Loving A Cowboy (16 page)

“I planned to tell you everything, in person, when you got back. I didn’t want to discuss this over the phone. I thought I owed you that.” It was the truth, though when he closed his eyes, she knew he didn’t believe her. When he opened them again, she was sure of it.

“You could have told me a long time ago that you’d been married before. You could have told me he was the
friend
who had gotten hurt and you felt helping him was the charitable thing to do. You could have told me you had feelings for him. You know how miserable I’ve been trying to figure out what I did to have you turn away from me? I thought you just had a temporary case of cold feet. I never imagined you found someone else, someone who you’d married once.”

Ben may have been angry, but she couldn’t deny he was also right.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” he bellowed. “That makes everything right? I was going to ask you to marry me. I bought the ring, Libby.” He patted the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “When I got back, I’d planned to take you to look at a house I found in Casper. On five acres. Enough to have a horse or two.” His eyes were moist, his expression one of grief. “That’s where I was going to propose. I was going to try to convince you that we had a future.”

“If it matters, I didn’t know I still had feelings for him. I was trying to do a good deed. Make up for walking out on him when he needed me.”

Ben gave a disheartened chuckle. “Seems that is your MO, Libby. Walking out on people. Only don’t try to make it up to me—ever. And certainly not by walking out on someone else who loves you.”

The poker plunged right into her heart. She deserved the pain. He didn’t.

“Ben, I don’t know what to say. If it matters, nothing has happened between Chance and me, because he’ll never forgive me. Just like you won’t. But being here I realized it wouldn’t be right to continue with us when I still have feelings for him, whether they’re returned or not.”

He stared at her a moment as if he was wrestling with what she told him. Trying to believe it or not believe it, she couldn’t tell which.

“I deserved better, Libby. I deserved the truth. From the very beginning.” He sank his boyish face into his hands and rubbed as if he were washing it all away.

“You do deserve better.” Tears swamped her eyes, but she fought them. Ben had the right to tears. She didn’t.

“Damn right.” He raised his head and stared at her an extra heartbeat before he stepped down the stairs. “Good-bye, Libby,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for his car.

She nodded, too drained to protest. Besides, what could she say? It was over between them. And she once again had her father to thank for the scene. She’d had every intention of telling Ben everything when he got back. She would have avoided putting him in a situation like this, which had to be, at best, humiliating. He must have left his training to fly into Denver and travel up here.

That’s how much he cared.

And in less than five minutes it all had ended.

Ben was right. If she’d been honest from the beginning, told Ben about the divorce, told him Chance was coming to town, told him the friend she was taking care of was Chance, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome perhaps, but it would have prepared him for it. As it was, he must have felt like he’d been run over by a bulldozer.

She had a knack, it seemed, for disappointing everyone, including herself.

She waited until Ben’s car disappeared down the driveway and then grabbed the pizza box from her car, not that she had any appetite left or was at all anxious to face Chance. She’d wronged Ben, not Chance this time, but still, it didn’t feel right. It felt a kick-in-the-stomach kind of wrong. Perhaps because Ben’s charge that she walked out on people hit its mark—and stung.

She’d walked out on Chance, had essentially walked out on Ben, and hadn’t she walked out on her father? All people she cared about.

And why?

Because they thought you better than you are. That you are someone you aren’t.

Despair had a funny way of finding her. Here it was creeping through her veins, heading straight for her heart.

* * *

Chance leaned against the counter, bracing against the pain shooting through him. Pain from his ribs, from his foot, and from his heart. It was real. This guy had come to get her back. He intended to marry her. To offer her more than Chance would, or ever had. A nice guy who would settle down and live the suburban dream. Just the kind of guy who would get Sam Brennan’s stamp of approval.

Hell.

He should limp back to his bedroom, lock the door, and wait for her to pack her things and go.

Instead, he waited. Listened. Heard a car door slam, an engine start. Listened to the crunch of gravel as the car moved out.

Was she going to leave without her things? Without Cowboy?

He heard the sound of another car door slam.

Hope vibrated his heart. But hope for what?

That she’d broken up with Mr. Ben Wilson? Why, since Chance had no intention of taking the guy’s place?

That she was staying? How could he want her to stay when it would be torture not to touch her?

He hadn’t expected to feel so much pain when the man she was going to marry appeared in the flesh, resolute on staking his claim. It felt like she was walking out on him all over again, and this time into another guy’s arms.

As he had waited with Ben, in uncomfortable silence, for Libby to return, he’d convinced himself that her leaving was for the best. He’d be free of her, of the memories, and eventually and finally, free of the ache in his heart. He could close that chapter, write “the end.” Seeing Wilson had been just the anecdote to all the damn feelings that were beginning to resurface.

But now what if she stayed? What would it mean if she had broken up with Ben? What would it mean if she wanted to stay? He would never turn her out, even if it was the best thing for him. If she had decided to stay, he’d let her. But on what terms?

He knew the terms he’d like. Terms that placed her in his bed, but not in his heart. No strings. No regrets.

He’d have to make damn sure that if something physical happened between them, he didn’t end up caring for her. Again. That was his only way through this. Not caring.

He heard the front door open and the clipped sound of heels on the hardwood floor. She stood in the doorway, pizza box in hand, hair tumbling out of her bun, sorrow in her eyes.

His heart skipped a beat.

It seemed the breath had leaked out of her as she stood staring at the expressionless, stone-hard face of the man she loved. She wished she saw something in his eyes—anger, disgust, distrust. Anything but the blank stare that said he felt nothing.

“Did Ben leave?” he asked.

She nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

“The relationship is over.”

“You know he bought a ring.” Chance rubbed a hand across his chin.

“He told me.”

“He seemed like a nice enough guy. Didn’t even try to take a swing at me. Better man than me in a similar situation.” Chance crossed his arms. “I’m just curious, did he end it, or did you?”

Temple pulsing, she sucked in air. “When I turned down the job with my father and wanted to start living on my own, Ben asked me to move in with him once he was done with his training. I told him I couldn’t just then and wasn’t sure when…if ever. Then he found out I was here with you, from my father as it turns out, and decided to pay a visit. I guess he wanted to hear it from me in person, which I intended to do once he got back from training. Outside, he accused me of still caring for you. I didn’t deny it. So he left.”

Had she seen a flicker in his eyes or simply wished it?

“You know there’s been too much damage for there to be anything permanent between us—and I’m giving that to you straight. Just because I’ve got money now may change things in your eyes, but I’m the same guy you walked away from before. I haven’t changed. You can have all the mistaken feelings you want. It won’t make any difference.” He pushed off the counter and began to hobble toward her.

“It’s got nothing to do with having money or not having money.” Would he ever accept that she cared for him, about him, because of him, not the size of his bank account? Back then she’d had nothing to bring to the relationship but good intentions. “Maybe I’m the one who changed.”

“In what way?”

He stopped and stood nose to nose with her, so close she could see the fire in his gray eyes. She hadn’t fought for him before. She was going to fight for him now using everything at her disposal.

“You said yesterday no strings, no regrets.” She lifted her chin, even as it wobbled. “I’ll take that deal.”

Chance gave a mental shake, wondering if he’d heard correctly. Maybe it was how desperate she looked, or her admission of feelings for him (not that he believed in her feelings, but at the moment, she surely did), or the fact of her offer, but he could no longer resist the pull she exercised over him every time he saw her, and especially this moment.

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, felt her shiver at his touch. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” Her voice was low but firm.

“You’re in a vulnerable spot right now. Don’t you want to take some time? Think about it?” He didn’t want to take advantage, but he wanted her, every inch of her, even if it meant heartache.

“I have thought about it. I’ve thought about nothing else.”

For his own sake, he should send her packing. Let her go. But when had he ever done what he should?

Instead, he bent his head, wrapped his arms around her small waist, and pulled her tight. And then he rode over her lips as desire surged through him and she melded into his arms. Invading her mouth with his tongue, he tasted her sweetness and demanded more.

He hoped she understood exactly what she’d just signed on for.

Chapter 13

It had been such an emotional day from the stress of the job interview, to the scene with Ben, to facing Chance and telling him her real feelings. And then agreeing to the type of relationship he’d proposed even though, for her, this was more than physical attraction.

Being in his arms again, she never wanted to leave. His lips, his strength, his traveling touch, she was reveling in being with him, however tenuous the relationship.

She wanted him. All of him. With every fiber of her trembling being.

“The bedroom,” he whispered as his tongue tickled her ear.

Of course, Chance’s injuries would require a bed for the type of activity they were contemplating.

A short limping walk down the corridor, kissing as they went, and they were tumbling into the half made bed, sheets tangling around them.

She stretched out against his long body as he kissed her lips, her jaw, down her neck. His hand was under her skirt, pulling it up, touching her panties, brushing her stomach.

The desire was too strong, the lure too enticing. She’d wanted to be with him since she first saw him at the Cattleman’s Club, looking too good by half. Now, with his lean body covering hers and an invitation in his storm-cloud eyes, she couldn’t remember a single reason why she shouldn’t. Her head had lost the argument to her heart.

He kissed her neck. “I want you. You want me,” he said in between kisses.

She did. Only she wanted so much more from him.

He certainly wasn’t offering more.

But he was offering enough. And maybe, with some time, she could get him to forgive her, to see her as a woman he could love.

“We were so good together.” His breath puffed along her throat.

The palm of his hand brushed along her arm in slow, hypnotic strokes. Warm, firm, possessive. And God knew she wanted to be possessed by him. His palm slipped to her back and pressed, gathering her to him.

“So sweet,” he whispered into her hair.

She was so close she could feel the testosterone-laced heat rolling off his body. His belt buckle scraped against her blouse, and his hard penis pressed against her skirted belly as she stared up at his full lips shadowed by a day’s growth of beard. His hand skimmed across her hips and then corralled her. She wanted to be corralled.

“I’ve thought about you, about us, so many times,” he rasped and snuggled his stubbled chin against her temple, lightly abrading her skin.

“Me too.”

His smile at her confession made her toes dance.

“We were amazing together.”

She nodded, afraid to say more lest her voice betray the depth of her own desire. He’d know soon enough.

His lips, moist and warm, brushed across her forehead, leaving their imprint. “We should be volcanic now.”

His hand began to massage her breast through her blouse while the other hand traveled down her belly, inching her skirt up until it lodged between her legs, rubbing the silky fabric of her undies so it pulled on sensitive areas.

Her nipples hardened and her underwear became moist. The need he was creating clenched deep inside her womb.

“Libby.” He looked at her as if waiting for a sign.

She tilted her chin up in offering and his mouth descended. Clinging to him as his lips caressed hers, her fingers dug into those roped and stalwart arms. He deepened the kiss, consuming her mouth. The yeasty traces of beer snagged memories of passions past, bringing them to the forefront with a primal roar.

As he kissed her, deep, penetrating, his tongue dancing with hers, he pressed her back to the mattress and covered her body with his. Heavy, strong, firm, solid, his weight drove his denim-clad hips and his hard penis into her softness until she opened her legs, pulling them up so he could nestle between them.

His lips caressed her cheek, the line of her jaw, the skin of her throat. When he found her collar bone, he suckled there before venturing up, behind her ear. He knew her so well. Knew what caused the sharp, heated streaks of desire to pulse through her. Knew where to press and where to lick and where to breathe against her heated skin. He remembered.

Like a log assaulting a gated entry, he thrust against her, clothing blunting none of his need. Her body was giving way, weakening, beckoning. And she knew it was just a matter of moments before she’d welcome him.