Cowboy Heat (13 page)

Her gaze met his. “Then we best not waste any more of it.”

A crooked smile bowed his lips right before he closed the distance and pressed them against hers. He might play it slow and cool, but his actions told a different story. Rowdy’s tongue slid between her lips to tangle with hers a moment after they made contact. He was as eager as she to get back to what they’d started all those years ago.

Still kissing her, Rowdy fumbled inside the front pocket of his jeans. The locks of the truck doors clicked. Blindly, he reached for the handle and opened the door. With his hands wrapped around Skye’s waist, he broke the kiss only long enough to sit her sideways, facing him in the seat.

He stepped closer to stand between her legs. His hands came to rest on each of her thighs as he leaned in again for one more kiss. Skye realized how fortuitous it was she’d chosen to wear a dress when his hands slid higher beneath the hem.

Maybe her mind had exaggerated the memory of how good his touch had felt that first and only time. She could only hope, even though she feared Rowdy would be even harder to
walk away from at the end of the night now than he had been back then.

Deft in his movements, he slipped one digit beneath the edge of her panties and zeroed in on her clit.

Skye drew in a sharp breath.

Rowdy smiled. “Still sensitive, I see.”

Her only answer was the tilt of her hips that pressed her more firmly against his finger. He chuckled at the move and increased both the speed and the pressure of his touch. Skye’s nails scraped against the seat and the dashboard, seeking something to grab on to as her body coiled for release.

Thank goodness he’d parked in the deserted back corner of the lot where it bordered the woods. She was so close to something she knew would be amazing, she’d die if he had to stop because someone walked over.

He worked her hard and fast until the first wave of pleasure crashed over her. Skye’s hips bucked against his hand as the orgasm began. He didn’t stop, but rode it out until the end. Even once the spasms ended, he didn’t. Rowdy slid one finger inside her and stroked this thumb over nerves so sensitive she jumped as if electric current flowed between them.

Smiling, he withdrew his touch.

She missed it, immediately. Skye gasped for breath but still wanted more. “Don’t stop now.”

“Darlin’, sex with you deserves a bed.” Rowdy glanced at the open back of the pickup. “And I don’t mean the bed of my truck.”

“I don’t know about that. There’s something to be said for being out here. Alone together, so close to all those people.” She ran a fingertip down his shirt, not stopping until she hit his belt buckle.

Rowdy’s gaze followed her path before he dragged his focus
up to her face. “You like playing at being bad, don’t you? Just like that night you were here pretending you were old enough to drink.”

Skye frowned. “You knew? And you weren’t that much older than us.”

“I was at least legal. Your friend told my friend, but even if she hadn’t I knew from one look that you were a good girl out for a wild night.” He yanked her hips to the very edge of the seat so her legs straddled his. “I didn’t give it to you then. You sure you can handle it now?”

They were so close that, positioned as they were, if they’d been naked he’d be inside her. The thought had her heart pounding harder, as did the sight of his hands resting on his belt buckle, paused, waiting for her answer.

“Yes. I can handle it.”

That, apparently, was all he needed to hear.

“Lie back.” He gave the order and had the buckle open and the two sides of his jeans hanging open by the time her head hit the bench seat. Skye watched as he freed his erection from his cotton briefs. Big and thick, just like she’d envisioned so many times.

While looking down, he pushed inside her, slow but firm. He hissed in a breath as he inched deeper. “So damn tight.”

He was big, and she certainly wasn’t used to that from the last guy she’d been serious enough about to sleep with, but she was wetter than ever. Rowdy worked his way in until his cock was fully seated. He set a steady rhythm that began slow, but soon sped up. Every stroke made her feel completely taken. Filled. Possessed.

The sight of the cowboy thrusting into her, the pure bliss on his face nearly hidden by the shadow of his hat and the night around them, had Skye’s body clenching.

Reaching out, he pulled her toward him. He tangled one hand in her hair and buried his face near her ear, and she felt his labored breathing. He was close. So was she. The tingling began and increased until she was panting as much as he was.

She clamped her arms and legs around him and held tight as the second orgasm of the night hit, even more amazing than the first because he was inside her for it. He stiffened against her, thrust deep and held. Her muscles gripped his cock, clenching around him, milking his release from him.

They stayed wrapped around each other, him still inside her, for too long considering where they were. He moved first, pulling out, and glanced down between them. He grabbed napkins from the dashboard, and for the second time that night, wiped her clean. This man she barely knew, yet knew intimately.

“Little late to ask, I know, but is it okay that I came inside you?”

“Yes, it is a little late.” Skye cocked one brow. “But yes, it’s okay.”

“Good.” He nodded. He watched her straighten her underwear and skirt as he fastened his pants and belt.

“I guess I should get inside. My friend’s waiting.” She moved to climb down from the high seat.

He stepped closer to block her way. “I want to see you again.”

“That’s very nice of you to say, but we both know what this was.” Skye laughed. “You probably don’t even know my name.”

He leaned close and whispered, “Skye. How could I forget? You’re as beautiful as the night sky over Oklahoma.”

She drew in a breath. “You remembered.”

“I haven’t forgotten a thing about you.” He pressed a kiss to her neck. “You’re likely the reason why no woman I’ve dated
over the past decade has held my interest. At least not for the long haul. Why do you think I still come here every Saturday night even though I moved to the next county years ago?”

“In case I came back?” she asked, hope making her breathless.

“Yes and you sure took your time doing it.” He trailed kisses down her throat. “So I guess the question is, after all these years, do you remember my name?”

“I haven’t forgotten a thing about you either, Rowdy Reynolds, blacksmith apprentice who wanted to own his own ranch one day.” She pressed her lips against the stubble at the corner of his mouth.

His eyes narrowed. “Hearing you say that makes me want you all over again. One time with you isn’t enough.”

He wasn’t kidding. He was hard again. She felt it through the stiff denim of his jeans.

“How about the whole night?” she asked.

“It’s a start.” His voice came out low and full of promise.

“Then we’ll start with tonight and see where we go from there.” Skye had a feeling they’d go directly to his bed, but that wasn’t such a bad place to begin.

AT THE MERCY OF THE COWBOY

Amber Lin

O
nly when the squinty-eyed, scruff-jawed cowboy scowls do I feel guilty for my deception. I had signed my email
Alex
, which isn’t strictly a lie since that’s my name. But of course he assumed it was a man applying for his live-in farmhand job, which is why he sent back a terse email with his address and the line:
Come ready to work
.

“You can’t have the job.” There’s no softness at all in his gruff voice, in the sloping lines of his body. His silhouette slices through the swath of sunset backdrop. An orange glow spills around his edges, leaving his face in shadows. Even dark and half-hidden, the answer is written plainly:
No
.

“Why not?” I challenge. “I can work hard. You’ll see.”

“I won’t, because you’re not staying. It’s physical labor. Back-breaking labor for a man in his prime, and you look like a stiff wind would knock you over.” As if to prove his point, his perfunctory glance slides over my threadbare clothes and now-thin body. Just as easily, he looks away in dismissal, painting his side profile
with light, a straight nose and stubble-roughened jaw.

“Let me try. What can it hurt? If I can’t cut it, I’ll leave all on my own.”

“The room’s right next to mine. It’s more of a closet, really. Not fit for a…”

“I’m not picky.”

“No.”

I would have just left then. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn’t even be anywhere near a ranch in the little town of Paloma, Kansas. But there are no jobs in Topeka. I’ve looked and looked, and now I’m desperate.

“Please,” I say.

As if just noticing it, he glances over to my twelve-year-old, forest-green station wagon. I flush hotly, but he doesn’t see, because he’s looking instead at the boxes in the backseat, piled high with clothes and old family photo albums I couldn’t bear to throw away.

I’m a grown woman, but I had never realized how close I was to homelessness. Just a layoff, a fruitless job search and an eviction notice away from ruin. My parents had long since passed away, and I had no friends close enough to put me up indefinitely. In truth, I’d been too ashamed to ask. I want to work. I
need
this job.

And now he knows it.

Thick eyebrows lower beneath the brim of his mottled-beige cowboy hat. His eyes are nothing more than slits in the simmering sun. Beneath thick work jeans and a plaid button-down, he seems tense. Or maybe that’s just me. I brace myself for the feel of his cowboy boot as he kicks my ass out.

“You can stay,” he says. “Start with shoveling out the stalls.”

He expects me to balk, I can tell. He doesn’t elaborate on the
task or show me where to get started. Just stands there, waiting for me to tell him that shit-shoveling is beneath me. But what’s really beneath me is charity. If this is what I’ve come to, then at least my meals will be honestly earned.

I summon a smile. “Great.”

With a snort, he strides to the stable, a large building set twenty feet from the house. After a few minutes of rustling and the click of a latch, he emerges leading a tall brown horse with white on its snout. Very tall. It matches the man, and they both tower above me as they pass—intimidating. Just another way to make a point against me, to show I don’t belong, another way to say
no
. But I won’t be discouraged. Desperation imbues me with strength, and I channel all my frustration and hope into the physical, backbreaking work.

Colt—that’s the cowboy’s name—likes to think of himself as a hard-ass. And he is, but I figure out almost immediately that he has a soft spot for starving, out-of-work administrative assistants named Alexis Walker.

On the very first night, he informs me in his take-no-prisoners tone that food is included in the job, even though I’m pretty sure the advertisement quite clearly stated
room only, no board
.

I agree to eat his food if he allows me to cook dinner, and he doesn’t put up much of a fight about that one. I’ll be damned if I make him regret his decision to hire me.

During the day, I work my tail off doing all the jobs a regular,
male
farmhand would have done—maybe even more. At night I cook us dinner, and on my days off, I clean up around the house, unasked. I gain back the weight I lost in those sad days before I came here, some of it in pure muscle mass, the rest filling out my old curves.

For two months, Colt seems satisfied with my work, both outside the house and within. He even says so, with praise all the more sweet for its muttered reluctance, like,
You did all right out there today, Alex
, and,
This meatloaf reminds me of the one my mom used to make
.

But in the past few weeks, if possible, he seems even more reserved. He keeps his head bent during dinner and spends more time outside.

This worries me. I’m happy here, but I don’t want to run him out of his own home.

Taking a brief break from my work refilling the feed troughs, I watch as he repairs the fence around the large corral, snipping and straightening the barbed wire.

His hands are ensconced in thick gloves, but I’ve seen over the past few days that inevitably some part of his skin—on his chin or his arm—will get snagged and bleed. This is what he’s like, I realize. Wrapped in barbed wire to keep everyone out, but it must sting him, too.

I see that small pain sometimes, the stillness after each sharp cut. The loneliness of a single coffee mug laid out to dry. The hard look in his eye when he checked out my newly rounded ass just now. He longs for something, and it’s the same thing I want, a little dirty and a lot rough.

He’s a prime specimen of man, lean and large in all the right places. But the more I watch his impressive work ethic, his unassuming honor, the more I want the man inside. Only I don’t see how that can happen. There’s so much between us, layers of sharp and prickly metal wire, and I don’t know how to get past it without cutting us both.

He returns to the house later and later each day, and though it’s really none of my business, curiosity consumes me. What is he doing out there as I keep the pot roast warm in the oven? It’s
none of my business, but that doesn’t stop me from walking to the stable where a light glows amber through the slatted doors.