Dylan (Secret Life of Cowboys Series #2)

Chapter 1

Dylan Garahan narrowed his gaze, trying to focus in the glare of the spotlight, searching the crowd for her face. It was time for the big move in his act-the showstopper.

Where was she?

Jolene would kill him if he messed this up, but he'd made it through the last two nights and would make it through tonight. The redheaded owner of the club should have no complaints about the middle Garahan brother not keeping his word or holding up his end of the bargain. Damn the woman and her tests!

Controlling the urge to turn on his heel and walk off the stage, he dug deep and found the grit to stick it out. Hell, if Tyler could handle this job, so could he. Garahans went down fighting!

Oblivious to the adoring gazes of the women around him, he moved toward center stage, bent, and picked up the coiled rope. He looked up as a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walked into the bar... right on schedule... but there was something different about the brunette. Maybe it was the blindfold. He struggled not to laugh, but he couldn't keep from smiling, wondering why the cloak-and-dagger bit.

Looping the lasso in his hands, he started the slow circular motion. Getting the rhythm going until it was smooth and sweet, he raised it above his head and locked gazes with the blonde. When she nodded, he let the lasso fly, as the blonde whipped the blindfold off the brunette.

The woman's stunned expression as the rope slipped around her upper body didn't stop him from tugging on the rope and reeling her in. The patrons of the Lucky Star hooted and hollered, encouraging him to pull faster, but he didn't want the little lady to trip and fall on her pretty face.

Glad that the focus of the crowd wasn't totally on him, he gently pulled her toward him. The brunette's gypsy-dark skin, full red lips, and almond-shaped eyes captivated him. The promise of pain-filled death in her dark green eyes, as she struggled against the bonds that held her, had his lips twitching, fighting not to smile.

She dug in her heels, but he used his strength to subdue her. Undeterred, he yanked on the rope. When her eyes widened in shock, he used her surprise to his advantage and reeled her in the last few feet. When they were a few inches apart, he tipped his hat, smiled, and rumbled, "Happy birthday, darlin'."

Her eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared; Dylan recognized the signs of a fractious filly about to raise a ruckus. Not a problem, he was ready. Wrapping his free hand around her, he hauled her in close, pinning her to him before she could let loose and kick him.

The crowd roared its approval.

"Let me go," she demanded, her sweet breath tickling the hollow of his throat.

Enjoying himself for the first time since he'd hit the stage, he chuckled and bent his head closer to her full red lips. "Why?" His gaze locked with hers. "So you can have more room to do more damage?"

"I don't like being manhandled."

Her vehement protest didn't deter him; he had a job to do and an act to finish. "Well now, darlin'," he drawled, "that's not what your friends said."

Her eyes sparkled with temper, and her willowy body trembled with anger. Dylan's body stood up and said hell yeah! It'd been a long time since he'd had a woman tempt him. The sultry brunette in his arms looked like she wanted to tear a few strips off of his hide... right before she killed him.

Damn, but that turned him on.

Perverse. That's what his grandpa would say. He grinned and would swear he heard her grinding her teeth in frustration.

"Let me go." She struggled against him, but he'd trapped her slender curves against him so not a breath of air was between them. "I'm not one of those desperately lonely women, or buckle bunnies coming in here looking for some eye candy."

Lord, he really loved the husky sound of her voice. Even angry, it sounded sexy. He fought against the instant attraction he'd felt and shrugged. "I'm not the one whose friends blindfolded me."

She closed her eyes and stopped struggling. Dylan could feel the anger leaving her by degrees.

"They're just trying to help."

"With a face like an angel and a body made for lovin', why would you need any?"

Tears gathered in her eyes. "None of your business."

Well, hell. His one weakness cut him off at the knees. A woman's tears. "I'm about to make it my business."

The music ended and house lights went on, his cue to release his captive and take a bow. Cursing his job and his redheaded boss, he brushed her tears away. Moved by the split second of vulnerability, before she covered it with the toss of her long, dark, wavy mane, he hungered for a long, slow tasting kiss.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to reassure her that whoever had put the sadness in her eyes wasn't worth her time, and that he would be, or if he had been too long without a woman and was letting certain parts of his anatomy take his mind hostage.

Dylan slid his hands around to the small of her back and watched her eyes turn an even deeper green, the color of the tumbled sea glass he'd found as a kid, on a beach down on the Gulf Coast. When the go-to-hell expression on her face morphed into shocked surprise, he dipped his head low so their mouths were lined up.

He could feel her heart begin to pound, but from the dazed expression in her eyes it wasn't from fear; it was something darker and a hell of a lot more fun. He brushed his lips across hers and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. She tasted like sin, and he was ready to burn.

Need tied his guts into knots, but he'd be damned if he'd be letting go of this little filly before he'd taken his fill. He gentled her with soft, tentative kisses until she relaxed in his arms. When she moaned low in her throat, the knots inside him pulled tighter a heartbeat before she melted in his arms.

"Darlin', you're killing me."

Her eyes met his, and he knew she was going to kiss him back. He didn't ask; he simply plundered. Surrounded by the dark, sensuous taste of her, he couldn't get enough. Splaying his hands to the small of her back, he molded her to him, drinking from her lips like a dying man, three days without water.

Hungry for more, he slid the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, coaxing her to let him fully taste her dark, sweet flavor. When she parted her lips, he devoured her. Two years of frustrated need, anger, and desire swirled inside of him and struggled to let loose.

"Happy birthday, Ronnie!"

He snapped to attention and loosened his hold, though it nearly tore him apart. He was not done. He wanted more, ached for more, needed more from this woman.

"Will you wait for me?"

"Break it up, cowboy." Jolene Langley brushed against him so that he had no choice but to step back or get stepped on.

So the sweet thing with the dark hair and kissable lips was one of Emily's new friends, and just his good fortune she was the first carpentry job Tyler's fiancée had lined up for him. Life couldn't get any better. The woman was gorgeous and kissed like an angel. He wondered if she knew that he'd be calling on her tomorrow night. That thought distracted him for a moment, but a more pressing matter was at hand; she still hadn't answered his question. "Sorry, boss." He removed his hat and raked his hand through his hair. "Ronnie, darlin'," he rumbled. "Will you?"

She narrowed her gaze at him. "Will I what?"

Hmmm... the woman got her grit back along with her voice. For too long he'd been hung up on the fact that the woman he'd thought to marry hadn't wanted to stay in Pleasure and he hadn't been interested in any woman in particular since.

But this little brunette intrigued him on a level that his former girlfriend hadn't. His libido stood up and saluted him... he was ready, willing, and able to get back on that particular horse and ride it all night long. Ronnie might not be Ms. Right, but she sure looked to him like Ms. Right Now. No time like the present to find out. "Will you be here when I get back? It'll take me a couple of minutes to change."

If possible her eyes darkened to a dangerous shade of green-the color the sky turned before a tornado touched down and all hell broke loose-that had him wondering if he'd read her wrong. He licked his lips and could still taste her. No, he reasoned, she'd kissed him back and gave every indication that she was just as interested in him, and he was holding on to that truth with both hands. Hell, if he had to, he'd hit his little brother up for pointers on being charming. Normally he didn't care, but right now...

"I don't think so, cowboy."

His gut burned with the icy chill of her rejection. He didn't mind when Jolene called him cowboy, but for some reason when this woman said it, it bothered him. The toss of her wavy dark hair and the sneer of her succulent lips had the knots in his stomach freezing.

Ignoring the cold lump of need, he put his Stetson back on his head and nodded. He would let her think she was getting her way for now. Dylan could be a patient man and bide his time. His gut told him she'd be worth the wait. Besides, he'd be seeing her for the next little while until he'd finished the job, and from what Emily had told him, the damage to Ronnie's shop had been substantial.

"Ladies."

At least that mind-boggling kiss had done one thing for him: it had shaken him up and had him realizing that he'd gone too long without a woman and it was past time to remedy that particular situation. Once he made up his mind, he'd stick... and his mind was set on having Ronnie. He'd give her all the time she needed to decide whether or not she wanted to get to know him better on a personal level-the first order of business on his agenda was to see if he could tempt her to get to know him on a physical level.

"Did you know about this, Jolene?" Ronnie demanded.

She didn't seem happy with her present. Hell, most of the other women he'd had to lasso or haul up into his arms while on stage usually grabbed at him, held on for dear life, and were ecstatic with their birthday gift courtesy of the Lucky Star. Extracting himself from their grasping fingers usually left a mark. He'd be carrying the few he had already earned working there for a couple more days.

The owner of the club smiled. "Of course, how else do you think my latest headliner would know to pick you out of the crowd?"

Dylan clamped his jaw shut. His boss surely knew how to make a man feel like a hunk of meat on display. He knew it wasn't personal, but he was beyond tired and had had enough of this place. Planting the heel of his boot to the floor, he spun around, intending to walk away.

"Could have been the blindfold," Ronnie rasped, wrapping her arms around her slender waist. "Jolene, you know I hate surprises."

The brunette's distress had him pausing. He watched his boss smile and link her arm through Ronnie's. "Honey, I couldn't say no to your friends; they wanted your twenty-fifth to be a birthday to remember."

Ronnie's gaze shifted to meet his. "I'll never forget it."

And just what did that mean? His pride still stung from the direct hit he suffered when she'd turned him down. Was she one of those women who said no but meant yes? Hell, if only he had the energy to stick around to find out. It was time to get out of Dodge, head back to the ranch, and regroup. Women were trouble with a capital T and only wanted one thing from him anyway, and it sure as hell wasn't his heart. Normally being wanted because of work-hardened muscles and the way he dressed didn't bother him, but not being wanted by the sultry brunette because of the way he dressed-or was it the way he undressed-got to him. Maybe it was because he was desperate to get back to the ranch and get some sleep. Shaking off the odd feeling, he tipped his hat to the women, coiled the rope, and headed for the door by the side of the stage.

The Circle G was waiting... for how much longer, well now that would be up to him and how long he could put up with raucous women hootin' and hollerin' while they tried to stuff money in his black spandex briefs, but if the replacement dancer Jolene had found worked out, then he'd be able to move on to the handful of carpentry jobs he'd lined up with Emily's help. Truth be told, he'd do just about any type of manual labor, as long as it wasn't plumbing-he couldn't wait to get started on the repairs to Ronnie's shop. He was that partial to carpentry.

Shaking his head, he dodged the women waiting by the stage door and slipped through into the back room. Changing his clothes, he couldn't get the birthday girl, or the memory of her tears, out of his exhausted brain. Maybe I should forget about her. Besides, she's just a temptation, he reminded himself. She's not interested in me.

Liar. He ignored the voice in his head.

"I don't have time for women."

Make the time.

Hell, now he was imagining he was hearing his grandpa's voice in his head. "Definitely time to hit the hay," he grumbled. "I'm hearing things."

Listen up, Son.

Aw, hell, maybe he was going crazy after all.

Dylan looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear and that no one was waiting by the stage door to ambush him. Hell, three nights of working the same job as Tyler, and he'd had enough! The redhead from the night before had been convinced Dylan couldn't resist her. She and a handful of others who'd tried to get his attention had been wrong. If and when he wanted a woman, he would be calling the shots, not an out-of-control, tipsy succubus with time on her hands and spurring him on her mind. His mind drifted back to the woman he lassoed; he might make the time for an emerald-eyed woman with attitude to spare who sounded like she'd just stepped off the bus from the East Coast. Time would tell.

No one was there. Good. He hightailed it out the door and down the hallway; he was done. He needed to go home.

Home... the Circle G. Too bad his mom and grandfather wouldn't be there. Days like today, when he'd run dry, he could have used a hug from his mom, or one of his grandfather's affectionate cuffs on the back of the head.

We're here, Son. His grandfather's voice echoed in his head. Don't doubt it for a moment. He'd heard the words so many times growing up, when he was tired, he could call up any one of a hundred times his grandfather had spoken them.

Oddly relieved, he reached for the front door.

"Going somewhere, cowboy?"

His sigh was loud and long as he turned around to face his boss. "Jolene, I'm dead on my feet and know I've done everything you've asked for the last three nights." He waited for one of her long-winded speeches about how important the dancers were to the lonely women who came to her place to dream about what kind of man they really wanted in their lives. Go figure, every last one of them wanted a cowboy.

But instead, she surprised him and agreed. "Yes. You've more than held up your end of the bargain. I'm impressed by how hard the Garahan brothers work."

"You still need me tomorrow night?" He actually held his breath, hoping she'd say no.

Jolene shook her head. "We hired a dancer today, he starts tomorrow night."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm sure you're heartbroken."

"Well," he said slowly, "if it doesn't work out..." He let his words drift off; he didn't want to commit to working any more nights at the Lucky Star. Three had been more than enough for him, but now that meant that he'd have a chance to get started on the first carpentry job on his list and see if he could get to know Ronnie while setting her store to rights. It wasn't a large job, but at least for the time being, he'd be able to bring in the extra money they needed until the ranch was out of the red. He hoped he'd be a lot closer to sweet-talking Ronnie into bed before the job was over. He had a gut-deep feeling she'd be one hellacious ride.

"I'll keep you and your brother Jesse in mind in case this latest dancer doesn't work out. Would you mind if I asked you to be on standby for the next few nights?"

He tipped his hat. "My pleasure, ma'am."

Dylan turned to go, but Jolene held out a hand to stop him. "I know how hard it was for you to get up there on stage, Dylan."

He shrugged.

"You and Tyler have been fabulous for business, and your work ethic can't be beat. I have a feeling Jesse would work just as hard."

Knowing she had something on her mind, he waited until she finally got to the point. "Would you and your brothers be interested in being part of an all-male revue?"

His stomach knotted. "Does that mean what I think it does?"

She tilted her chin up and frowned at him. "I have no idea what you think, but before you go jumping to any conclusions, I'll tell you. Emily and I have been talking it over with Gwen, Natalie, and Jennifer, and we've decided to add to the entertainment part of Take Pride in Pleasure Day by having the Lucky Star represented with a lineup of dancers."

He felt the blood rush from his head to his toes and dug deep for the strength to keep standing. It was hard to speak with his jaw clenched, but he managed to grind out, "Are you nuts? There's no way my brothers or I would strip in public."

When Jolene's eyes twinkled and she started to laugh, he was transported back in time to the first day of sixth grade, when he'd felt like he'd landed in an alternate universe and everyone but him spoke a foreign language.

He shook his head to clear out the unwanted memory. When she realized he wasn't laughing with her, she closed her mouth and swallowed gamely. "I'm not laughing at you."

"Yeah," he said. "You are."

"Well, maybe just a little," she said laying a hand on his arm. "The revue will have a lineup of four or six dancers dressed up as cowboys: jeans, boots, hats, and vests-no shirts."

He snorted. "Who're you gonna find to dress up?"

"I thought I'd ask a couple of real cowboys to round out the lineup. How about it, Dylan? Would you ask your brothers and let me know? It'd be a big favor if all y'all agreed."

He felt as if he'd been lassoed around the chest, and Jolene was pulling the rope tighter. The expectant look on her face was hard to say no to. Damn. "Do I have to answer you right now?"

"You can let me know in the next couple of days."

He nodded and turned to go, and damned if she didn't call out to him again. "Jolene, not that I don't want to stay and chat, but hell, what part of ‘I'm done' didn't you get?"

"Relax, cowboy. I just wanted to tell you that you made Ronnie's birthday."

He narrowed his gaze at her and waited for the rest. With women, there was always more than a simple statement.

Like before, Jolene didn't disappoint him.

"She still looks dazed from that kiss you stole."

He tipped his hat to the back of his head. "That a fact?"

His boss smiled at him, and he actually smiled back. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Dylan's gut twisted remembering the chill of her rejection. "Maybe later. See you, Jolene." When he'd stepped through the door, he paused and called out, "Hey boss?"

She turned to look over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Jolene shook her head. "My pleasure, cowboy. Now get on home."

He may have hated stripping, but he didn't mind working for Jolene. "You're not as tough as you let on, Ms. Langley."

Her laughter followed him out into the night.

***

Ronnie DelVecchio's pulse still pounded wildly in time with her heart. Forget him, forget that kiss! she told herself. He's just another guy pretending to be someone he's not, dressing up like a cowboy, but paid to strip... and paid to make her feel special. But the calluses on his hands felt real, and his muscles felt like he used them for more than just show. When will I learn? Just because he'd mesmerized her with the dark and dangerous promise deep in his molten chocolate eyes was no reason to do something so stupid as to let him kiss her brainless and fall all over him. He was just a man... period. A cowboy wannabe.

Now that he'd gone, the sizzling kiss they'd shared kept replaying over and over in her mind along with the feeling that she'd met him before. Damn, she'd always loved watching those old TV Westerns with her grandmother, and the man who'd lassoed her looked like a combination of John Wayne, Gary Cooper, and Roy Rogers all rolled up into one dangerously attractive man. Dark hair, dark eyes, gorgeous hunk of cowboy-he had to be one of Tyler Garahan's brothers. The handsome hunk now had a name, and Garahan men spelled trouble. She had a reason to steer clear of him.

Why am I talking to myself? I should be giving my friends hell for talking me into letting them blindfold me and setting me up to get lassoed and kissed by that hunkalicious cowboy. Her temper simmered, heating dangerously close to a boil. She would refuse to accept the blame for locking lips with the muscle-bound cowboy. That way you can take your anger at yourself out on everybody else.

Her grandmother said it often enough that her own conscience replayed the words at the most irritating moments. The last time she'd heard the words she'd been getting into her cousin's truck, preparing to leave her former life behind her to start a new one out West. Her grandmother hadn't wanted her to leave but had accepted Ronnie's decision to go as long as Ronnie promised to stay in touch, calling home often. Well, this was something she wouldn't be telling her grandmother about.

Besides, Ronnie was a grown woman and could accept blame... or place the blame on whomever she wished. As long as you're honest with yourself. She looked over her shoulder and sighed. Having a conscience was a royal pain in the ass.

Draining the Mega-Margarita, wishing she'd declined and gone for her usual longneck bottle of beer, Ronnie set the glass on the tabletop. The memory of the cowboy's lips lightly pressed to hers, drawing her in, soothing her before he eased back and locked gazes with her, had her shivering. Remembering the way he'd waited for her to stop him-right before he rocked her world with that mind-blowing kiss. A kiss that sent sparks of desire screaming through her sensitized system like a shot of tequila. But she'd given up combining hard alcohol and men after her divorce; the two were not a good mix for her. Things always ended badly.

"Ready for another?"

Before she could answer, her friend Shannon signaled the bartender for another.

"I do not want another one of those." Ronnie moaned in a delayed reaction, as the frozen concoction hit her right between the eyes with a serious case of brain freeze. Just like when the dark-eyed cowboy paralyzed her with his intentions right before he laid his lethal lips on hers.

"I thought you wanted to try something wild and wonderful for your birthday."

Ronnie raised her head. "Would that be the blindfold or having the cowboy lasso me?"

Shannon snickered into her oversized drink. "Actually, your friend Mavis came up with the second idea. Jolene suggested the blindfold and we ran with it." Taking a sip of her own drink, Shannon licked her lips and sighed. "José is definitely my friend."

Ronnie looked at her and tried not to sigh. Shannon McKenna was blonde and beautiful. Too bad she was so likeable, or else Ronnie could toss the drink she'd just been handed into her friend's face or dump it over her head. "You know I like beer. Tequila is not my friend. Besides, I wanted to go somewhere different for my birthday."

"You didn't say somewhere when you mentioned that little tidbit a few weeks ago," Shannon reminded her. "You said something different."

Ronnie shrugged. "Same thing."

"No, it's not," Shannon grumbled into her glass. "By the way, what did you think of Dylan the Delicious?"

Ronnie paused with the drink a fraction away from her lips and had to laugh. "He certainly was." Taking a healthy sip, she swallowed and licked her lips. "Which one of Tyler's brothers is he: the middle or the youngest?" One of them would be very important in her life, helping her rebuild Guilty Pleasures.

Totally clueless to Ronnie's inner turmoil, Shannon shrugged in answer, set her half-empty drink on the table, and leaned toward Ronnie. "I have to ask." She leaned closer. "What was it like when he tossed the lasso around you and reeled you in?"

Turmoil evaporated like morning dew under the heat of the morning sun. An involuntary shiver raced up Ronnie's spine as heat filled her cheeks.

Shannon's eyes widened. "Wow. That good?"

There was no use denying it. She sighed. "Yeah." The moment of impact, when their bodies collided and their hearts pounded in unison, would keep her up at night for days. Every hard muscled inch of him fitted against her, tempting her, but she wasn't interested in a one-night stand with a cowboy-was she?

Her friend nudged the silent member of their trio. "What did you think, Lenore?"

The redhead turned; she had a shell-shocked look on her face. "I can't say just yet, too much sensory overload." Their friend paused, letting her gaze drift up toward the stage.

Ronnie looked up to where another dancer stripped down to the tiniest pair of black spandex briefs and swiveled his hips in a really good imitation of Elvis. She shook her head; although her friends had misunderstood, they definitely went all out and did something different.

Gaze glued to the dancer, Lenore rasped, "I think I need another Mega-Margarita."

Ronnie exchanged a look with Shannon. Shannon's cousin had been in town for a week or so, but had apparently never been to a strip club or seen a half-naked cowboy up close before.

"Poor Lenore." Ronnie lifted her glass in salute to the next dancer up on the stage before turning to call out, "Hey, Gwen!" When the bartender looked their way, Ronnie wiggled her glass and held up three fingers. Gwen nodded. Part of being the birthday girl meant the perk of having her glass refilled all night long. She hadn't thought to celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday at the Lucky Star, but now that she was here, she relaxed.

"Where did you say Mavis was?" Ronnie had spent enough nights here listening to Mavis Beeton expounding on the fact that if more of the uptight residents of Pleasure quit worrying about what everyone in town was doing behind closed doors and adopted her philosophy-live and let live-there wouldn't be so many pinch-faced busybodies poking their noses in where they didn't belong.

Staring up at the stage, Ronnie recalled one of the conversations she and Mavis had had recently, when Mavis had surprised her by saying that sex was just part of life; everyone needs it now and again. Ronnie remembered that when she agreed, her friend had added that those that engaged in a healthy physical relationship on a regular basis sure were a lot easier to get along with than those who'd given it up for a more cerebral pastime... like collecting thimbles. Ronnie smiled to herself; she wanted to be like Mavis when she grew up.

Too bad she had no idea how much longer it would take until she found the right man and settled down for the long haul-for however long that might be. Her first choice had been a dismal one with disastrous results, but she'd accepted that she was partially to blame.

The Lord and fate had a lot to do with a person's happiness. Nonni DelVecchio had told her that just this past Sunday during their weekly late night chat, and even though she might not like what her grandmother said, she believed everything Nonni told her. Well, except for the family curse. Every other generation, one of the DelVecchio women met an Irishman and fell head over heels in love and had twins, and not necessarily after they were legally married. But she couldn't ever remember seeing it happen to anyone in their family and figured Nonni was given to exaggeration. Just to be on the safe side, Ronnie had gone to great lengths to avoid the dreaded curse by marrying a nice Italian boy from her hometown. Too bad he'd lived up to the rumors about him.

"Enjoy your drinks, ladies."

Ronnie smiled. "Thanks."

Three sips later, she couldn't feel the end of her nose, but she was feeling really, really loose. "Mmmm. Why do I always drink beer, when José is so delicious?"

Shannon and Lenore raised their glasses and started singing "Happy Birthday."

"No, stop!" Ronnie moaned. "Sing something else-anything else."

"But it's your birthday," Lenore said, as Shannon started to sing the Beatles version of "Birthday."

"Come on, Ron," Shannon urged, "get up and dance."

Just tipsy enough to oblige them, Ronnie stood up, glass in hand, and started dancing around their table. Her drink sloshed over the rim, and she stopped to lick every last drop off the back of her hand. Singing along, stopping only to cool her throat with the smooth, icy goodness of her new favorite drink, she wondered why she let that handsome hunk of cowboy kiss her, draining every thought from her head before letting him walk away. Was she crazy?

A few more sips, and she wondered why she hadn't told him she'd wait. Her heart knew why: he was gorgeous and so tempting, and she'd been afraid to take him up on his offer, knowing he'd expect her to do a little mattress dancing with him after the way she'd spontaneously combusted when he'd hauled her in and kissed her. In his defense, she had totally given him that impression, but if she ever saw him again, and he asked, she'd plead the fifth.

Once burned, she thought. Well, she was nobody's fool, and she wasn't going to let a dark-eyed cowboy talk her into bed unless she was sober-no matter how amazing his kisses were or how hard his body was. Besides, from now on she was going to be the one who'd initiate any invitations that would end between the sheets.

Damn, she thought, staring in the direction he'd walked down the long mirror-lined hallway. He'd ignited a spark inside of her that flared into a slow-burning fire. Too bad she had a feeling that Dylan Garahan was the only one who could put it out. She'd be doing a lot of yoga to get that man out of her system.

"So what else do you want to do for your birthday?" Shannon asked after Ronnie sat down.

"Find that dark-haired cowboy and lick every inch of his hard body."

"Sounds good to me," her friends answered as one.

"Oh, crap," Ronnie said sinking onto her chair. "Did I just say that out loud?"

Shannon and Lenore grinned at one another and then her. "Yep."

Ronnie put her head in her hands and noticed the room tilted just a bit off to the left. She closed one eye to see if her perspective changed. It did; now the room tilted to the right.

"Hey, are you OK?" Lenore asked.

Ronnie shook her head the room started to spin. "I was wrong. José is not my friend."

Shannon and Lenore got on either side of their friend and eased her to her feet. "Come on, Ron," Shannon soothed. "We'll take you home so you can sleep it off."

As they walked toward the entrance, Lenore added, "You'll feel better in the morning."

"Are all y'all leaving so soon?" Jolene called out from the side of the stage.

Ronnie started to shake her head, but her stomach flipped and she froze.

Taking pity on her, Shannon patted Ronnie's shoulder and said, "I think the birthday girl has had one too many Mega-Margaritas."

Jolene nodded in sympathy. "Do you need help getting her home?"

"No thanks. We'll make sure she gets there in one piece so she can sleep it off."

"I don't want to go home," Ronnie protested, although her friends didn't seem to be listening. "I want to go find Dylan the Delicious."

"Y'all come back tomorrow," Jolene said. "I'll tell you where to find him."

"Ish that a promise?" Ronnie slurred.

"Absolutely. See you tomorrow," Jolene called out as they made their way down the hall.

"When I find 'em, I'm gonna shtart with the hollow of hish throat," Ronnie said, stumbling on wobbly legs, wondering why she couldn't make her tongue work. The words sounded funny.

"That's José talking," Lenore said, helping her cousin pour Ronnie into their car. "Don't worry, you'll feel better tomorrow."

It was only a couple of blocks from the Lucky Star to Ronnie's apartment over her store, but she'd never have been able to walk that far without tripping and falling on her face.

"You'd better be careful what you wish for," Shannon warned, as they helped her inside and up the stairs. "Birthday wishes sometimes come true."

Two hours later Ronnie was still praying to the porcelain god. Exhausted and shaky, and halfway sober, she leaned her arm on the toilet seat and rested her head against it. Purging her system of the tequila hadn't been easy, but it would sure as hell be easier than forgetting the dark-eyed cowboy... that would be impossible.

"His lips were lethal," she moaned. Her stomach felt raw and her head ached, and all she could think about was being lifted into a strong pair of arms and held against a wonderfully warm, muscled chest-Dylan's.

She couldn't stop thinking about him and was already making plans to ask Jolene where he lived so she could just happen to run into him again.

Beware of the curse! her grandmother's voice echoed in her head.

She'd been raised to fear the DelVecchio Curse. Generations of DelVecchio women had been warned not to taint their pure Italian blood, but in the end fate always had her way.

Her tired brain tried to sort out everything that had happened tonight. Maybe Dylan was only part Irish, so she might be safe in that regard. She couldn't remember the last time someone in her family had married an Irishman, but she ran through the names of all of her female cousins and then started on her aunts, just to be sure.

Too tired to think straight, she gave up before she could go through all of her aunts' married names. She couldn't think of one instance that would give credence to her grandmother's warning.

"Besides," she murmured, as her eyes drifted closed, "fate doesn't always win."

Poor bambina, she could almost hear her grandmother's voice crooning in her aching head. How many times had Nonni warned her not to try to drown her sorrows in alcohol?

Her stomach finally settled down. As her body gave in to exhaustion, she drifted off to sleep on the tile floor.