position leaning over him, at least four inches of her bare waist exposed by the short top.
She said a silent thank-you to the genius who’d invented fat-free yogurt. At least she could rest assured there were no unsightly rolls hanging over her too-tight pants. That is, if Buck were even interested enough to notice, which she doubted.
The quicker she found the key, the quicker she could put a comfortable distance between them, so as she swallowed her fear, she plunged her hand the rest of the way into his pocket and luckily felt the edge of something hard and metal rather than that other something she was trying to avoid. She caught it between her fingers and pulled it out.
“Is this it?” She held it up for him to see, but what surprised her was that she had caught him staring at that little slit of exposed skin at her waist.
“Mmm-hmm.” His gaze held a glint of teasing and she knew then that he’d only been looking because he could—just like any man would—and not out of any particular sense of admiration.
Her hands shook as she inserted the key into the lock on the handcuffs and turned it, releasing Buck from his restraints. He pushed himself up, letting out a sigh of relief as he lowered his arms and rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had been. Lucy watched him, but instead of feeling relieved that there was no longer a cowboy handcuffed to her bed, she felt a new sense of vulnerability. He was a stranger in her bedroom, and now he was no longer restrained.
He must have spotted the uneasiness in her eyes, because he said, “Don’t worry, darlin’. This is my job—I don’t go around preying on women.”
“So what exactly is it that you do besides get handcuffed to strange women’s beds?”
“I work for the ranch, doing various jobs. I normally don’t come to guests’ homes and handcuff myself to their beds, but your friend must like you a lot, because she made special arrangements.”
“My friend’s a little eccentric.”
“Weren’t you about to tell me about her error in judgment?”
Right, she had been, but now as she stared at Buck’s glorious abdominal muscles, she couldn’t remember what error in judgment she’d been about to point out. He was just so…hot.
Lucy imagined he got more than his share of women at the ranch. In fact, they probably threw themselves at him left and right. Women went to places like that to let loose, to get wild, and to forget about their boring everyday lives. He must have thought Lucy was one of those women looking for a good time, and the idea shocked her. After a moment, though, the idea didn’t seem so strange. Why couldn’t she be?
Why couldn’t Lucinda Jane Connors, boringly normal travel agent, let loose and have a wild, unforgettable time? That’s what Claire wanted her to do. Maybe that was even what Lucy really wanted to do.
As Buck rose from the bed and retrieved his white Stetson, settling it on his head of dark brown curls, Lucy realized that this was what she wanted herself to do—to go to the Fantasy Ranch and do things she’d never done before, be a party girl, drink too much and stay in the sun too long, eat sinful foods and flirt with sinful men. And maybe find a man—perhaps even one who looked like Buck—with whom to have a wild, lustful one-night stand that she’d never forget. Then Claire would never again have reason to call her boring. More important, Lucy would never again think of herself as boring.
“Something wrong?”
“Huh?”
“You looked like you were in a trance there for a minute.” Buck had produced a black T-shirt from somewhere and removed his hat again to slide the shirt on. Lucy allowed herself to admire the bronze contours of his torso as he lifted his arms over his head, but she averted her gaze before he could catch her staring.
“I was just thinking about what I have to do before I can leave,” she lied. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here, and I didn’t plan to leave until tomorrow.”
“Your friend told me to tell you she asked your neighbor to feed the cats, so you don’t need to worry about them.”
“I haven’t packed yet.”
“She took care of that for you.” He nodded at the suitcase across the room.
“Yes, but Claire tends to be forgetful.”
“She told me you might try to repack, and I have strict orders to make sure you just take that bag and come with me. I’m supposed to remind you about ‘your possible future with cats.”’
Lucy opened her mouth to argue but then thought better of it. What about this daring new woman she wanted to become? She couldn’t very well become her wearing khaki trousers and penny loafers.
“Everything you need is in the bag.”
“Well, I just need to grab my vitamins out of the kitchen, and then I’ll be ready to go.”
“Vitamins?”
“I know Claire wouldn’t have thought to pack them,” she said, heading into the hallway. She stopped in her tracks. She had to learn to think like a wild and crazy party girl. This new and improved Lucy probably wouldn’t worry about Vitamin C deficiency or osteoporosis. She resisted the urge to grab her dietary supplements, reassuring herself that after the week was up, she could always start taking them again if she didn’t like her new reckless self.
“Did you get them?”
Buck appeared beside her in the hallway, the black suitcase in his left hand.
“I decided I won’t need them. But let me just check to make sure Romeo and Juliet have enough food and water to last until my neighbor stops by.”
After she’d given the cats several extra bowls of food and water, she joined Buck in the living room where he was inspecting the photos on her mantel with a keen interest.
“I’m ready,” she announced, realizing too late that the Lucy in those photos looked a lot more conservative than she did standing there in her groupie getup.
“Is this you?” he asked, pointing to the photo in which she stood next to a Christmas tree with Claire. In the picture, Lucy was wearing a long burgundy-and-green-plaid wool skirt and a baggy turtleneck sweater. She’d been having a particularly bad hair day and little sprigs of curly hair had escaped from her bun to poke out all around her face. She looked horribly dull, she realized as she saw the picture through Buck’s eyes, but it was one of her best photos. She’d never been very photogenic.
He was still waiting for a response.
“Um, yes, that’s me. Bad hair day.”
“It’s a nice picture.”
Lucy watched for him to make a face or to otherwise indicate his sarcasm, but no, he seemed serious about the compliment. Perhaps he was a bimbo stud with exceedingly good manners.
Romeo marched into the living room and gave Lucy a belligerent look. He knew what a packed suitcase and three bowls of food meant—that his Slave Human was leaving him—and he didn’t like it one bit. He let out a mournful meow, prompting her to bend to rub his back one last time before leaving.
“Sorry, but you have Juliet to keep you company. I’ll be back real soon.”
Buck made a move toward the cat and Romeo slipped underneath the nearest chair, eyeing the stranger with derision.
“Oh, you cowardly cat. Be a nice boy and say goodbye to Buck.”
“Buck? Who’s Buck?”
Lucy looked up at him, her head beginning to spin. “Aren’t you Buck?”
He frowned and shook his head. “My name is Judd. Judd Walker.”
2
IT TOOK JUDD A MINUTE to figure out who Lucy was talking about. And then