Gaines and Losses Read online

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  Gaines & Losses

  Copyright © 2013 by Camryn Rhys

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-555-0

  Cover art by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  Also by Camryn Rhys

  Misbegotten Gaines

  Off the Record

  Vengeful Gaines

  Gaines and Losses

  A 1Night Stand/Western Escape

  By

  Camryn Rhys

  ~Dedication~

  For Dave, who was the first one to make me want a tomorrow.

  Chapter One

  Paul Gaines padded back and forth in the gallery as the year’s top-ranked rider broke the gate for his final ride. Even though it wasn’t his ride, the adrenaline saturating the arena still jogged his senses into competition alert and his thighs clenched an imaginary horse with every buck. Even the smell of dust in the air made him antsy to get in the saddle.

  The guy held on, and the crowd spilled onto the dirt in their excitement. Paul relived being in the center of the throng and slapped the railing at the memory. The pain grounded him in the reminder of his last ride as a slow throb pulsed through his leg.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he made a move to remove his gloves in order to dig for it, but bare hands surprised him. He still expected to be riding.

  Sylvie Proulx will meet you at the sponsor’s party. The contact entry read 1Night Stand, a dating service run by Madame Eve. Best to keep his plans on the DL for the time being. Another text buzzed up. She will be wearing a long white shirt with black pants and looking for you.

  Paul flexed his left leg and pounded his thigh. If he had to stand all night, he’d need to keep an eye on his leg. Part of him hoped Sylvie would knock everyone’s socks off, and part of him hoped she’d blend into the woodwork.

  He’d had enough sympathy to last him a thousand years.

  Paul swiped at the face of his phone and replied to Madame Eve. I’m in a black suit. No cowboy hat after all. Before he hit send, he smacked his thigh again and took a breath. He should have flown in a day early and rested in preparation for the party.

  The kid who’d garnered the bull-riding title streamed past with his entourage. Paul recognized a couple of the guys. With only a dozen or so people at the center of these circles, the same people seemed to orbit the new stars. Eventually, he’d gotten to know all the hangers-on.

  “Why, Paul Gaines!” a deep voice said from behind him, followed by a gigantic, meaty hand on his shoulder. “As I live and breathe.”

  Yes, Malcolm, Paul wanted to say. Everyone’s surprised to see me.

  Malcolm Crandel held more clout on the bull riding circuit than anyone Paul knew. If he wanted you to rise, you were a star. And if he wanted you to fail, you got thrown or gored or worse. The man had power over everything around him.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Paul shrugged him off. “Good to see you, too,” he said with a bite.

  Malcolm’s thick eyebrows waggled. “You’re here for the Pike party, aren’t you?” His belly rumbled as he laughed. “Saw your name on the list, but I gotta say, I never thought I’d see you here again, let alone seeking a sponsor like Pike.”

  “That’s me, I guess,” Paul mumbled. “Always shootin’ for the stars.”

  “Overshootin’ for the stars.” Malcolm’s voice dropped, and although no one around them would have heard a threat in his sentence, Paul did. Felt it. He had to keep from pounding his thigh again when it twinged.

  Who knew? Maybe Malcolm held some responsibility for his injury. He’d never asked around. Just left Vegas for good. Gone home to the ranch and hidden there, seducing girls to pass the time. But as his brother, Brady, insisted, he needed to get back in the ring, if only to confirm he should move on.

  Shock buzzed through him. He couldn’t be done. Not at twenty-eight. Most bulldoggers found their seat in their mid-twenties. He needed more time.

  The phone buzzed in his pocket again, and he read the terse response. Find a cowboy hat. Lose the suit. Sylvie will wait.

  Madame Eve. What a bossy one. Paul shoved the phone back in his pants to Malcolm’s loud chuckle.

  “Got a hot date?”

  Paul summoned his most winning smile. “You have no idea.”

  Malcolm’s own smile froze and morphed into a cold glower. He leaned in and knocked Paul’s left leg with his knee. As Paul wheezed through the pain, Malcolm put a big, fat hand on his neck and whispered in his ear. “Ain’t no chick gonna get you a spot on the Pike team. Don’t kid yourself, boy. You’re done. You hear me?”

  Paul shoved the man away, and Malcolm oozed grins and good words again. With a throbbing leg and bubbling rage, Paul fixed the fat man’s gaze in his own and willed the pain away. “You haven’t seen my girl. Trust me.”

  The fat man’s loud guffaw followed him through the crowd as he headed for his truck. The small relief of having the last word gave him victory enough for the moment. He needed to make a good impression on Pike and get a good, head-clearing night of sex behind him. This one-night stand had better be hot.

  ***

  Sylvie ogled the curry puffs sailing by and promised herself if the cowboy didn’t show up, she would have a long, sordid affair with the buffet. Between the Stilton soup shooters, the mini BLTs on long toothpicks shaped like swords, and the kaleidoscopic candy sushi, Sylvie’s longed to dive in to the sensual pleasure.

  Once a year was all she asked of her father—a too-demanding editor and lonely widower with nothing better to do than control his only daughter’s every move. Once a year, she would come to Vegas feigning an interest in gambling, of all things, and take the family jet with no questions asked. Th
e other 364 days, Daddy could work her to the bone at the magazine, but she wanted one day to herself. He would be horrified if he knew of her arrangement with Madame Eve, but for the price she paid for a small measure of freedom, Sylvie had no guilt.

  One day with no phones, no check-ins, no assignments, no appointments, no eating plans.

  She hadn’t indulged yet, but the cowboy had about thirty seconds before she dove face-first into the luxuriant spread. Made her typical green smoothie look like a digestive altruism. Alan Pike might be a cheating bastard, but he knew how to throw a party. Still, she shouldn’t be so focused on the food. If she came home lethargic from lactose or gluten, her father might loose his holistic dietician on her again. No thanks.

  For the last three minutes and forty-five seconds, she’d listened to Pike’s young, blonde secretary talk about how her boss liked to get head while on conference calls. The girl had been assigned to escort Sylvie around, no doubt filled in on who she was, and latched on to her like they were sorority sisters. She wanted Paul to show up just to prove to the leech she didn’t care about Alan Pike’s infidelities.

  She certainly wouldn’t tell Mrs. Pike or one of the reporters who regularly stopped her anything tawdry and make the bimbo famous. Not her place.

  “He doesn’t come on me or anything, in the end,” Bimbo Leech drawled, flaunting cleavage that would make a Beverly Hills housewife drool. Sylvie glanced around the room, trying to find another interesting conversation to break into, but she only heard the distorted buzz of conversation and the clinking of crystal. At least the bimbo held potential entertainment. “He’s immaculate, and we never have to use a condom because he always pulls out.” Leech tittered, her flamboyantly jeweled hand covering her mouth. “Such control.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sylvie sipped at her water and turned away when the shot glasses full of creamy soup sailed by again. Less because they reminded her of Alan Pike’s blowjob, and more because they smelled good enough to brave the consequences.

  Although the thought of spilling one on Bimbo Leech’s sparkly red dress did occur to her. Made her giggle.

  Bimbo Leech eyed her, sweeping her outfit from fantastic heels to classic necklace. Perhaps too long a lingering glance at the pearls sandwiched between pink diamonds. Yes, honey, they’re real.

  The look in Bimbo’s eye was exactly why she’d appealed to Madame Eve, when it came to Paul No Last Name Cowboy. The matchmaker could be counted on to find her someone discreet. Very few people knew Sylvie came from old money. Only those she wanted to know. The necklace, an afterthought to her outfit, may have been a mistake. Anyone who knew jewelry would recognize Mikimoto, and the subsequent dollar signs would flash in their eyes.

  “Sorry I’m so late,” came a chocolaty voice from behind her. The timbre sent liquid warmth up her back, and Sylvie managed a short breath as desire licked at her.

  She peeked over her shoulder and had to let the rest of her body follow, propelled by the magnetic force of him. The man made her breath stick in her throat. He was the kind of hot you couldn’t look right into, for fear of your corneas melting into your brain or something.

  He had flawless skin, an almost silvery shade of brown, lending him an otherworldly air. It smoothed over high cheeks and bloomed in two perfect lips. She still couldn’t come up with a color to describe his perfect skin, but she could not be expected to file through the color wheel in her brain when distracted by a growing tropical feeling in her nethers. Under the brim of a dark cowboy hat, his eyes, a playful brown, sparkled with amusement. She must be staring.

  She forced her gaze to sweep down his body, which she assumed would release some pressure. Instead, her heart beat shot up as she ogled his perfect body, encased in the requisite cowboy blue jeans and a muscle-hugging grey t-shirt. Every farm-honed muscle stood out in his tight clothes, and left her imagination reeling.

  Sylvie closed her mouth, plucked up her courage, and took the cowboy’s arm. “I’ll decide whether or not to forgive you later,” she said, nodding to Bimbo and allowing Paul to pull her away. “I don’t usually hold with lateness.”

  He guided her toward the buffet, and she inhaled all the wonderful scents assailing her, but pulled up short. “I’m not hungry. You?”

  His dark eyes drank in the buffet table. “I could eat.” He gestured toward the lavish lounge area in the middle of the room. “I can bring you something if you want to have a seat.” His gaze slid down her legs, and a tiny shiver made her nipples respond against the silky fabric of her very expensive hand-beaded bra.

  “Did you want me to introduce you to Pike first?”

  The cowboy placed a big, warm hand on her back, and the shiver returned. She tried to ignore how much her body craved touch and focus on the words he spoke so low. “How much did Madame Eve tell you?”

  She glanced around and found their presence ignored by the surrounding polite party conversations. “She said you were meeting Alan Pike.”

  “That’s why we’re here.” Cowboy smiled, turning his eyes expectantly toward the corner where Pike and his wife stood, surrounded by a small crowd.

  She took his hand, intending to lead him across the room to his target, but need sliced through her like the final scythe. Too hungry to hold out much longer, Sylvie pulled him behind her, always aware of his nearness. The nervous anticipation paled in comparison to the physical need.

  “Wait.” Cowboy stopped her and yanked her back so hard, she fell against him. Her body molded to his and for the first time, she considered kissing those finely sculpted lips. They hovered close enough, she could reach them in a split second and be lost.

  Damn, too much time had passed since she let herself indulge in a beautiful man. Cowboy was too good to be true. Madame Eve had outdone herself in choosing this one. His physical presence made her stomach do the floor routine. He spoke little enough to keep her curiosity engaged and smelled like the unknown.

  “What are we waiting for?” She braved her inner equilibrium enough to look into his chocolate eyes. “I thought you wanted to meet Pike. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  He searched her face for a moment, and she allowed herself the tiny, heartbreaking fantasy that he would say of course not, lover, I’m here for you. And her heart did crack a little more when he didn’t say it, even though she read desire in his gaze as obviously as if it had been written there.

  “I do want to meet Pike.” His voice took on a growly quality. “I want to do more than meet him.” For a terrifyingly beautiful moment, Sylvie thought he might kiss her in public. They still hadn’t moved apart, and he inched her closer, his lips skimming over hers.

  She smiled and traced down one side of his face with her fingertip, then moved close and whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry, honey. I have a plan.”

  Chapter Two

  Paul couldn’t help the discomfort in his pants when she practically licked his ear. He still couldn’t believe how gorgeous she was—those legs… and the outfit she wore. Shit.

  Madame Eve made her sound like some bored hipster, but she didn’t seem bored at all. He’d spent a full minute ogling her long-sleeved, tight, sheer white dress with a ruffled bustle that reminded a man something special waited under there. Her black leather pants might as well have been leggings for all they hid, covered with black knee-high boots with a four-inch heel, at least.

  Then, her long, thick blonde hair. It sounded idiotic to refer to a woman’s hair as a halo, but it almost floated there around her face. And of course, her face was… lickable. Right down to those big red lips he’d almost kissed.

  Damn tease.

  As she led him up to Alan Pike, he worried his growing erection would be visible. Problem was, she kept holding one hand, and he needed the other hand to shake. That left nothing to cover the front of his pants.

  “Well, if it isn’t Sylvie Martin.” Alan Pike slid his slimy arm around Sylvie’s back and stroked his hand up and down. Paul registered the shock of a new last name as he felt th
e rising ire at someone touching her.

  “Alan, lovely to see you again.” Sylvie’s voice was caramel. Smooth, sweet, and a little sticky. She might have been trying too hard. “Daddy sends his best.”

  “And who is this?” Alan Pike, a slight, wiry man, obviously didn’t spend any time out in the Las Vegas sun. He accrued millions in software profits, but his reputation as a womanizer didn’t hold true.

  “Alan, meet Paul.” Sylvie pulled Paul closer and Alan’s hands peeled off her body. “He is a famous bulldogger.”

  Paul clucked his tongue and met Sylvie’s eyes. “I don’t know about ‘famous,’ but I do love the sport.” He shifted off his left leg as a sharp pang shot up his thigh.

  Alan glanced down at his thigh and then back up to his face. “Paul…Gaines, right?” His milky white hand extended. “I do remember you.”

  “I’m flattered, sir. You’re a legendary fan of the sport.”

  Sylvie squeezed Paul’s hand and scooted toward him, forcing herself under his arm. Somehow, though, her body pressed against his comforted him.

  “Paul is here scouting for a new sponsor.” Sylvie’s voice took on a caramel quality again. “I’ve got him slated to meet with a couple of other men tomorrow, but I thought I’d give you first shot.”

  Paul’s breath wouldn’t come. The longer she talked, the more the fear crept up inside. He wished he’d known of her connections. Minus the possibility that Pike could hire him on the spot, knowing he planned to talk to other people could make Pike pass. Unless it turned out she did have plans to introduce him to other sponsors.

  But instead of appearing nonplussed, as Paul expected, Alan leaned in and put his smarmy hand on Sylvie’s. “Your father always has his eye out for me, doesn’t he, my girl?” The software mogul’s thin-lipped laughter ended with a kiss on Sylvie’s hand, and Paul nearly hauled off and punched the little shit right there.