shoes. Yep, he’d heard the talk, but he’d never believed it.

  He didn’t believe it now, despite the cautious air about her and the way she seemed to stiffen when he smiled at her. There was just something about the way she looked at him with those deep brown ey
es that said she was hungry for him.

  As hungry as she’d been at seventeen. Maybe more so, considering that she was a full-grown woman now, with a woman’s curves, a woman’s maturity, a woman’s needs.

  “I care.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You asked me if I cared to dance. I do.”

  “Oh.” A few seconds ticked by as reality seemed to register. “Oh.”

  He grinned and watched her stiffen again. “After you, honey.” He let her lead him out onto the dance floor, through a sea of moving bodies, straight into the heart of things, which was just what he’d expected.

  Sarah had always been the center of attention. Not because she’d wanted to be, simply because she attracted attention with her free spirit and her I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude.

  She bypassed the middle and kept moving until they’d reached the far side of the dance floor, where it wasn’t so crowded or loud.

  She put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, as if she meant to keep some distance between them.

  Right.

  He pulled her close, plastering them together from chest to thigh, holding her securely with one arm tight around her waist.

  “You’re definitely real. And warm. And you smell just like those raspberries we used to pick out in old man Baxter’s field.”

  Houston’s words slid into her ears, coaxing her to soften in his arms the way the warm heat of his body urged her to relax and let her guard down.

  She wanted to.

  She’d been so good for so long, and the need to let her hair down and stop thinking, worrying, just once was nearly unbearable.

  “That was a long time ago,” she said, the words more for herself. But they did little good.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “You’re stiff.”

  “Stiff is good.”

  “I won’t argue that with you,” he said, and she became instantly aware of the hardness pressed against the soft cradle of her thighs. Heat flowered low in her belly, spreading through her body like a flame sweeping dry brush. “But the idea is usually for me to take care of the stiffness, while you soften up.”