Cowboy at Midnight (5 page)

Amy shivered a little and glanced out at the lake, which looked like thick, glossy ink in the sparkling darkness.

“Go on,” she said.

“I've got two more brothers—Miles and Clyde—same age as me.”

“What?” She couldn't believe it. “So you're a—”

“Triplet.”

She smiled. “And proud of it?”

“Sometimes—when they behave.”

“So, are you all alike?”

“I'm supposed to be the smartest. Clyde's got the worst temper, and Miles can rib you until you want to sock him.”

“Wow.”

“We visited Texas as boys, and the land got into my blood. Jack wasn't much for Texas back then, but Clyde and Miles and I used to pretend we were cowboys and ride stick horses.”

“So did I.”

“When I graduated from college I moved to Texas and went into business with my college roommate, Larry Cabot.”

“He's the one who ran off with Madison?”

Steve hissed through his teeth as he lifted his chin. “He had family money, and I had ambition. I was willing to work hard, too.”

Smarts, she thought, feeling her chest swell in admiration as if his brains and success reflected on her somehow. Which was ridiculous. They weren't a couple.

“I started a bar and restaurant with him and began buying land with my brothers. But even though I ranched with them, I always wanted a place of my own. Times were hard for a while. The realities of ranching are different from fantasy. I thought having a ranch of my own was a dream I might never realize. Then when the Shiny Pony Bar and Grill became a success, Cabot and I bought the Lonesome Saloon.”

His mouth thinned. “Today we signed papers that make him the sole owner of the Lonesome. I ended up with the Shiny Pony.”

She lifted his hand with the blistered finger and kissed the red welt. “I saw you come out of the kitchen sucking this. No wonder you didn't want to make out at the Lonesome Saloon.”

“Make out? Is that what we're going to do?”

She leaned closer and parted her lips. When she licked them, she tasted him. “I certainly hope so. But first tell me about this ranch you're so wild about.”

“Like I said, my first venture was with my triplet brothers. We pooled our resources and went in together on a ranch we call Flying Aces. Then about five years ago, I decided to look for some land of my own. I shopped for months without buying so much as an
acre. Then one night I was driving around lost on some endless county road and feeling discouraged when I happened onto a place that had belonged to the same family for generations. There was water, natural springs and a creek, cliffs, lots of grass and gorgeous old buildings. The house is nearly a hundred years old. It'll be something, really something, when I finish restoring it.”

“You sound like you really love it.”

“The old guy who owned it, Mel Foster, was in his late nineties. He loved it even more. His neighbor had been pestering him to sell to him for a decade. Only, he didn't much like his neighbor, and now that I know the guy, I can't blame him. Mel didn't much like his own wild-spending, urban nieces and nephews, either. He wanted someone who'd love the place like he did.”

“And he chose you?”

“When I wandered up to his house he invited me to stay the night. We shared a meal in his stone cook shack and quite a few shots of whiskey that night. We talked about horses and cattle and land, about how we felt about it, about how dead I'd felt in New York all those years. The next morning we got up early. He pointed out his prize livestock, his best bulls, his longhorn cattle and the wild turkeys.”

“It sounds like paradise.”

Steve smiled at her. “I can't wait to show it to you.”

“I can't wait to see—” She broke off. She would never see it. “Tell me more.”

“Well, we got out of Mel's pickup and saw feral pigs in the thickets. There were plenty of white-tailed deer.
Quail, too. Then he showed me the bottom land as well as the incredible views from the dramatic cliffs. It was so beautiful. By noon I was in love. Come supper the ranch was mine. Mel lived there and took care of the place until he got sick. Then I took care of him.”

“He's dead?”

Steve nodded, and she saw the sorrow in his eyes.

“He was like a third grandfather. I still miss him.”

“I'm so sorry.” She traced his knuckles with a fingertip.

“They did big write-ups on him in the Texas newspapers. He was a top-notch rancher and had won international awards, yet he lived simply in a bunkhouse with only a few personal items. He kept the big house in perfect shape, like a museum. Said it was too luxurious for him. All he cared about was working the ranch. I won't ever forget him.”

“I know what's it's like to lose someone you'll never forget.”

“I guess everybody does, darlin'. Mel was a big man. I want to make him proud…if he's looking down.”

“I'm sure you will.” She paused. “I…I used to spend a lot of time at a beautiful ranch that's probably near yours…with a friend,” Amy whispered. “A long time ago. We liked to ride horses together.”

“Is she dead, too?”

“She was in an accident.” Amy wrapped her hand around his and held on tight. Then she swallowed and said no more. She felt the warmth of his eyes on her face, but she didn't dare look at him.

“I wish you'd tell me what's wrong,” he said gently.
“Something's eating at you, and it's not going to stop unless you do something about it.”

“I can't. I just can't.”

“Not tonight maybe. But I'm here. I'll listen…when you're ready. I'll give you all my phone numbers.”

He said it as if he was sure they had some sort of future.

But we don't. We just have tonight.

That truth made her heart ache even before he leaned forward and brushed his mouth softly across hers, his tongue teasing until she parted her lips.

His mouth was warm, and every time he licked or sucked or pressed his lips into hers even just a little, he sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body.

“You ready to get the hell out of here?” he muttered fiercely.

“Just one more kiss,” she whispered against his mouth.

“One more for the road?” He laughed as his lips nuzzled the side of her throat. “Only if I get to pick the spot.”

“The spot?”

“The spot where I get to kiss you, darlin'.”

His dark eyes drifted lazily down her breasts to her belly, as if searching for exactly the right place that would give them both a buzz that would last until they reached his hotel. His gaze was disturbingly sensual when it lingered on that intimate place between her thighs.

“You're wearing black lace panties,” he said.

“How'd you—” She gasped, reddening with shock. “No! Not there!”

He laughed. Swiftly before she could stop him, he
pulled her black spandex blouse lower, exposing more of her left breast. Then bending his dark head, he kissed the tiny
L
she'd had tattooed there nine years ago to match the
A
Lexie had had tattooed on herself two days before.

The tattoo, which had sent her perfect mother into orbit, had seemed like a lark at the time. Now it was a brand that burned all the way to her heart. It was like the scarlet letter on Hester Prynne's bodice, a constant reminder to Amy of her original sin.

Amy cried out in pure anguish, pushing at his shoulders, struggling to escape him. He was relentless. All too soon his lips and tongue bathed the tiny
L,
the symbol of her secret shame, with hot, wet kisses. The warm gliding of his tongue made it an erotic, joyous place that belonged to him and to her instead of to Lexie.

Caught up in her tempestuous excitement, Amy was soon driven by fresh desire. Gripping his head as his mouth washed the lush flesh with the healing balm of his sensual love, she moaned.

“I want you. I want you so much,” she whispered in a raw, agonized tone. “How can this be happening?”

“Ready to get the hell out of here yet?” he muttered. “Or do you want me to pick another spot to kiss?”

“If you even talk about it, I'll be a molten puddle in two seconds.” When she sprang from her chair so he wouldn't kiss her again, her legs were so wobbly, she had to clutch the table for support. “I'm going to hate myself tomorrow.”

“No, you won't. I promise,” he whispered, putting his arm around her waist. “Hold on to me.”

“I'm afraid.”

“Don't be,” he murmured. “I'm not. And that's a switch.”

In his eyes she saw a strange emotion, which vanished before she could read it.

Even so, she clung to him, burying her face against his broad chest for a long moment. Why, why she was acting as if he could protect her against all the demons? But, of course, he couldn't. She knew that.

Nobody could. Her demons lay within.

S
tanding in his birthday suit with hot water streaming all over him should have relaxed him. Except, Steve's mind got creative on him as he stared at the glistening white tile walls.

Paranoid
might be a better word than
creative.

Sally was gone. He was sure of it. The mere thought made his heart feel heavy and leaden.

You've got it bad, Fortune.

When he turned off the water and slammed the shower door open, a blast of frigid air stopped him. He should never have told her the name of his hotel and then let her follow his truck in her own car. He should never have left Miss Jones in his living room alone while he showered.

Fear knotted Steve's stomach even as the cold air raised goose bumps on his dark flesh. When he heard a
sound in the other room, his heart leaped with a keen excitement. Hurrying, he strode about the cold, functional hotel bathroom, not caring that he dripped water all over the tiles, not caring when he nearly stumbled on the wet floor that was as slippery as polished glass.

Despite the shower and the chill, just thinking about her had him hard again. He wanted to thrust himself inside her, to claim her in the most primitive way. He wanted to stay inside her forever.

If he was wrong and she was gone, he'd have to go back to Town Lake and jog for hours.

Grabbing a towel, he rubbed his hair down first and then his body. To relax, he forced himself to whistle again as he had in the shower. When he was done, he threw the towel down and was about to open the door that led to the bedroom, when he realized he didn't have a stitch on. He was that eager.

Hell. Should he dress again?

No. He grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist. Striding into the living room, all he saw was furniture—a couch, two chairs, two lamps and a few books.

Where the hell was she? He stood there for a long moment, inhaling her scent, which floated in the room like her ghost.

Violets, she'd said. Feeling a loss he didn't understand, he picked up one of the books on the couch and threw it so hard, it smashed a lamp to bits.

He should never have left her alone, but his conscience had forced him to give her one last chance to run. He hadn't wanted her here if she didn't want to be here. What a sap he was.

He flung his front door open and stared out into the dark, empty hall.

“Sally?” His hoarse voice sounded way too needy.

He was stomping back to his bedroom to find a pair of jogging shorts when he heard a little cry from the kitchen. Golden hair flying, she came running through that door, holding a photograph she'd taken off his fridge as well as his book on Greek gods. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

“You're still here,” he whispered in amazement. He flushed as he remembered the lamp. “You're really here?”

“Of course, darlin',” she mocked, smiling impishly as she drew a lock of her hair back to expose an elfin ear.

“For God's sake, don't tease me now.”

“Are you all right?”

“I knocked a lamp over…by accident.”

“Did you cut yourself?”

“No.”

“So, you're a reader? A philosopher even? Plato? Homer?”

“The ancient Greeks are pretty amazing,” he said.

“I didn't know cowboys read.”

“I'm the smart triplet, remember?”

“I'm impressed.”

He moved toward her and seized her in his arms, kissing her mouth, then her throat, and then her breasts with a madness and a hunger he had never felt before. The thought that he'd nearly lost her inflamed his senses. Every kiss was a raw act of possession. His desire for her was beyond reason. Not that he wanted to think about it.

“I thought you were gone,” he murmured.

“I thought about it…maybe just a little,” she admitted. “It's what I should do.”

“Do you always do what you should?”

“For a long time I have.” She hesitated, stroking his wet hair. “That was sweet of you to let me think about it. I like that. I like it a lot. I also like it that you're into the ancient Greeks. I don't just want you. I think I like you, too.”

“I don't
think.
I
know
I like you. Just like I know you're wrestling with something difficult. That's why I wanted to give you a chance to split. I don't want you to do this if—”

“Now you're the one who's thinking too much, cowboy.”

Before his next heartbeat, she set down the picture—the one of him and his triplet brothers stomping grapes that summer they'd gone backpacking in Europe and he'd discovered Greece—on a table along with his book and began tracing his body with her fingertips, letting them run lightly down his abdomen to his navel and then lower until he was on fire for her to pleasure him.

She smelled so damned sweet. Violets.

He groaned when her fingers slipped inside his towel and caressed his naked skin. Then she unknotted the towel, and terry cloth swished down his legs and pooled on the floor. She knelt and placed her hands on the back of his bare legs. Heat shot through him when her lips neared his thighs. He felt her warm breath first, then her tongue. She licked him before her mouth took him whole.

He gasped even before she began moving her head.

She knew a lot. Too much. More than he wanted her to.

Definitely, she was no virgin. But then what had he expected from a single girl in revealing black spandex that cupped her breasts and butt? Hell, she'd had the first letter of some guy's name tattooed above her heart. If she were smart, she'd never tell him that story. He'd be tempted to hunt the guy down and punch him if he ever found out who he was.

Even as he tried to tell himself she was hot and wild and perfect for a one-night stand, the thought of bedding her and never seeing her again aroused some fierce, irrational possessiveness inside him. Swiftly he pressed her head more tightly against his groin. His feelings hacked at him like a dull machete, making a thousand little cuts that all bled for her. He couldn't bear to think of her with other men.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he muttered thickly.

She jumped back and stood up. She couldn't possibly read his expression in the darkness since the only light came from the kitchen behind him.

“Do you?” he demanded in a low, harsh tone.

“No!” Her voice was indignant, furious even.

He was equally furious. “Well, you do now.”

“You think you and I— No. I can't date you. And I can't explain why I can't, either, so don't ask. But it's not because I'm dating anyone else.”

“I don't know what came over me,” he muttered. And he didn't. “It's just that you make me feel things… I'm not accustomed to feeling at this stage in a…relationship.”

“We can't have a relationship.” Her wide-open eyes met
his equally stunned gaze. “But me, too,” she admitted in a low voice that was a shade shy of a whisper. Her thin face, which was framed with wild golden hair, was white.

Hell. He'd scared her again with his attack of macho possessiveness.

“Darlin', darlin', it's okay.”

She touched his cheek, traced the line of his mouth with a fingertip. Then her soft hand moved lovingly down his throat.

“What is it about you, huh?” he asked. Then to his surprise, he saw tears in her eyes.

“You're crying. Why?”

She touched her lashes and then her wet cheeks. “Oh, my. I am. I really am. I…I can't believe it. I haven't cried in… I can't believe it. I'm crying.” She began to laugh a bit hysterically.

“What's wrong? What did I say?”

She clung to him and then laid her golden head against his heart where his pulse pounded so violently. “Just hold me. Just hold me.” Her voice was low and choked. “Hold me until I'm myself again.”

Her whole body began to shake. Hell, she was really going to cry. He hated tears. Most of all he hated himself for making her cry.

“Oh, Steve, I…I've wanted to cry for so long, and I just couldn't.” Her words came out in fits and starts. “The pain was just too much.”

“There, there,” he murmured as she wept endlessly, her body racked with sobs. His chest was wet with the flood of tears as she continued to weep. “It's okay,” he said, ruffling her hair and stroking her back.

His words seemed to make her cry harder.

“You don't understand. It'll never be okay.”

“Short of murder, nothin's that bad.”

“Murder,” she sobbed, crying all the harder.

After that he said nothing until she quieted. Then he became aware of her body against his, aware that he was naked and that it wouldn't take much to pull her blouse and skirt off and get her naked, too.

He knew he should be noble and resist her when she pressed closer, seeking a different kind of comfort from him. But when she started kissing him on the chest and sucking at his nipples, he lowered his head to hers and kissed her hard on the mouth, his intentions clear. Without giving her a chance to change her mind, he pulled her blouse to her waist and ripped her skirt to her knees, which left her wearing her black lacy panties and her cowboy boots.

“No bra?” he murmured.

“Shelf bra.”

Whatever that was.

“I'll take off the boots,” she said.

“Leave them on,” he whispered, tugging off her panties.

“Kinky.”

“Not really.” His hands began to roam her body freely. She was hot, lush satin and wet
there.
He kissed her again, rotating his hips against hers, forcing her to feel his erection as his lips and tongue caressed her everywhere. In no time her nipples were as hard as pebbles.

Then he picked her up and carried her to the closest wall. Pushing her against it, he wrapped her booted legs
around his waist and was about to plunge inside her when she said, “No!”

“What?”

“We're forgetting…” She was too breathless to go on.

“What?”

“Condoms!”

“Right. Damn.”

“Don't go anywhere,” he whispered against her hair. “Don't you dare go anywhere.”

She laughed and spread his towel on the floor and lay down on it while he raced around the hotel suite like a madman.

In two seconds he was back on the floor beside her, fumbling with the damn wrapper. Then he had it on, and he was inside her, where he belonged.

She was tight and hot…so hot.

He groaned. She pulled him closer with a gentle sigh. He kissed each darling ear.

Then he began to pump as she held on to him fiercely. She felt too good, because it was over in seconds, at least for him. Afterward as he held her, shame licked through him, even though it had felt wonderful. When he could breathe normally again, his eyes connected with hers through the darkness.

“Sorry,” he muttered raggedly, touching his perspiring forehead to hers. “I…I don't know what happened. I've never…lost control like that before.”

She stroked his cheek silently. “It was great.”

“Next time….”

“Don't apologize. I loved being with you.” She continued to trace the line of his jaw with the back of her
hands with such tenderness his heart ached. What was it about her that made him feel so much so intensely so fast? They'd just had sex. He barely knew her, and he never wanted to let her go.

He grabbed her hand and wove his fingers through hers. “Sally,” he murmured. “Sally.” Then he kissed her fingers, one by one.

When he led her into the bedroom, he knelt on the floor while she sat on the bed. Together they removed her boots. Then he ripped off the spread and pulled back the covers, and they got into his bed, snuggling closer and closer until their bodies fit perfectly and they were spooning. Inside her or outside her, no woman had ever felt so right.

She began to caress him, and soon her featherlight fingertips tracing the length of his spine had him buzzing. When he reached for her, she pushed his arms gently down on the sheets.

“My turn. I…I want to be in control this time. It's very important to me.”

He gazed at her across his pillow. Again he was aware of those ghosts haunting her.

“All right. Since you took off your boots.”

She smiled. Then she began stroking the tip of his erection with her hand until he jumped every time she touched him, until he felt spirals of ever-hotter fire radiating throughout his body. Soon he was breathing hard and could think of nothing but burying himself inside her. Still those silky, warm fingers kept making those slow, erotic circles.

More than anything he wanted to grab her hand, to force her to squeeze him harder, to rush her.

But he didn't. Aw, hell. He thought surely he would die a thousand little deaths before she finally kissed him on the mouth and opened her lips. When finally she climbed on top of him and straddled him, he tore another plastic package open—as a tiny hint. When she took the condom from him and put it on him, it was all he could do not to lose control.

She laughed at his throaty moan and pushed her bottom down on top of him. Again she was tight and soft and warm and a perfect fit. When he started to pump, she splayed her hands against his chest and whispered, “No! My turn…”

He groaned.

“You promised.”

“I'm dying here, darlin'.”

“Oh no, you're not. You're very very much alive.”

Then she began sliding slowly up and down on top of him, bouncing rhythmically, her own rhythm though, not his, and not quite at the speed he longed for, either.

Still, it was great. He liked her long golden hair brushing his throat and shoulders. He liked the way she was crooning to herself and the way she seemed to be enjoying herself so much she stretched these moments of ecstasy into a long, feverish, almost unendurable and yet ever-so-delicious agony for them both.

Finally the building pressure inside him was so fierce he had to close his eyes, clench his teeth and knot the sheets with his fists to wait for her. Somehow, and just barely, he hung on even when the desire for release lit every nerve in his male being. He felt like a bomb one instant before it detonated. She made second after sec
ond tick by—pulse beats of delicious wanting, wanting, wanting this gorgeous woman with an intensity that he'd never known before.