A Little White Lie

  The truth could make their one perfect night crumble into dust.

  It’s Friday night and advertising agent Stella Sinclair’s plan to catch the red-eye back to New York is fading with the Montana sunset. She’ll do anything to land this western-wear company’s account, but what’s she going to do all weekend in this Podunk town?

  On the way back to the hotel to watch paint peel from the walls, she makes a quick stop in a local bar to answer the call of nature. One slippery spot later, her stiletto heels are flying—and her fall is broken by the most delicious cowboy she’s ever laid eyes on.

  Heaven just dropped into JD Foster’s arms. City girls—and city life—aren’t his style, which made it easy to skip out on his grandfather’s business meeting earlier today. For this classical beauty, though, he just might make an exception.

  A drink, a dance, and their chemistry takes the reins. Then JD remembers why Stella’s name seems familiar. She’s courting the family business. JD wants her sighing in pleasure tonight, but for the right reasons. And he’s not above withholding a vital detail or two in order to seal the deal…

  Warning: This book contains lies, explicit sex, and betrayal. All necessary elements to light a fire between two people and lay the foundation for some really hot makeup sex.

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  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  A Little White Lie

  Copyright © 2010 by Mackenzie McKade

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-140-3

  Edited by Sasha Knight

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  A Little White Lie

  Mackenzie McKade

  Dedication

  To all those women out there who love to read about men in tight blue jeans, boots and a Stetson. I hope you enjoy A Little White Lie.

  Chapter One

  Life was a variety of choices, which included the current assignment Stella Sinclair had agreed to accept—chasing a new account halfway across the United States. She squirmed behind the wheel of her rented car and looked out into the darkness surrounding her.

  “Montana,” she moaned. Not exactly a city girl’s preference for the weekend. Yet if it could jump-start her career, she might even consider facing that rustic old barn they called a bar looming in the distance. ’Cause this girl had to go and go badly.

  As if her bladder spoke telepathically to her foot, she pressed the gas pedal, shooting from forty-five to sixty. For a moment she pondered her options. Grin and bear it for the remaining twenty minutes of her drive to her hotel or risk soiling her favorite red cocktail dress. Of course she could pull over and squat. The thought of the possibility of urine and mud splashing on her two-hundred-dollar stilettos made her cringe.

  Mouth pulled into a thin line, she inched her chin higher. “I’d rather die.” Once again she eyed the lights ahead.

  The lounge hadn’t appeared threatening when she passed it previously this evening. Then again night hadn’t fallen and she hadn’t paid a lot of attention to the place earlier, choosing to focus on her meeting with Jonathan David Toliver.

  An eerie glow rose against a pitch-black night as she neared the bar. The large building, stuck out in the middle of nowhere, made her think of one of those horror movies where the girl goes into an establishment but never comes out—alive.

  Nervous laughter followed her wayward thought. “How’s that for an overactive imagination?”

  Served her right for leaving the Tolivers’ ranch without stopping to powder her nose first, but her potential client had insisted on walking her to the car. A smile found its way to her lips.

  Seventy-two-year-old Toliver was the epitome of a gentleman. The western-wear mogul had prefaced every sentence with “Ma’am”, which had made her feel beyond her twenty-four years. Yet she had to admit it had been nice, and tonight she had scored points.

  Toliver liked her.

  “It would have been nicer if he had agreed to give me—Maritime Marketing—a chance.” She’d counted on landing this account tonight. Instead he’d required the weekend to make up his mind.

  Fine.

  But the man hadn’t fooled her with his laid-back, charming personality and “aw shucks” manner. He was sharp as a tack. The gleam in his eyes and the way he scrutinized her every word spoke loudly. Two-to-one odds he was verifying the stats she had shared with him regarding her company. Not to mention thoroughly checking out her credentials.

  By tomorrow he’d know she’d been with Maritime for less than eight months and that she’d graduated with honors from Columbia University. She’d lay a bet he would even uncover that she was an only child born to career-minded parents. Her life had consisted of nannies, boarding schools and college. She wouldn’t put it past him to discover that she was single and that the last time she’d had sex was six months ago. Even that had been nothing more than a night of pleasure.

  Stella briefly glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, not liking what she saw. She had become her mother. “Guess it’s true. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. So, girl, you’re stuck in the boondocks until Tuesday morning. However will you entertain yourself?” She chuckled.

  A coworker had informed her that country towns had little-to-no nightlife. The number of vehicles pulling in and out of the establishment contradicted her associate’s appraisal. In fact, it was Friday night and the large barn-like structure appeared to be bursting at the seams.

  “That squashes my haunted-house theory,” she mumbled as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe a toss in the hay with one of the local yokels would pass the time and take away the itch to feel a naked body pressed to hers. She’d always dreamed of making love to a cowboy. Something about their primitive reputation appealed to her. Besides, it would be a welcome change from the suits she’d dated in New York.

  The glaring headlights in the rearview mirror made her avert her gaze and attention briefly to the multitude of boxes lying on the passenger seat. Toliver had gifted her with a variety of different clothing samples, including a pair of boots she never planned on wearing. The three-inch Pradas she wore were more her taste in shoes. Designer jeans were the closest thing western she had ever touched.

  As the bar drew closer, she raised her eyesight to the large neon sign glowing “Rusty Nail”. Beneath it the words “Everyone gets nailed here” blinked off and on.

  “Catchy and inviting.” Her amused grin died instantly when the urge to pee pinched her thighs together. Her entire body shook, fighting the inevitable. “Oh God.”

  Should she? Stop that is.

  A glance in the rearview mirror at her perfectly styled updo reminded her she was overdressed for a place like this. “City girl” might as well be tattooed across her forehead. Wearing a strapless red evening dress that brushed midway up her thighs, she would stand out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd. Of course, if she had known Mr. Toliver’s plan was to eat at the ranch, she would have worn a suit.

  Foot on the
brake, she slowed the car down. Weathered wood siding sported burn spots that made her think they’d rescued the lumber from a forest fire, perhaps a hundred years ago.

  Stella squinted. What was that out front? A hitching post?

  Lord. She had truly fallen back in time, finding herself smack-dab in the middle of an old western. Broken laughter tickled her throat as she looked around for the horses, maybe a carriage or two. But it was a truck that tore out of the parking lot, swerving as someone chucked a beer in its direction, that caught her attention. Glass shattered as the bottle struck asphalt. The man inside the vehicle leaned out of the window cursing as he flipped the assailant the bird.

  She shook her head. “Rednecks.” Thank God she lived in a city of civilization and culture. Okay. The finger was universal and now that she was being honest so were the obscenities. Still, the Rusty Nail didn’t appear to be the safest place. Peeing could wait until she was tucked safely in her hotel room.

  Mind made up, she accelerated, turning her gaze back to the road. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a man stumbled into her headlights.

  She gasped. Her eyes widened. A million possibilities flashed before her eyes, including her striking the pedestrian and ejecting him into the air.

  Slamming her foot on the brake, she jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left, barely missing the cowboy. Tires screeching filled her ears along with a silent scream that shook her from limb to limb. The scent of burnt rubber rose as the car came to an abrupt stop, propelling her forward before throwing her against the seat and forcing the seat belt to bite across her chest.

  Startled, the man flailed his arms. He almost fell on his ass as he staggered backwards. For a moment he swayed back and forth, managing to get out of the street without tumbling over.

  Ohmigod. Was the man injured or just drunk?

  As white-hot adrenaline flooded her veins, her pulse sped. God. That was close. She released the air held captive in her lungs before sucking in a cleansing breath. When she had a second to clear her mind, fear turned to anger.

  Her fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. “Damn idiot.” Anxiety played across her bare shoulders, arms and legs, making goose bumps rise. Her bladder squeezed, taking the opportunity to remind her of her predicament. “Dammit.” She couldn’t hold out twenty minutes. “That’s it.” The choice had been ripped from her hands. It was pee now or pay later.

  Frowning, she pulled into the parking lot where trucks outnumbered cars. Then again, what had she expected? She was just outside Billings, Montana. The hayseed town specialized in western wear, cattle, sheep and cowboys.

  “Yes.” Her luck was holding out as she spied a parking place up front and pulled into it. As she turned off the engine, the booming sound of country music and someone crooning flooded the car. A couple wrapped in each other’s arms walked out of the double doors that swung wide, giving her a brief glimpse inside.

  The immediate urge to pee washed away her curiosity as well as her concern. She wasted no time exiting the vehicle and heading for the front door. A cool breeze brought the scent of evergreen sweeping around her and raised the hem of her dress. A small squeak pushed from her pursed lips. Her hands grasped to take control of the material before she bared it all. A couple of wolf calls followed her hastened steps. Another time she might have had something witty to say, but at the moment she had only one thing on her mind—the restroom.

  As she approached the two large doors, alcohol, cigarette smoke and a hint of wood shavings assailed her. The brawny bouncer gave her a toothy smile. “Hey, little lady. You look to be far away from home.”

  “Bathroom?” was all she managed to say.

  He nodded to the left, directing her attention to the neon sign that glimmered her salvation. Restrooms. But first she had to finagle her way through an ocean of cowboys, across the largest dance floor she had ever seen, and negotiate with four women all waiting to get inside what appeared to be the only available bathroom.

  Her feet were already in motion when she wheezed out a taut “Thank you.” Narrowing her eyes on her goal, she made a beeline for it. She wasn’t prepared when her foot struck a small patch of sawdust. Her arms flailed and both feet went forward.

  She was going down.

  Right place. Right time.

  The classic beauty released the cutest cry on her way down. JD Foster caught her around the waist, pulling her safely against his chest. The scent of expensive perfume surrounded him. Damn. She felt good against him.

  Setting her on her feet, he took a moment to slide his gaze down her exquisite body. Her heels had given her a statuesque appearance as she walked through the crowd. But now as he stared down upon her, he realized that she couldn’t be more than five-five barefoot, compared to his six-two frame. The light-haired brunette quickly pulled farther away from him, but not before a tendril came tumbling out of the coil atop her head. The silky strand begged him to reach out and touch it. His hand stopped midway when a panicked expression made her round eyes grow even wider.

  “Oh God. Bathroom. Now.”

  He would have chuckled, but the urgency in her voice made him grab ahold of her hand. As they weaved in and out of the crowd, the number of cowboys’ eyes pinned on her grew with each step.

  Not tonight, boys. This one is mine.

  When they reached the restroom the line had thinned out. He winked. Releasing her hand, he tipped his black Stetson.

  Her cheeks were pink over porcelain skin. A tiny smile crept across her full lips. “How embarrassing.” Without another word she disappeared behind the bathroom door.

  Her scent still lay sweet in his memory when Taylor Johnson sidled up beside him. The cattle rancher had a shit-eating grin from ear to ear. He slid the brim of his cowboy hat between his fingers. “Yours?” He watched the entrance as if he would snatch her up the minute she reappeared.

  JD didn’t think twice. “Yep. All mine.”

  As Johnson turned to look at him, JD saw the envy in his friend’s eyes. “Quite a looker. Visiting or staying?”

  Half the bar had their hungry stares on the ladies’ restroom door. For some odd reason, their attention raised the small hairs on the back of his neck.

  “Depends.” The single word came out defensively. He didn’t offer anything more. Perhaps that was because he didn’t know the answer. Hell. He didn’t know the woman. Yet he planned to discover everything about her tonight. Especially what those full lips would feel like against his. All he had to do was keep the other rowdy stallions away from her while he wooed her into his arms. “Later,” he said more curtly than he should have.

  Johnson took the hint and ambled away, but not far enough to suit JD. The man leaned against the bar, his eyes still focused on the ladies’ room. Like the rest of the cowboys in the bar, JD wanted her, instantly and unequivocally.

  How ironic that he would be attracted to this woman. The city girls he had gone to college with had been shallow and self-indulgent, which had disgusted him. He liked a woman who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty or putting in an honest day’s work.

  Country was in his heart.

  His jaw tightened, while his belly churned with the memory of the argument he’d had with his grandfather that morning. Why the old man couldn’t understand that his only grandson wasn’t a suit-and-tie kind of guy was beyond him. JD tugged the brim of his hat down to hide the emotion he felt.

  Since his father’s passing a year ago, his grandfather had pestered JD to take over the reins—manage the company. But he wasn’t meant for the corporate setting. He was content making their Montana summer ranch a year-round home, overseeing their cattle and horses, instead of their Los Angeles estate where he had been raised. Someday he would marry and start a family. A big city was no place for rearing children. Nor did he want to spend his days and nights at a cold office. No. He wanted a warm woman waiting eagerly for him after a long day.

  When the city woman reappeared, thoughts of his grandfat
her and family duty dissipated. Her tongue swept languidly over plump lips as she lowered long, dark eyelashes around decadent honey eyes. The coy smile she gifted him set his heart aflutter. But it was her soft, sexy voice that tightened his groin. “Thank you. Can I buy you a drink for your heroics?”

  That would do for a starter, but he had something different in mind. “How ’bout you repay me with a name and a dance?”

  “Stella Sinclair.” She extended her hand and for a moment he hesitated.

  Sinclair? Wasn’t that the name of the high-falutin’ advertising agent his grandfather had wanted him to meet tonight? The wily S.O.B. had forgotten to mention the agent was female and a damn good-looking one too.

  JD swallowed nervously, staring at her hand like it was a sidewinder ready to strike. What a quandary.

  If she knew he was a member of the esteemed Toliver family, would she hightail it out of here or would the prospect of cinching the deal through him seal their night together? The last thought stuck in his craw. He wanted Stella Sinclair sighing in pleasure and wanting only him tonight, but not because of some deal.

  Her brows dipped as her smile faded. “Something wrong?”

  His pride kept him quiet as he reached out and accepted her hand. Instead of shaking it he pulled her closer. Warmth spread through him like a wildfire heating every part of his body, including his cock which flickered again with interest. “No, darlin’. You just look familiar.” It was only a little white lie.

  Light laughter greeted him. “I was thinking the same thing about you, but I can’t place where we’ve met.” Her expression fell serious as if she were attempting to recall their meeting.

  Remembering that family pictures hung on almost every wall at the ranch, he quickly offered, “JD Foster.”

  She leaned nearer before she locked gazes with him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, JD.” His name was sultry on her lips. She didn’t even try to escape the hold he had on her hand. His heart skipped a beat when she placed her palm over his. Slowly she slid her tongue between her lips, making his pulse leap.