Tempted by a Cowboy Read online

  Something hard and alive brushed her clit.

  “Oh, shit!”

  “Shh. Quiet.”

  “I can’t help—”

  The touch returned, lasting longer and reinforcing what she already knew. His cock was against her, promising the world.

  “When you come,” he asked, his tone deeper than earlier, “are you loud?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You can’t be this time.”

  She knew that, damn it, knew everything except how to rein in her body. Although it might be a lie, she told him she’d remain silent. Knowing he expected her to climax spoke not of his confidence in his sexual prowess, but of his understanding of her deep-riding hunger and need.

  Of course he understood. After all, hadn’t she done everything except rip his clothes off and throw herself at him?

  Blindsided by the question of why she needed this particular man so badly, she ground her teeth together. Neither that or her grip on her hair lessened her need.

  He was what, wild? Unknown. The mysterious stranger. Sex on two legs. All that and more. A tornado.

  And she needed him as much as she did air.

  “Hard. Fast,” she got out. “Now. Now!”

  Instead of the well-primed organ her sex wept for, he gave her another taste of those work-honed fingers of his. This time he went beyond a quick but practiced exploration of her labia. This time a finger slid into her. Fast. He’d buried himself in her pussy as far as he could before her brain registered what had happened. He’d impaled her. Just like that. Taken liberties. Taken control. Taken over.

  Panting open mouthed, she relaxed her grip on her hair because once more her system demanded she thrash her head. She thought she heard him grunt but whether in amusement or from his own arousal, she couldn’t tell. Didn’t care.

  He rotated his finger, roughness sliding over satin. Mewling like a lost kitten, she propelled herself toward him, stopping only when her ass reached the end of her perch. She mewled again when he pulled out, then sucked in as much air as her lungs could hold because he’d replaced his forefinger with the middle one. Once he was again in all the way, he cupped her mons in his palm.

  He seemed to be everywhere, in and around her, positioned between her legs with his breath flaming her cheeks.

  “Now, please,” she bleated. “Oh, God, please.”

  His rapid breathing had matched hers, but now the tempo seemed to increase and, was he trembling?

  He uttered something that might have been a curse. Then, although she believed with every fiber in her that he wanted to go on manhandling her, he drew his finger free. Anticipation bled through her. Releasing her hair, she reached for a masculine arm but only succeeded in raking it. His tension rolled over her, and she couldn’t breathe. Be silent. Not a sound.

  The slick-on-slick touch again, her clit on fire. Raking his arm once more, she struggled to arch her back off the hay. She might have succeeded if she could have concentrated.

  But there was that touch, cock pressing against her sex as if asking permission. The only thing she could do was toss her head and arch her pelvis toward him. An image of what she was doing and how she looked briefly swamped her. Then his cock stretched her, invading and gifting, and her world began and ended with him.

  Something crawled up her throat, prompting her to jam the side of her hand in her mouth. She bit down, only dimly feeling pain. Knowing she wouldn’t scream out what they were doing.

  Fucking. Splayed like some obscene display on a desert day. A stranger humping her, pushing deep and full and wonderful until his cock was everywhere. He wasn’t just in her pussy, no, not just that.

  He’d invaded her being, spreading hot and delicate tissues until she didn’t know where she let off and he began. It didn’t matter. They’d become one, fused.

  And moving.

  By gripping the sleeping bag with strong fingers, she managed to remain in place as he plowed her. Concerned a cry might escape now that she wasn’t gagging herself, she clenched her teeth as she’d done earlier. Mostly she met him thrust for thrust, determination for determination. Sweat bloomed along her sides and at the base of her throat. The small of her back was drenched.

  His low, deep grunts carried notes of desperation. Catching his mood, she surrendered her body and will to the white force. Her climax was right there, sudden and strong. For once she’d been given no warning, no time to anticipate. Instead, the explosion loomed over her, a tidal wave. She couldn’t run from it, couldn’t hold it back.

  Surrendering to the damn-wonderful inevitable, she threw herself into the churning current. Caught in its grip, she could only fight to breathe as it slammed her here and there, going on as never before, starting to settle only to rise up and shake her. Her jaws ached, and her fingers threatened to cramp. She couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear.

  But feel, oh, yes, she could! And when his body first froze and then shook and his breath bled over her exposed middle, she knew he’d found his own release.

  He was still inside her, still panting as rapidly as she was when her world started to come back into focus. Without her being aware of it, he’d slipped his hands under her ass and positioned her for maximum ease of entry. Although the position might have contributed to her over-the-top climax, the small of her back was beginning to protest.

  Letting go of the sleeping bag, she pushed herself into a semi-upright position with her arms braced behind her. He stepped back, freeing his still-swollen cock. Looking at her, he stripped off the condom. Then he pulled up his jeans and shoved the condom in a pocket.

  There was something final about his gesture, a return to sanity and civilization. She should do the same thing, cover herself and present herself as what she’d been up until a few minutes ago, a professional.

  Instead, the delicious ache in her sex held her. She looked down at what she could see of herself. Embarrassment nibbled for a moment, then faded as surely as her climax had.

  She should say something but what? And why wasn’t he speaking?

  Lifting her gaze, she studied a man with his shirt barely tucked in and his zipper undone, a man with flushed cheeks and a chest that rose and fell in double time. What had she thought a few minutes ago, that he was wild?

  The untamed was there all right, along with hints of the desert that surrounded them and the mustang waiting for his touch.

  Almost as if Blanco knew she was thinking about him, a loud, proud whinny cut through the air. The sound both thrilled her and sent a chill through her. The first time she’d seen the stallion, he’d been galloping along a rise with his mares close behind. His tail and mane had floated behind him, and he’d carried his head high and proud.

  She’d never forgive Miguel if he destroyed that spirit.

  Not knowing what to do with her thoughts, she got off the bale and hauled her clothing back into place. She kept her gaze locked on Miguel, quaking a bit in reaction to his intense stare. Putting herself together took too long because she couldn’t concentrate on what her hands were doing, but finally she’d done everything she could to make herself presentable.

  “I’ll leave first.” His voice carried no remnants of the sex-charged tone that had played a part in flinging her over the top. “Give me a couple of minutes and then come out.”

  What he’d proposed made a thousand kinds of sense. Why then did she hate hearing those words? Before she’d come up with an answer, he’d spun on his heels and was heading toward the opening. She watched with her lips parted and her body humming.

  She didn’t want to feel like this, damn it! To still have so little control.

  But could she expect anything different, she chided herself as he disappeared. The sun was touching him again, and the wind brushed over his exposed flesh. Thinking of those things made it all too easy to place him in the role of rugged cowboy. Everything about him was designed for an outdoors existence. What woman wouldn’t be drawn to a man who embraced, and was embraced by, nature? He had no u
se for fashionable clothing, no interest in popular cars or “in” entertainment establishments. He’d probably never gone to a hair stylist or considered buying modern male grooming products.

  Despite what constituted a great deal of his appeal, the question she had to face was whether those things had blinded her to a simple truth. She’d thrown herself at him and he’d used her need to his advantage.

  Used her.

  Filled with equal parts of regret and denial, she ran her fingers through her hair and started after him.

  The sudden sunlight made her squint and hold up her hand to shade her eyes. When her eyes had adjusted, she saw that all of the men were standing outside the corral. Miguel must have just spoken because they were looking at him and nodding. Putting an end to the distance between them was harder than she wanted to admit. At the same time, she could hardly wait to be close to him so she could feel his what, his sexual appeal?

  “Where’d you go?” Brod asked when she was close enough that they could carry on a conversation. “One minute you were here, the next—”

  “My fault,” Miguel supplied with a too-casual shrug. “I wanted to see the feed you’d been giving the mustangs. It’s good quality stuff.”

  Brod’s expression said he didn’t quite buy the explanation, and she could only pray she didn’t look too disheveled. Fortunately, the others who’d come to pick up a mustang were interested in what Miguel meant by “good quality.” Leaving them to discuss the merits of various grades of hay, she positioned herself so Brod was between her and Miguel. Just the same, something she didn’t want to name reached out from the man she’d just fucked to stroke body parts that hadn’t fully recovered from the urgent coupling.

  Hoping to distract herself, she studied the mustangs. Many people who knew nothing of wild horses beyond their mystique believed they lived a precarious existence, but these were well fed with glossy coats and healthy muscles.

  She wanted to see Miguel on horseback, barefoot, leaning over a straining neck as the stallion under him raced for the pure joy of life.

  Even more, she wanted to be the one under him.

  Caught unawares, she turned her face into the wind in a determined effort to cool her inflamed cheeks. Her pussy remained imprinted with his feel, and if she’d been alone, it wouldn’t take much to work herself into another climax. Even better would be a night with the near stranger who’d stormed into her world and taken over everything.

  All except for having to face herself the next morning.

  “If I was a betting man, I’d say the Mexican’s going to blow away the competition,” her supervisor said after the wranglers had departed with their new charges.

  “What makes you say that?” she asked as the two of them headed toward the cabins where they’d been staying since the mustangs had been rounded up.

  Brod shrugged. “Let’s call it instinct. There was something about the way he studied the broncs, as if he was trying to get inside their heads. Especially the one he chose.”

  She’d noticed his intensity of course. She just hadn’t thought of what he was doing in that light. “I wonder what he found.”

  “More than most people would suspect. I’ve been involved with mustangs long enough to realize they don’t survive and thrive unless there’s something going on between their ears. The Mexican gets that. My guess, he knows how to make the most of his stallion’s intellect.”

  “His name is Miguel Perez,” she said, her tone sharp.

  Brod shot a glance in her direction. “All right, Miguel Perez. He made quite an impression on you, didn’t he.”

  Because it hadn’t been a question, she wasn’t sure whether he expected a response. Unless he pressed the issue, she wasn’t going to say anything. They were nearly at the cabins. Once there, they’d go their separate ways. She’d be alone with her emotions and still-hungry body.

  “My guess,” Brod continued, “he’s spent more time around animals than humans. He sure as hell thinks and acts like one.”

  “How can you say that? You only spent a few minutes with him.”

  “Same with you, right?” This time she couldn’t fathom the look he gave her. “What I’m saying is, why do you care about what might be my half-baked attempt to psychoanalyze him?”

  “I didn’t—”

  Brod held up his hand. “Look, I’m sorry I said anything. I wish all the wranglers we’ll be dealing with are the best. Lord knows the mustangs need this new lease on life. Otherwise, we’re going to have to make some decisions about them none of us wants to. I’m just glad it isn’t me trying to domesticate them.”

  Relieved to have the conversation take this turn, she agreed with him. Then, although she was too restless to think about settling down, she went into her cabin. It had always struck her as barely large enough to accommodate one person. Now the walls closed in around her as never before.

  The reason was both simple and complicated. She felt swamped by what she’d done in that hay shed. The near whore who’d invited a stranger into her body wasn’t her. Never had been, never would be.

  Except this once.

  Once.

  “I don’t know why the hell it happened,” she told Miguel even though he wasn’t around to hear her. “What lasso you threw over me. But I’m not some untamed bronc you brand and—”

  Unable to finish, she opened the small refrigerator only to slam the door. Suddenly she felt sorry for Blanco. No matter how much the stallion craved his freedom, he was in Miguel’s clutches. Miguel’s eyes would probe his heart, and Miguel’s mind would reach deep into his soul.

  Thank God she wasn’t a mustang.

  5

  Blanco stared at Miguel from under the longest, darkest lashes Miguel had seen in years. Three days ago he’d placed the stallion in the spacious wooden corral where he worked and then had left him alone so the mustang could become accustomed to his new surroundings. Although there were no other horses in the corral, nearby enclosures held cow ponies. Because Blanco had spent his entire life with a herd, it was vital for the mustang to be close to others of his kind.

  He entered the corral carrying nothing but a long, slender pole which he held casually at his side. Blanco had already galloped to the far end of the enclosure and stood on wide-spread legs, poised to jump in whatever direction seemed safest.

  “Shhh, big boy,” Miguel crooned as he approached an inch at a time. “Shhh, nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to want to stomp into the dust.”

  Apparently not buying into his logic, the stallion reared.

  “Shhh, no need to do that. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a cougar. Just an ugly cowboy hauling this.” He shook the pole, careful not to lift it above the horse’s eye level.

  Even as he’d headed toward what he’d labeled his salvage project, his mind had been not on the mustang, but the woman he’d met the day Blanco had entered his life. In truth, Dawn Glass hadn’t been out of his mind since he’d first laid eyes on her.

  Amend that, fucked her.

  Damn it, he didn’t want or need that! As foreman of the massive D&B Ranch, his duties and responsibilities kept him on his feet from dawn until well after dusk. Year around, more than a dozen cowboys answered to him. Beyond that, the well-being of more than ten thousand cattle and twenty-some working horses depended on the decisions he made, to say nothing of the amount of sweat that ran off him.

  He loved his life. Looking after livestock came as naturally to him as other men were drawn to trying to make fortunes. Although he’d put enough away from his earnings to buy his own spread—which he would when he found the right one—he didn’t give a damn about getting rich.

  What it all boiled down to was, everything revolved around horses. Yes, the cattle paid the bills, but they didn’t own his heart.

  “Shh. Shh.” Keeping his muscles relaxed, he closed more of the distance between himself and Blanco. Although his voice was lower than his mother’s had been, like her, he relied on the same calming sound. Bei
ng captured had been traumatic for Blanco, and he’d come away from the experience believing all humans yelled and made loud noises. First order of business was to show the stallion that there was another way.

  “Shh. We’re doing this together, this getting to know each other business. I’m on your side. It might not look like it right now, but I have your best interests at heart.”

  Apparently he’d made an impact with Blanco as witnessed by the way the horse lowered his head a little. Less white showed in his eyes than before. Dawn hadn’t been anything like the wary, yet curious bronc, but he’d intrigued both of them. He just didn’t understand why the woman had been drawn to him.

  Again irritated for letting himself get distracted, he slowly held out the stick. Inch by inch it neared the mustang’s withers. The moment the stick touched Blanco’s shoulder, the stallion snorted and his loose skin shivered.

  “Shh. Nothing to get riled up about, just this cowboy trying to get on your good side. Let me take a guess. You’d love to be scratched there.” He guided the stick over Blanco’s withers. “Ah, feels good, doesn’t it. Used to be, you could get your mares to do a little nibbling and licking in the spots a guy can’t reach.”

  At first Blanco’s stare said he didn’t trust the human any further than he could kick him, but as the seconds ticked on, he relaxed until his lower lip sagged. In no hurry, Miguel rubbed along Blanco’s back until he reached the solid rump. By then, Blanco had all but closed his eyes and was breathing slow and deep.

  Damn it, why did he have to imagine Dawn Glass’s hands running over him? Why not some powerhouse of a woman? But no, his mind, and more, was putting the woman he’d fucked the other day in that role.

  Giving up, he let unaccustomed fantasy take over. He’d been out on the range all day rounding up strays and repairing fences. By the time he reached home he was tired and hungry and feeling every one of his thirty-one years and then some. Muscles he could ignore most of the time ached, and the only things he wanted in life was a beer, a shower, and dinner, in whatever order they came.