Cowboy Resurrection: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 2 (9 page)

Dean took off his hat, leaned back and looked up at a night sky still filled with the smoke and haze of spent fireworks. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

He’d never met anyone like her. She was amazing.

And just his luck that both of them were stuck here only in passing, two roads intersecting in the middle of nowhere on their way to somewhere else.

He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped out a text.
You’re slick as hell.

Her response came back a few seconds later.
I know.

Dean stared at the screen, trying to think of a funny rejoinder. He couldn’t. Something warm and heavy had lodged in his chest, something deeper than affection, something stronger than respect. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long, long time.

Thank you, princess.

He smiled at her reply.
You’re welcome, cowboy.

Chapter Three

Wildflowers

“If dreams were lightning and thunder was desire, this old house would have burnt down a long time ago…”

—John Prine

Dean stood at the foot of the bed with his arms folded. “How’re you doing?”

She smiled. “Never better.”

He’d bound Monica’s arms behind her back with rope. Completely naked, she sat on the mattress propped up against a pile of pillows, legs spread wide open.

They were in Bakersfield for another nooner. So far, they’d made love back at the river and deep in the woods, in the hot springs off the Kern River south of Lake Isabella, in his family’s old pole barn, in his childhood bedroom while the rest of the family was at church, in his brother’s truck, in his father’s truck, in the back seat of her Prius, even behind the Silver Spur one drunken night when they were both feeling brave. But the hotel was home base—the place they came to play hard.

Dean found Monica’s body endlessly fascinating. He loved her soft, graceful curves, her brown skin and wild black hair, her dark nipples and the silken hair that grew at her sex. He suspected that he was becoming addicted to her pussy, if that were possible—he could spend hours touching her, stroking her, looking at her, tasting her.

He knelt down, spread her open with his fingertips and stared at her with what he suspected was a mooncalf expression on his face.

“You act like you’ve never seen one,” she said.

“Not like yours.”

It was true. Her pussy reminded him of a sweet plum with a shiny, cherry-pink center.

She tried to wiggle out of his knots—no luck. Vulnerable and earthy, she was the woman of his wickedest dreams, all trussed up and ready to play.

“What do you want, princess?” he asked, undoing his belt buckle.

“You, cowboy.”

He undressed in a hurry and climbed into bed with her. He covered her neck with kisses and feasted on her beautiful breasts, leaving her nipples erect and wet, loving her up until she was squirming. The ropes creaked as she pulled on her bindings.

“You tryin’ to get away from me?” he asked, kissing her throat.

“No. I want to touch you.”

“Too bad.”

He reached down and began to stroke her delicate clit. Soaking wet, her tight pussy gave way to one finger, then another. He bent his fingers slightly and massaged her G-spot. The ropes went taut as she curled into herself. Her sex began to throb, the pulses of her body speeding toward release.

God, he loved to make her come like this, giving it to her as hard as she gave it to him. After weeks of endless, ecstatic practice, he could make her body do all kinds of things.

But today, he was trying something new.

Gently, he withdrew his fingers and picked up the toy on the nightstand.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked.

“San Francisco.”

“Why’d you choose this one?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him as he switched her vibrator on and off. It was expensive, a sleek pink silicone job with four speeds. “It was quiet,” she said.

He nodded. “Quiet toy, loud woman.” He put the vibrator down on the bed and picked up the bottle on the nightstand. With a generous hand, he doused her with lube. He could sense her excitement as he spread himself with more lube before capping the bottle and putting it back on the nightstand.

“Tell me if—”

“Yes, I know. I’ll tell you if it hurts,” she said impatiently, twisting in her bindings.

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he began to jack himself off with languid strokes. “You in a hurry to be somewhere?”

She stared at his cock in his hand. “I’m in a hurry to feel you inside me.”

Her hunger mirrored his. She captivated him with her sensuality, her eagerness to explore. She was nowhere near as sexually experienced as he was, but she was eager to close the gap, and fast. He slipped on a condom and picked up the toy.

On its lowest setting, the vibrator purred softly as he ran it over the tender, flared lips of her pussy. Slowly, he slid it into her, thrusting in rhythm to the pumps of his hand around his shaft. She whimpered and shut her eyes tight. Dean kept his eyes open, thrilled by the sight of her sex wrapped hungrily around the smooth pink toy.

With a soft pop, he pulled it from her and pressed its tip to her clit. Monica gasped and arched her back.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and she did.

With his free hand, he guided the head of his cock into her tiny ass. As soon as her tight ring of muscle gave way, he slid his hips forward and thrust into her inch by slow inch until he was buried inside her as far as he could go. He pulled out halfway, then gave her a quick, brutal thrust, tapping her with a wet smack. She shut her eyes again and groaned.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded. “I’m okay.”

He was breathing like he’d run a race. He thrust again. Then once more. Goose bumps rose on her skin and her nipples grew harder. Insane with lust, he turned up the setting on her vibrator and slid it back into her pussy. Her snug ass clenched wetly around him. The feeling drove him out of his mind. He adjusted the angle of the slick little vibrator until its shaft rubbed against her clit. When she threw her head back and began to breathe between her teeth, he started to fuck her hard, stretching her to her limits and pushing himself to his.

“I’ll never get enough of this,” he snarled. He shoved the vibrator in and out of her like a piston. Sweat blurred his vision. His blood had turned to fire. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, “Dean, I’m gonna come.”

He looked at her as she balanced on the precipice, lips parted, eyes glazed. So beautiful and alive. His Monica.

At once, all of her inner muscles began to convulse, squeezing him so hard he thought he’d pass out from the pleasure of it. When he looked into her eyes, he lost control. His own orgasm jetted out, hot and wild. With his free hand, he gripped the edge of the mattress and fucked her without holding back, riding out his climax to its last shuddering drop.

Spent, he collapsed on top of her, still inside her. The toy slid out of his grasp and rolled onto the sheets. When he finally caught his breath, she kicked him lightly with her heel.

“Come on, big boy,” she whispered. “Untie me before you fall asleep.”

He opened his eyes and blinked at her. “What? Huh? You’ll be all right. Just hang tight there.”

“Dean!” she barked, trying to wiggle away.

“So…tired…g’night, princess.” He feigned sleep and rested his full weight on her as she squealed with laughter.

* * * * *

After a quick shower together, they climbed back into bed for a few more minutes of peace before they had to get dressed and return to work. Monica pressed her back against Dean’s warm chest as he spooned her, his heavy arms wrapped tightly around her and his beard tickling the back of her neck as he spoke.

“Bo told me to thank you for arranging all those interviews,” he said, stroking her stomach with the back of his thumb. “He says it’s been nonstop reporters since you made those calls.”

“His bulls attract good press,” she murmured. “I can’t believe it all starts next week. I feel like we’ve been planning this rodeo forever.”

“You did a good job, princess. You did everything right. I’m impressed—the whole town is.”

She snorted softly. “You’ve done half of it. And there’s still a million things that could go wrong, so…withhold your awe.”

He kissed her shoulder and tightened his hold on her. “Withhold my awe for you? Nope. Never.”

“You and that cowboy sugar.” Monica closed her eyes as he slid his thigh between hers. As soon as they’d started sleeping together, a heavy knot of pain had lodged itself in her chest. The deep ache had only intensified as the days passed, speeding toward their inevitable goodbye and her upcoming move back to Silicon Valley. They hadn’t talked about it, but both she and Dean knew their particular lease on happiness was almost up.

The pain was bittersweet in light of the secret truth that Monica had forced herself to face.

She’d fallen in love with Dean MacKinnon.

It was hopeless. She loved every damn thing about him. Those eyes as blue as a high desert sky; the strength and grace of his body; his bottomless, shameless lust. But she loved his quietness too. His steady, watchful presence calmed her.

It made sense—his job was to protect others from danger like some kind of cowboy guardian angel. Dozens of bull riders whose lives he’d saved in the arena would attest to that.

But what Monica loved most about him was a quality she couldn’t quite define. There was a sweet kind of sadness about him, as though he believed his story was already over but he was perfectly content being a minor character in the stories of other people. Dean never wanted to be the center of attention. He had no idea that this humility made him even more mythic, more heroic to his fans—and even more attractive to her.

Who wouldn’t fall in love with a man like him?

Monica bit back the flash of pain she felt whenever she thought about all the women who must have walked on this road before her. She’d be gone, soon too. Just another short chapter in his life, over and done.

“What’s the matter?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” she lied. “A little hungry is all.”

He reached over her and checked his cell phone. “We’ve got an hour before the meeting with the security company. You want to grab a bite with me?” He gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Sounds good,” she said.

* * * * *

Dean put his clothes on and sat in the corner of the hotel room to watch Monica as she got dressed. She wiggled into her underwear, then pulled on a light-blue blouse with tiny pearl buttons. She slid on her black skirt and stepped into her fancy snakeskin high heels.

“Do you have anything to wear to the rodeo?” he asked.

“I was planning on picking something up at the Western-wear store before we left Bakersfield. Maybe after the meeting.”

“You’d make one sexy cowgirl.”

She paused. “Should I make the inappropriate joke or should you?”

“What joke is that?”

“You’re the cowboy, I’m the Indian.”

He groaned and threw a pillow at her. After putting on her earrings, she brushed her hair, braided it and applied some lip gloss, puckering her lips goofily in the mirror. Dean stared, his heart sputtering like an old engine and his head trying desperately to shut it back down.

Don’t.
Don’t fucking say a thing. She’s leaving next week.

It was getting harder and harder to hide the truth. He’d fallen for her. Not the way he’d fallen for his ex-wife, all adrenaline and goo-goo eyes, but a slow, all-consuming way, like an enormous bonfire burned down to its red-hot embers.

Monica was a grown woman—maybe that was most of it. She was smart and quick and funny and fearless. She didn’t need him to prop her up or show her off when she was feeling down. Independent and tough, she could take care of herself. It made her sexy as hell.

Sex had always been an important theme in his life. In Monica, he had found a partner who shared his deep hunger, his need to play hard. She wasn’t ashamed of his past. Sometimes, she even asked him about it—it turned her on. What was his first time like? What was his wildest night? Had he ever had a threesome? Had he ever been with a guy?

He always answered her honestly. At first, he was afraid to share his memories with her. But the more they talked about it, the more comfortable he became answering her questions. In a strange way, it was as if all his experiences had prepared him for
this
experience—for the experience of being with her.

Dean wanted to tell her the truth.

He loved her.

For days, the words had lived on his tongue like canaries trapped in the mouth of a cat.

Enjoy the last few days with her. Don’t complicate things. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.

He put on his hat, cleared his throat and stood up. “Ready, princess?”

With a naughty smile, she slipped her sex toy and the silk rope into her enormous tote bag. Hand in hand, they left the hotel room. In the parking lot by his brother’s truck, Dean wrapped his arms around her waist and yanked her close for one more wicked kiss. She wiggled her tongue against his. With a grunt, Dean grabbed her ass with both hands and squeezed hard as she giggled against his lips.

The screech of tires yanked Dean out of his trance. Without thinking, he grabbed Monica and swung her out of the path of the silver minivan coming right at them. The van stopped short, just inches from the truck.

Two tall men wearing beards and turbans got out of the car. The younger one had been driving. He pulled a Bo Duke and nearly slid across the hood, landing on his feet and putting a finger in Dean’s chest.

“Get your hands off my sister,” he said. He was a little paunchy and looked to be in his late twenties. He got right in Dean’s face, and his dark eyes flashed with rage.

“Take it easy,” said the older man. “Monica, get in the van.”

Dean looked at Monica. Her eyes were wide and she’d gone pale as a bedsheet. “Papa—”

Holy shit.
For a moment, Dean wished that he were in the arena facing down a furious bucking bull. At least he’d know what to do.

The older man’s voice was deep and calm. “
Beti
, now.”

To Dean’s surprise, Monica’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. Then she turned and got into the minivan, a mortified expression on her face.

Dean turned to Monica’s father. “Mr. Singh, your daughter and I, we’ve been seeing each other for a while.” He swallowed hard.
Consensual
seemed like too inappropriate a word to use in this situation. “I assure you she’s not here with me…against her will.” Dean almost groaned as the words left his mouth.
Great. Like
that’s
any better than
consensual
, you idiot.

Though he wasn’t aggressive like Monica’s brother, Monica’s father spoke with the kind of authority that Dean imagined made other men sit down and listen. “Mr. MacKinnon, this is a family matter. I appreciate your concern for my daughter, but you cannot see her again. It is not possible.”