The Heart Won't Lie Read online

  Shaking his head, he admitted that he’d pictured a romantic reunion at Penn Station. Somehow he’d always imagined her coming to New York, instead of him traveling to Baltimore. In his mind, they’d walked through Central Park, wandered the halls of the Metropolitan Museum, held hands during a Broadway play and eaten pasta at his favorite little place on Restaurant Row.

  They’d also made love in his apartment—in the bedroom, in the living room and even in the kitchen. Oh, yeah, he’d mentally placed Keri firmly in his life and in his bed. Only problem was, she had no intention of going there.

  “Michael?” She stood in the doorway of the barn, a shadow outlined in golden light. She didn’t seem quite real, and he felt her loss as if she’d already disappeared from his life.

  “I’m here.” He walked toward her, the sound of his boots on the floorboards echoing in the stillness.

  “Jack said I should come and find you.” She stepped into the barn, and the soft glow from the lights set at floor level along the aisle made her look more ethereal than ever.

  He had an overwhelming urge to hold her and convince himself she wasn’t some figment of his overactive imagination. Closing the distance between them, he gathered her close. “I’ve missed you.”

  She didn’t ask what he meant by that strange comment. They’d only been apart a few hours. But they’d been separated by a gulf wider than hours. She seemed to understand that as she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  His plan to stay emotionally distant crumbled. Instead, he told her the naked truth. “I wish there was a way we could be together.”

  “So do I.” She gazed up at him, anguish in her green eyes. “But I can’t live back there anymore. I didn’t know that for sure myself until after we’d...after...”

  “After we’d made love.” He dared to put that name on it, even if doing so would only make things worse.

  “Yes.” She hugged him closer. “I wanted to talk about my decision, but it never seemed like the right time. And then...I picked a horrible time. I’m so sorry, Michael.”

  He smiled, remembering the way she’d practically knocked him down with her passionate greeting in the backyard. “I liked the first part of that discussion.”

  “That’s what was so wrong about it! First I attacked you like a crazed rock star groupie, and then I lowered the boom. That’s twisted.”

  “You were only being honest. Just because you love my writing and kind of like me, too, that doesn’t mean you should arrange your life around those things.”

  “A part of me wants to.”

  He slid his hands down to cup her bottom and squeezed. “I’ll bet I know which part.”

  “No, you don’t, smarty pants. Not that part. It’s my—”

  “Don’t tell me.” He looked into those green eyes and silently commanded her to hold her tongue. If she admitted that she felt the same way about him that he felt about her, they’d both be lost. “You know I have to go back.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “There’s no better place to be if you’re a bestselling author.”

  “And it’s my home. My family’s there. This has been a lot of fun, but I’m not a cowboy.”

  “Emily thinks you are.”

  “Was she the one you were talking to at the corral?”

  Keri nodded. “She says you’re a cowboy because you kept going even after humiliating yourself by grabbing the saddle horn.”

  “Good God. Is that the benchmark? Being humiliated and forging on, anyway?”

  “According to Emily.”

  “I say she’s full of it. A real cowboy wouldn’t have been humiliated in the first place.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Michael. In the year I’ve worked at the Last Chance, I’ve seen cowboys humiliated all the time. They make stupid mistakes like the rest of us. But any cowhand worth his salt will laugh it off and keep going. Which you did today.”

  He gazed down at her. “Thank you for that. And while I’m at it, let me thank you for every wonderful thing you’ve done since I arrived—and there are dozens. You’re a treasure, Keri Fitzpatrick, and I’m going to miss you like hell.”

  “You say that like you’re leaving tonight. Have you changed your plans?”

  “No, but under the circumstances, I wasn’t sure how you wanted to handle everything going forward.”

  Her eyes took on an impish glow. “I’d like to handle them the same as always. Lovingly and often.”

  He groaned. “I am seriously going to miss you.”

  “How did you want to handle things going forward?”

  He was tempted to echo her smart-aleck remark, but instead, he found himself confessing his original plan. “I’d intended to make tonight all about sex.”

  She wiggled against him. “That sounds promising.”

  “What I mean is, only about sex. No emotional involvement. Just raw sex, lots of orgasms, especially for you, and maybe even some kinky stuff thrown in, since I’ll never see you again after this week.”

  “Kinky stuff? What kind of kinky stuff?”

  “I hadn’t decided.” He peered down at her. “Don’t tell me that whole scenario appeals to you?”

  “Not the whole scenario, but you couldn’t deliver that, anyway.”

  “Who says?” He wondered if she doubted the kinky part. He could come up with kinky if he wanted to, especially when inspired by a lusty woman like Keri.

  “You couldn’t have sex without emotional involvement, so don’t even try it.”

  Oh. He sighed. “You’re probably right. It sounded good when I was planning my strategy.”

  “But I’m intrigued with the idea of kinky sex.”

  He’d kept his cock under control until she said that. Now it rose to the occasion. “Let me see what I can do about creating something.”

  “It’s our last night alone upstairs.” She rubbed against him.

  “I’m well aware of it. Are you aware that you’re alone in the barn with a very aroused cowboy?”

  “Yes.” She eased out of his arms and backed away. “And I’m also aware that Jack and Gabe are waiting for us to finish our conversation so they can put the tack away and go home to their wives.”

  “Good point.”

  “But I really like the fact that you referred to yourself as a cowboy.” She continued backing toward the open doorway. “That’s progress.”

  “It was a slip of the tongue. I still have a long way to go.”

  “Maybe I can help you get a little closer tonight.”

  He fought down the urge to go after her and drag her into an empty stall. Gabe and Jack’s dinner plans didn’t seem like a priority right now. “How could you do that?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I have some time. I’ll work on a few ideas. I’ll see you upstairs around nine.”

  “I’ll be a basket case by then.”

  “That’s the idea.” She blew him a kiss and left the barn.

  He stood there, breathing fast and willing his erection to subside.

  “Hey, Michael!” Jack’s voice drifted from the open door. “We saw her leave. You decent?”

  “If you’re asking if I’m dressed, the answer is yes. If you’re asking if I’m a kind and generous soul, the jury’s still out.”

  “I figure you’re as kind and generous as the rest of us around here.” Jack walked down the barn aisle, the bucket of grooming supplies dangling from one hand. “How’d it go?”

  “She wants kinky. Wait! Forget I said that. I don’t know why I told you that!” Michael rubbed a hand over his face. “Jeez. I can’t believe I blurted that out. I’m obviously losing it.”

  Jack seemed to find the subject hysterical. “You mentioned it because you know old Jack ca
n give you some suggestions.”

  “No! Don’t give me suggestions. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Jack shrugged. “Okay.” He turned and started back down the aisle carrying the bucket.

  “Like what?”

  Jack turned back, his grin wide. “It’s basic, but you can’t go wrong with some thin strips of rawhide and a can of whipped cream.”

  “Where can I get the rawhide?”

  Jack motioned toward the tack room. “There’s a roll of it in there. Take what you need. As for the whipped cream, raid Mary Lou’s refrigerator. Just don’t let her catch you.”

  15

  KERI HAD SOME concept of what a dance-hall girl should look like from watching movies. She had enough of an idea that she might be able to recreate it for Michael’s benefit. She had one dress that sort of fit the bill. It was long, black and tight, with a slit in the skirt that reached midthigh. The neckline plunged a satisfying amount, too.

  If the evening was as wild and lusty as she hoped, the dress would be ruined. She’d paid a small fortune for it, and heaven knew why she’d brought it with her to Jackson Hole. But in the new life she envisioned for herself she wouldn’t need a dress like this ever again, so she might as well sacrifice it to a good cause.

  She’d been afraid their last night alone up here would be filled with angst and regret, but as she dabbed perfume everywhere she could reach, she no longer feared that. Tonight they were going to celebrate who they were. They were going to play. And then they would have fabulous sex. They would end this affair on a high note.

  She’d piled her hair into an elaborate updo and had added a couple of fabric flower hair ornaments she’d also brought from Baltimore for some unknown reason. She wore an emerald necklace that she should have left in the safe back home and several rings that belonged in a bank vault. Anyone who didn’t know would assume it was all costume jewelry.

  Michael would know, of course, but they could pretend it was fake. To emphasize that idea, she’d put on more makeup than she’d worn since arriving in Wyoming. Eyeliner, mascara and green eye shadow, all applied with a heavy hand, made her look like a lady of the night. Hot red lipstick added to the image.

  Under the dress she’d put on a black lace garter belt, sheer black stockings and nothing else. No bra, no panties. She would have killed for a pair of fishnet hose, but she didn’t have any. As a final touch, she slipped into glittery silver heels that added a good two inches to her height.

  Finally, knowing she was already ten minutes late, she opened her door and walked across the hall. He’d left his door slightly ajar. Heart pounding, she pushed it open.

  He lounged in the room’s single upholstered chair. He’d pulled it over to the bed, which he’d stripped of its comforter. Then he’d propped his booted feet on the dark green sheets, as if he didn’t give a damn if he got them dirty or not. She’d bet he’d cleaned his boots before doing that, but still...the pose was effective.

  He wore his hat pulled low and didn’t look up when she entered. His shirt was open, baring his lightly furred chest. He’d discarded his belt and opened the top button of his jeans. He looked like an image from a fantasy cowboy calendar.

  Moisture sluiced through her, and because she wore no panties it dampened her inner thighs. She pitched her voice low. “Hi, there, cowboy.”

  He lifted his head to gaze at her, his expression giving nothing away. “Howdy, ma’am.”

  She slid her hands over the smooth fabric covering her hips. “Want some company?”

  “I might.”

  She ran her tongue over her ruby-red lips as she strolled over to his chair. When she propped her foot on the edge of the seat, the side slit fell open. It almost, but not quite, revealed all. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I do believe you will.” Slowly he lowered his booted feet and uncoiled himself from the chair. His glance traveled from her silver heel, braced on the chair, up the length of her stocking-covered leg. His muted swallow was the only sign that she’d affected him at all.

  She had to give him credit. He seemed cool as a cucumber, while her pulse was thrumming wildly out of control. She was breathing hard, too, which made the black silk over her breasts tremble.

  He focused on her cleavage. “Nice dress.”

  “Just an old rag I found.”

  Reaching out, he trailed the back of his hand over the emerald necklace and down to the edge of the daring neckline. “An old rag?”

  “Worthless.”

  “Then you won’t care what happens to it, will you?”

  She lifted her chin. “Not a bit.”

  In one swift move, he grasped the front of her neckline and yanked down. The dress came apart as if made of tissue paper. She’d had no idea it was so fragile.

  Now it really was an old rag that hung in tatters, allowing him to see her quivering breasts, the black garter belt, and a dark triangle of curls already damp and ready for him. If he looked closely, and he seemed to be doing that, he might notice her thighs were slick, too.

  Stepping back, he surveyed his handiwork. “Lie down on the bed.”

  “Should I take off—”

  “No. Like that. Exactly like that.”

  She stretched out on the quilt, glittering heels and all. As he walked toward the headboard, he pulled something from his back pocket and looped it around her wrist. It was a thin strip of leather that reminded her of the trendy bracelets for sale in Jackson.

  But this wasn’t a trendy bracelet. She gulped for air. He was tying her wrist to the bedpost. And she was going to let him.

  * * *

  MICHAEL HAD NEVER done anything like this in his life, and his cock was so hard from the excitement of it he wondered if it might crack from the strain. Keri made no protest as he tied her wrists to the bedposts.

  Then he tied her ankles, which left her open to his greedy gaze. He could come just looking at her. She breathed in quick little pants that made her whole body quake. That was delicious by itself, but he was enthralled as he drank in the sight of her stocking-covered legs spread to reveal exactly how much she wanted him. He stood at the foot of the bed, concentrating on that view, while he stripped off his clothes.

  When he finally freed his cock he groaned with relief. He was tempted to forget about the whipped cream and dive into the banquet she presented. But he’d braved Mary Lou’s kitchen to steal a can of it, and not using it now would mean he’d wasted all that effort.

  He’d wanted the whipped cream to be a surprise, so he’d tucked it under the bed. He reached for it now and Keri’s eyes widened.

  Then she began to laugh. “Oh, my God. You’re going to be in big trouble with the housekeeper if you get that all over the sheets.”

  “It’s okay. I’m planning to bribe the housekeeper.”

  “Oh?” Her green eyes sparkled as bright as the emeralds she wore. “With what?”

  “She’ll find out really soon.” He smiled.

  “You know, it takes guts to steal Mary Lou’s whipped cream.”

  “Are you going to turn me in?”

  “No, cowboy,” she murmured. “I won’t squeal on you.”

  “Thanks.” He climbed onto the bed. “But you can squeal now, if you want.” And he sprayed mounds of whipped cream on each breast.

  She did squeal, and she pulled against her bindings. “That’s so cold!”

  “Then let me warm you up.” By the time he’d cleaned all the whipped cream from her breasts, she was pulling at the leather for a different reason. And begging.

  But he had more plans for the whipped cream. Leaving her writhing on the bed, he walked to the foot, climbed in between her spread legs, and aimed the can’s nozzle.

  “Michael! Don’t you dare put that cold stuff on my—” She squealed agai
n as he sprayed her liberally with sweet clouds of white. “Michael! Do something!”

  “Oh, I plan to.” He went to work, and she quickly seemed to forget about being cold. He’d figured on licking away all the whipped cream, but all he really wanted was her moist, juicy center, so when he reached that, he left the rest to decorate her thighs.

  She was nearly ready to come, though, and he wanted to set her free before she did. She complained mightily as he interrupted his feast to untie her, but she’d thank him later when she didn’t have rope burns. As he settled into position again, she clutched his head and held him exactly where she wanted him.

  He thought that was only fair after the way he’d imprisoned her. Besides, he was more than happy to stay right there, doing exactly what they both wanted. She tasted like heaven. He didn’t even care that she pulled on his ears when she came. Nothing mattered but loving her, and loving her some more, until she lay panting and spent on a very sticky sheet.

  He kissed his way up her body. She was pretty sticky, herself. Finally he reached her red, red mouth and hesitated. “Will that lipstick come off on me?”

  She dragged in air. “Probably.”

  “Ah, hell. I don’t care. We’re both going to be a hot mess when this is over.” And he kissed her with all the passion in his heart. It was a memorable kiss to start with, blending as it did the distinct flavors of sex, lipstick, and whipped cream.

  He sank into the kiss and eased down onto her sticky body. She was a whipped cream disaster, and something about that turned him on even more. Sex, he suddenly realized, shouldn’t always take place between scrubbed and polished bodies on freshly laundered sheets.

  Sex should also be wild and messy and sticky, and if it was connected with other sensual delights, like food, so much the better. He wished he’d brought other items from Mary Lou’s refrigerator so he could smear those on Keri, too.

  He continued to kiss her as he slapped a palm on the nightstand and located the condom he’d put there. His hands weren’t as sticky as the rest of him, at least not yet. Much as he hated to interrupt this all-encompassing, very flavorful kiss, he had to do that if he wanted his own climactic reward.