“I’ll stand, thanks.”
“I’d think you were a gentleman, saving the chair for your wife or girlfriend, if I didn’t just see you order her to sit alone in the truck.”
Any veneer of calmness fled. Ben cut across the room and placed his hands on her desk, looming over her. “First off, I wouldn’t have been in the Rawhide Club screwing around with other women if I was married or seeing someone.” Breathe, man. His gaze dropped to the nameplate. Whoa. Her name wasn’t Angel? “Maybe I oughta be questioning you and your motives, since you, oh, lied about your damn name and wore that ridiculous wig.”
“Given my occupation, I’m sure you understand why I disguised myself. Plus, I had no idea what to expect from an establishment like the Rawhide Club since it was my first foray into such a place. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“Fine. I guess I can buy that.”
She fiddled with a pen. “Can you please sit down?”
“Am I makin’ you nervous?”
“We already established last weekend that you make me very nervous, Bennett.”
“Call me Ben,” he corrected, perching on the edge of the floral-covered wingback chair. “I only use Bennett at the club. Or my mom uses my full name when she’s pissed off at me about something. Which you can imagine is all the damn time.”
Ainsley smiled.
“I like it so much better when you’re smiling at me, angel. The name fits you, although that’s not your name.” His gaze tracked over the engraved nameplate. “So, Ainsley Hamilton, you’re a bank president.”
“So it would appear. You surprised?”
“No. I knew you were sharp, and I figured you had a job where you were used to bein’ in charge. You haven’t been in Sundance long.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve lived in this area my whole life. People talk when a hot single lady moves into town. I’ve haven’t been in town in recent weeks… Shame on me for not introducing myself earlier.”
“You’re part of the infamous McKay family.”
“Infamous is an exaggeration.”
“Not from what I’ve heard. Anyway, I haven’t been out and about Sundance. There’s a lot to micromanage when opening a new branch. I spent the first weekend unpacking and last weekend—” Her blush seemed to annoy her. She squared her shoulders. “I don’t need to give you a play-by-play of last weekend’s events.”
“No, you surely don’t, because I’ve been reliving them in my head every damn hour for the last day.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Were you gonna show up Friday night? Or stand me up?”
“I hadn’t decided. It was all so…surreal.” She rolled the pen between her palms. “But having you here in my office is surreal too.”
But damn fortunate in his opinion. “You can’t deny something clicked between us last weekend. How about if we talk about it tonight over dinner?”
She gave him a questioning stare. “Dinner? Where?”
“Without adding more fuel to the infamous McKay fire, we’d better stick to my place, because wherever we go in Sundance or Moorcroft, chances are high we’ll run into one of my family members. I’m not sure the new businesswoman in town wants to be associated with a McKay.” When more suspicion flared in her hazel eyes, he realized he’d have to take extra care with her, given how they’d met. “No one knows about my life at the Rawhide Club.”
“You sure?”
“I make sure. I promise. It’s only between us.” He leaned closer. “Have dinner with me tonight, Ainsley. It’ll just be us talkin’. That’s all.”
“None of that tying me up and spanking sex stuff?”
Was there disappointment in that snappy answer? “If that’s the way you want it.” Ben tried hard to reconcile this polished, professional woman with the submissive he’d had beneath his hands only two days ago.
“You can cook?”
“I’m a bachelor. Be pretty sad commentary on my life if I didn’t know my way around a kitchen.”
Ainsley smiled again. “Give me your address and I’ll be there after work.”
“It’s fourteen point eight miles south on Bridger Gap Road. Turn left at the cattle guard. It’s a log house. Can’t miss it.”
Three knocks and Ainsley said, “Come in.”
A tall brunette sashayed into the office. “Public relations from the main Denver branch called. I told them you’d call them back as soon as you finished with your client.”
“Thanks, Jenny.”
Ben bit back a groan. The brunette was none other than Jenny Timsdale. Town beauty queen, hardcore partier and the last-call bar hookup for his cousin Tell. Or his cousin Dalton. Or both, to hear Dalton brag.
She feigned surprise at seeing him. “Ben McKay. Where have you been hiding yourself? I haven’t seen you at the Golden Boot, Ziggy’s or the Twin Pines in forever.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Your cousin Tell hasn’t been too busy to come out and whoop it up with me once in a while.”
He muttered, “I don’t doubt that.”
Ainsley said, “Jenny, is there anything else you needed?”
“No.”
“Would you be so kind as to ask Bonnie to start the new account process? Mr. McKay will be right there, as he’s decided to open an account with us.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Jenny flitted out.
Ben couldn’t help but grin. Ainsley was no pushover. But she’d soon learn he wasn’t either.
“Thanks for the hard sell, Miz Hamilton. I look forward to you meeting my needs.”
“Your banking needs,” she corrected.
“That too,” he murmured. “See you later.”
His week was looking up.
About fifteen minutes after Bennett—Ben—moseyed out of the building after opening a new checking account, Ainsley called Jenny back into her office.
“You buzzed me?” she inquired with fake sweetness.
“Yes. Do you have that number for the PR department? There are four different extensions.”
“Sure. No problem. Be right back.” Jenny’s small, perfectly pear-shaped ass didn’t bounce in the skintight pink leopard print skirt.
Ainsley sighed and swore she’d eat like a bird tonight.
Jenny handed over a slip of paper. “Here you go. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything between you and Ben.”