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they’d walked toward Colt’s truck. She hoped to God the editing department could splice what little footage the cameras had caught and at least make the beginning of their date somewhat entertaining, minus her near miss with the sidewalk, of course.
    As the warm wind from the open window whipped through her hair, she thought about Danny. If today was any indication of what the next four weeks were going to be like, he had his work cut out for him. She didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they had this morning, and while it upset her that Danny was probably ticked off that she and Colt hadn’t given them much footage to work with, she had bigger things to worry about.
    Shifting her gaze toward Colt’s lap, she wanted to groan. How could she not have known he was talking about a twelve gauge shot gun and not his penis? Because after what he’d done to her in the parking lot, against her car, all she had been able to think about was how much she had wanted his enormous erection inside of her. But, she’d made a mess of that, too. Instead of doing what her body had wanted—down and dirty, hot and erotic sex, she’d gone back to the apartment, berating herself for telling him they couldn’t have sex, period.
    So, rather than basking in the glow of a well needed orgasm, she’d sat in the uncomfortable apartment Derek had rented for her to use during the duration of the show, running through the entire night. The fear of being on stage, the dumb questions she’d had to ask. The fact Colt actually wanted to pursue a real relationship.
    A gust of wind blew through the cab of the truck, and pieces of her hair stuck to her lips. While knocking the irritating strands away, she also knocked any foolish ideas of romance and sex, too. While Colt might be on the show to own up on a bet, he could be Derek’s infamous red herring.
    Last night, while she had lay in bed, she’d dissected the three bachelors, trying to figure out who was most likely Derek’s poser. Brad, the himbo, didn’t seem to be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, and with his buff build and dreams of opening a gym, she believed he was the real deal. Now Trent was a different story. A rocker dentist? With tattoos covering his arms like a sweater, she couldn’t image that the man actually had a dental practice. He’d have to wear long sleeves and a turtle neck to hide his ink stains, and there was no hiding all that long hair.
    Then there was Colt. While in Denver, they’d never talked about what they did for a living. Yet, the producers wanted her to believe he was a sports agent. A rancher sounded more like it, with his build, his big ol’ belt buckle, cowboy boots and hat. But sports agent? That would be a big fat no. Her oldest brother, Dom, was good friends with a guy from high school who’d gone on to become a sports agent. Dylan Macavey had always been a staple in their house—crashing over, staying for dinner, sharing the holidays. He’d gone to Northwestern University, her alma mater, for law school, and last she’d heard he’d become quite successful. According to Dom, he represented half a dozen athletes, drove a BMW, and had women chasing him and his money.
    Colt didn’t fit the picture Dom had painted of Dylan. She couldn’t imagine him wearing an Armani suit, although he’d look fabulous in one with those long muscular legs, slim hips and wide shoulders. She couldn’t picture him driving a sporty beamer, either. The truck suited him, so did the jeans and cowboy boots. Yeah, Colt could definitely be Derek’s red herring, too.
    She’d figure it out. She had to, and quick. Colt might be giving her the silent treatment right now. But she had a feeling, based on how he’d left things last night, and the heat that had darkened his denim eyes when he’d arrived at the apartment this morning, that he was nowhere near done. That he wasn’t about to let a nationally televised show stop him from gaining what he wanted—her. The