A Fortunes Of Texas Christmas

“I am proud,” he said, shifting in the uncomfortable saddle. “One of my many charms.”

She laughed again. “You are charming,” she admitted. “Too much so. I’m not sure it’s good for me to spend too much time with you.”

“And yet,” he said and grinned, “you invited me to dinner.”

“It’s the least I could do,” she said and glanced sideways. “Considering you bought me a pair of shoes.”

“Did you try them on?”

She laughed. “Do I look like a glass-slipper kind of girl?”

“I’m sure you could be anything you wanted.”

When her laughter rang out again, an odd feeling pitched deep in Amersen’s chest. He couldn’t remember when he’d last spent time with a woman and simply enjoyed frivolous and flirtatious banter. Usually—no, always—there seemed to be an agenda. He worked and played hard. He didn’t have time to waste on getting to know someone. And yet, he wanted to get to know Robin. Sure, he also wanted to get her into bed. But he enjoyed her company. She didn’t waste time on flattery. She didn’t pander to his ego. She was spirited and beautiful and had gotten under his skin in a matter of days.

“I’m curious,” she said and glanced his way. “Where did you find a pair of glass slippers in this town?”

“I didn’t,” he replied. “I had them flown in overnight from New York. A friend did me a favor.”

“A friend?”

“An actress friend,” he supplied. “And I mean just a friend.”

“None of my business,” she said and waved a hand. “Still, didn’t she think it was an odd request?”

“Nothing’s out of the ordinary for Ortega.”

“Ortega?” she echoed after a moment’s silence. “The Ortega?”

Amersen nodded. “Yes.”

“The Ortega who is one of the most famous and glamorous actresses in the world?”

He smiled to himself. Ortega was probably as hometown as Robin, since she had been born and bred in Montana and had clawed her way to a career first in Hollywood and now on Broadway in New York. Foolishly, he wanted Robin to understand that they were only friends, since Ortega was close to two decades older than him and a close friend of his mother’s.

“She and my mother have been friends for a number of years,” he explained. “They met before I was born, while my mother was traveling through Montana.”

“I didn’t realize your mom was American.”

“She’s not,” he replied, thinking he’d said too much already. He didn’t want anyone knowing that Suzette had spent time in the United States, especially Texas, or that she had once been au pair to Gerald and Charlotte Robinson’s children. That would encourage questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. “She’s French, but she traveled a little when she was a young woman, before she married my father. She and Ortega stayed in touch when she returned to Paris. They’ve been friends since.”

She nodded briefly. “And Ortega just happened to have a pair of glass slippers on hand? Or is she used to you asking for movie props to impress girls?”

He laughed. Put like that, it did sound ridiculous. “It was my first time,” he admitted and grinned, shifting in the saddle. “But I like that you’re impressed.”

“That’s not what I said.” She rolled her eyes and exhaled. “You really do think a lot of yourself. Must be freakin’ exhausting.”

He laughed again. Damn, she was intoxicating. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Her gaze sharpened. “That’s none of your business.”

“Touchy subject?” he asked, easing up on the reins a little.

“No,” she snapped back. “I did. I don’t have one now.”

“Messy breakup?”

She shrugged. “Aren’t breakups usually messy? Unless you’re one of those people who never lets anyone get too close because you’re a commitmentphobe.”

It was a deliberate verbal punch. “You’ve been reading the gossip mags.” He chuckled. “Don’t believe everything you see in print.”

“Ever had a long-term relationship?”

Bang. No beating around the bush. “No.”

“My point exactly,” she said and clicked her mare forward. “Afraid of commitment.”

She rode off ahead, urging the horse into a slow canter, and Amersen held his mount back, mesmerized by the picture she evoked. Her body moved in unison with the horse, her hips floating back and forth in a steady rhythm that was unbelievably erotic to observe. She rode as though she had been born in the saddle, her movements fluid and easy, and Amersen’s blood heated. He’d never considered himself much of a voyeur, but watching Robin was like a narcotic—utterly addictive.

Transfixed, he took a few moments to pull his thoughts together and then followed, clicking the gelding forward. The animal was smooth and responsive and it didn’t take long for him to move up behind her.

“I’m not,” he said when he reached her, so turned on that he lost his balance for a second.

She reached out immediately and took hold of one rein, steadying the horse as he scrambled to regain his seat. Amersen cursed under his breath and quickly got himself under control.

“You’re not what?” she asked, releasing the rein.

“Afraid of commitment,” he replied.

“Yet you admit you’ve never had a serious relationship. And you’re, what?” she queried. “Twenty-five? Seems a little odd, that’s all.”

“Afraid of commitment and odd,” he said, his mouth twisting. “My list of flaws is growing by the second.”

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