Runaway Cowboy (9 page)

“Fine.” She walked up to him, pulling her hat from her head, her hips swaying slightly in the feminine way she had about her and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, bracing herself with a hand on his shoulder. “There, debt paid until dinner.”

He inhaled the sweet scent of her, like honey and sunshine in early summer. He reached for her hand, his fingers winding around her wrist. “That wasn't a kiss and you know it.”

His gaze bore into hers, making sure she knew exactly what he was doing. His arm wound around her waist, pulling her against him, her curves molding against every hard plane of him. He ducked his head toward her, stealing her breath, his lips finding hers. He meant to tease her, to remind her of what they'd shared—what they could again—but as soon as his mouth met hers, his self-control disappeared. His hand slid up her spine, his fingers curling against the back of her head as his tongue sought hers, branding her. Her hands, braced between them only moments before, gripped at his shoulders, silently pleading for more.

Clay's body answered her yearning with his own, the torment driving him mad. He wanted her, here and now, on the grass at the edge of the water, in the lake. Hell, he'd lie on the rocks as long as it meant she would continue touching him. His entire body was aflame, as if the spark of desire he'd carried for her the last five years had exploded into an inferno, consuming him. His hands couldn't stop moving, wanting to touch every inch of her, from her velvety smooth cheek to the satiny skin of her waist under her shirt, where his thumbs ran along the edge of her bra. His mouth moved to the hollow of her neck, dipping to taste the arching column of her throat as her head fell back into his hand. His entire body throbbed with need, aching to be surrounded by her.

Her hands slipped under the sides of his shirt, her fingertips trailing over his ribs, tickling him even as it made him groan with longing. She tugged at the material, and he jerked it off, following with her shirt, throwing them to the side. Jennifer's fingers dug into the muscles of his back, pressing her breasts against him. He could feel her nipples, hard even through her bra, against his chest. Clay wanted to stop and take time to look at her, to see the curves that hadn't been there before, but he was too afraid she would remember who he was, what he'd done, and leave him standing here, alone and broken. He needed her and right now. With her in his arms, he couldn't remember why he'd ever thought leaving her was a good idea. Nothing had ever satisfied him the way loving her had. It was a mistake to have left her when she offered him every part of her—body and soul.

His hands cupped her rear, lifting her against him, allowing her to feel all of him, straining at the confining material of his pants. Her hands slid around his neck, drawing him back to her sweet mouth. Her tongue swept against his, dancing, toying, teasing the desire already raging out of control. His fingers twisted the clasp of her bra, slid the straps down her arms, and tossed the wisp of material near her shirt. His hand moved to cup her, testing the weight as he brushed his thumb over the peak, and she cried out. He had to see her, to taste her. Clay bent his head, kissing the valley between her breasts as her fingers curled into his hair.

Dear God, this woman could drive him mad. He flicked the bud, circling it, before taking it into his mouth, suckling her flesh. Jen gripped his shoulders as he wrapped one arm behind her, pulling her closer. Her whimper of need broke through the haze of his adoration. She was beautiful, her body rounded curves of sculpted perfection. He unbuckled her belt and slid her jeans down her thighs.

This is a mistake.

The thought reverberated through his mind. She'd asked him to leave, made that her prize if she'd won. If he let this go further, she would hate him even more than she already did. She might want him, but he'd killed any love she felt. He wanted her forgiveness, not regret. He wanted her to look at him the way she used to, like he was her hero, instead of with the disappointment he'd seen in her eyes at the rodeo. He fell to his knees and dropped his forehead against her stomach, forcing himself to keep his eyes closed, even as she tried to catch her breath. It was killing him with the most exquisite kind of torture. He sucked in a ragged breath and kissed the curve of her abdomen. His erection strained against his jeans painfully.

“Don't stop.”

He couldn't have possibly heard her whispered plea correctly. Indecision ripped at him.

“Clay, please.” Her palms moved over his face to cup his jaw. “Please.”

He was lost. After the way he'd hurt her, the agony he heard in her voice was his undoing. He would give them this, this one last memory of a love they once shared.

“Jen.” Her name was a prayer on his lips as they moved against her stomach, his breath fanning over the delicate flesh. His hand slid over her inner thigh, his thumb brushing against the moist center of her desire as she bit back a cry, her body bucking against him.

Clay rose and removed his pants, kicking them aside, and cupped her face in his hands. “Are you sure?”

“No,” she answered honestly, her dark eyes glimmering with what he hoped weren't tears.

“Jen—”

“Clay, just shut up and love me like you used to.”

Clay knew he would hate himself later, but right now, with her hands reaching for him, he couldn't deny either of them. He walked her toward the long, spring grass and lay on the ground, letting his body cradle hers. Jen pressed kisses over his chest before her mouth found his again. He let her take the lead, ready to let her go if she asked him to, all the while praying she wouldn't. She straddled him, and Clay lifted her hips, guiding her over him slowly, growling at the long-awaited ecstasy. His thumb found the center of her pleasure, stroking her until her neck arched, her long hair trailing down her back to tickle the tops of his thighs.

Jen gave herself over to the primal need, riding him; her fingers gripped his ribs as he plunged into her, his hands cupping her breasts. He wanted to stop time and hold this moment forever. Her body clutched him, making control impossible, and he curved one hand through her hair, dragging her down to him so that he could be completely surrounded by her, every part of them connected as he watched her climax wash over her.

Guilt swept through him as he tasted her hot tears mingled with the passion of their kiss. She collapsed against his chest, her breathing as ragged as his own as he struggled to reconcile what he'd allowed to happen. It was supposed to be a kiss, a reminder. He'd wanted her to crave his presence again, not drive her to regret his return. He wasn't even sure what to say.

“Jen?” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her forehead before skimming his fingers over her back. She tensed under his hands.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

Her face was buried against his neck, but he could feel her emotional retreat. “No, don't. Don't move,” he begged. His hands moved around her, encircling her, pulling her as close as he could against him. “Please.” He whispered the word into her hair.

“Stay away, Clay.” He could hear the anguish in her voice, the self-loathing. “I can't do this again.”

“Jen . . . ”

“No!” Now he heard the panic creeping in as she moved away from him, plucked her clothes from the ground, and threw them on quickly. “Don't,” she ordered, holding up a hand as he rose and pulled his pants on.

He could see her tears, leaving twin trails of pain on her face, as she ran to her horse. She quickly tightened the cinch and put the bridle over the horse's head. She galloped back toward the house as the tears coursed down her cheeks. He barely heard her pained whisper as she rode past, leaving him standing at the bank.

“Wasn't supposed to happen.”

No,
he silently agreed,
it wasn't
. But he realized now, she was as vital to him as his heartbeat, and his need for her was just as impossible to control. If he wanted any hope of a future with her, he had to make her forgive him, make her see how impossible it was for them to be apart any longer.

Chapter Six

C
LAY SAT ON
the front porch, staring down at the diamond solitaire glinting between his finger and thumb as the dying sunlight caught its faceted surface. He'd never wanted it back. In fact, he'd spent the last five years avoiding rodeos where he might see Jen and find that not only had she never forgiven him, but she'd also moved on. After what happened between them that morning, he knew what he really wanted was to put the ring back on her finger. To find a way back to the path they'd once been on. And there was only one way to do that.

He was a fool to even consider staying, and the cryptic text message his sister had sent him this afternoon didn't make him feel any more confident about his decision. Maybe if he could just break through his stubborn pride and explain to Jen why he'd left,
what
he'd been trying to protect her from, she might be willing to give him another chance. If their rendezvous at the lake didn't prove the fire between them still burned out of control, he didn't know what would. But he had to make sure his past wasn't going to come back to put her in any kind of danger. He had to know it was behind him, with no chance of ruining his future.

“How'd you end up with that again?”

Clay looked over at Scott, leaning against the doorway. He'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even heard Scott come out. “Jen gave it back after I found her in the bar.” He slid the solitaire over the tip of his finger.

“Really?” Scott looked surprised as he flopped into one of the wicker chairs on the porch. “She's had it with her the whole time?”

“I guess.” Clay wasn't sure what Scott was getting at.

“Maybe my sister hasn't quite given up on you.”

Clay scowled. “Then why am I holding it?” He didn't need Scott reminding him how he'd screwed up, or what he'd lost. He was perfectly capable of throwing a one-man pity party; he didn't need Scott's help.

“Because you didn't listen. You pushed her buttons and she pushed back.”

“I saved her butt from being mauled by bikers in a bar. Then drove her home. That's not pushing.”

“Have you met my sister? When did she ever ask you to be her Prince Charming and rescue her? She doesn't need your protection. She never has.” Scott shook his head. “Besides, I know you, Clay. You probably had her cornered out here last night, trying to apologize again.”

“You'd be wrong.” Clay looked back at the ring. The memory of her hands on him at the lake, the way she cried out his name as she found release, held enough power to send his blood coursing through his veins, settling in places he'd rather it didn't. He wasn't about to tell Scott how he'd molested Jen at the lake.

Scott shrugged. “Whatever you did, I'll bet you didn't tell her the truth about why you left, did you?” He rose and leaned toward Clay. “Look, if you want her back, and from your pitiful puppy dog eyes, I think you do, then you're going to have to open up and be honest with her. Until you do that, you've got a snowball's chance in hell.”

Scott trotted down the stairs and across the front yard toward the barn, not even giving Clay the chance to make a retort. He wasn't sure where Scott got off giving any sort of advice when his own ex-fiancée had cheated on him with his best friend. He wasn't exactly a relationship expert.

But even he knew Scott was right. Jen had always been able to see right through him. She knew he wasn't being honest, and until he was, he might as well head right back up to Oregon because nothing short of honesty would be enough for her.

J
EN GRIMACED AS
she sipped at the coffee in her mug that had gone cold long ago. She rubbed her hand over her eyes, wishing dreams about Clay hadn't kept her tossing and turning all night or from focusing this morning. As she left the barn, heading to the house to refill her cup, a beat-up sedan limped down the driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the house. Silvie poked her head out the kitchen door on the side of the house, but Jen waved her off, letting her know she'd greet the visitor. A young woman unfolded herself from the driver's seat and looked around, whistling low under her breath. By the sweat-stained tank top and disheveled sandy blond hair, Jen guessed she been driving hard and fast. As if confirming her assumption, the Toyota belched exhaust and seemed to sigh in relief as the woman reached back in and turned it off.

“Can I help you?” Jen asked.

“Nice place, if horses are your thing.” She shot Jen a smile meant to disarm, but Jen only raised a brow in question. The woman wasn't put off that easily. “I'm looking for someone and was told I could find him here.” Jen continued to look at the woman, letting her fill in the silence. “Clay Graham?”

“Clay won't be back to the house until later.” Relief flooded the woman's face, and Jen wondered about her connection to him. She'd never seen the woman before, but there was something about her that looked familiar, Jen just couldn't put her finger on what it was.

“Awesome.” The woman slammed the car door, and Jen was surprised it didn't break off. The woman bounced onto the front porch and threw herself onto the wicker love seat as if she owned the place without another glance Jen's direction.

Jen's brows arched in surprise at the woman's audacity. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, dialing Scott's number. “Who should I say is waiting?”
Since I assume your butt planted on my porch means you're staying.

“Just tell him Candie is looking for him.”

And I'll just bet it's with an
i, Jen thought, trying to ignore the jealousy curling in chest.

She heard Scott pick up the phone. “Hey, can you let Clay know he has a visitor here? Candie.” She heard the cursing in the background and what sounded like fighting for the phone.