Roman's Choice (Saddles & Second Chances Book 1)
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Authors: Rhonda Lee Carver
RHONDA LEE CARVER
ROMAN’S CHOICE
2016 Rhonda Lee Carver
Copyright 2016 Rhonda Lee Carver
All rights reserved
Edited by: Todd Tinker
Roman’s Choice (Book 1, Saddles & Second Chances)
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission from the author, Rhonda Lee Carver—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages written in a review. For information, please contact Rhonda Lee Carver @
[email protected]
.
This work is fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue in this work are from the author’s imagination and creation. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, dead or alive, is completely coincidental.
This book is for your personal pleasure. Ebooks are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. If you have enjoyed this book and wish to share with another reader(s) please purchase another copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, purchase a copy. Thank you for appreciating the hard work the author invested into this book.
DEDICATION:
I’d like to thank the members of my street team, Rhonda’s Rowdy Readers, for all of their help and support.
Thank you to Emily Kirkpatrick and Tanya Skaggs for going above and beyond.
To Ava and Lilly for bringing me sunshine every day.
Thanks to Todd for editing and giving honest opinions.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
PIPPA WILDER LOOKED up from her mini laptop and blinked away the fuzziness as she focused on the cowboy strolling across the lobby of the Vegas casino. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she dipped her gaze over black Stetson and a crisp white button-down shirt that stretched for miles over wide shoulders, to his tight buns that were God’s gift to denim.
Now this is a man who can wear a pair of Wranglers.
She’d never quite seen a man so tall…so built. Back in Chicago, the views were of a sea of business suits, slicked back hair styles, and manicured hands, so seeing a cowboy was a breath of fresh air. Her gaze naturally fell to his hands. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his billfold and dipped his long fingers in to grab some cash. Big hands. Thick fingers.
Mmm
…
Her inner thighs quivered, making her smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten turned on with a mere glance at a man. In her defense, this wasn’t just
any
man. With each step he took, each movement, he commanded attention. He exuded confidence, ability, and power. A man with that much assurance would know how to please a woman, which brought her attention to the large, shiny belt buckle at his waist. She wasn’t close enough to make out the design. She’d have to get very close…
Bringing her gaze upward, she met the most amazing blue stare.
Dang!
He was looking right at her. A heart-dropping grin tilted his lips, and her cheeks were on fire. He’d caught her staring…at his—
oh no
! And he was humored.
Lowering her eyes, she kept them glued to the screen, refusing to see where the cowboy had wandered to. She wasn’t in Vegas to sample the local dessert, although she was curious about the flavor. The urge to look was greater than the need to breathe. Reaching for her Mojito, she sipped through the straw while subtly scanning the tables. Disappointment slithered through her. He was gone. It was for the best anyway. Placing her drink back down, she wiped the condensation from her fingers onto her skirt and concentrated on answering the emails in her inbox.
Today’s speech had gone well, at least she hoped. Three-hundred people had attended the workshop,
How to Have the Dream Marriage
. After the class, she then signed hundreds of copies of her self-help books.
She read the number of new emails and nibbled her bottom lip. Two-hundred-seventy. Her manager had suggested that she hire a personal assistant to handle correspondence with fans, but Pippa refused. If people took the time to write to her, then they deserved a personal note in return. Usually, speaking at conferences meant she would be bombarded with questions afterward. Some wanting help in their marriage, or asking about her personal life. Others just wanted to connect.
Clicking on an email, she read…
“How are you a relationship guru? You’ve never been married. Never had a serious relationship. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a relationship work? No, you wouldn’t. So take your ideas, self-help theories, and shriveling ovaries and jump off a cliff.”
She skipped responding. Obviously, any answer she’d give would only fuel more anger. With a click, another box opened.
“I know what you need, baby. Have you ever had a southern-fried piece of meat? I’m looking for a little lady to be the queen of my double-wide. And because I think you’re one purty little thing, I’m sending you a complimentary picture. Hope you have a place to go to dry up those parts that need a man.”
Not bothering to look at the picture, Pippa closed the laptop and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
And sometimes she received hate mail and dirty pictures.
Usually, comments like this would bounce off of her thick skin, but here lately, she’d wondered herself how a thirty-two-year-old woman could give couples advice when the longest, most intimate relationship she’d had was with her gynecologist, and he only wanted to see her for her yearly exam.
“Bad day?”
The husky, Texas-twang reached Pippa’s ears and with palpable interest she lifted her chin. Standing above her was the six-foot-two, at least two-hundred pounds of muscle, cowboy—the very same one she’d copped a visual feel of moments ago. Her center warmed and her nipples tightened. Clearing her throat, she hoped her voice worked. “I’ve had better.”
“Can I buy you another drink?”
“I haven’t finished this one yet.” His eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen and, up close, he was much more handsome. And out of simple curiosity, the buckle had a longhorn with the name ‘Jericho’ engraved in the metal. She racked her brain. Where had she heard that name before?
“Care if I sit?”
Sexy Cowboy wants to sit with me?
This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t sure her shriveling ovaries could take being in close proximity to lethal masculinity. Her shoulders slumped. It was true, she hadn’t had sex in two years and her libido just happened to be on auto-pilot this afternoon.
“If you’re expecting someone…,” he said with a grin.
“Sure. I mean—no, I’m not expecting anyone. Have a seat.” She removed her reading glasses and dropped them into her purse, giving her hair a quick toss over her shoulder and her lips moisture from a sweep of her tongue as he pulled the chair out beside her. The seat almost seemed too small for his body.
The temperature rose by ten degrees. Grabbing her drink, she polished it off.
He lifted the beer bottle and drank. She watched his lips close around the rim and a vision of him kissing her muddled her brain. “Are you here for business?”
She swallowed. “How’d you know?”
“The laptop sort of gives it away.” He chuckled, a rich sound that played the invisible strings between her nipples and core like a violin.
Yeah, two years without sex made her a sitting duck. “I-I was just finishing up some last minute details. How about you? Here for the gambling?”
He rubbed his chin and his callused fingers against thick stubble made a splendid sound, making her heart feel like she’d run a marathon. “Business myself. I thought I recognized you. Do I know you?”
She doubted that he had read one of her self-help books. A man like this didn’t need any help. If she’d ever met him before, she’d remember—oh how she’d remember. So, that left the life-sized picture of her that the promoters had planted at the doorway to the conference room. Although she thought the picture was a poor resemblance of her, he probably saw the likeness. Yet she made it a habit not to introduce herself as Pippa Wilder, the relationship guru. It tended to intimidate men. People expected her to have her shit in order. That was laughable. “No, don’t think we know each other. I’m Pippa.”
“Roman.” He held out his large hand.
Staring at his fingers for the longest time before slipping her palm against his, she liked the warmth. Just as she thought, calluses covered his skin. This was a man who worked with his hands, a lot. And by the tightness of his ass, she’d also say he was in the saddle enough to create buns of steel. Why did these two things zap a jolt of electricity straight to her center? If she didn’t control herself, she was going to have to change her panties. “Nice to meet you, Roman.”
“Do you have plans later this evening?”
She blinked. Had she missed something here? “I…well…”
He grinned. “Nothing gets a person in a better mood quicker than the rodeo.” He lifted his beer and emptied the bottle. “You should come out to the fairgrounds later. I think you’d have a good time.”
“Well, I sort of have something I’m supposed to do.”
“Too bad.” He held her gaze for a long, breathtaking second before placing his bottle on the table and standing. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a meeting. If your plans change, come on out. I’ll be there.” He winked.
“Will you be riding?”
“Not tonight. Nice meeting you, darlin’.”
She watched him stroll across the lobby, looking as good going as coming, and apparently everyone agreed. All heads turned, male and female, as he exited the glass doors.
What the hell just happened?
All in a matter of minutes, her world was turned upside down by a handsome stranger. Then he asked her to meet him at the fairgrounds? For a clandestine date? No…that’s not what he meant. He was only being courteous, wanting to help improve her mood. Plain and simple. Anyway, she couldn’t possibly make it to the rodeo. She had a flight back to Chicago to make and an early morning meeting that she couldn’t cancel—could she?
She looked down at her laptop and sighed.
Since adulthood, she’d done everything she was supposed to do in life. She’d concentrated on her career, never swaying from the responsible, stable path. She was a sad case for sure. It was true, her ovaries were shriveling up. Reacting to Roman was the most action her body parts below the waist had in a long time.
Growing up as an only child, her parents had showered her with love and attention. They were her role models of a happy and respectful marriage. When she told them she’d decided to study marriage counseling in college, they had supported her, encouraged her every step of the way. When she finished graduate school, they’d been there, proud of her accomplishment. After she’d written her first book and it had made the bestseller’s list, they’d celebrated by throwing a party for family and friends. Never once had they asked why she never brought men home to meet them, but she could see the question in their eyes. Pippa just wasn’t relationship material. She had one focus—work.
She looked at the doors where Roman had left. He was a temptation without a doubt. A light drawing her in.
Reaching for her glasses, she slipped them on, then dialed a number on her cell. It was answered on the first ring. “Sal, cancel my flight. Something’s come up.” She hit end before her business manager asked any questions.
Tonight she wasn’t Pippa Wilder, the relationship expert. She would be the girl without responsibility, and be fun and carefree. She giggled at the mere thought.
