Falling For A Cowboy Read online

  “He was a wrangler, too?” With a clang she tossed a penny onto the heap.

  He should have raised higher. “I’m following in his footsteps.” He laid down his cards, a straight. No need to explain yet what he did or didn’t do. Best if she thought he was just a rodeo cowboy. There’d be no expectations of anything more if she thought he was the type to drift.

  “My sympathies, Clay. I know how tough it must have been.” She laid down three of a kind, kings.

  He scooped up the pitiful pile of pennies and added them to his small one. “How did you lose your father?”

  “Lung cancer.” Her tone was flat but she bit on her lip as if she was afraid it would run away.

  “Sorry. That must have been tough.”

  She nodded and shuffled the deck. The cards ended up askew, and she fiddled to right them. They both were silent as she dealt. She obviously was wrestling with some unresolved pain. He knew about that. Watching the play of emotions on her face as she struggled to hide it, he felt strangely protective of her. She seemed fragile, as if all that bluster of hers was masking some deeper vulnerability.

  He picked up his cards. Nothing. “You always think you’ll have time. My father and I butted heads a lot. I wasn’t exactly an easy teenager. I still miss him. Everyday.” He rarely talked about his father with anyone.

  She lay down the hand and fixed her gaze on the back of the cards. “I know. I wasn’t easy either. Actually, I was pretty angry at him for dying, for leaving us for good.”

  Yup. He sure could relate. “Me too.”

  Her gaze found him. Those beautiful lake blue eyes of hers could mesmerize Rasputin. His heart did a two-step.

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. Big time angry. Took me years to realize it wasn’t his fault. I blamed him for always having to be in the center of things, you know. If he’d just left the shoeing to the blacksmith. Seems stupid when I say it out loud.” He put in two pennies to open.

  She shook her head. “I know. I think I’ve hung onto my grievance for too long. I’m not even sure any of it was justified. I think I was wrong about him all this time. And I can never tell him. “ Her eyes glistened, as if they were holding back tears.

  He understood about finality, too. He’d gone through the same guilt after the anger had subsided. But apparently she hadn’t been able to put it to rest yet. In fact, she looked like she could still use comforting.

  “I’m pretty sure your father knows. You ever talk to your father?”

  Her eyebrows shot up in question. “No, he’s…”

  Clay smiled. He should have expected the reaction. “I know. But I talk to my father just about every day over something. I’ll be moseying along and find myself with a problem I’m sure he faced, and I’ll just ask for his help.” Clay shrugged hoping he was hiding his unease in talking about this. “Damn if the answer doesn’t come to me.” He shook his head feeling a little stupid for his confession and looked at her from under his brow. “Sound strange?”

  “Actually, I’ve heard my mother doing just that when she thinks no one’s around.” She sent him a small smile. “I think maybe I should try it.”

  He gave a half-nod. “No guarantees, but if nothing else, I think it will make you feel better.” Now she probably thought he was a complete idiot. “How about we go in there and just listen to Kenny Wayne?” He couldn’t keep looking and not touching. And, while he’d every intention of keeping his word about being a Texas gentleman, he had a special brand of comfort in mind.

  “Okay,” she whispered the word.

  Maybe now he’d get a chance.

  * * *

  “I told you I’d be a gentleman, and, despite what it will cost me, I’ll keep my word.” Clay had a big old smile on his face as he patted the cushion of the sofa where he sat. Kenny Wayne was singing about giving a girl everything. She didn’t doubt this cowboy could.

  She fiddled with the sound control of the MP3 player on the end table. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to sit next to him. If he’d just keep it to kissing. Heck, who was she kidding? If she’d just keep it to kissing.

  She’d no doubt he’d keep his word about being a gentleman. But if she asked him, he wouldn’t be breaking it. Why had she thought she could entertain him alone in her house and not find him in her bed in the morning? That lazy smile of his said he bet she couldn’t.

  Within a second of her sitting down, he wrapped a muscled arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer. She could feel the heat from his body as her bare thigh made contact with his denim-covered one. She stared at warm eyes and a slanted grin and her insides went liquid like some blender had been switched on at full speed.

  “Now being a gentleman…” His husky voice rolled over her like a soothing lullaby. “…I’ll ask first if I can kiss you. Just kiss you, honey. That’s all.” His wine-laced breath blew hot on her skin, the last sentences half-whispered in her ear.

  In an involuntary movement, her head nodded in agreement. Oh God, what if he asked permission for everything? And she granted it? She doubted she had the willpower to act differently. From the moment he’d stood at her door she’d wanted to kiss him and more. Having spent the evening with him, want had turned to need.

  His hand caressed her cheek, leaving a rough trail of heat as he traced her jaw line. Her puréed insides began to quiver.

  “I’m going to take it slow, darling,” he drawled in her ear. He shifted so she was staring right into shining eyes beckoning her to trust him. But he wanted her for only one reason and the trust he was seeking was probably just her acknowledgement that he’d be a good lover, nothing more.

  Part of her wanted to settle for that. Seeing him on her sofa, feeling his touch, her desire had ratcheted up to a whole new level—to a plane she’d never been on before. Not with Bradley or the few, very few, boys who’d taken her out in high school. There was no future here—no white picket fence, no stability, nothing but this night. Maybe it was enough.

  He brushed his lips across hers. The quivers increased. “That’s it. Just a kiss.” His hand went to her waist, the warmth seeping through her shirt. Again, he brushed her lips with his.

  Why did she have to feel so much from just his touch? Her insides were jumbled, her hands shaky, and her mouth had gone dry.

  “I want you, honey,” he said and his mouth came down on hers, hard, demanding, and tasting of wine. His one hand held her head while his other stroked her back as though he was petting a kitten. Sensuous stroking that made her womb clench, stroking that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

  She opened for him. His tongue flicked against hers, probing and tasting. She probed and tasted him in return. He pressed her closer. She snuggled up to him. Before she knew it, she was on his lap. While his mouth did a number on hers, her arms wrapped around his neck, her breasts pressed against his solid chest, and her knees cradled his hips. His long, hard, length pushed against her center. There, right there. Moisture beaded between her thighs. All the time his mouth pulled her further into his vortex. Whatever resistance she’d managed before had evaporated. She closed her eyes and gave in.

  Her hips moved against his hard flesh while his hands rubbed her back in encouragement. She slipped up and down, denim rubbing against cotton, the friction of the fabric creating wonderful sensations. Mirroring her desire, his tongue darted in and out in rhythm, as his mouth consumed hers. Nothing mattered, nothing counted but this moment with this man who wanted her.

  She burned to get closer, to have more. But what if it was only tonight?

  She was only dimly aware of the phone ringing. It sounded distant, like it was in someone else’s house. Not hers. The answering machine. The answering machine would get it.

  He halted his assault, his lips hovering over her mouth, as if waiting for a signal from her. She continued the kiss. The answer machine clicked on.

  “It’s Tara Lynn. Pick up or I’ll think something is wrong and storm over there.”

  Da
mn.

  He broke the kiss. “You’d better answer that, honey. She sounds like she means it.” His voice was deep, rich, and husky.

  She opened her eyes. Hooded lids, glassy pupils, and a sexy grin greeted her. Damn again.

  “Dusty, pick up,” the machine cackled.

  Why did Tara Lynn have to be such a conscientious friend? She fumbled for the phone stationed on the end table between the MP3 player and the vase with silk roses.

  “Hello.”

  “Thank God. Are you okay? I was scared out of my wits. Wondering if I had sent a psycho over there.” Tara Lynn’s voice sounded strained with worry.

  Dusty could barely catch her breath her heart was pounding so fast. “Everything is fine.” Now was not the time to have a conversation about what Tara Lynn had done and whether or not she should have done it.

  “You’re not mad?”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, but you’re not mad? Tell me I did right? I had Andy check him out and all.”

  “Everything is fine. Really. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Promise? And you’ll tell me everything?”

  One of Clay’s talented hands massaged her back. His other was inching toward her breast.

  Dusty had to get off the phone. “Yes. Bye.” She clicked off before Tara Lynn could say more.

  Then she rolled off Clay, before his hand could touch her nipple, and put the phone back in its holder. What had she been thinking? He didn’t want her, Dusty. He was just after a warm and willing woman.

  With a satisfied grin on his face and a prominent erection under those jeans, Clay reached for her. She sat back and tucked her legs under her.

  “Come here, honey. We were just getting started,” he said.

  She shook her head. Though her body was crying out for more, this wasn’t what she wanted. Wasn’t what she needed. He was just filling in the time between rides.

  His grin turned to a frown. “She didn’t say something bad about me?” He raised a hand. “I swear, Dusty, I’ve never been on the wrong side of the law. If she told you something, it was either a lie or a mistake.”

  “No, Tara Lynn didn’t say anything. She was just checking up on me. Just being a good friend.”

  His frown relaxed. “Well then, come here.” He patted his nicely rounded thigh. “Those kisses of yours are scorching me alive and I like to feel the burn.”

  She shook her head again. “No. I don’t think so. Besides, I’m not your type.” Sometimes you had to tell the truth even if it hurt.

  The frown came back, deeper this time. He narrowed his eyes, making them look darker. “How can you know my type when I don’t have a clue? Least not anymore.”

  She settled back against the couch. He knew darn well what type. “You know, the ‘let’s have fun’ type. The sexy ones with the big boobs who every man wants from the moment they walk in a place.” Not the petite blonde who looks like a kid wearing her sister’s clothes. “Just what are you doing here with me?”

  He rubbed his chin as if stalling for time. Because he knew she was right. Because he just needed a room and she was convenient.

  “Maybe I like you?” he said, as if angry at the thought.

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Maybe I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “Does that mean starting with the bedroom?” Now she felt the anger. Anger was good. Anger would help keep some distance between them.

  He shrugged. A non-committal, “does it matter” shrug. And yes, it mattered to her. “I said we’d just start with kissing. And I asked, remember?”

  Yes, she sure did remember. And she’d let her hormones do the answering. “Well, now I’m saying no.” She swung her legs out and stood up.

  “Where are you going, Dusty? What the hell did Tara Lynn say?” Frustration deepened the weathered lines of his face.

  “I’m getting the bed linens. This is a folding couch and you’ll be sleeping down here.” Their spare room had been turned into a sewing room and study since her father’s friends no longer came to bunk down during the rodeo season.

  His mouth tightened into a flat line. “Okay. That’s fine. But I don’t understand why you’re so all fired angry with me.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m not angry with you, Clay. I’m angry with myself. I was close to settling.”

  He stood up, straightening to his full six-foot height. “Settling? With me?”

  She felt small again and she didn’t like the hurt look in his eyes. He didn’t deserve that. He’d really done nothing wrong. She stared over his shoulder, afraid to look at him. “No. I’d be settling for a one night stand just to prove I was…well, that I was desirable to someone like you.” She’d barely whispered the words.

  He grabbed her arm, held it in a gentle grasp. “Dusty, look at me.”

  She raised her gaze and met his head on. His jaw was clenched, his smile tight, as if he was wavering between control and something else.

  “I desire you. Hell, I want you more than any woman I’ve been with. And that’s not just talk. I don’t understand it myself. This is new to me. Because I’m pretty certain one night isn’t going to do it for me, either.” His voice had gone soft and he took a deep breath as if he needed to brace for something. “That scares me because I don’t know if I’m ready to offer more. And I understand if it’s not enough.”

  At least he was being honest about not being ready to offer more. The rest, she wasn’t buying. “It’s not.” She wrenched her arm free.

  “Fine. But don’t go thinking you’ve nothing to offer a man.” Irritation tinged his words. “You’re smart, funny, sassy, and sexy as hell. I can’t look at you and not want you. And I sure can’t kiss you and hide the fact. I’m not sure where this insecurity of yours is coming from except that Bradley fellow must have done a number on you.”

  “How do you know about Bradley?” Anger flamed up within her because she knew the answer as soon as she asked the question. Tara Lynn had a lot to answer for.

  “Look, I’m just saying that I’m attracted to you. You’ve sure been keeping me up at night.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “And I mean that in every sense.”

  God he was devastatingly attractive, and so convincing when he said lines like that. But she didn’t believe him. Not one word. He was a rodeo cowboy, after all.

  “I’ll get the linens.”

  Chapter Six

  Dusty wondered if Clay was awake yet as she tip-toed down the stairs. It was almost ten o’clock, meaning she’d missed the Heritage Day parade. She hadn’t missed the parade since she could remember. Not that the floats and the band were all that much, but in Langley everyone went to the parade to show their support. It was a town thing.

  She’d been up most of the night thinking about the hunk of a cowboy sleeping in her living room. After checking the clock almost every half-hour she must have finally fallen asleep sometime before dawn and had slept right through. By the time she’d showered and put on her make-up, which took an extraordinarily long time that morning, it was well past parade time.

  Pausing at the bottom stair, she peeked into the living room at the bare-chested man lying under the pale yellow blanket covering the sofa bed. He was still asleep. Whitey lay next to him, his doggy eyes trained on her, watching. Even her dog was turning traitor.

  She’d wondered what Clay looked like in the morning. Hell, she’d wondered what he looked like at night, naked. That had been one of the questions costing her sleep.

  She tip-toed over to the sofa, peered down, and took a deep breath. Clay laid spread eagle, work-hardened arms flung out across the mattress like some offering to a god—or goddess. His brown hair was tousled and those fringed eyelashes feathered his high cheek bones. She took in his straight, sculpted nose, firm full lips, and the dark shadow of hair that dusted his strong jaw line. Her gaze traveled to his chest where sun-kissed skin was stretched taut over muscle. He looked like a sculptor’s masterp
iece, lean, hard, and buff. Eye candy to her sweet-starved brain.

  She followed the thin line of dark hair that ran down the middle of his toned stomach. It disappeared under the tented blanket that covered the treasure trying to poke through. Her hands itched to pick up the edge of the fabric and discover that treasure for herself.

  She stepped closer, desire warring with reason. Before a winner could be declared, a strong arm encircled her waist and brought her tumbling down onto that firm abdomen. She fell with a squeal as smooth skin and tight muscles greeted her. Whitey scrambled from the bed.

  “Come here, darling.” Clay crooned the words as he wrapped both arms tightly around her and pulled her up to him. Before she could think, he’d rolled over her. The only things separating them were her denim skirt and the thin cover, now bunched at his hips.

  “I’ve missed you.” He feathered little kisses along her neck. Waves of delicious tingles rolled through her.

  She didn’t try to resist. A long firm length prodded her thighs. Unless he’d taken a hammer to bed with him last night, the man was hard and ready. The wetness between her legs said she was too.

  But this was insane.

  “Clay, don’t,” she managed to eke out between signals from her body telling her to let it ride. Fortunately, her brain was on duty this morning.

  Like she had thrown a switch, he released her and rolled onto his back, pulling the covers along with him. He covered his eyes with the back of a hand.

  “I know you want it, Dusty. Why won’t you let me give it to you?” Frustration edged his words.

  He was right. She did want it. “I don’t know.” It was the only answer she could give. Something was preventing her from answering the call of every part of her body.

  “I’d make it good for you, honey.”

  “Clay, it’s not that.”

  He sat up in one fluid motion, the blanket barely covering his lap. “What is it then?”

  She shrugged. She was struggling to attach a name to it, too. But if the guy didn’t get some clothes on, there might be no need for this conversation.