The man took his own sweet time making love; it was as maddening as it was arousing. Leisurely undressing her. Running his work-roughened fingers over every inch of her bare skin. Kissing everywhere his hands roamed. Wringing at least two explosive orgasms from her before he rode her hard and fast, or slow and sweet.

As phenomenal as the sex was, Hank rarely deviated from missionary position. Even if Lainie started out on top showing off her excellent riding skills, she’d end up underneath Hank at the big finish. She’d shoved aside her niggling doubts about Hank’s lack of sexual spontaneity because he made her come so many times she saw stars.

So why had she hooked up with bull rider Kyle Gilchrist from the EBS circuit? True, Kyle and Hank were opposites. Physically, Kyle was wiry rather than overly muscular. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, not intensity. With Kyle’s blond locks and golden facial hair, he resembled a Viking.

After taking a year off due to knee surgery, Kyle returned to the EBS with a vengeance. He’d started dropping by the sports medicine room to chat, in the guise of having his previous knee injury reexamined. Very polite. Very much interested in showing her in explicit detail how a modern-day Viking would utterly ravish her.

Her resistance lasted two months. The square-jawed, sloe-eyed sweet talker had literally charmed the pants right off her in a bathroom stall at Denny’s outside Chula Vista. That first weekend she’d had sex with Kyle six times—not once in missionary position.

It’d been freeing. Fun. Hot as sin . . . until the weekend ended. Away from the temptation of Kyle’s consuming kisses, she questioned whether she’d become as loose and easy as the buckle bunnies trailing after the circuit cowboys.

But mostly Lainie wondered whether she could juggle both men at the same time.

She and Hank hadn’t discussed exclusivity. For all she knew, Hank could be sleeping with half the barrel racers on the CRA circuit. Kyle hadn’t demanded promises either. Given Kyle’s charm and good looks, she doubted he spent his nights alone watching Country Music Television.

So it wasn’t the “cheating” factor that bothered her. It was the fact that she really liked both men and she didn’t know who she’d pick if she had to choose.

Luckily, Lainie was in the catbird seat for a while. In the big world of professional rodeo, the EBS and CRA circuits rarely intersected geographically. Chances were slim she’d run into Hank if she was with Kyle or vice versa.

Feeling a little cocky, she sipped her beer.

Lainie’s smugness lasted all of thirty seconds before two rough-skinned hands covered her eyes and a deep, sexy male voice murmured, “Guess who.”

Kyle Gilchrist could not believe his luck. Mel was here. Right here. Her wild curls tickling his cheek. Her powdery scent teasing his nose. The sight of her lithe little body hardened his cock.

And to think he’d dreaded spending the eve of his CRA debut in some dive bar in Lamar, Colorado.

Cool fingers circled his wrists. “Kyle?”

He removed his hands and spun the bar stool, forcing Mel to face him. “Hey, sugar. Surprise.”

“Oh, my God. It is you. What are you doing here? This isn’t your circuit.”

“Came in to have a beer and coerce a pretty woman into dancin’ with me. And look who I found first thing—the prettiest lady I know.” Kyle’s palms slid down her bare arms to grasp her fingers. “Come on.” Allowing her no chance to argue, he tugged her to the dance floor, right into the thick of the crowd.

“Kyle, this isn’t a good idea. What if—”

“It’s the best idea I’ve had in weeks. Come on. Admit it. You missed me.”

“Maybe.” She smiled against his throat.

He wasn’t much of a dancer, so he employed every seductive tactic he’d stockpiled over the years to draw her attention away from his two left feet. Brushing his thumb at the base of her neck. Gradually easing his thigh between hers. Swaying to the beat of the music while their bodies moved to a rhythm uniquely theirs.

The final chord of the tune rang out. He spun them until her back was to the main part of the bar.

She tried to push him away. “Kyle. Let go.”

“Not until you give me a kiss.”

“But I can’t. Not here where everyone can see—”

Kyle settled his mouth over hers, treating her to the lazy kisses that always distracted her.

A soft protest exited her mouth, which he swallowed in another kiss. She thought too much. Worried too much. The best way to turn off her overactive brain was to turn her on in a whole ’nother way.

As luck would have it, that was one thing Kyle was very good at.

Hank Lawson paced in the shadow of the sleazy honky-tonk. “No, sir. I understand. Yes.” He grinned at the phone. “I’m committed to the next three weeks. Uh-huh. Well, sir—all right, Bryson—it’s a good opportunity for me to work with some of the rankest bulls in the CRA. No. I’ll cut it short if I have to. Absolutely, I’ll be there. Tulsa. Looking forward to it.” He clicked the phone off and pumped his fist into the air.

“Yes!” Hank couldn’t wait to tell . . . He stopped. Wait a second. He couldn’t tell anyone. Dammit. That sucked. Biggest news of his career and he had to keep a lid on it.

Bullfighting. In the EBS. It was a callback from his pretryout test last month at a second-tier event.

As much as Hank loved bullfighting in the CRA, for a bullfighter, the EBS was the big time. More money. TV coverage. More sponsorships. Fans. And he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone? Screw that. Hank scrolled through his contact list and hit Dial.