Tempted by a Cowboy Read online

  Although he could throw a rope over her, he wouldn’t. Instead, he’d slowly close in on her. He’d give her time to get used to his presence, his smell and movement, the dark messages in his eyes, his muscles and body. Bit by bit, she’d stop thinking about breaking free. Her system would begin to react to his male reality, her nipples hardening and sex heating. No matter whether she leaned into him or turned her back on him, when he reached for her, her body would spark.

  In his grip, his grasp and control, she’d cease to be who her name tag said she was and sink into instinct. Woman, reacting to man, skin on fire and heart racing, lungs expanding in a desperate effort to bring enough oxygen to her system.

  What are you doing? she’d ask.

  Showing you what it is to be a woman.

  And because those were the words she’d long been waiting to hear without knowing it, she’d melt into him. Surrender her body to him. Strip off her clothing and spread her legs for him.

  And he’d bury himself in her. Turn his selfhood over to her.

  Not that simple, damn you!

  Propelled by years of experience, Miguel extended his hand palm down toward Blanco. Throwing up his head, Blanco back stepped. Then, perhaps prompted by his engrained curiosity, the stallion again held his ground and slowly extended his head.

  “You’re beginning to understand,” Miguel crooned. “I’m casting a spell over you. It’s nothing to fear and has nothing to do with ropes and saddles. We’re getting to know each other. Because of what you are, the concept of someone having control over you is foreign. But you’re intrigued by what I am and the potential of learning something new under my guidance. From now on you’ll have no reason to flee anything which is your nature. There aren’t any cougars or wild dogs where I’m taking you, no harsh winter storms or iced-over grasses. In summer, you’ll enter my barn whenever you want to get out of the heat. There’ll be fresh water and ready food, always. No more endless travel in search of something to fill your belly. All those benefits and the only thing you have to do is turn yourself over to me.”

  When Blanco exhaled, warm, damp air stirred the hairs on the back of Miguel’s hand. In his mind, he’d been talking to Dawn Glass, not a mustang. He who knew not damn enough about seduction had approached her as he would a horse. He’d used the same words, taken the same amount of time, given her the opportunity to study him.

  The result would be the same. By the time he was done with her, she’d lower her head and allow him to place a halter over her head and behind her ears. She might start when he fastened a rope to the halter, might even try to break free. But he’d have snaked the other end of the rope around a post. Whether she stood passively or fought the restraint, he’d have her. She’d belong to him.

  And then?

  Shocked by the strength of his urge to see if she was watching, he forced his attention back on Blanco. Just because the stallion was acting as if he’d been hypnotized hardly meant a lifetime of instinct had fallen away.

  “I’m the most confusing two-legged creature you’ve ever come across, aren’t I?” he asked the horse. Measuring his every move, he turned his hand over so his fingers curled upward. “Probably the first who hasn’t forced you to do something you don’t want to. That’s never been my way with horses. It never will be.”

  Blanco closed his loose lips over Miguel’s fingers. His teeth scraped Miguel’s nails. “You don’t want to bite me, last thing on your mind. All you’re interested in is a touch and a taste of me, do you understand?”

  The stallion’s lips closed against Miguel’s fingers, spawning the question of how he’d react if Dawn Glass and not a horse was doing that to him. “Sorry, a momentary lapse there. Lost my train of thought.” Pulling his fingers free, he lightly ran his fingertips over a satiny nose. Blanco snorted but stood his ground. “Good boy, darn good. We’re making progress. There’s a saying among humans, something about catching more flies with honey than vinegar. I’m honey, patient sweetness.”

  A feathery stroking motion over the dark nose prompted a sigh from Blanco. “We understand each other,” Miguel whispered. “That’s what it all boils down to, I know a hell of a lot more about you than I do the human race. Sometimes I think I was born half horse. At least I’m in the right career.”

  Dawn was far enough away that she caught only bits and pieces of what the horse wrangler was saying to the strangely passive stallion. If a year ago someone had told her she’d be working with horses, she’d have told them that wasn’t going to happen in this lifetime. Not only hadn’t she known squat about the creatures, she’d thought her degree in earth sciences would have gotten her involved in the geothermal energy development taking place on BLM land.

  Well, goes to show how many unexpected turns a life can take. Like now. This morning when she’d rolled out of bed in the five hundred square foot cabin she currently lived in, she’d thought the day would be about watching tobacco-chewing old wranglers wrestle broncs into battered horse trailers. Her concern would revolve around making sure the wild beasts received humane treatment while hopefully keeping enough distance from said wranglers that she wouldn’t know how many days they’d gone without a shower.

  Instead, her attention and nerve endings were glued to a dark complexioned and fearless man, a man with shoulders designed for a physical life, and hips and legs designed to short-circuit any woman’s mind and body.

  She more than admired what he was doing; she was in awe of his courage. Beyond that, she ached to be privy to the communication between man and stallion. As for the top of her list—a night with him. The two of them alone and naked, no reservations, single-minded and hot to trot.

  No trying to fathom the attraction, no need for explanations.

  Just heat.

  Hell, she didn’t care where he’d come from or what he’d do once he’d picked up his charge. She wanted, no, she needed to be anywhere alone with this man who made her think of a Plains Indian with the courage and skill to run down a stampeding buffalo while his legs wrapped around a mustang’s heaving flanks.

  Taken unawares by the warmth sliding from breasts to belly and from there to her pelvic region, she gave up. Vehicle sounds behind her warned that others were approaching, but Brod would have to deal with the other trainers because Miguel belonged to her. For as long as he was remotely near touching distance, nothing else mattered.

  If it was night—why the hell was the sun still up—the shadows would keep the secrets of what they were doing. There’d be no need for words, no sensual dance, nothing resembling taking time to get to know each other. She’d unexpectedly and deliciously become a mare in heat. A stallion, what she needed was a stallion! She’d lift her tail and turn her rump toward the stud.

  Wise in the ways of brood mares, he’d cover her. Hard and fast, no questions asked and no quarters given. They’d squeal together, hooves pounding the ground, his greater weight settling over her hindquarters and his impossibly long cock reaching between her splayed legs.

  Union, hot seed shooting into her and making her scream, his deeper bellow exploding around her.

  “Dawn? What are you doing?”

  Cheeks and throat on fire, she looked over her shoulder at her supervisor. His arms were folded over his chest and his body language disapproving.

  “You’re the one who said I needed to learn everything I can about this natural horsemanship business.” Hopefully she wasn’t stumbling over the words. “From what I’ve seen so far, I’m not going to get a better example than what Mr. Perez is doing.”

  Her explanation must have made an impact because although Brod scowled a little, he shrugged and headed for the pickup and trailer that had just come into view. Hoping to recover her equilibrium, she watched Brod for a few seconds. Then, because she couldn’t do anything else, she again looked at Miguel.

  Although he still stood within punishing hoof distance of the maybe thirteen-hundred-pound stallion, he was watching her. No hat shaded his features. Quite possibl
y she’d lost the ability to read anyone’s expression, but if she hadn’t and she was right, Miguel Perez thought of himself as a stallion. A stud who has found a mare ready and willing to be serviced.

  Moving with a grace, power, and danger that loosened her bones, he left the black bronc and started toward her. She, who’d never seen a cougar approach its prey, felt like a deer trapped by one. Only, even if she’d been equipped with four swift legs, she wouldn’t have run.

  How could she when the most alive man she’d ever seen was only a wooden fence away from her?

  “Did what you see answer your questions?” he asked.

  Somehow she bit back a stupid “huh?” Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a single rational word. Any moment now he’d slide that masculine leg of his between the corral boards. The rest of his body would follow and then they’d be standing together—lordy, would they!

  “You were adamant that I follow protocol with regard to training techniques,” he continued. If he was deliberately testing her by keeping distance between them, it was working. “I figured giving you a physical demonstration was better than signing a bunch of forms.”

  She’d gone to work for BLM for a lot of reasons, most related to her interest in geothermal energy sources. Experience had taught her that ideology and a massive governmental agency didn’t always go hand in hand. Otherwise, how could she explain her current assignment? But she still believed that rules and regulations were all that stood against lawlessness, or specifically mistreatment of the mustangs.

  This afternoon, however, going over the regulations with Miguel was the last thing she wanted to do. Stammering a bit, she said something about assuming he’d thoroughly read through the agreement he’d sent in.

  “Did I memorize it, no. Do I understand the rationale for turning mustangs into participating members of society? The answer you expect from me is, yes. If they remain wild, they’ll breed themselves right out of the land allotted to them.”

  “The answer you think I expect from you? What are you talking about?”

  “If the mustangs still had natural predators such as wolves, and civilization wasn’t closing in around them, they’d have enough room.”

  “Are you blaming the BLM?”

  “I’m simply saying this didn’t have to happen.” He indicated the fencing. “There should be alternatives to taking away their freedom.”

  “Such as?”

  His silence left her with too many questions and too much curiosity about where he was coming from.

  “How, ah, how did you get interested in horses?” she lamely came up with.

  On the heels of a low chuckle, he slipped his beautiful body out of the corral and planted it next to her. “I was born on horseback, nearly. Being with them made my mother’s world go around. I caught the fever.”

  His gaze said volumes about that fever, either that or—lordy, could his thoughts be on her and what they could and would do if they had this place to themselves? Arms and legs suddenly numb, she worked at a nod. “Did you have any formal training?”

  His second chuckle didn’t carry the same warmth the first had. “Formal training’s for those who don’t have it in their blood.” He glanced back at the mustangs, then fixed his compelling dark eyes on her.

  She was swimming, drowning, surrounded by heat and energy. Her reaction made no sense! She spent her days in the company of men. Her present assignment had brought her into contact with men who lived on horseback and thought nothing of doing whatever it took to round up wild-eyed mustangs. The majority of those cowboys were lean and hard, made for jeans and boots, totally at home with their saddles and the mounts under them.

  What was different about Miguel? Was it his ink-dark eyes, his fearlessness around the herd stud? Maybe something else, an air of mystery, the untamed aura.

  And maybe she was simply so damn horny that anything with a cock would turn her on.

  “Ah, what about your father? Was he into horses?”

  “I never met him.”

  His soul-deep statement weighed on her. She came from a intact family that consisted of professional parents and two older college-educated brothers. Her parents were happily entrenched in their careers and not yet thinking ahead to retirement. Their home was nearly paid for. They took vacations in places like Hawaii and France, grumbled about taxes and got involved in local politics. Her father had been a school board member while his children were growing up, and her mother had done the PTA thing.

  In contrast, Miguel of the hard-as-hell body didn’t know the man responsible for his being alive.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and somehow her fingers were on his forearm.

  Showing no emotion, he looked down at what she’d done. The federal employee in her knew she’d crossed a line she had no business crossing. The woman pulsing deep inside didn’t give a damn.

  “Don’t be,” he muttered. “My mother and I did just fine on our own. She never turned to a man for anything, never.”

  Something in his tone warned that that was a place he didn’t want to go, but damn it, everything about this rugged man fascinated her. She who’d always believed she was drawn to intelligent and intellectual men was unbelievably turned on by the most physical male she’d ever met.

  Whoever had just arrived must have gotten out of their rig because she could hear Brod talking to someone. Masculine voices floated off into the air. In contrast to her absolute lack of interest in them, she couldn’t get enough of looking at this man who’d been raised by a woman who understood horses at the most fundamental level. Miguel Perez was Mexican, which meant his roots were probably in the country to the south even though he had no accent. Were he and his mother U.S. citizens? Why had she raised her child far from their heritage, if that’s what had happened? And why did his background matter to her?

  “Does, ah, does your mother know what you’re doing? Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I intended it to. You certainly don’t need her permission. But you’re hardly going to get rich training a mustang. The small amount we give you won’t cover the horse’s feed let alone everything else.”

  “I’m not interested in rich.”

  Okay, now what? Her hand was still on his forearm and he’d done nothing to shake her off. Maybe he was only being polite, figuring he needed to be hospitable to the federal employee who had the final say in whether he’d be taking Blanco home.

  She hoped it wasn’t that.

  Hoped he needed the touch as much as she did.

  Not dropping his gaze, he covered her fingers with his own. Lightning struck her and was that a clap of thunder? “Who knows what you’re doing with your life?” he softly asked. “Your husband?”

  She tried to swallow, failed. “No husband.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  The faintest of smiles lifted the corners of his mouth. Then his too-kissable lips settled again. “Let’s not beat around the bush. The air between us is too damn hot not to acknowledge.”

  The air wasn’t the only thing that was hot. Just trying to come to terms with what he’d said about the mutual attraction had her on the brink of panting. Never, absolutely never had she stood next to a stranger and been about to burst into flames.

  3

  Idiot. One hundred percent idiot.

  Even as he chastised himself, Miguel knew he wasn’t going to release the federal employee’s hand. Living and working with animals had conditioned him to measure his every move against those that had or hadn’t worked in the past. A quick study, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a mistake with four-legged creatures. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same about his track record with women. Not only were they much more complex than broncs, he tended to get sidetracked by the question of what they’d be like in bed.

  “What about you?” she muttered, looking as unsure as a child standing alone at the side of a freeway and as excited as a girl on prom night. “A wife?”
/>
  What had they been talking about? That’s right, marital status. “No wife. Nothing close.”

  “Oh.” She let the word stretch out. “So…”

  Lowering her head, she stared at her slender fingers bracketed by his darker and larger ones.

  “If you’re looking for me to explain this”—he gently squeezed—“it isn’t going to happen.”

  “I didn’t expect you to, hell I don’t know what to expect.”

  In some respects her honesty made what they were doing easier to comprehend. Hopefully the way she was positioned shielded their intertwined hands from the others. The other BLM employee—he’d forgotten his name—was engaged in conversation with the two newcomers, but any time now they’d head for the corral.

  “I spotted a hay shed.” He jerked his head to the left where a weathered structure stood surrounded by brush. “Let’s go there.”

  She tugged lightly, then stopped trying to free herself. “What?”

  “I want to explore this thing, and I think you do too.”

  Although she kept her gaze downcast, he believed he understood her inner battle. If she called a halt to the energy racing between them, he’d honor her decision, but it would be damn hard.

  “I shouldn’t. This could get me fired.”

  “I’m not telling.”

  Her sigh came from someplace deep inside and added to his nearly raging need to fuck her. Still not looking at him, she shook off his grip. His heart settled painfully in his chest. Then she started toward the shed and everything lit up. Mindful that the others might be taking note, he waited a moment before trudging after her. As he did, he shrugged as if exasperated by what he was being asked to do.

  The shed, which was some hundred feet away from the corral, was large enough to hold a stake truck full of hay bales. Right now it was about half full with a couple of open sleeping bags on one of the bales. Although there were walls on three sides, the back was open. By the time he came around to the rear, she was sitting on the top of a two-bale stack. Her hands were folded in her lap, her knuckles white.