Read Online Breaking Rule Seven (Cowboy Casanova #1) by Bridget Hollister - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bridget Hollister
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half-naked body. But, something about the way his broad shoulders and muscular chest tapered down to slim hips made her completely unable to tear her eyes from his exposed flesh. "What the hell are you doing? And where are your clothes?"
"Well," Clay started, a sly smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. "I could ask you the first question. I assumed since I was spending the night here, I'd be alone long enough to take a hot shower." She frowned as he looked her up and down, staring at the way her previously stark white blouse, now covered in brown liquid, clung to her chest. "As far as the second, I'll reserve that one to ask you later."
Charity started to open her mouth to say something smart, but decided better of it. She was tired, cranky, and now covered in coffee. Anything that came out now would most likely end with quitting her job, which wasn't even an option. Instead, she just rolled her eyes.
The apartment was tiny; small enough that she could easily find a roll of paper towels in the kitchen. Blotting her sweater with a sheet, she tried to eliminate the stain as best as she could. Instead, it just made her nipples stand at pert attention and she felt as though she could die of embarrassment. This wasn't shaping up to be anything like what she'd talked herself into on the ride over.
Reaching into her purse, she grabbed a stain-remover wipe and ferociously dabbed at the spill. "Rule number three," she whispered under her breath. "Always be prepared."
"Garrett called you, right?" he asked, strutting back to the cramped apartment's bathroom. "Probably said I was shit faced out of my mind and needed you to come give me a stern talking-to."
"Uh, yeah…" Charity admitted, grabbing more paper towels and cleaning up the spilt coffee on the tile floor. "But only because you would have gotten a DUI had he not bailed you out with that cop."
"Say, what?" A confused and startled expression flashed across Clay's face as he walked back into the room, wearing a pair of tight Wranglers that hugged his ass in all the right spots. "Tell me exactly what he said. Verbatim."
A slight blush crept up Charity's cheeks when she realized she had stared a little too long at his still exposed torso, wanting desperately to run her fingertips through the curls of dark hair that sprawled across his muscular chest. "He just said that you had gotten a DUI, but that he knew the cop so you weren't in any legal trouble."
Clay let out an incredulous laugh. "Nobody pulled me over, darlin'. And I sure as hell haven't been drinking tonight. I never drink the night before I compete. Ever."
It only took a mere moment before the sly grin returned to Clay's face, exposing dimples that made Charity's stomach do flips. "That son of a bitch! He wanted you to come up here in the middle of the night on purpose."
"Excuse me?" Charity asked. She stood and plopped the soiled paper towels into the trash can. Now, she was the confused one.
"Oh, boy. That sly son of a gun." Clay laughed again and plopped down on the leather love seat, propping his feet up on the coffee table casually. "Darlin', I'm pretty sure we've been played."
An annoyed look crossed Charity's face. She had no idea what was happening, but she was certain that Clay was either still drunk or just completely crazy.
"I'm really not sure what you are talking about. But, I didn't come here in the middle of the night without a reason." Crossing her arms over her chest, she perched herself next to him on the sofa. "Clay, we really need to talk about your career and your—"
Clay raised his eyebrows. "Wild ways?" he finished.
"Yes," she replied, pleased at the thought that he already knew what she wanted to talk about. Maybe this conversation wasn't going to be as bad as she envisioned in the car.
"Let me guess, you think I should give up women, forget whiskey, and concentrate on my career? Buckle down and work on settling down. That it would be for the best of the circuit if I
"Well," Clay started, a sly smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. "I could ask you the first question. I assumed since I was spending the night here, I'd be alone long enough to take a hot shower." She frowned as he looked her up and down, staring at the way her previously stark white blouse, now covered in brown liquid, clung to her chest. "As far as the second, I'll reserve that one to ask you later."
Charity started to open her mouth to say something smart, but decided better of it. She was tired, cranky, and now covered in coffee. Anything that came out now would most likely end with quitting her job, which wasn't even an option. Instead, she just rolled her eyes.
The apartment was tiny; small enough that she could easily find a roll of paper towels in the kitchen. Blotting her sweater with a sheet, she tried to eliminate the stain as best as she could. Instead, it just made her nipples stand at pert attention and she felt as though she could die of embarrassment. This wasn't shaping up to be anything like what she'd talked herself into on the ride over.
Reaching into her purse, she grabbed a stain-remover wipe and ferociously dabbed at the spill. "Rule number three," she whispered under her breath. "Always be prepared."
"Garrett called you, right?" he asked, strutting back to the cramped apartment's bathroom. "Probably said I was shit faced out of my mind and needed you to come give me a stern talking-to."
"Uh, yeah…" Charity admitted, grabbing more paper towels and cleaning up the spilt coffee on the tile floor. "But only because you would have gotten a DUI had he not bailed you out with that cop."
"Say, what?" A confused and startled expression flashed across Clay's face as he walked back into the room, wearing a pair of tight Wranglers that hugged his ass in all the right spots. "Tell me exactly what he said. Verbatim."
A slight blush crept up Charity's cheeks when she realized she had stared a little too long at his still exposed torso, wanting desperately to run her fingertips through the curls of dark hair that sprawled across his muscular chest. "He just said that you had gotten a DUI, but that he knew the cop so you weren't in any legal trouble."
Clay let out an incredulous laugh. "Nobody pulled me over, darlin'. And I sure as hell haven't been drinking tonight. I never drink the night before I compete. Ever."
It only took a mere moment before the sly grin returned to Clay's face, exposing dimples that made Charity's stomach do flips. "That son of a bitch! He wanted you to come up here in the middle of the night on purpose."
"Excuse me?" Charity asked. She stood and plopped the soiled paper towels into the trash can. Now, she was the confused one.
"Oh, boy. That sly son of a gun." Clay laughed again and plopped down on the leather love seat, propping his feet up on the coffee table casually. "Darlin', I'm pretty sure we've been played."
An annoyed look crossed Charity's face. She had no idea what was happening, but she was certain that Clay was either still drunk or just completely crazy.
"I'm really not sure what you are talking about. But, I didn't come here in the middle of the night without a reason." Crossing her arms over her chest, she perched herself next to him on the sofa. "Clay, we really need to talk about your career and your—"
Clay raised his eyebrows. "Wild ways?" he finished.
"Yes," she replied, pleased at the thought that he already knew what she wanted to talk about. Maybe this conversation wasn't going to be as bad as she envisioned in the car.
"Let me guess, you think I should give up women, forget whiskey, and concentrate on my career? Buckle down and work on settling down. That it would be for the best of the circuit if I
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