Tempted by a Cowboy Read online

  Incapable of speaking, he stopped with some three feet separating them. A living force tried to pull him closer, but he didn’t dare give into it, yet.

  He’d come to the Litchfield corrals because he believed he owed it to the mustangs. Meeting a woman who appealed to him had been the last thing on his mind, but he had. She was here, looking up at him, her crotch nearly in alignment with his cock. Her legs were clamped together, for now.

  Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the shadows, he mentally went back to getting ready to leave the Yreka area cattle ranch this morning. He’d slipped his wallet into his back pocket with little thought to its contents. Hopefully there was a rubber in there.

  The moment she came into focus, protection became the last thing on his mind. He didn’t understand, flat out didn’t comprehend. Women had moved through his world, most of them average, a handful blessed with extraordinary bodies. At first he’d chased after them with a stallion’s single-mindedness. What rested between their ears hadn’t mattered, only the external package and willingness to share said package with a horny cowboy. Fortunately, since his teenage years, either he’d learned how to tamp down his libido or life had smoothed out. His world no longer revolved around sex, which meant he could concentrate on what he was being paid to do.

  Except today.

  “You’re staring at me,” she said, her voice low.

  “Am I?” Gripping self-control with a tight fist, he slid closer and rested his hands on her knees. She jumped, and her now-taut thigh muscles stood out against her practical attire.

  “We shouldn’t—ah shit, what am I—they could come in any time.”

  Tightening his grip a little, he inched her legs apart. “Then we need to get at this.”

  He half expected her to bolt like an untamed filly. If she did, he wouldn’t have to labor under the complex issue of what the hell they were suppose to do and say. Instead, speaking volumes in the move, she leaned back and planted her arms behind her.

  “I’m scared,” she said. “No, not scared. Shaking and wondering what in the hell I’m doing. I’m sorry, I keep saying the same thing.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Is it? I just wish I understood…”

  “It’s the same for me.”

  Her slight nod might be the most graceful thing he’d seen in weeks, certainly the most mesmerizing. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she admitted. “Maybe I’ll panic and—we are thinking the same thing, aren’t we?”

  Women had always been able to talk rings around him. Where he considered himself lucky to come up with a sentence, they seemed to have no trouble carrying the conversation ball. Being with a woman who appeared to be no more articulate than he should be a relief, but what if silence stretched on and on?

  “Sex,” he came up with and then wished he could punch himself. “This is about sex.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” She leaned back a few more inches.

  Her slacks had looked reasonably loose fitting when they’d been standing outside. Now the fabric strained against her crotch. Wishing his hand was there, he increased the gap between her legs. A pink tongue moistened her lips. Releasing her right knee, he ran a forefinger over her lower lip. Her eyes glassy, she licked his nail. Sensation raced up his arm and sent his heart to boiling.

  “No time,” she whispered. “It’s insane to even think we have time for—”

  “We’ll make it happen.”

  Her nod struck him as part quiet acceptance, part panic. The sense of unreality continued to coat his every breath. This was a dream, a delicious dream! He was on the brink of waking up, and once he did, she’d be gone. Maybe she was a figment of his imagination.

  He’d withdrawn his finger while she was talking, but she’d left her mouth parted and he had no choice but to slip his thumb between the scant space. She helped by sucking him in and closing her lips around him. Lifting her head a little and turning it to the side, she granted him a faint smile. In his mind, his cock was buried in her sex. A universe away from wanting the union to end, he pushed deeper. He’d fuck her mouth with his thumb, start slow but build up until they were both starving for the real thing.

  Her lips closed down. He was trapped.

  Do you know what you’re doing? he wanted to ask. How close I am to losing it? His cock, smashed against his jeans, pulsed. He needed to adjust his clothing, to reposition his cock, but doing so meant pulling out of her mouth or releasing her knee, and he couldn’t do either of those things.

  Groaning, she tongued him out of her and began working her lips. “Sorry but those are muscles I never use that way.” Then she leaned forward so her arms no longer supported her weight and massaged her mouth. “Good idea, lousy execution.”

  He would have laughed if he could have wrenched his mind off his cock. The damn thing was on overload, responding in ways it hadn’t since he was seventeen. One moment he believed he had a handle on things, the next he’d reached out and snagged one of the sleeping bags. “Stand up.”

  “What?”

  “For just a moment.”

  Looking confused, she scooted off the hay bale. After shaking out the bag, he spread it so she’d be protected from sharp pokes. Then he grasped her around the waist and helped her back up. Not waiting for a thank you, he took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away from him. He held on long enough to help her ease onto the hay, then worked himself into the gap between her legs.

  Grabbing her wrists, he positioned her hands against her belly and leaned over her.

  “What’s that?” she asked, indicating her crossed wrists. “A cowboy move? Got me lassoed?”

  The idea of wrapping her in lengths of rope had him increasing the pressure on her wrists. Going by the smoky look in her eyes, he didn’t believe she had any objections.

  “Okay, okay.” She sighed. “So you don’t need a rope.”

  “Not this time.”

  “This time? Let’s don’t go any further than right now, all right.”

  Because he wasn’t sure where this moment was going to lead he had no objection to that boundary. Besides, her breath kept reaching his eyelashes and distracting him. At the same time, the scent of hay seeped into his pores. Hay was part of his world, woven into endless days spent on horseback with a horse’s muscles under him and the animal’s warmth part of him.

  Releasing her wrists, he slid his fingers over her inner thighs. She moaned and turned her hips to the side. When he began working his thumbs up the sleek length, she straightened and stared up at him.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  She laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Miguel, I don’t trust myself.”

  Her fingers clenched and relaxed, clenched and stayed like that. Her gaze spoke of excitement and disbelief, making him wonder if she could read the same expression in him.

  Holding his breath, he continued his exploration. Hurry, damn it, hurry, the adolescent in him screamed. At the same time the horseman who’d spent as long as it took to gain an animal’s trust knew to hold back. The two emotions warring, he arched his pelvis at her.

  The moment his trapped and hungry cock touched her inner right thigh, a jolt lifted him onto his toes. He couldn’t remember what he’d been doing with his hands, what, if anything, she’d said about this raging river current between them. He heard nothing except their breathing, saw only her wide and barely comprehending eyes.

  He asked himself if he’d survive.

  4

  This wasn’t happening, it wasn’t! No way in hell was she sprawled on her back with her legs gaping wide and a black-haired stranger closing in on her pussy.

  Thank goodness for clothing! Thank goodness for a throat and a tongue and the ability to order an end to this insanity.

  But although the woman she’d always believed she was put the right words in her head and the necessary strength in her muscles, she couldn’t lift her hands off her belly or get her mouth to open. It had been so easy a few moments a
go when she’d sucked on his finger and thumb but now…

  Sucked on him? Her?

  A shiver running through her, she blinked until he came back into focus. She didn’t believe his hands had moved in the last few seconds. Just the same, he’d left her with the promise and threat of what he planned to do next. And because she absolutely and completely hated waiting, she straightened her legs and pressed them against his thighs.

  What did he want, for her to encourage him to continue, maybe beg? She could do those things, if she could speak.

  Clothes, gone. Hay, replaced by a soft bed. Other people, nonexistent. Only her and Miguel—and the mustangs of course.

  “I want to see you ride. To watch as you turn a mustang from something wild to…” Her mind shut down. Untangling her fingers, she massaged her belly. Her slacks had become a straightjacket, thick fabric tight around flesh that longed to be free.

  To be touched.

  “Where are they?” she asked.

  “You want—”

  “Check, please.”

  Spinning on his boots, he quickly covered the distance to the opening. Then he disappeared, leaving her to fight a thousand battles with her nerve endings. All too soon he was back, shadows hiding his expression.

  “What?” she demanded when he remained silent.

  “By the corrals. They didn’t see me.”

  In other words, the two of them were off the others’ radar scopes. Just the same, urgency nibbled at the nerve endings already on overload.

  “We’re going to do this?” she asked. “Just like that? Now?”

  “I want. Do you?”

  With every fiber of my existence, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. “Yeah.”

  His arms were by his sides, ready for action and yet patient. But the bulge in his jeans spoke of single-mindedness. “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “What do you want?” she snapped, wanting to pummel him and wrap her body around his at the same time. “A written invitation?”

  Not dropping his gaze from hers, he cupped his cock. “This doesn’t give a damn about invitations, but I need to be sure. Otherwise…”

  Otherwise, he risked a rape charge. Were the tables ever turned, a man insisting that the woman had been the aggressor and he’d been taken against his will? What did it matter?

  “This feels unreal,” she admitted. “As if some part of me I didn’t know existed is responsible.” Without knowing it was going to happen, she was on her feet and her fingers were at her zipper. A current ran from throat to thighs and back again. If she wasn’t careful, she’d collapse.

  Watching her fingers, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  By way of explanation, he reached into a back pocket and pulled out a thin leather wallet. Even before he opened it, she knew what he was going to do. Just the same, when he held up a small foil-wrapped package, her heart skittered and her temple throbbed. More proof of what was going to happen.

  “I wasn’t sure,” he told her. “Before things went any further—”

  “I should have thought of it.” Her throat dried.

  Damn it, every word was so incredibly hard, nearly as difficult as pulling the zipper all the way down and unfastening the button at her waist. She started to tug down, then stopped, exhausted.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m just—I don’t know.”

  He muttered something unintelligible that suddenly endeared him to her. Until this moment he’d been little more than a walking, talking testosterone package to her. Now he was becoming human. Although she didn’t believe he could be as overwhelmed as she felt, neither had he planned and plotted this encounter. She just wish he’d explain why she was so hot to have sex with a complete stranger. With him.

  “Either we’re going to do this or we aren’t,” he said. “Which is it?”

  If she walked away, she’d spend the rest of the day and many more wishing to hell she’d allowed him into her. Her body would pulse with frustration that made concentrating on anything else impossible. On the other hand, the next time she looked in the mirror, she wouldn’t drop her gaze in embarrassment and confusion. She wouldn’t stare at her features and ask herself where the inner slut had come from.

  Slut? Was it really that simple?

  Or was Miguel Perez something she’d been looking for her entire adult life?

  Safety or risk, civilized or wild?

  “We do it,” the wild slut said. “Fast. No explanations, nothing.”

  “And no regrets?”

  She couldn’t think about tomorrow, couldn’t put her mind on anything except the heat flooding her being. Feeling as if she were having a heart attack, she yanked her jeans and panties down around her knees. Her legs threatening to quit on her, she leaned against the sleeping bag-covered hay.

  Not once breaking eye contact, he unhooked his jeans and freed the zipper. Her lips went numb as he exposed himself and sealed his massive looking cock in latex.

  No backing out now, no what was I thinking, I’m outta here. There was only pressing her buttocks against the bag’s waterproof covering as he closed the distance between them.

  Outside, a horse whinnied. A whispery sound from the opposite end of the shed made her wonder if a mouse was responsible. Thanks to the lack of a fourth wall, the air wasn’t stale and smelled equally of hay and desert.

  Then he closed his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the bale and only that mattered. His rough fingers on her bare middle sent heated shockwaves to every inch of her being. A sudden and powerful weakness stripped her, and if he hadn’t helped her stretch out on her back, she would have collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut. Now she was staring at the tin roof, seeing nothing of him, arms outstretched and fingers clawing at dry hay.

  Dangerous. The man could be the most dangerous human to walk the planet and she was exposed to him, helpless.

  And ready. So damn ready that hot juices flooded her and her nipples felt as if they’d been tied in knots.

  The rough and warm hands responsible for the shockwaves were now on her hip bones. The way he ran his fingertips over her belly, he had to know what the touch was doing to her.

  “So pale,” he muttered. “Your skin where the sun doesn’t reach is so pale. And soft. Incredibly soft.”

  Unable to remember the last time she’d felt utterly feminine, she took hold of his wrists. Her thumbs pressed against his veins. When he stopped his exploration of her stomach, she guided his fingers under her top and along her ribs. Her breath whistled, and her hips twitched. She was floating, swimming without having to expend the slightest effort. If only they had the day for this.

  Perhaps he read her mind about time because with a deep sigh, he reversed direction. Her belly should have remembered what his touch felt like, but the moment he trailed a fingernail there, she gasped and arched her back. Trying not to pant took all her concentration.

  “Sensitive?” he muttered.

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “Yeah, I do. And I’d give a year of my life to explore that sensitivity.”

  Before she could guess what he had in mind, he leaned over her and ran his tongue where his nail had been.

  “Oh, God, God!”

  His hand closed over her mouth. He was right, absolutely right! She needed to be quiet. But damn it, he was still tonguing her belly and the taut flesh over her hip bones, compelling her to try to bite him. Still gagging her, he blew a long, moist breath along her pubic hair.

  Something white and swift surged through her. She started to thrash her head from side to side but stopped when he pressed down on her mouth. He’d repositioned himself so he was on her left side with his body pressed against her outer leg. Maybe she should have scooted away from him, but even though he was driving her crazy, freedom was the last thing she wanted.

  Breathing noisily, she released his wrist and grabbed a fistful of coarse hair. When she tug
ged, he tried to straighten, prompting her to increase her grip. He might have imprisoned her with his hot, knowing strength, but she was no helpless captive. Far from it, she could give as good as she got.

  Or not.

  Although she still had hold of his hair, he didn’t seem to care as he bathed her middle. When she stopped squirming and concentrated, fully, on the damn-wonderful sensation, he ran his teeth over her flank. Her flesh quivered. Nerves short-circuited.

  She nearly screamed when he let go of her mouth. Then he gripped the fingers tangled in his hair. Understanding that he wanted freedom, she complied. Not knowing what to do with her hand, she let it fall back to her side. Immediately her fingers started digging into the hay again.

  “I hear voices,” he whispered. “Constant. Not coming closer.”

  “Yet,” was all she could contribute. Because she couldn’t remember how to blink, her eyes burned. She couldn’t see him.

  But she could feel, oh, yes!

  What was he doing now? Oh, right, pulling her pants down around her ankles. A wave of embarrassment began and died because what did it matter what her clothes looked like? It didn’t, not at all because—

  Oh, shit. Because those wonderfully calloused fingers were at her core. Despite their roughness, they slid easily over her wet labia. He didn’t say anything about the absolute proof of her arousal. Instead, he simply explored. Explored and glided. She stopped trying to hold still. Keeping her teeth clenched against a river of excited cries took all her strength but not her concentration.

  That, of course, remained on his wonderful and overwhelming hand.

  Torn between wanting him to continue and the need to finish what they’d begun before they were discovered, she parted her knees as much as the restraining fabric around her ankles allowed. Next time—what next time?—she’d strip herself naked down to her socks or even better, let him do the deed.

  Maybe he needed more room. Maybe he simply enjoyed controlling her. Either way, he pressed against the insides of her knees, exposing her even more. At the same time, he pulled her toward him a few inches. A moment later he flattened his hands against her inner thighs. Without knowing how it had happened, her hands were in her hair and pulling hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.