KILLER COWBOY CHARM Read online

  She seemed as enthusiastic about the experience as he was. In no time she'd wound both arms around his neck and cuddled that centerfold body right up against his aching groin. The kiss got hotter and wetter, and she began to moan.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he'd started unzipping her tight denim pants. The rasp of the zipper must have brought them both around, because they leaped apart as if someone had turned a garden hose on them.

  He gasped for breath, and she did the same. If he'd ever reacted this fast to a woman, he had no memory of it. Maybe this was normal for her. Maybe women from up north had to be more hot-blooded to make up for the freezing weather.

  He gulped in air as he backed toward the hallway. "I'll … I'll get the … the…" Please let me have a full box in that drawer.

  "Good." Breathing hard, she nodded. "That's good."

  "You can…" He waved vaguely around the room, his brain too filled with the general idea of sex and the specific issue of condoms to be able to convey details of how they could make themselves comfy.

  She nodded again. "I will. I'll set everything up. Don't worry."

  He wasn't worried about that, but he was extremely concerned about the contents of his bedside table drawer. He hadn't checked his supplies for eighteen months, hadn't needed to. And he couldn't remember what had been left after Beverly had taken off. It hadn't seemed important then. Now it was an item of more significance than the national debt.

  Back in his bedroom he didn't even bother with a light. The box was either there or it wasn't. It was either empty or not. He didn't need a light to find out those critical things.

  He wrenched open the drawer. His hand closed over the box. It raffled. Hallelujah! Opening it, he counted one, two, three, four, five. He even checked the expiration date in the dim light coming from the hall. Yeah, he was good to go. If five turned out not to be enough, he'd be so impressed with himself he wouldn't mind running out.

  Feeling triumphant, he closed the drawer and started back down the hall. Time to party. His mouth still tingled from that kiss, which had packed more wallop than eight seconds on the back of a bull. To think he'd been ready to turn her down. And him with five unused condoms waiting in the bedside-table drawer.

  It seemed that everything had conspired to make this happen tonight. Her sidekick had headed for the bunk-house, and then all his hands had wimped out on dinner. Fate had tossed them into this house alone tonight, and right now he was a huge supporter of fate.

  Moving quickly down the hall, eager to get back to the hot woman waiting in the living room, he heard the distinct sound of rustling clothes. Meg was undressing. With great effort he forced himself to stop and wait until the rustling sounds ended. He needed to remember that she was a performer, a woman with a sense of drama. He didn't want to interfere with that. Hell, he wanted to play to that.

  Besides, her clothes probably cost a small fortune. No telling if he'd rip something in his excitement to get them off. Far better to have her do it herself.

  As quiet descended, he knew she'd finished. His blood pumped faster than a calf coming out of the roping chute. Until now he hadn't considered the pressure to perform. Of course his fertile brain would deliver the lightning bolt of anxiety right now, when he was about to be tested.

  After putting her sexual needs on hold for so long, she'd be expecting fireworks. She'd expect bells to ring and sirens to wail. He'd accomplished that with women in the past, but not under such demanding conditions.

  At least she didn't know for sure that he was a cowboy Thank God for that. If she was cowboy-crazy, as she'd said, then having sex with one would be a fantasy come true. He could never live up to those expectations.

  Taking a deep breath, he continued down the hall. First he noticed her clothes laid neatly over the arm of an easy chair. Denim pants and shirt were on the bottom. Then came the white scoop-necked shirt she'd worn underneath the denim. The garments on top made his mouth water—lacy bits of cloth barely big enough to provide decent coverage for those critical areas that claimed all his interest.

  He'd like to see her in those undies sometime, as long as he wasn't expected to take them off. He didn't have the dexterity for something that delicate. He could throw a loop over a running calf's hind leg, but he'd never be able to work a woman out of something that lacy and insubstantial without tearing it to bits.

  He kept walking, holding the box of condoms in front of him like a gift of diamonds. Right now, they were more precious than diamonds. What a tragedy if that bedside table drawer had come up empty. But it hadn't.

  Rounding the chair, he caught his first glimpse of her. In that moment, he knew he would never forget Meg Delancy. He could fall in love with another woman, marry her, father her children and grow old with her. But a picture of Meg lying naked in front of the fire would be with him forever, hovering on the edge of consciousness, reminding him of this night. And no one could ever know. He'd never mention this to anyone.

  Unless he became feeble-minded in his old age. If that happened and he started babbling, then chances were he'd babble about this—a red-haired beauty stretched out on three leather sofa cushions, her creamy skin touched by firelight. And she was indeed a true redhead.

  She smiled at him. "You found condoms."

  "Yes." He'd forgotten the box in his hand, which was an indication of how completely she'd dazzled him. Seconds ago the box had been uppermost in his mind. But she'd blasted everything away but this image of her lying there waiting for him. For him. He could barely believe it.

  "That's good." Her voice drifted over him like silk.

  "You look … amazing." He could spend hours admiring her breasts, let alone her other attributes. Such full breasts, and such a tiny waist. She was breathing fast, which did wonders for the view from above.

  "I've worked hard for this body. It's nice to be able to show it off."

  "I must be the luckiest guy in the world."

  "Not yet. But if you'll take off your clothes, I guarantee you'll get very lucky."

  * * *

  From Clint's dazed expression, Meg gathered that she'd created the visual impact she'd been going for. Mission accomplished. She hoped the fun she'd had setting this up didn't brand her as a vain girl. But what she'd told him was true. Hours in the gym and a diet with no leeway for indulgence had given her a killer body.

  Never had she felt more confident about her body, more ready to take her clothes off for a man. Too bad she had no boyfriend to undress for. Well, tonight she had a man, and maybe she could be forgiven for wanting to show off a little. His response had been extremely gratifying.

  However, she didn't want him standing there in a trance forever. Admiration was fine for a little while, but the meter had expired on that phase. Time for some action.

  She rose up on one elbow and extended her other hand. "I'll take the box, if you like."

  "Oh." He blinked. "Right." He gave it to her.

  "Now it's your turn." She nearly licked her lips in anticipation. She'd been admiring his tush ever since following him into the house this afternoon.

  Besides the joy of watching him strip down, she'd learn a few things in the process. A guy who rode a desk chair would have a different body from a guy who rode a horse. She had her suspicions about what he was all about, but this getting-naked routine would tell her one way or the other.

  He swallowed and unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt. "I'm no movie star." He nudged off his loafers.

  "Neither am I." Her pulse rate picked up as he started unfastening the buttons running down the front of his shirt. Such a masculine gesture, those blunt fingers moving steadily down the row of buttons, opening the plackets, opening up to whatever would come next.

  "You're nearly a movie star," he said in a voice roughened with urgency. "And you could be one if you wanted to."

  She couldn't help reacting to that with a glow of pleasure. It was the exact opposite of what she'd heard growing up. Her parents said they'd warn
ed her against being too ambitious for fear she'd get hurt, but they'd nearly killed her urge to shoot for the moon. "Thank you, Clint. I'm not sure it's true, but thank you."

  "It's true. You have … I guess they call it charisma."

  Wow. A gorgeous man who was into ego-building. That was a dynamite combo. "I don't know about that, but I hope you're right."

  "I am. Although I admit I've never known a celebrity." He pulled his unbuttoned shirt from his slacks and took it off.

  "Don't think of me as a celebrity," she murmured. But she'd lost track of the conversation the moment he'd taken off his shirt. All her concentration was on the muscled chest he'd revealed. This was no business consultant.

  She'd bet her future in television that those arms could wrestle a steer to the ground or swing an orphaned calf into the saddle for a ride back to the barn. He had a jagged scar—an old one from the pale color of it—on his right shoulder. She decided not to ask him about it now. If he was still in hiding, she didn't need to know. For now, he was giving her more than enough of himself.

  "I don't know if I can forget you're a celebrity." He unbuckled his belt.

  "I can make you forget." She would make them both forget everything but the joyful search for orgasms.

  He shucked his pants. Ah, the forgetting was already starting. When she gazed at the substantial bulge under his gray-knit boxers, she could barely remember her name, let alone what she did for a living.

  This was living, lying here waiting for the last piece of clothing to disappear from his rugged body. He pushed his briefs down, and she feasted her eyes on one of nature's sweetest gifts to a woman in her condition—the sight of a fully aroused man.

  She sighed, giddy with happiness. "We're going to have such a good time."

  "And we're going to take it slow." He sank to his knees beside her. "It's been a while for me, too. I don't want to disappoint you."

  She glanced at his super-sized penis. "I doubt that's going to happen."

  Bracing his hands on either side of her, he leaned down and nibbled gently at her mouth. "It could if I come too fast."

  She slid her fingers through his thick hair and leaned back, bringing him down with her. "You think we're only doing this once?" she whispered against his mouth.

  With a groan, he angled his lips over hers and kissed her with soul-searing intensity. She'd never known a man who threw himself headlong into a kiss, as if the kiss alone would bring them to climax. And with each thrust of his tongue, she wondered if it might.

  She was still reveling in the sensation of his mouth on hers when he cupped her breast in one large hand, ushering in new delights. She arched upward in ecstasy. At long last, a man was touching her again, and she cherished each caress. His mouth absorbed her soft moans as he molded her like warm clay, massaging her breasts, her belly, her inner thighs … and finally he slipped his hand between her legs.

  Shamelessly, she made that part easy for him, lifting as he explored, opening so that his fingers had access. She wanted him to have all the access he required, because she was burning up faster than the logs on the grate.

  Yes, there. There. The blunt fingers that had unbuttoned a shirt so efficiently found the way to her wet center with the same precision. He knew the territory well, knew to pause and thoroughly appease the gatekeeper before breaching the inner chamber, knew the rhythm that would make her writhe against the leather cushions.

  And when he had her on the brink, he teased her by slowing down. The fire popped and crackled as he drove her into a frenzy with quick thrusts followed by slow caresses. Firm gave way to gentle. He took her up and coaxed her back down again, until at last she broke away from his kiss, panting.

  "Please … make me come," she begged in a breathless whisper.

  His chuckle was low and sexy. "Just what I wanted to hear."

  And before she could draw a breath, he'd slid down until his head was between her thighs. She was too far gone to feel modest. She was too far gone to be shy. She grasped his head and wiggled right into position.

  He was still laughing when he kissed her there, which made for a most interesting experience—cool breath and a warm tongue. Then he settled down to business and she lost all sense of time and space. Nothing mattered, nothing counted, but an area no bigger than a bottle cap.

  He'd claimed that spot as his own, and it became her whole world. And then her world exploded into waves of pleasure so intense that her strangled cries barely touched on the wonder of it. This single moment justified everything, nude all her worries vanish.

  He brought her gently back to earth, kissing the inside of her thighs and then her belly, her breasts, her throat, and at last, her mouth.

  She gazed up at him, barely able to speak. "Thank … you."

  "Seemed like you deserved to start off that way." He looked down at her with tenderness and combed her hair away from her damp forehead with his fingers. "But now I'm interested in what you did with the box I gave you."

  "I have … no idea." Once the kissing had started, she'd tossed it somewhere. "I hope it's not in the fire."

  "You and me both." He glanced around. "There." After picking up the box, he opened it one-handed and shook out a condom, which landed between her breasts. His eyes sparkled. "What a great pendant that would make."

  "An open invitation."

  "Especially if you wore it and nothing else." He leaned down and circled her nipple with his tongue.

  That was all it took for her to get wound up again. Her breath caught. "I thought you wanted to put on that little raincoat."

  "I will." He sucked gently on her nipple.

  "I'm turning into one throbbing nerve ending."

  He lifted his head and switched to her other breast. "Good." Nuzzling and licking, he made her breasts quiver and her nipples tighten.

  In the process he created havoc with her pulse rate. An ache grew inside her, one that needed more than another climax. This was the primitive kind of ache, the urge that demanded penetration. She'd never felt it quite this strongly before.

  She closed her eyes and pictured the glory of his penis. She wanted to experience that glory. "If you don't put that condom on, I'm going to do it for you. And I'm not very good at it."

  He gave her breast one last swipe with his tongue. "Fortunately, I am." Then he picked up the packet with his teeth and sat back on the edge of the cushion to tear it open.

  She lifted her head so she could watch. True to his word, he was quick with a condom. She was reminded of a rodeo cowboy tying the legs of a steer with a pigging string and holding up his hands for time. She almost expected Clint to do that once the condom was in place.

  "You are fast," she said when he glanced up to find her checking him out.

  His smile was filled with male confidence as he moved between her thighs, poised for his first thrust. "I've been told it's not nice to keep a lady waiting. Too much time spent on that latex is time wasted."

  "You've been told right. I hate waiting."

  "And here I am." He probed her moist center, finding entry, sliding in a fraction.

  "That's it." She wrapped her arms around his waist and lifted her hips in his direction. "Come on and give me a ride, cowboy."

  His eyes widened. "I'm not—"

  "Never mind." The words had slipped out because she was so sure, so very sure, that he was, indeed, a cowboy

  "Meg, I—"

  Damn. She hadn't meant to start a discussion. "I know what. Why don't you see if you can make me forget I ever said that?"

  "Sounds like a plan." He pushed deep. Exactly. Exactly that. She hadn't known how much she'd craved having him inside her until he was there, stroking with steady intent. In seconds, she was oblivious to anything but the breathless climb to another shattering orgasm. He might be a cowboy. He might not. In the midst of such delirious joy, she didn't care.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  Clint had taken hold of a whirlwind. Here he
was, in the male-dominant position, the one that supposedly guaranteed the most control of this event, and he had no control whatsoever. Oh, he could hold back his orgasm. That wasn't as difficult as he had thought it would be when he'd first entered her and felt her warmth pulsing around him.

  But his emotions were totally out of control. As he looked into those gorgeous brown eyes, he wanted to say things to her—significant things that had no business being part of this experience.

  He wanted to tell her that he felt connected to another human being for the first-time in his life. Sex was about satisfaction, but this … this touched him on a different level. He hadn't expected that.

  As he thrust rhythmically, he was acutely aware of her, as if he'd climbed inside her mind at the same moment he'd penetrated her body. He swore he could tell what she was thinking, and that she was as rattled by this emotional jolt as he was.

  "Meg." Saying her name was all he could allow himself. But he put a world of feeling into that one syllable.

  "I'm here."

  "I know. Me, too." Maybe that was it. They were both completely there. His every sense was alert. His ears hummed with the crackle of the fire and the sound of her breath. His nose filled with the scent of wood smoke and the tang of arousal. His mouth savored the taste of her kisses. And crowning each of those sensations was the unbelievable pleasure he felt each time he buried his penis deep in her quivering vagina.

  Her smile trembled. "So perfect."

  She'd said more than he'd dared. "Yes." His orgasm moved closer with sweet inevitability. There was no strain to bring it on, no pressure to hold it back. He would come, and so would she. And the moment would be effortless.

  "This is like … dancing."

  With someone I've known all my life. He nodded, because he couldn't tell her that.

  Without conscious thought he pumped faster, and she flowed into the new rhythm without hesitation. He'd never believed that two people could truly feel as if they had become one. He'd chalked that up to some poet's fantasy

  With Meg, it was reality