He's No Prince Charming (11 page)

Trace answered with another chuckle. He was glad to get her good and pissed off, so she would kick him out on his ear before he did something stupid like kiss her. “I will when I’m good and ready.”

“You—you—the hell you say!” She squealed and wiggled so hard that he lost his grip and she tumbled onto the sofa. She bounced and flopped onto her back for an instant before coming up to her knees and then her feet on the cushions. Before he had time to say that he was sorry, he realized too late that she planned on launching an attack.

“Dakota!” he pleaded, but she had fire in her eyes and hopped up as if she were on a trampoline, bounced pretty doggone high, and then, holy shit, launched herself at him. He caught her in midair and stumbled backward. He had to twist so that he softened their landing, hopefully onto the sofa. “Whoa!” He fell backward over the armrest that caught him at the back of his knees and then landed on the cushions, with Dakota on top of him. The impact wasn’t too bad until he smacked his head on the opposite armrest with a painful thump.

“Ohmigod!” Dakota gasped, and pushed up from his chest. All of her anger evaporated and she somewhat sobered up. “Are you okay?”

“I think I need to dig out my Kevlar bull riding vest and wear it around you.” Trace reached back and rubbed his head. “Well, it’s not as bad as kissing the bull, but it hurt like hell.”

“Kissing the bull?” She frowned down at him. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s when your face hits the back of the bull’s head,” he explained, intending to let her know that he was really okay, but when she angled her head and gently traced the thin red scar that ran from the outside corner of his eye and bisected his cheekbone, his heart thumped hard in his chest.

“Is that how you got this?” Dakota asked softly, and when Trace nodded and tried to turn his head, she wouldn’t allow it. “Ohmigod, and you have a bruise on the other side where that guy clipped you in Dew ey’s!” She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “This is all my fault. I should never have come here and disrupted your world.”

“Maybe I needed my world disrupted.”

Trace’s quiet admission had Dakota opening her eyes wide. When she gazed down at him, Trace lowered his gaze, as if he wished he had kept his thoughts to himself. But when he tried to turn his face again, she held his chin firmly. She looked at him for a heart-stopping moment, and then leaned over and gently brushed her lips to his. Her intention was to immediately pull back, but the mere touch of his mouth sent tingling heat radiating through her body, closely followed by longing—an ache she couldn’t ignore. Instead of pulling back, she opened her mouth in invitation and trailed the tip of her tongue over his full bottom lip.

Trace groaned as if giving in. Or maybe he was letting go of something she didn’t fully understand. Although Dakota knew he was fighting his feelings for her, she didn’t care. All that mattered was the touch of his lips, the taste of his mouth, and the incredible need to heal. She licked and nibbled, coaxing a kiss from him that started off soft and sweet, but when he slid his hands up her back, all bets were off.

Dakota deepened the kiss while moving ever so slightly against him. Her breasts tingled and liquid heat oozed like warm honey through her veins. She drank him in while melting against his body, and kissed him as if there were no tomorrow. Trace cupped her ass, pushing her even closer, letting her know the extent of his desire. She pulled her mouth from his and gasped when he tugged her shirt from her jeans and splayed his big, warm hands on her bare skin. She wanted—needed—to have those hands on her breasts.

While straddling him, she sat up and peeled her tank over her head, and then tossed it over her shoulder. But when she arched her back and reached around to unhook her bra, Trace leaned forward to a sitting position and said, “No—wait.”

And it was the need that pushed him over the edge.

When was the last time someone needed him? God, how he wanted to be valued, to be desired, and to be missed when he was gone. When his bull riding days ended so abruptly, it was as if his personal stock plummeted and he became worthless. And although Trace loved the sport and missed the glory, he wanted to be respected for more than his ability to ride a bucking bull for the required eight seconds.

As if somehow reading his mind, Dakota placed her palms on his cheeks, leaned in, and kissed him softly. “Relax and let this happen. You don’t have to think past right now.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Yes, but more than that, I’ve been feeling. Something I don’t think either one of us has done in a long time. Trace, I won’t regret this, and I won’t be sorry tomorrow no matter where this goes.”

Trace looked at her for a long, heated moment, and when he bestowed upon her one of his rare smiles, it went straight to her heart. Dakota made a vow to herself that she would find a way to make him smile whenever she was in his presence. And when she wasn’t around, she hoped he would think of her and smile.

“Are you going to take my bra off or not?” she asked with what she hoped was a saucy arch of one eyebrow. “Okay, did that look silly? Be honest.”

Trace laughed and answered, “In due time. First, I want to simply look at you.”

“Oh.” The heat in his gaze made her feel sexy and bold, and so she scooted back a little bit. “Well, then,” she offered with the slight lift of one shoulder, “look your fill.”

And so Trace did, beginning with her face. He lingered on her mouth and then continued downward, leaving a trail of heat on her skin that felt almost tangible, like a physical caress. Dakota said a silent thank-you to Victoria’s Secret when Trace took in the soft swell of her breasts, which spilled above the cream-colored satin fabric of her push-up bra. A tiny, demure bow seemed to beckon him, and when he reached out and traced it with his fingertip, Dakota sucked in a breath.

“Touch my skin,” she pleaded softly.

“Gladly.” While looking into her eyes, Trace barely grazed the sensitive skin behind her ear with the back of his hand. He continued a path down her neck and proceeded to the valley between her breasts. Then he cupped her fullness and rubbed the pads of his thumbs over the soft swell directly above her nipples. Dakota’s eyes fluttered shut and she arched her back, needing more.

“Take my bra off,” she whispered, but he continued to tease with his thumbs, and then made her all but melt when he began a moist, hot trail of kisses where his fingers had been. Just when she was ready to reach around and unhook the bra herself, Trace finally did it for her. “Oh!” Her breasts tumbled free and her breath caught in her throat.

“God,” Trace breathed, and tossed the bra to the floor. “You are magnificent.”

“Good word.”

“It fits.” He caressed her skin while swirling circles over her nipples with his thumbs.

Dakota was already so sensitive and aroused that when he leaned up and took her into his hot mouth, she all but came undone. With a breathy sigh, she threaded her fingers through his long, surprisingly silky hair and leaned forward, filling his mouth with her softness. He licked her lightly, flicking his tongue back and forth until she came up to her knees and pulled at his shirt. “I need your skin next to mine.”

Trace didn’t protest when she tugged open the snaps on his western-cut shirt with a decisive yank, exposing his chest. “Oh, my.” She traced a fingertip over a long scar along his ribcage, and then looked at him for explanation.

“A head thrower got me with his horns,” he told her.

“Head thrower?”

“A bull that tries to hit you with his head or horns while you’re on your back.”

“Bastard,” she muttered so vehemently that Trace laughed, but his laughter faded when she leaned down and gently kissed the scar.

When she lifted her head to look at him, Trace tried for humor, something he used to be good at. “I have lots more of those.”

“And I will kiss each and every one. Stupid bastard bulls.”

Trace chuckled softly. “I guess you could say stupid me for trying to ride two thousand pounds of solid muscle with razor-sharp hooves and pointed horns.”

Dakota eased the shirt over his shoulders while shaking her head. “I understand when something is in your blood and can’t be denied. Music is in mine.”

“Yeah, but it’s a lot less dangerous,” he joked again, but the thought of her in danger set his teeth on edge.

“Good thing! I think I’ve already established that I’m a little bit wimpy. So the hooves are razor sharp?” She winced.

Trace pointed to a curved scar on his arm. “I’ve got several on my calves where they always seemed to find me,” he said.

“Then I have my work cut out for me,” Dakota said, and reached for his belt buckle. She wasn’t kidding. Once she had him naked, she planned on kissing each and every scar where he had been sliced, diced, or trounced upon.

Trace found Dakota’s breathy trail of kisses erotic, and yet she touched a chord much deeper than sexual gratification. She cared. And because she cared, Trace knew he was venturing into dangerous territory, but he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. He wanted this too damned much, and maybe she was right—maybe it was time to start feeling again.

“Not here,” he told her. “I want you in bed.”

“Okay.” Dakota nodded and stood up, but instead of walking, he scooped her up in his arms. “Trace! Your leg!”

“I’m fine,” he told her, and was surprised by only a slight twinge as he carried her into her bedroom. He would probably pay for this tomorrow, but it would be worth it. One small bedside lamp cast a soft glow in the room, and the cool night breeze blew in through open windows, bringing in the scent of earth and water. He let her slide down his body, loving the feel of her bare breasts against his chest.

“Sit down on the edge of the bed,” he requested, and kneeled down to remove what were obviously new boots. His heart thumped when he reached up to unzip her jeans. She raised her hips for him to pull the tight denim downward, and he sucked in a breath when a cream-colored stretch-lace thong emerged at eye level.

Unable not to, he reached over and ran his fingertip beneath the edge of the lace. Dakota gasped and fell back to her elbows. She closed her eyes and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and for the life of him, Trace couldn’t remember ever seeing a more erotic sight. She was beautiful but had a vulnerable edge that tugged at a protective male side that up until now he didn’t even know he possessed. She had somehow managed to find a chink in his armor, and although he didn’t know her full story, he had the impression she carried some baggage too.

Perhaps this was meant to be
, Trace thought as he leaned over and kissed her just below her navel. Her belly quivered in response, so he kissed her gently again. But then the jaded side of him reared its ugly head. It had just been too damned long since he had made love. No,
had sex
, he sternly corrected himself. This was sex. And once he had her out of his system, he could go back to his usual routine. Plain and simple. Cut-and-dried.

Yeah, right
. When Dakota let out a sultry, sexy sigh and threaded her fingers through his hair, Trace looked up and was lost in the amber depths of her soulful eyes. God, and then when she smiled, her lips trembled slightly, reminding him that his heart wasn’t the only one at stake here.

That’s why this was insane.

His intention was to end this, but Trace inhaled a deep breath and her scent filled his head, chasing away all coherent thought. Instead, he stood up and unzipped his jeans, finishing the task that Dakota had begun. She watched him undress through half-lidded eyes full of female appreciation for his male body. He knew he was in shape, with a thicker build than in his bull riding days, but it had been a long while since a woman had looked at him with desire, and it felt good. Once again she was breaking through his carefully constructed barriers, and at the moment he was powerless to fight it.

With his jeans kicked to the side, Trace stood before Dakota in his boxer briefs. Her eyes widened slightly at his obvious erection clearly outlined against the cotton, but when he started to peel off the briefs, Dakota came up to her knees and put her hands on his wrists. “No, I want to do it. Fair is fair.” Her smile was shy, but she held his gaze.

Trace could only nod and manage a husky “Okay.” Dakota’s hands felt cool against his hot skin, and her warm breath on his abdomen teased and tickled. She hooked her thumbs in his waistband and pulled downward ever so slowly, baring him inch by inch. When she bent her head and slid the briefs down his thighs, strands of her blond hair, golden in the dim light, grazed his skin. The silky texture felt feathery soft and sent a hot shiver down his spine.

He mindlessly stepped out of his boxers while Dakota straightened back up. For a heart-throbbing moment, he thought she was going to take him in her mouth. She looked up, telling him with her eyes that she was willing, but he shook his head, knowing that her mouth on him would immediately send him over the edge. So instead he joined her on the bed, loving it when she wrapped her arms around him in a sweet but sexy way that wrangled another smile from him that he usually kept hidden.

“Dakota, do I need protection?” he whispered in her ear.

“No, I’m on birth control,” she shyly assured him, and he instinctively trusted her. “Now kiss me.” When she tilted her face up, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her deeply while sliding his hands over her soft skin. She shivered.

“Cold?”

“God, no,” she answered.

When he took a nipple into his mouth, Trace was rewarded with a low moan. Damn, he was steely hard with need but he refused to rush, wanting her crazy for him. He teased her with his tongue until she arched her back and lifted her hips up from the bed. “Trace!” Her throaty plea let him know she was more than ready, and with a quick intake of breath, he came to his knees and then eased the lacy thong down her legs.

Trace took a long moment to drink in her beauty. Petite but with lush curves, she was every man’s dream—and yet, amazingly, seemed unsure of her appeal. He was scarred and she was perfection, and maybe when the bourbon wore off she would be sorry.

“Trace, you’re frowning. I’m not”—she swallowed and stammered—“not what you want in a—”

Trace put a fingertip to her lips. “You’re perfect, Dakota.”

“What, then?” she began, and her eyes widened in understanding. “Ohmigod.” She put a hand on his chest and shoved. Of course he didn’t budge, because she was no match for his size, but that didn’t stop her.

“What are you doing?”

“This!” Dakota shoved again, hard enough to take him off guard, and somehow, maybe because it was one of those adrenaline-fueled miracles, she managed to do as she intended and flipped him over onto his back in a move that would have made Hulk Hogan proud.

“What the hell?” Trace asked, and tried to rise from the mound of pillows at his back, but she pushed his shoulders and straddled him, breathing hard, and pinned him with a glare. Trace had obviously pushed some sort of button, and he wasn’t quite sure where this was going. “You’re pissed?”

“Royally.”

“At me, Princess?”

Her glare faded and she shook her head. “No. I’m pissed at whoever made you stop believing in yourself.”

She was hitting way too close to home, but he didn’t let her know it. “I believe I can make you come three times, so let’s get to it,” he said, armor intact, deliberately rude. But when he slid a hand up her back and tried to pull her head down for a kiss, she braced a hand on his chest and resisted.

“I have no doubt,” Dakota replied. “I also believe you have the heart and soul of a champion. You were on top of the world, a cocky, hell-raising cowboy.”

He wanted this conversation to end. Now.

“Trace, I know what it’s like to be on top of the world, but I also know how much work and determination it takes to get there. But listen! There’s so much more to you than—”

“Speaking of on top, do you like it there or do you—”

“Shut up!” Dakota said, and tried to scramble away, but Trace grabbed her wrists. She knew he was retreating into defensive mode, but this was too much for her to handle. “Let me go,” she demanded. Her eyes shimmered with tears, and she tried to tug her hands away from his firm hold.

“I wish the hell I could,” Trace replied. Instead he threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her hands over her head so that she landed flush against his chest.

And then he kissed her.