The Rebel and the Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 2)

by Sarah Mayberry

  “I told you, you drive me crazy,” he said. He ducked his head for a beat, and when he lifted it again, she could see the intensity of his emotions in his eyes. “I feel like I wasn’t even really alive until I met you. That’s how much you light up the world for me.”

  It was too much. Eva didn’t work with words, she channeled her art and emotions through her hands and that was the only way she could possibly convey the depth of her reaction to what he’d just shared with her. Reaching for the hem of her tank top, she stripped it over her head, revealing her black satin bra. A flick of the wrist and it was unclasped and sliding down her arms. She stood, her hands going to the stud on her denim mini. She popped it, then released the zip and shimmied the fabric down over her hips.

  “Lie back,” she told him, thumbs in the sides of her panties.

  Casey hesitated, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her stepping out of her underwear. She moved in front of him, then placed a hand on his chest and pushed him backward.

  “I said lie back.”

  The night air was warm on her skin, but her breasts were already tight with arousal as she stepped over his prone body so that she stood straddling his hips. Then she sank down onto her knees and pressed her breasts to his chest, her mouth seeking his.

  His tongue stroked into her mouth, hot and urgent, his hands coming up to cup her backside. She could feel how hard he was through his jeans and she rubbed herself against him, the sensual friction making her purr with pleasure.

  Even though she was aching for more, she stretched the kiss out, loving the feel of his warm arms around her. Only when she couldn’t stand it another second did she reach between them to release his jeans. He lifted his hips to help her push them down, passing her a condom. They both watched as she smoothed it down over his thick, hard cock. Then she lowered herself onto him, unable to hold back a gasp at how good and right it felt to have him inside her.

  “Can you feel how much I want you?” she asked as she tilted her hips and let him slide out again, almost to the point of losing him.

  His eyes glinted in the darkness. “Yes.”

  “That’s what your song did to me. That’s what you do to me,” she told him.

  She plunged back down onto him, grinding herself against his pubic bone.

  “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Sorry, babe, but I can’t. Not tonight.”

  She was about to ask what he meant, but he was already sitting up, his big hands holding her in place as he rolled her under him. And then he was over her and in her, and she was holding on for dear life as he started to pump his hips.

  It was so good, and she was so turned on, all she could do was try to remember to breathe as he stroked into her again and again. What he did to her, the way he made her feel, the lust and the care and the kindness…

  All the emotions swirling in her head got mixed up with the tension ratcheting her body toward fulfillment and when she came, she was surprised to feel the dampness of tears on her face.

  He found his own bliss not long after, and she turned her face to the side as he recovered, hoping he wouldn’t notice her tears before she had a chance to wipe them away.

  “Hey. Eva… Are you okay?” he said, his voice gentle, his eyes concerned.

  So much for him not noticing.

  “I’m fine. Sorry. That’s never happened to me before.”

  He propped himself up on his elbows, his face creased with concern, and there was so much worry in his eyes that she forgot about protecting herself.

  “I’m just so glad I met you,” she said. “That’s all. Everything that’s happened has been so amazing. I feel incredibly lucky and grateful.”

  He stared down into her face, his expression intense. “I knew the moment I met you that you were someone special.”

  They held each other then, their grips tight. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she held them back because it had only been a week, and she was here for another two months at least, and there was time.

  Casey kissed her forehead before releasing her, a tender benediction that made her chest get tight. Then she came back to earth and realized true night had fallen while they were locked in each other’s arms.

  “I’ll turn on the lantern,” he said.

  Eva shivered, surprised by how quickly the heat had gone out of the day. Casey passed over her tank, and she pulled it on without bothering with her bra before reaching for her mini skirt. She was shrugging into the hoodie she’d brought with her when a memory tickled at her.

  “You said you were going to talk to me about the song tonight for some other reason…?”

  “Right.” Casey shot her a look from beneath his eyelashes before concentrating on doing up his jeans.

  She cocked her head, realizing this was the first time she’d seen him truly uncomfortable.

  “Spit it out, Carmody.”

  “I wrote that song thinking no one would ever hear it,” he said.

  “What? No. That would be a crime. It’s so good,” she said, surprised he’d even consider burying his work.

  “Yeah, well, the rest of the Shots agree with you. I wound up playing it for them tonight and they pretty much all voted for it to be the song we enter in the KUPR competition. But I didn’t want to do that until I spoke to you. Because it’s your song, too.”

  Eva opened her mouth, ready to urge him to enter the song. Then she thought about the lyrics, about the earthy, raw emotion he’d evoked. Everyone who heard the song and saw them together would know it was about her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that kind of exposure.

  On the other hand, it was a compelling, attention-grabbing song. If she heard it on the radio, she’d want to hear it again.

  Casey was waiting for her response, his expression so earnest and worried, and she understood his primary concern was for her, not his song, not his band, and suddenly the answer was easy.

  “Send it in,” she said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s a great song. People are going to love it.” A thought occurred to her. “What’s it called?”

  He looked a little sheepish. “‘Song for Eva.’”

  She laughed, then leaned across and kissed him, hard. “Might as well own it, huh? It’s perfect.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eva started work in earnest the next day. The rental company delivered a cherry picker to the elevator site first thing, and she was finally able to inspect the condition of the weatherboards up close.

  There were a few sections that were in worse shape than she’d hoped, but Heath had already put his building team at her disposal to affect any remedial work required. By the end of Friday, the rotten boards had been replaced and she was ready to start removing the old paint with a sandblaster. Again, the rental company delivered her equipment first thing Monday morning and she spent the day working her way down the structure.

  It was hard, noisy, dirty work, and even though she wore the most effective protective gear available, she still went home feeling gritty at the end of the day. The next morning, she arrived at the site and stood with her head tilted back at the base of the elevator, marveling at the beautiful, big canvas she had to work with.

  This was when shit started getting real, and it was her favorite part. Before she could start laying down the outline for her first portrait, she needed to prime the surface, so her next task would be to get two coats of a sturdy, all-weather paint primer onto the wall.

  Walking back to the van, she unpacked her air compressor and spray gun and lugged it back to the cherry picker. Her phone pinged to let her know she’d received a message, and she saw it was from Casey, texting to ask how she felt about him bringing her lunch.

  She felt very good about it and let him know as much, smiling when he sent her back a series of ridiculous emojis with love-heart eyes and puckered lips.

  Putting her phone away, she moved on to fueling the generator and mixing thinners into the first of the buckets of primer, a nece
ssary task to ensure the paint didn’t choke her spray gun. Then she lugged the first bucket into the cherry picker and finished linking the air compressor to the spray unit.

  It was hot enough that she’d been avoiding pulling on her well-worn, paint-splattered work overalls until the last moment, but she finally did so before collecting her full-face respirator.

  The generator rumbled to life immediately when she hit the go button, and she climbed into the cherry picker’s cage and engaged the motor. Slowly she rose through the air until she was mere feet from the top of the structure. Pulling the respirator down over her face, she plugged in her ear buds, and dialed up one of her favorite playlists.

  Then she took aim with the spray gun and started laying down swathes of paint across the elevator wall, her movements slow, steady and practiced. By the time it was nearly twelve, she’d worked through more than thirty gallons of paint and half the wall was painted a mottled white.

  She hit the button to lower the picker’s cage, pleased with her morning’s work. The warm breeze was a sweet and welcome relief after sweating under the respirator for hours and she ran a hand over her damp hair and rolled her shoulders. They’d be sore tonight, but that was par for the course when she was at this stage of a job.

  She was just stepping out of the picker’s cage when the sound of an engine slowing made her look over her shoulder. She was expecting to see Casey, since it was close to lunchtime, but instead she saw a glossy black SUV roll into the parking area. Dane was behind the wheel, his face inscrutable behind a pair of sunglasses.

  Well, shit.

  She’d thought—hoped—he’d be long gone, since he’d lost the commission. But apparently he hadn’t been able to tear himself away without saying goodbye.

  She turned her back and closed her eyes for a beat, reminding herself that he was the past and that there was nothing he could say that would hurt or harm her. Then she turned to face him, watching as he climbed out of the SUV.

  He glanced at the wall briefly before walking toward her.

  “Starting with a shitty spray job, I see,” he said. “For the record, I’d have your ass up there doing it again properly if this was my job.”

  He was so obviously trying to make her second-guess herself and feel inadequate, she couldn’t repress a smile. There wasn’t anything she didn’t know about surface prep, and they both knew it.

  “Did you want something?” she asked.

  He seemed disconcerted by her smile and it took him a moment to find his groove again.

  “I wanted to put you on notice—this is the last commission you’ll get from me, okay?” Dane said. “This makes us even. Whatever debt you think you’re owed is paid in full and if I find out you’re targeting another one of my projects, I’m coming after you with everything I’ve got.”

  Eva stared at him, barely able to comprehend what she was hearing. Was he… Was he really trying to make it sound like he let her win this commission as a way of addressing her claims against him?

  It was such an arrogant, twisted take on what had really happened that for a moment she didn’t know how to process it.

  And then she did, and she burst out laughing.

  “Consider me on notice,” she said.

  What a delusional tool. She felt ashamed that she’d once admired him so much she’d put her own ambitions on hold for him.

  He snatched off his sunglasses, the better to glare at her, she imagined, but it only made her laugh again.

  “You think that this mural will be your moment of triumph, but all people are going to see is a copycat version of me and my work,” he said.

  The nastiness of his words helped sober her and she considered him for a moment, trying to understand why he was so angry with her. She was the one who’d given him everything and put her own hopes and dreams aside, not him. She was the one who had worshiped at his altar and been so bitterly disappointed to realize their relationship was contingent on that worship. Yes, she’d effectively out-pitched him for a lucrative commission, but she knew what his work schedule was like. Her win wasn’t going to hurt him or his career.

  “All I ever wanted was for you to respect me the same way that I respected you,” she said quietly. “I wanted you to care about my art and my happiness as much as you cared about your own. Was that really asking so much?”

  Dane frowned. “Your failure to create is not on me. I didn’t make you do anything. You volunteered to work for me. You’re the one who took all the admin on—I never asked you to do that. So don’t go pretending you’re some kind of martyr now.”

  She could hear the bafflement beneath his anger, and it dawned on her for the first time that he was genuinely incapable of putting himself in her shoes. From his point of view, they’d had a professional and romantic relationship that gave him everything he needed and wanted, and he was angry and confused that she had rocked the boat and asked for more and ultimately walked away when he failed to offer it.

  She was the one who had let him down, not the other way round.

  Amazing.

  Maybe in years to come, he’d be able to extract his ego and his hurt from the situation and see their relationship differently, but she didn’t really care. They were over, and there was nothing he had to say that interested her.

  What a joy that was to realize—she didn’t care about him.

  What a sweet, blessed release.

  She nodded as though she was agreeing with him. “Okay. Safe travels, Dane. Good luck with everything.”

  Because, really, what else was there to say?

  She pulled the respirator off her head and carried it over to the van. Dane followed, an angry presence at her back.

  “You think this project is all you need to get to my level? You’re deluded,” he said.

  She turned to face him, unruffled by his rage now she understood where it came from. God, she almost felt sorry for him.

  “Dane, please just go. I don’t want to stand here throwing words at you. Haven’t you got better things to do? Go make art somewhere. Move on. Do things that make you happy. That’s what I’m doing.”

  He stared at her as though she was speaking a language he didn’t understand. The sound of another car engine drew her gaze over his shoulder and she saw Casey’s pickup pull in beside the rented SUV.

  She could see the wariness on Casey’s face and the alertness in his body as he got out of the truck and she smiled and waved to let him know she was just fine.

  “Who’s this?” Dane asked. Then his chin lifted minutely as he recognized Casey. “Right, the cowboy from the bar the other night. You’ve been busy.”

  “I totally have,” she said, unable to hold back her smile.

  Casey came to a halt at her side, his eyes concerned as they scanned her face.

  “All good here?” he asked, flicking Dane a cool look.

  “Yep. Dane was just going.”

  Dane eyed Casey as though he was thinking about pushing the issue, but then he simply shrugged a shoulder angrily and turned on his heel to march back to his SUV. Then he slammed the door like a three-year-old and tore out of the lot leaving a plume of dust behind him.

  “Happy to chase him down if I need to,” Casey said, his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the SUV speed up the highway.

  “You don’t need to. I don’t give a single hoot what he thinks, does, believes, or says.”

  She smiled to prove it, and Casey rewarded her with a slow smile in return.

  “Good.”

  She stood on tiptoes to hook her arm around his neck and pull him close for a kiss, savoring his taste and the feel of his body against her own.

  “It is good. It’s very, very good. Now, what did you bring this starving woman for lunch?”

  *

  Sunday morning, Casey woke to find Eva kissing the back of his neck, her hand working a slow path over his hip toward his groin.

  “Morning,” she whispered in his ear, and for the next little while she made
him forget about everything except how good they were together. Afterward, they showered and headed for the kitchen, where Jed was parked at the table, reading the weekend paper.

  “You know you can read that online now, right?” Eva teased him, automatically refilling his coffee cup before pouring coffees for the two of them. “No ink-stained fingers, no paper to recycle.”

  “I like turning the pages. I’m old fashioned like that,” Jed said.

  “You’re such a cowboy,” Eva said.

  “Spoken like a true city slicker,” Jed retaliated.

  Casey slotted bread into the toaster and propped a hip against the counter to wait for it to brown. Sunday was the one day none of them got up early, and he and Eva were due at the McGregors’ for a barbecue lunch later in the day. He was looking forward to what would essentially be their first real public outing as a couple, looking forward to letting the world know he was with her and she was with him.

  She’d been working long hours since winning the commission, leaving for the site the moment it got light and not coming home until dusk was threatening. He’d always been impressed by her tenacity and creativity, but over the past week he’d learned her capacity for work was truly astonishing. She might come home with sore shoulders and arms each night, but it didn’t stop her from attacking each day with renewed vigor and enthusiasm.

  It was a genuine honor to pay witness to her passion and craft, and even though she hadn’t yet finished painting in the threadbare outline of her triptych, he already knew it was going to be a breathtaking piece of artwork. His woman was a genius, and he freaking loved it.

  Now, he smiled as he listened to her tease his brother, enjoying the way she looked in her skinny jeans and plain white T-shirt. She’d been talking about needing a haircut, but he liked the way her hair stood up in messy spikes when she ran her fingers through it.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He liked everything about her, from her sassy mouth to her ballsy attitude to her sexy body, and he still couldn’t believe she was his.