One Hot Cowboy

by Anne Marsh

  “We’re going to have rain,” he said, but there was no response. It figured. When he wanted her far away from him, she was right there. When he wanted her to stick close by, she’d gone off. Sliding out from beneath the truck, he sat up and spotted the rain sweeping down from the hill.

  The gray sheet of rain was headed right toward them, and he saw Rose watching it from a little distance away.

  She laughed, delighted, as if he’d arranged the downpour just for her. “Look, Cabe! Rain!” She was fairly dancing in anticipation of getting thoroughly soaked.

  “That’s rain, all right,” he agreed. And he would have enjoyed watching her joy except he realized that a heavy downpour was going to turn the dirt road into shit if it stuck around. Getting the tire fixed quickly was suddenly paramount. “We’ve got to get on the road if we don’t want to get mired out here.”

  “You’re no fun,” she snorted, dancing away from him.

  True enough. Since one of them had to be practical, he dropped to his knees by the bad tire, working the jack underneath the truck. Rose had her face turned toward the approaching rain. Shaking his head, he worked hurriedly, testing the jack to make sure he had it firmly in place. He couldn’t afford having the truck slip when he was underneath it. Still, his eyes kept being drawn to Rose.

  The rain came hard and fast. He should have been paying closer attention to the job, but instead, there he was, his hand on the sun-heated metal of the truck, watching Rose. The first wave of wet hit, the drops pinging against the pickup and stinging his skin. Wiping an arm over his forehead, he grabbed his hat from the side mirror and jammed it on.

  Rose didn’t seem to mind the wetness at all. The rain slicked the flimsy material of her tank top and shorts against her skin, and there was no way he could pay attention to the damned tire now. She was literally dancing in the rain, her hair slicked against the sides of her face. Those clothes of hers weren’t decent anymore. She was soaked to the skin, every curve and shadow on display. Just for him. A fierce urge to possess her, then and there, lit him up.

  Fuck. He worked the tire iron with a vengeance, forcing the stubborn lug nuts free, then jacking the truck up with slow, even pumps. He pulled the flat tire off and set it aside.

  After finally getting the new tire on and secured, he lowered the truck and finished tightening the nuts. Rose was still dancing, a slow, sensual weave that tempted him to join her. Instead, he tossed the jack back into the truck bed along with the flat tire. Not too much to salvage there, but a man could hope.

  His gaze fixed on Rose again, taking in her slender, sensuous form. The hardest damn thing he’d ever done was having her in his house and keeping his hands off her. He’d offered to look out for her, let her stay at the ranch as long as she liked, but she insisted on standing on her own feisty two feet, taking over a lot of the cooking and cleaning from the happy housekeeper, all the while revisiting Auntie Dee’s to straighten up the place, reviewing her estimates, calling around for better bids, and scrutinizing the Help Wanted listings for architect jobs that simply didn’t exist in Lonesome. That stubbornness exasperated and awed him at the same time. Rose had always been game, always up for a challenge. That was something special.

  She was special.

  The rain soaked her tank top, plastering the thin fabric against her breasts. As far as he could tell, she was wearing a bra—barely. The delicate little lace cups were more perch than ledge, though, the rain outlining every flourish and curlicue in the fabric that barely contained her. It was one hell of a view.

  She danced toward him, looking so damned happy and he had no idea why.

  Hell, he should have told her the truth about her place when he’d had the chance.

  Time to face the truth himself, too. He wanted Rose. Badly.

  When he reached out to her, she didn’t hesitate, just put her fingers in his as if accepting his invitation to waltz. He tugged her closer and caught her, depositing her on his thigh.

  “Cabe! This is . . . unexpected,” she gasped. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his T-shirt, clutching his shoulders. She was as off-balance as he was. Hell, yeah.

  “You wanted to help,” he pointed out gruffly. “This works for me.”

  “Cabe . . .” She watched him, laughing a little, but he didn’t miss the note of uncertainty there. She didn’t know what he wanted. Well, he planned to show her.

  And then he’d make her want it, too.

  Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he gently urged her face closer to his.

  “How is . . . this . . . helping?” she whispered.

  “You have no idea.” His mouth formed the words against hers. Her lips tasted like the strawberry lip gloss she’d used. Sweet and soft and slick. He rubbed his thumb over those lips, wanting more. “But I’ll show you, Rose.”

  She leaned in to his touch, and he wondered if she realized what she was doing. She was driving him crazy, the way she seemed to want to get closer. Getting both hands wrapped around her, he cupped her neck and her cheek, pulling her mouth down onto his. She could still leave. It wouldn’t take much effort. Those fingers curling into his shoulders could push, and he’d let go.

  When their lips met, he took control ruthlessly. He wouldn’t pretend this was anything but what it was. The two of them wanting each other.

  The rain coming down around them was slowing now. He should have gotten her inside the truck and out of the rain, but all he could do was kiss her and kiss her, his mouth devouring hers, his lips parting hers. She opened up for him, and he swept inside. Stroking and tasting. Learning every inch of this part of her. His Rose was so damned sweet.

  The scent of her wrapped around him, surrounding him every bit as much as her sexy little whimpers. She liked this. God, Rose liked this, and that set him on fire.

  When she finally pulled back, sucking in air as if to clear her head and get free of the sensual snare he’d set, he held on tight. “Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t stop, Rose.”

  She gazed at him in misty confusion. That kiss had changed everything.

  “We’re not just friends anymore,” he warned, and he saw the small shock of surprise in her eyes.

  “Friends?” she echoed.

  He shook his head. Hadn’t she realized he considered her a friend? Certainly a friend of the family, at least.

  “No . . . no, I guess we’re not,” she said softly. Then something mischievous lit up those gray eyes of hers. “Friends with benefits?” she whispered against his mouth, her arms around his neck.

  The rain was disappearing, sweeping over the next hill. The low growl of the thunder faded, and all that was left was the scent of wet ground and wet metal and the very wet woman in his arms.

  She watched his face, and he didn’t know what she expected to see there. They’d shared a kiss, more than a kiss, and now she had one hot cowboy on her hands.

  He didn’t know what she wanted. All he knew was that this was one of those moments he’d always remember. She was making a memory for him, for them, whether she knew it or not. And he’d do his damnedest to make certain that memory was a good one. Scooping her up, he set her on her feet.

  “You wanted to dance,” he said. “So dance with me, Rose.”

  Pulling her up into a slow, sensual two-step, he danced her in a slow circle as the last of the raindrops came down around them. It was just the two of them, the lowing cattle singing them a little song in the background, and that metallic scent of the pickup wet with rain. The rain wasn’t enough to solve his water issues, but right now, for just this moment, he didn’t give a damn.

  “Cabe . . .” she got out. She was looking for words, an explanation for this sudden shift in their relationship, and maybe she was right. Some things had to be said, no matter how much he wished they didn’t.

  He gave her as much honesty as he could. “You’re so damn beautiful, Rose.”

  And even that was an understatement, he thought, smoothing the damp strands of hair away f
rom her face. “You always have been.” Was that a flash of surprise in her eyes? Did she want him to say something else?

  “You never seemed to think so before,” she pointed out. She hadn’t let go of his shoulders, though, so he figured he still had a chance.

  “Hell, Rose,” he growled. “You wanted me to tell one of my kid brothers’ friends that I thought she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen? That wouldn’t have been appropriate, and we both know it.”

  “So now I’m older, it’s all okay?” Her eyes laughed quietly up at him. “We probably shouldn’t . . .”

  There was no probably about it, but, if she’d let him hold her, he’d be holding. And doing whatever else she’d allow.

  Her leg—her bare leg—shifted, rubbing wickedly against the erection straining against the buttons of his jeans.

  “Then I guess we have a whole lot of lost time to make up for.” What that sexy little rub of her leg was doing to him belied her prosaic tone.

  There was nothing civilized or decent about how he felt, about how her rain-soaked body moving against his felt. This was raw. Earthy. Christ, yes, he wanted to sleep with her, lose himself in her. She was old enough, and, just maybe, she wanted him, too. But that wasn’t all he wanted. He wasn’t sure what the something more was that he craved, but he knew for damned sure he wanted more than sex, no matter how hot.

  “Don’t overthink, Cabe.” She placed her hand on his mouth. “This is simple. Do we . . . have something here? Yes or no.”

  He gave in to the temptation to press a kiss against her palm, to inhale the sweet, clean scent of her. When he moved his head, her hand slipped down to his jaw. “Yes,” he growled. “Goddamn it, yes, Rose.”

  “No more talking. Not now. Let’s just dance.”

  He slowly swung her around, holding her in his arms. Taking a long second to savor the heat and scent of the woman.

  He lowered his mouth slowly this time. Giving her time to anticipate. To move away if she had to, because he needed this to be as perfect for her as he sensed it would be for him.

  His mouth captured hers, gentle but inexorable. His first kiss was just a warm brush of his lips against her closed mouth. Just feeling the soft skin beneath his and the sweet promise of more.

  “You’re perfect, darlin’,” he whispered.

  He kissed her again, harder and deeper. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her up against him so that he could feel all of her as he explored her mouth and lost himself in her sweet, wet heat. Somewhere, somehow, their kiss changed. Became hotter. Her hands slid up his arms, locking behind his neck and pulling him down in to her as she met him touch for touch in a blaze of sweet heat spiraling out of control.

  Chapter Four

  “Last chance.” The pickup roared beneath the hand-lettered sign announcing Blackhawk Ranch. Usually, when he drove beneath that sign, he couldn’t stop the little flare of pride. His daddy had done his best to run this place into the ground after their mama died, but Cabe had held on. He and his brothers had made the sign themselves, burning each letter into the wood, one by one.

  Now, that sign meant there was half a mile left until he’d have Rose where he wanted her. Where he’d dreamed of having her. He turned his head and stared at his companion in the front seat beside him. She watched him right back, looking hungry.

  “You’re not getting off that easy, cowboy,” she teased bravely. “If you’ve got cold feet, let me know.” Curling her legs up on the seat, she leaned into him. He’d turned the heater on, soaking the cab in warmth, and now her drying hair curled wildly. He put a hand on her leg, needing to touch her just that little bit, even though he could see the house now. Just a few more minutes, and he’d have her home.

  Home. She’d come back to Lonesome, expecting to inherit a home. Instead, she’d inherited a mortgage she couldn’t possibly pay back. He was going to take that home from her.

  After he had her.

  Yeah. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t want her like this, but he did, and bringing her here felt somehow right.

  “There’s nothing cold about me, darlin’.” He grinned and threw the pickup into park.

  “So,” she asked, leaning toward him before he could get his hand on the door. “Are you still mad at me for making you wait so long for me to get here?”

  A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. If they sat there much longer, half the house would be out to see what was up. He didn’t want an audience for what he had in mind. “You did take six months,” he drawled.

  “I thought about taking seven,” she admitted.

  His hand closed over hers, tugging her close for a quick, hard kiss. “Why didn’t you?”

  An impish smile claimed her face as she kissed him back, her tongue tracing his bottom lip. “I got laid off,” she admitted. “Lost my job and couldn’t keep up with my expenses, so I figured it was smarter to come back here now, where I had the house, even if I couldn’t afford to fix it up yet.”

  When she smiled and talked about Auntie Dee’s house, her whole face lit up. He’d spent his life here, working his ass off to keep the ranch going. He’d seen the life sucked out of good men who’d poured themselves, heart and soul, into their places. His Rose was so alive. She played by an entirely different set of rules. Maybe, just maybe, Rose Jordan was a chance at pleasure, a different kind of living. He couldn’t pass her up.

  “I would have come for you,” he promised. “I wouldn’t have let you stay away from me forever.”

  “Promises,” she said lightly, but he could see the hunger in her eyes as she shifted away from him, reaching for the door. She had always been impatient, never able to wait. He was looking forward to making her do some waiting now. “You want to spank me, Cabe, for misbehaving?”

  Hell, now there was an image to make a man think twice. He could just see her, her delicious little ass all cherry pink while he heated her backside just a bit. Just before he kissed it all better.

  Getting out of the truck, he came around the side. Now she was waiting, her hand on the edge of the door. Not for him to open it but for him to take charge of the moment. Which was fine with him. He was damned tired of being two steps behind her. First time he’d seen her looking hesitant, though. Usually, Rose moved through life like she knew precisely where she was going and what she wanted. Maybe she realized that these sensations, the heat building between them, meant that things were going to change yet again.

  His Rose had weathered more than her fair share of changes.

  So he’d just have to convince her that this change was a good one. Once he had her in his arms and in his bed, he’d show her precisely how things had changed for the better between them. He’d show her just how good they could be together.

  Pulling open her door and reaching in for her, he swung her up into his arms.

  The first time she’d seen the ranch house a few days ago, she’d thought it both was and wasn’t what she’d expected of Cabe Dawson. He’d finished building it after she’d gone, and the result was an impressive, adobe-style ranch that screamed costly Southwestern design. It was four thousand square feet of high-end construction. A fireplace made with stones from the creek dominated the main space that stretched the length of the building.

  He’d clearly wanted a home that would last. It was the house of a man with plenty of money, a man who didn’t need to be standing ankle-deep in dust, fixing a watering trough. That was Cabe Dawson, though. He’d never sat back and waited for what he wanted. He’d gone out and worked his ass off. The current success of the ranch was due in no small part to his efforts. It was an open secret in Lonesome that his father had just about run the place into the ground. His wife’s aristocratic family had never thought much of him, and he’d lived down to their expectations.

  “A girl could get used to this.” She slid her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his skin. Each breath dragged the scent of him deeper into her. Man and outdoors, leather and sage. God, he smelled g
ood.

  He pushed the truck door shut with one booted foot. They went into the house like that, him carrying her as if she was the bride in a story. She turned her face into his shirt collar. She wasn’t shy, but she didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else. And Cabe Dawson came with a lot of someone elses, including those brothers of his.

  “I think we’re going to make it,” he said, voicing her unspoken fears. Maybe neither of them was ready to share this change with the world just yet. He moved confidently through the ranch house, headed for his bedroom.

  He took the stairs quickly and got her into his very masculine, neatly appointed room, shutting the door behind them. As he strode for the big bed, she slipped the Stetson from his head and tossed it over his shoulder.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Strip for me.” The hat’s brim hid his eyes, and she wanted to see him now, all hard and hot for her. Maybe things were changing for the better between them, or maybe, by tomorrow, the distance would be back between them, and all she’d have would be the memories.

  “Stay put a moment and I’ll give you whatever you want.” He set her down on the bed, and she was content to roll onto her side and watch him undress, his sure hands pulling his T-shirt over his head. He toed off his boots, and when his hands went to his belt buckle, the heat in the room ratcheted up.

  This wasn’t at all familiar. This was where they stopped being neighbors, stopped being “friends.” Where they became lovers. He stood, shoving jeans and underwear down his legs.

  God, he was impossibly beautiful. He was all hard muscles and chiseled strength. He might own the ranch and everyone on it, but he worked as hard as any of his men.

  He settled down on the bed beside her. One arm slid back around her waist as he pulled her up to his big, hard body and came up over her. He smelled warm, like California sunshine and heat.

  Right. He smelled right.

  “Cabe Dawson,” she whispered.