Montana Cowboy (Big Sky Mavericks Book 2) (9 page)

"I like the way you kiss."

"You, too." He ran his hands under her sweater. "And the way you feel."

Me, too.
His fingers left a fiery impression everywhere they went. He unhooked the clasp of her bra with so little effort she almost didn't notice...until she raised up and caught him looking down the v of her neckline. Imagining the peep show her bra and breasts were giving him made her grind her belly against his. Something big and rock hard greeted her.

She pushed upright, wriggling between his legs so she could sit. She yanked her sweater over her head. Her bra flew in the direction of the pillow. "I hope you aren't the slow, luxuriating in foreplay type, because I'm ready to go."

He used his elbows to reposition himself on the couch, legs spread, his package straining against his zipper. "Luxuriating is good. Maybe the second time."

Serena attacked his belt while Austen unbuttoned his shirt. She had the buckle open and was ready to start on the zipper when her phone chimed. "A new email. From my brother, probably." She hoped.

Austen guided her hands, gentle but firm. Then he peeled down his jeans while Serena stood to step out of her skirt and tights. She didn't like the mark the tights made at her waist, but one glance at Austen said he didn't notice. His gaze lingered on her breasts. Perky, her last boyfriend called them. High and firm.

He quickly kicked off his city shoes—a Macklin term for men's oxfords. Naked, reclining like some gorgeous playboy in a really high-end porno flick, Austen looked sexy as sin—and twice as inviting.

She dropped to her knees beside the couch. "Did you start to say something about licking?"

His answer turned to a garbled croak when she ran the tip of her tongue up the length of his penis. His left hand grabbed the back of the sofa, his right closed around her butt cheek. Instead of following through on that initial taste, she used her lips and tongue to explore his belly—with its perfect arrow pointing to heaven. Her hands played, too. Touching muscle...sinew...family jewels.

"Oh, lordy, girl. What you do to me! My turn. My turn."

He sat up and patted his knees. "Right here, please." Anchoring his hands on her hips, he guided her to the exact spot he wanted, straddling his lap. The position put his mouth in line with her breasts.

"So beautiful," he murmured, first, cupping them, and then tasting each. Slowly. Thoroughly.

His clever tongue created some sort of nipple magic, sending a yearning message straight to the center of her being. Her knees trembled and she grabbed his shoulders for support.

When he suckled, her hips rocked and ground against his knees with a need all their own.

As if reading her mind, his hand moved between her legs. One finger testing, finding the wet, hot core welcoming. Two fingers circled, matching the pull of his lips on her nipple.

"Stop. Quick. Condoms. Now. Oh, shit. Where are they?"

He pulled her against his chest, laughing at her cry of distress.

"My pants pocket. Just in case I got lucky."

"Smart man. Brilliant man. I love you."

The words slipped out unplanned. Her cheeks burned. "I love that you're so smart. You know that's what I meant, right?"

He produced a square foil packet with a triumphant, "Ta...da." Then he kissed her nose. "I love how smart you are, too."

She let out a quick sigh of relief then pushed the whole I-love-you idea far, far away into the deep dark recesses of her mind. She didn't do love. Not well. Better she stick with I love that... I love this...

His body filled hers.
Oh, God, I do love how you do that
.

Perfection on fire.

But not love.

A
usten came prepared for action—just in case. But nothing prepared him for the intense connection between them. She seemed to anticipate his every move, although that wouldn't be possible unless she was inside his head.

"My hip is cramping a bit from this position. Could we try it another way?" she asked, kneeling on the cushion so he could take her from behind.

"Of course. No problem." His arousal level went through the roof when he rubbed his hands over her gorgeous ass. His admiration for her climbed, too. How many women had he slept with who were this practical, honest, and nonchalant about asking for what they wanted and needed to be satisfied? Oh, there'd been the demanding types, but this was all about
mutual
satisfaction.

He entered her slowly, watching his cock disappear incrementally.

"Nice," she murmured, her tone throaty and guttural.

As he started to rock to her rhythm, he reached around to rub his finger across the engorged nubbin he knew would carry her over the top.

Her passionate cry brought him right to the brink, but he steeled himself to make each second of pleasure last. Slow. Slowly. Now.

"Now. Yes. Oh. Oh."

The last 'oh' did him in. He closed his eyes and slammed home, again and again, until every last glorious sensation of release drained out of him. Knees quivering, heart beating triple time, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them—still intimately connected—so they were spooning on the couch.

Their breathing matched, and gradually slowed.

"Wow, Austen, you're good. That was fabulous. Thanks."

He kissed the back of her ear and inhaled her scent, his arms tightening. Her tone held a certain "that was fun, now let's move on" tone, but he didn't want to move on. He hadn't felt this complete, this okay in...forever?

His eyes blinked open and he let his arms drop.
What just happened?

How could someone who had long-term written all over her be so damn good at a one-night-stand while Mr. Love'em and Leave'em wanted—needed—to cuddle? She slid away gracefully, dashed into the guest bath he'd used earlier that morning then returned with a hand towel and warm washcloth.

She cleaned them both up, then grabbed a throw from the rocking chair and repositioned Austen so she could stretch out prone on top of him. "I hope you have time for a snuggle."

"Would all night work for you?"

She looked him in the eye and grinned. "That sounds interesting. I'll even fix you breakfast in the morning." Then she lowered her head to his chest and let out a big sigh. "I'm so glad horses hate alpacas."

It took him a moment to figure out what she meant—the cause behind their fortuitous meeting that morning. Since he wasn't a big believer in fate—"Luck is the result of good planning and hard work," his father always said—Austen was glad she'd told him about the antipathy horses held for alpacas. The rationale helped explain how he arrived at her door, but it didn't explain why he felt so at peace in her arms.

A
familiar chiming sound woke Austen out of the best sleep he'd had in months...maybe since all hell had broken loose. He didn't know what
that
meant, but he knew the alarm on his phone meant this was Sunday morning and he'd agreed to meet his parents for church.

"Damn," he muttered, rolling over, his arm out-stretched to find Serena...gone.

He bolted upright. "Serena?"

"Downstairs," a voice called. "Making coffee."

He grabbed his phone. Eight wasn't late, but it probably equaled lazy bum status to a rancher. A real rancher. Not a make-believe cowboy like him.

He got up, peed, brushed his teeth with the brand new toothbrush she'd left on the sink for him, and then dressed in record time. Apparently, she'd been up long enough to retrieve his clothes from the living room and leave them neatly folded on her dresser.

His shoes made a staccato snap as he hurried down the stairs. His nose led him to the kitchen.

"'Morning. Please don't tell me you were up at the butt crack of dawn while I slept like the dead."

She stood with her back to him, dressed similar to what she'd worn the day before: well-broken-in jeans and a dull blue chambrays shirt with the tails hanging past her butt. Only today she was barefoot. When she turned—a colorful mug in hand, he spotted a hot pink T-shirt with some sort of blue and green logo on the chest.

She handed him a cup of steaming black gold. "I'm an early riser. Like my dad. My mom doesn't do mornings, so we all learned to tiptoe until ten."

"Tiptoe until ten. I like that idea, but normally I'm in the office by eight."

She glanced at an electronic clock that also displayed the date, temperature, and rainfall. His dad had one just like it. "Old habits? Is that why you're up? I was trying to be quiet."

He pulled his old phone, which he'd had to reactivate, from his hip pocket. "My alarm went off. Mass is at nine-thirty. I promised my mother."

She smiled. "That's so sweet. Do you go every Sunday?"

He took a sip of coffee. Hot, strong, and as boldly flavored as her microbrews. He liked her taste. He liked a lot of other things about her, too. Including her carnal liberation and ability to celebrate the body human in so many creative ways.

Ways he had to avoid thinking about or he'd want to take her on the kitchen table right this minute and to hell with church.

He looked out the window, forcing his mind back on track.

After swallowing a second gulp, he said, "Great coffee. Do you grind your own beans? I can tell."
Inane. Insipid chatter. What did she ask? Oh, yeah, about church.
"Pretty much lapsed since college, but Mom thinks going to church is a good first step in rehabilitating my reputation."

Serena returned to the counter and dropped two English muffins into the toaster. Domestic goddess and sex fiend—was there ever a better combination?

"Is she counting on a film crew being there or just word of mouth?"

Witty, too. Dang. "Probably the latter, but she also thinks a few prayers wouldn't hurt where my sister is concerned."

Serena turned and hopped adroitly to the counter, crossing her legs. She picked up a photo mug that displayed the faces of several alpacas. Was one of them Betty Lou? He took a step closer to check it out.

"You mentioned at dinner that your sister was sick. Breast cancer, right? My mom is a ten-year survivor. I remember how hard it was on the family at the time of her treatments. We felt powerless."

"Mia's a fighter. She's handling the physical aspects pretty well because there's an identifiable enemy and a clear course of action. It's the emotional stuff that's been hideous. First, she found out her husband was having an affair, then his girlfriend announced she was pregnant. He left around the same time his wife of fourteen years was undergoing a radical mastectomy."

She made a face. "Talk about a one-two punch. That bites."

He'd never wanted to hurt anyone more than he'd wanted to punch the crap out of Mia's ex-husband, Edward, who was also Austen's former best friend. Ed's betrayal, Mia's diagnosis, and his own scandal had shaken Austen's faith—not just in religion but in his worldview, in himself, and his family. The Big Sky Mavericks never failed. They went after their dreams and never gave up.

Until we did. Give up.
Wasn't that what everyone said he was doing by staying at the ranch, playing cowboy? And Mia recently resigned from her job as a deputy district attorney in Cheyenne and was in the process of moving home, too. She'd agreed her children needed a fresh start closer to family. They'd be staying in his parents' house, temporarily, while Mia built a new home on the land she and Ed bought to retire on. She'd managed to hang onto the river lot during the property settlement phase of her divorce.

Of the three Big Sky Mavericks, Meg seemed to be the only one still on track. How he and Mia managed to screw up so badly still baffled him.

The toaster popped. Serena hopped down and buttered the four halves. "I usually have a mid-morning snack. I could make eggs, if you're hungry."

He felt awkwardness between them for the first time. They hadn't talked about what came next for them...if anything. "Toast is great. My family does brunch after church at one of the local restaurants. Today we'll be at..." He had to think a minute. "The Long River Cookhouse. You'd be more than wel—"

She cut him off with a shake of her ponytail.

"Too soon?"

She nodded just as fervently.

"Maybe next week." He meant it. He wanted to see her again.

She set the plate of toast on the table then walked to him and put her arms around him. "Probably not." She hugged him tight...almost like it was for the last time.

"Why?"

She closed her eyes for a second then stepped back and walked to the table. "Let's sit." She waited for him to take the chair opposite her before joining him. "I don't like talking about this subject, but I don't see any way to avoid it. What we...um, shared last night was pretty great."

Understatement.
He nodded.

"And, under normal circumstances, who knows? It might lead to something fabulous. Long-term, even."

Long-term.
A phrase he usually dodged like a bullet. This morning the concept didn't sound so overwhelming.

"What do you mean by
normal circumstances
?"

She took a deep breath. "I have a stalker."