How to Kiss a Cowboy (4 page)

At some point, he'd moved his chair closer, and he still held her hand. Now he took it in both of his and smiled.

“You're right. Rodeo, and Bill Decker.” He kissed the back of her hand and dropped it. She wondered if he was dismissing her or if the kiss meant something. With some effort, she resisted the temptation to obsess over interpreting it and paid attention to his words. “I'll never forget when Bill took us to our first rodeo. For me, it was like stories I'd heard about the circus—so big and full of life and lights and pretty girls. I never wanted anything else after that. Nothing else in the world.”

“Nothing?” She fluttered her lashes and felt her heart lift like a rowboat rising on the crest of a wave. She was flirting. She'd figured it out.

And it worked.

“I guess there is one other thing I want,” Brady said. “One other thing.”

She pulled another beer from the six-pack and lifted it in a toast. Brady didn't need to know she was celebrating her first successful effort at flirting.

“Are you thinking we might have a moment?” she asked.

He took his hat off and smiled. “I think we're having one now.”

Suze felt her heart ramp up to a fast trot, and her breath came quick and shallow. Brady was right. They were having a moment, and it was moments that mattered—life's little diamonds, scattered through even the most commonplace life. Those rare gems were what everyone lived for, when it came down to it. And right now, she had a chance to have more than a moment with Brady.

Rising from her chair, she opened the trailer door. She wanted to turn and flash Brady a saucy look, but instead she tripped and banged her shin on the step.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “I'm fine. Um, you want to come in?”

This wasn't quite the way it happened in her fantasies. But it was happening for real.

Brady was surprised Suze Carlyle would even talk to him. Normally, she wouldn't let him close enough for conversation. The moment he entered a room, she'd toss that tawny gold braid and leave. He'd always figured either she hated him or she was in love with him.

Tonight he'd found out she didn't hate him. And that meant he shouldn't flirt with her. Shouldn't even be having this conversation.

Suze was serious about everything she did, and he didn't do serious.

She didn't look serious right now, though. She was smiling like she did this all the time.

He'd always thought she disapproved of him. She'd see him with some buckle bunny, and she'd lift her chin and toss her hair, and he'd feel like dirt. Or she'd run into him with his friends, drinking and fooling around, and look at him like he was an idiot.

So the open door of the trailer and the woman standing in its square of golden light were too tempting to resist. He stepped up and kissed her, harder than he meant to. She grabbed for the door frame, but it was too late. The two of them fell, laughing and kissing, onto the kitchen floor.

They crawled inside in a tangle of limbs and laughter. She'd start to stand, and he'd pull her down for another kiss, and then she'd scramble a few feet toward the back of the trailer and he'd pull her back to him.

He heard footsteps passing by on the gravel lot and wondered how much anybody could see by the dim red glow of the chili pepper lights. He tried to kick the door shut, but his boot hit her shin instead. She yelped and laughed, kicking him back, but then she escaped his grip and shut the door. The two of them sat on the floor, panting for breath and grinning at each other.

He glanced around, realizing he'd never seen the inside of a two-time champion's trailer before. Sponsors fought for the privilege of providing trailers for rodeo royalty like Suze, and Montana Saddlery was proud to emblazon their name across the side.

The trailer might be just the thing to light a fire under his lazy ass, because it was as knock-you-down gorgeous as its owner. It was fitted out like the inside of a ship, everything either gleaming teak or spotless white, all with brass fittings. The space was small, of course; it had to be hauled all over the country, and it needed to carry two horses as well as Suze herself. There was even a small tack room at the back, and a space for hay and grain.

Her bed was all the way at the front, a platform that could be propped up to double as a sofa. It was covered with a bright Native American blanket and heaped with pillows in various solids that matched the stripes on the blanket—blue and burnt orange and brown.

What was it about girls and pillows? There was barely room enough for two people there.

Suze took care of that in no time, sweeping the pillows aside and letting half of them fall to the floor. One particularly shaggy one turned into a hairy little dog who jumped up and treated Brady to a ridiculous display of doggie machismo, barking and growling from behind a curtain of gold and gray hair that covered his eyes.

“Hush, Dooley.” Suze turned to Brady. “Don't mind him. He's all bark.”

“More like he's all hair. What kind of dog is he?”

“He's a Dooley dog.” She laughed. “There's only one.”

He reached out to pet the dog, and it turned into a wriggling, tail-wagging bundle of glee. “You don't seem like the type who'd have a hairy little yapper dog,” he said.

“Yeah, well.” She flushed. “He needed a home.” She lifted him off the bed. “Shoo, Dooley.”

The dog scampered away and Suze plopped down in the middle of the pillows, bouncing on the bed, and looked up at Brady, seeming suddenly shy.

When she'd opened the door to her trailer, he'd been sure she'd made up her mind to let him into her bed. But maybe he'd assumed too much. She looked up at him with a smile that was a little tentative, as if she was wondering what she'd started.

He sat down beside her. “Remember how you said I was good-natured even when I get a no score?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“Well, you're right. That's one of the things that drives my brothers crazy.” He kept his tone conversational, and he could feel her starting to relax. “I'm just not very goal oriented. Sometimes a moment is enough.” The light in his eyes softened as he took her hand. “I don't have to score. And I don't even like to hear this called that.”

Her smile quirked up on one side. “This?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “You know what
this
is.”

“I sure do.” She kicked off one boot, then the other. They hit the floor with two solid thumps, and she shot him a sultry look from under her lashes. “I'm a big girl, Brady. I can handle it.”

He sure as heck hoped that was true.

And for the first time ever, he found himself wondering if
he
could handle it.

* * *

Brady had been bucked off in the first go-round that day, so he'd had time to go home and clean up before hitting the beer tent. Suze, on the other hand, had won the barrel racing, which was the final event of the day. She was still dressed in her riding clothes, which didn't look all that different from her everyday clothes—a long-sleeved Western shirt, Wrangler jeans, and boots. It was the same thing Brady was wearing, but his clothes were clean. She probably smelled like a stable—or worse.

“I need to take a shower,” she said.

Brady rolled over, pulling her close, and breathed deep.

“Are you going to use all kinds of fancy soaps and shampoos, and squirt yourself with flowery perfume when you're done?”

Suze huffed out a laugh. She should have known she wasn't good enough for Brady. Might as well let him know that now.

“I don't own any fancy soaps,” she said. “And I use Mane 'n Tail shampoo.

Brady laughed. “Is that the same shampoo Speedo uses?”

Suze nodded. She wasn't really ashamed of using horse shampoo. Brady might not know it, but lots of the girls used it. It seemed to strengthen hair and make it shiny better than anything else on the market.

“Seems like it's working,” he murmured.

She realized then that he'd undone the rawhide tie at the bottom of her braid and was working his fingers through the plaits, undoing it from the bottom up. It felt good, his fingers stroking through her hair, and she didn't want him to stop. But she needed to tell him…

“I don't have any perfume either.”

“Praise the Lord.” He buried his head in the crook of her neck and shoulder, and inhaled her scent, which was probably nothing pretty at this point. It might look like a girl just sat up there in the saddle and the horse did all the work, but riding barrels was a workout.

“Dang, girl.” He kissed the side of her neck. “You don't have anything to apologize for. You smell fantastic.”

He probably said that to all the girls, but, heck, she'd take it.

Whatever he wanted to give her, she'd take it.

He tugged her collar aside so he could nuzzle her throat. One button slipped open somehow, then the next, and then she was lying there in low-slung jeans and a plain white sports bra. The outfit was hardly the stuff of randy male fantasies, but at least she didn't have to be ashamed of her body. The workout she got from riding might not make her smell pretty, but it kept her in shape. And the stretchy bra tamed her curves a little bit, which was a good thing.

Brady sat up on his knees and looked down at her. She'd ended up sprawled on the pillows in what probably looked like a wanton, come-hither pose. Come to think of it, she was feeling pretty wanton and sexy. And it was obvious that Brady liked it.

“You should dress like that more often.”

“Like this?”

Only a man would say that. She had way too much up top to parade around in her next-to-nothings. There were girls who did, but they were attention hounds, and wore things far more lacy and sparkly than her plain white bra.

“Just like that.” He reached out and ran his finger gently down the edge of one strap, then across the front, taking his fingertip on a hilly journey across the top of one breast, down into her cleavage, and across the other.

Just one touch of his finger made her breath catch. What would it be like if—if this went further?

“If you dressed like this all the time, I could look at you and think about doing this,” he said, tugging one strap down her shoulder. “And this.” He loosened the other strap. “And this.” He stroked his hands down her sides. The nerves just under her skin rippled with the sensation, making her gasp. “You like that,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her.

She couldn't help herself. She
did
like it. She liked it a lot.

She tried to stay cool, to control her breathing, but she loved kissing, and kissing Brady was sheer heaven. He smelled so good and tasted better, like toothpaste and mint and very, very faintly of beer.

Come to think of it, she probably tasted like a brewery. She'd had how many beers? Two? Three? She couldn't remember, but she suspected that however many she'd had, they were responsible for her newfound courage—the courage that let her stroke her tongue across his upper lip and dart it into his mouth, the courage that let her pull him down on top of her so she could writhe under his body and press her hips to his, making her needs perfectly clear.

God, he felt good.

She could feel the tension of the day unwinding as she gave herself over to pure feeling—something she rarely did. Her mind was always running, always worrying, always obsessing about something. The only other time her mind cleared was when she was racing.

Like
water
flowing.

That was how this felt. It shouldn't. She didn't really know Brady that well. She hadn't spent much time with him—except in fantasies. If fantasies counted, she'd spent a lot of time with him.

She needed to be careful. Brady was a man, not a fantasy. A…
man.

The proof of that fact was pressing into her at this very moment, making her body heat and soften, opening to take him in, to make him a part of her memories forever. Because whatever happened, she'd never forget this night.

Brady looked down at Suze and tried to forget that he was breaking every rule he'd ever set for himself when it came to women.

Never
sleep
with
a
woman
who
takes
things
too
seriously
was number one.

Never
sleep
with
a
woman
who
has
a
yapper
dog
was number two, but Suze might be exempt from that one, since she wasn't your typical yapper-dog woman.

The third rule was
Never
talk
to
a
woman
about
anything
personal.
He normally kept his conversations light. He'd talk about rodeo, about music, and about drinking, but never about a girl's home life or his own goals and dreams. But he'd let Suze spill her heart to him, and he'd told her more than he'd intended about himself.

The fourth rule was one he hadn't expected to break tonight.

Never
sleep
with
a
woman
who
makes
you
feel
too much
.

Something about Suze's combination of strength and vulnerability spoke to him, deep down inside in parts of his heart he usually kept walled off. As a foster kid, he'd learned that caring about people only made it hurt more when they left you, so he was careful to keep his relationships superficial.

Suze had always seemed so standoffish that he'd never dreamed she'd get under his skin like this. Being with her felt like stepping into a kiddie pool and discovering it was six feet deep. He was way out of his depth, and he couldn't figure out how he'd gotten there.

And they'd only just started.

He glanced toward the door. He could make a run for it.

But then he looked down at the woman lying beneath him and decided he'd regret running for the rest of his life.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Nope.” He smiled, hoping she couldn't read the fear in his eyes. It was fading anyway. She looked so sweet, lying there—a word he never thought he'd apply to Suze Carlyle.

That long blond hair, freed from her trademark braid, lay uncoiled on the pillow. Her body was uncoiling too. He could feel her relaxing, softening, letting him in.

But there was still one hill to climb. Actually, it was looking more like a mountain. She'd relaxed enough to let out a little whimper a while back, but then that V between her eyebrows had returned and he knew she was taking this way too seriously.

“Suze,” he said.

She opened her eyes and blinked up at him.

“Stop thinking.”

“I'm not.” She squirmed against him. “In fact, I was just thinking that—oh.”

“Yup,” he said, grinning. “Exactly.”

Green. Her eyes were green and had a strange crystalline clarity to them. They reminded him of a stream flowing through a forest, the cool, clear water reflecting the spring green of the leaves.

She shrugged, prettily embarrassed. “I guess you won't believe me if I told you I was thinking about how I wasn't thinking?”

“Guess not.” He rose to his knees. “Turn over.”

“What?”

“Turn over. Don't worry. I'm not going to spank you.”

She grinned. “Darn it. A girl can hope.”

Wow. He'd expected Suze to be shy, or maybe cold—not feisty and funny and warm.

Once she turned over, he let her wait a bit, partly so he could enjoy the sight of her and partly so she'd wonder what was coming. For him, that was half the pleasure of making love with a new partner—wondering what was coming next.

Or
who
was coming next. It would be her. He'd make sure of that.

Now
he
was thinking too much. He put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded the tight muscles there, pressing hard with his thumbs until she moaned aloud.

“Oh, Brady,” she said. “I didn't realize how tense I was.” She moaned again. “Don't stop.
Please
don't stop.”

“Man, you're easy,” he said, moving down to press his thumbs along her spine. “You're already calling my name, and I'm still fully clothed.”

“I was going to talk to you about that.” The joke tapered off into a moan.

Brady had had his share of massages, from physical therapists and from women who wanted to impress him with their skills. He did his best to remember everything that felt good, and he used that knowledge to knead her neck and rub hard under her shoulder blades.

“Loosen your belt,” he said.

She was so lost in the massage, she didn't seem to think at all as she hiked up her very fine butt and struggled with the clasp to her belt. Tugging her jeans down until they were dangerously low, she relaxed again. He had a little trouble getting started again, since he hadn't expected the combination of tight athleticism and hourglass-shaped sexiness her body revealed. She always wore those baggy pants and shirts. He wondered why.

He kneaded her lower back, making her moan even more.

“Dang, I didn't know I was so sore,” she said. “I should do this more often.”

“A lot of times you can get a massage at the Justin tent,” he said. Justin was a boot company who'd put their brand on the map by sponsoring sports medicine stations at every major rodeo. They patched up the cowboys who wrecked and offered advice for those with chronic injuries. Since a lot of cowboys rode hurt, the tent stayed busy through every rodeo.

“I guess I should try that.”

She sighed, giving herself over to the massage. Brady gradually gentled his touch. He was a little worried she'd fallen asleep, but hell, if she had, he'd lie down beside her and count himself lucky he didn't have to break
all
his rules.

Maybe he should pretend he was just here to give her a massage. He glanced at the door again, then back at Suze, who had suddenly turned over. Her eyes were wide-awake, and he was now straddling her hips.

There was no turning back. His pardner down under was ready for action, and though Brady himself might be a coward, his pardner never let a good woman down.

“Um,” he said.

She smiled. “Were you going to say something?”

“I was. But danged if I can remember what it was, now that I looked in your eyes.”

She turned her head.

“That won't work,” he said. “Now I'm looking at the way your lips turn up at the corners and the sweep of your jaw.” He reached down and stroked her jawline with one finger. “You have a strong face,” he said.

“Is that a compliment?”

“From me it is. I like strong women.”

“Is that what you were going to say?”

“Nope.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Whatever that was, it's lost and gone forever.”

* * *

Suze closed her eyes and gave herself over to sensation as Brady kissed his way down her jaw, then trailed his lips and tongue down her neck, down her throat. He reached her cleavage and tugged at her sports bra, but it wouldn't budge.

She tugged at it, trying to help, but the danged thing was designed to hold tight, no matter what kind of pressure it was subjected to. It was more like armor than lingerie. She let out a mew of frustration—a very embarrassing mew—and sat up, hauling the thing up over her breasts and off.

Oh
Lord.
What had she done? He was staring at her as if something was wrong. And no wonder. She'd stripped like she was in gym class or something. There was nothing sexy about what she'd done. Nothing sexy at all.

And her breasts, always too big, were bouncing all over the place. She started to cover herself, but he shook his head no.

“Perfect,” he said, his voice low. “You're so perfect.” He reached out and cradled her breasts in his hands, running his thumbs slowly over her nipples until they peaked and ached. She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the feeling, and resisted the urge to cover herself again. Losing herself in sensation, she threw her head back, inviting him to touch and fondle and stroke and kiss.

He did all that and more. Sensation swirled from his touch, and she tugged at his shirt until the snaps came undone and she could run her hands over his chest. There wasn't an extra ounce of fat on the man; he was all muscle as far as she could see. How someone who spent all his time carousing could stay so fit was a mystery she'd never solve.

He flipped her over. She wasn't sure how; one minute she was on her back, the next she was on all fours, with him behind her. She could feel how hard he was, pressed against the tight seat of her jeans, and she rocked against him while he cupped her heavy breasts in his hands and pushed back.

She suddenly realized she hated blue jeans. Sure, they were great for riding and comfortable for most everything else, but they were practically impossible to remove with any kind of grace. After that scene with the bra, she wanted to entice, to tease.

She wished she were wearing yoga pants. And she wished Brady wasn't wearing any pants at all.

Well, her mother had always said that if you had a wish, it was up to you to make it come true. Suze kind of doubted this was the kind of situation she'd been referring to, but it was still good advice.

She reached behind her and tugged at his belt.

“Take these off,” she said.

“Is that an order?” His tone was easy and humorous—a total contrast to hers, which was desperate and out of control.

“Yes, it was,” she said. “Are you going to follow it?”

“Not unless you take yours off too.”

“Bet I can beat you.”

She squirmed and wriggled in a desperate effort to peel her Wranglers past her hips. She didn't wear pants as tight as the other girls, but dang it, they fit well enough. It was a struggle and well, this was embarrassing. She ended up feeling like a turtle on its back, trapped, waving its legs in the air.

Brady, who'd shed his own jeans with relative grace, helped her out, but with maddening slowness, taking the time to pull off her belt and set it aside, then easing her jeans down while she tried to hide the fact that she had to hang on to her panties or they'd be gone too.

Finally, the two of them lay face-to-face, a little worn out from all the struggling and heaving and squirming but happy as a cowboy and a cowgirl could be.

She ought to do this more often. One-night stands were actually kind of fun. She felt better than she had in days. Months. Years.

There were other good-looking cowboys out there who probably wouldn't mind a roll in the hay with the women's barrel racing champion. She'd had some offers, but she didn't know how to make love to someone she didn't even like.

And that was the problem. She was no virgin, but this was the first time she'd taken off her clothes for a man she wasn't in a relationship with. It was also the first time she hadn't been nervous or even reluctant. Because the kind of guys she could stand having around all the time weren't like Brady at all. They were thoughtful, sensitive guys, guys who watched her race and brought her flowers. Guys from other worlds.

In the past year, she'd dated a financial advisor and a real estate agent. Both were the kind of guys her father said she should be dating—men with responsible jobs that didn't involve risking their lives on the backs of broncs every day. She wished she had a dollar for every time her father had warned her about cowboys, about their drinking and carousing, their lying and their cheating and their evil hound-dog ways.

But eventually, she'd had to admit that she just didn't have the kind of feelings for those nice, ordinary men that made for a successful relationship. They made good friends but lousy lovers. So she'd broken up with them and gone back to fantasizing about Brady Caine.

Who was here now, in her trailer, making love to her.

Well, having sex, anyway. Her father was right about the hound-dog ways. The wandering, town-to-town life of the rodeo cowboy made it easy for a man to leave women behind, and a lot of the cowboys—including Brady—took full advantage.

Brady nuzzled her right where her neck and shoulder met. “You're thinking again.”

He was right, but something like goose bumps or tickles or happy-dancing nerve endings spread from the spot where he was kissing her, taking over first her body and then her brain.

So this was the solution. One-night stands, all the time, with cowboys. Look how good Brady made her feel. All she had to do was dress up a little and visit the beer tents and barrooms in the small towns where rodeo held sway, and she could have a cowboy every night.

But it wouldn't be Brady. And Brady was the only one she wanted.

And he'd never settle down with someone like her. When he got ready to start a family, he'd find someone as attractive, clever, and good-natured as himself.

So this was it. Not just a one-night stand, but a limited engagement, once-in-a-lifetime event. She'd better make it count—for both of them.

She wanted to be the best he'd ever had. She wanted him to remember her. She wanted him to wish, once in a while, that he'd hung on to her.

“You're thinking again,” he said between kisses.

“Trust me,” she said. “I'm thinking good thoughts.”

“Like what?”

She whispered in his ear, making sure her lips and tongue did a lot of the talking, and was pleased to see his eyes widen with surprise.

He pushed her down onto the bed.

“Tell me something,” he said, stroking her hair and smiling as if he'd just won the lottery. “Why haven't we done this before?”