The Cowboy Rode a Harley

by Susan Arden

  He held her, moving her through the lift by placing his palm flush with her waist. In this spot, he could hold her above him for an eternity. With her eyelids half-closed and her lips parted, her skin glowed. This was the climax of the dance, and she appeared to be in the throes of an orgasm, one he’d delivered her to so many times, and then shared in her pleasure. He was the only man who could claim that moment. Christ, he wanted to be the only one for an eternity.

  She twisted in his hands, sliding down his chest. In the deep water, the force of her descent was enough to permit her to move into her split on the pool floor.

  Above water, he didn’t remove his hands from her until the last moment, when he was required to be the sharp backdrop of her performance. He bent, drawing her up, and she surfaced with a million-dollar smile that tripped his heart.

  Wiping her face, she sputtered, “That was terrific. Gosh, if we could repeat that for the taping, I know we’d impress the audience.”

  “How will you know the results? Better make sure the cameras are positioned to capture you in this position.”

  “Well, they do cellphone and internet voting. I don’t know how it all works, but it seems the exposure is what a performer gets in the end. If someone likes what they see, I could get offers. I haven’t figured out what I’m looking for. I thought getting onto the performance circuit would be a start. I could always work as a dance coach, or being a trainer would be interesting work. I just want to see what options are available for someone like me, a dance studio teacher. Is there something more?”

  “So if you were offered the opportunity to coach a dancer, travel with them, you’d take the job. Leave?”

  Gillian bit the side of her mouth while her brows drew together. “Sure. If it was the right offer. Nothing permanent. I don’t know. I’ve not done much besides growing up here. There’s a big world out there. Don’t you want more than what you’ve got?”

  At that moment, he didn’t. He wanted her. With him. Only an asshat would speak his mind or his heart on the eve of the producers’ arrival. If timing was everything, then he had no choice but to suck it up.

  “I’ve got more than you know. For me, it’s not about going and finding my dream. More like being patient. Anyway, let’s try it in the middle of the pool.” He turned and treaded his way through the water.

  She followed, appearing to have more questions but not attempting to ask them. He touched her shoulder, letting her wet hair curl around his finger. “Ready?”

  This time, the lift wasn’t as buoyant as the previous one. Gillian was easier to lift, but it took more of his concentration. The same with the next one. Less water, more flesh, more contact time, and his imagination had a mind of its own, especially when her swimsuit top shifted, exposing one of her breasts. Fuck him, if this is what happened during practice sessions with other partners. The sight of her naked breast undid him completely. He’d been good, done what was asked of him, but now he had to have her. “I’ve had enough,” he said hoarsely.

  “Okay, we’ve made some strides—”

  He didn’t let her finish. Pushing down his swim trunks, he exposed his hard-on. “Let me have you. Take off your bottom.”

  Gillian tilted her head. “Here in the pool?”

  “I’ve no problem removing your clothing in the way we’ve come to enjoy, if you prefer.” This time he took her by the wrist, removing any doubt that he was more than serious.

  “Hold on. These were a special order.”

  He watched as she shimmied out of the bikini. “And the top. I want you completely naked against me.”

  He lifted her, separating her legs, and walked with her brushing against the head of his cock until he reached the stairs in the shallow end. Sitting down, he adeptly arranged her legs on either side of him, and then did what they did best together: him thrusting into her softness, hard and deep, her body blanketing him, her pussy squeezing him, and his arms encircling her waist. Everything in him spoke about dominating her.

  He couldn’t stop pumping himself into her center. Hot, and dizzying in the cool water of the pool. She arched and rode him, using his thighs to push herself up and down on his cock. The rush of his orgasm hit him harder than ever before. His balls tightened and threatened to explode. Throbbing, he ground himself into her, trying to drive himself as far as she’d let him. “Fuck. Fuck.”

  She panted, holding on to his shoulders. They pressed their foreheads together. “Will this ever lessen? This feeling of going insane?” Her pussy clenched around his dick, over and over. Waves of her orgasm were ecstasy each and every time.

  “No. With you, I think it would only become better and better over time.”

  * * *

  He arrived at the studio knowing full well this was the moment they’d worked for, the moment he dreaded. Approaching the studio door, he saw a room full of people. Camera men, bright lights being set up, people with clipboards, and several of Gillian’s friends, even Cory. His sister met him at the doorway.

  “Listen, before you go in, Gillian wanted you to know she had no idea they were doing this.”

  Stephen raised his eyes, looking beyond Cory’s shoulder, and didn’t understand her meaning. His eyes returned to meet her gaze. “Do what? Don’t speak in riddles.”

  Cory inhaled and glanced away. “The producers brought a professional dancer with them. Apparently, Gillian didn’t give them much information about you. They took it upon themselves, from what I understand, to bring in the man standing toward the back.”

  Lifting his head, Stephen let out a short snort, until he focused on the person his sister most likely was referencing. Jerk looked like he had seen way too many dance floors. “I think I’ve got this covered.”

  Cory reached out her hand, taking him by the arm. “Don’t lose your cool. These people are the real deal. Take a look around.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to go in blazing with a pair of Smith and Wessons. We’ve been practicing. Justin Timberlake couldn’t handle Gillian the way I do.”

  “Arrogant much?”

  “Confident, yes. Hollywood over there might know a few dance steps. He’ll never know her the way I do.”

  “Oh, brother. Tell me this, Stephen. Have you told her?”

  “Told her what?”

  “That you’re head over heels in love with her.”

  He searched his sister’s face. Had she clocked with him a brick, it wouldn’t have been more forceful. Love. Stephen stepped back. He knew his sister wasn’t intentionally aiming for his heart, but the lance of her words speared him. “No. And don’t you say a thing.”

  “So, it’s true. I never thought I’d see the day. It all makes perfect sense. Really. I know you won’t take my advice, but I’d tell her. Tonight.”

  “I think it’s too late,” he muttered. “Let’s go inside. They’re staring at us like we’ve news to give them.”

  Inside was a buzz of activity, with everyone talking at the same time as others on cellphones shouted to unseen persons in the room. Gillian came to him, wearing a short jean skirt over a leotard. Shit. His imagination returned for a millisecond, seeing her in a tiny set of dance shorts, just like the ones she’d worn the day they became reacquainted.

  “Stephen, come meet Mr. Fitzgerald, the producer.” Gillian smiled, yet he could see this whole set-up was stressing her. She didn’t need a third arm-pit to deal with at the moment. For her, he sucked it up better than good.

  The producer turned to him with a shrewd stare. “So, you’re the mystery dancer. How gallant of you to step up to your friend’s needs. Never knew a rancher moonlighted in a ballroom. Perhaps you can show us your two-step?”

  If he was put off by being described as Gillian’s friend, it was nothing compared to his reaction to the slow drip of sarcasm from the mouth of this jackass. Stephen immediately realized that sharks did, indeed, exist in Texas. They arrived on a jet in a designer suit and with a cheesy smile. “It comes in handy on slow nights. To be multifac
eted.”

  The woman who stood next to Fitzgerald was giving him the once-over. That look was something he’d come into contact with before. This ought to be quite the show.

  “Hello, Mr. McLemore. I’m Sunny. It’ll be my job to make certain the taping works out as we’ve planned. If you’ve any questions, come to me.”

  Stephen watched as Fitzgerald led Gillian away. “Great. Thanks.” He was about to turn away.

  “Just a moment.” When Sunny had him alone, she dropped the bomb. “Look, I imagine you’re a good dancer. I’ve heard that the routine you’ve come up with is creative. But this is a national show. We’ve got a dancer that could showcase Gillian. Smooth out her country edges.” She winked at him.

  “With all respect, ma’am, I’m the only one who is going to dance with Miss Sinclair, until I’m told otherwise by my partner. And so far, there aren’t any edges to smooth out on her. She’s just fine.”

  “Mr. McLemore, I meant no offense. It’s just that…we’ve a show to produce. Ratings and sponsors. All of this is taken into consideration. I’d hate to see her segment not make it due to poor feedback.”

  “Does she know all of this?”

  “Well, if she doesn’t, she will. Mr. Fitzgerald will explain the facts to her.”

  “And what exactly do you suggest, to keep her from getting cut?”

  “Bow out gracefully. It’s not too difficult. Don’t you have other things to do? A man like yourself? I mean, really. After the conversation she’s having with Ely right now, either she’ll tell you herself, or you could make it easy on her. Either way, there’s a choice.”

  “You all traveled all this way to potentially tell her she’s not going to be on your show. With all these people and equipment? That makes no sense.”

  Sunny pressed her lips together. She reached out, curling her fingers around his bicep. “You’ve never seen the show? Have you?”

  “I haven’t.” Her fingers moved over his skin, lightly tracing a pattern. He took a step back, wanting to strangle this woman. His gaze flashed across the room into Gillian’s eyes. She looked away. He couldn’t tell if she’d noticed this woman’s hand or not. Fuck. Now, he removed the assistant’s hand from his arm. “If you don’t mind, it’s easier to concentrate.”

  The woman didn’t miss a beat. “I can see you’ve other areas of skill, don’t you?”

  “You were saying about the show...”

  She crossed her arms, softly laughing. “Oh, yes. There’s a segment on each show where we let the viewers see what it’s like for those who don’t make the cut. We want our audience to understand this is real, and not everyone gets to just pop on the show. So Gillian will be on Who Wants to Be Famous? She just might be one of the people who gets cut. You know, misery-loves-company kind of thing. Each time, we tell the contestant while we’re filming. Her reaction will be on the spot. So real. And so heartbreaking. The moment she’s told she won’t be on the show, the cameras are rolling. This is all part of the deal. She signed a contract. If we’re here tomorrow…well, that’s up to you, I suspect.”

  * * *

  For fuck’s sake. He should have known this would happen. Stephen scrubbed his hand along his jaw, gazing across the room at Gillian. From her expression, yeah, the woman hadn’t lied. The shit was about to hit the fan. Sorrow sat in her eyes, evident from all the way across the room. Whether it was disappointment or genuine sadness, it didn’t matter.

  He waved when she glanced over. She must have excused herself, for she moved away from the producer and came to him.

  “We need to talk,” he said, plainly.

  “You’re telling me. Come to the alley. I don’t think anyone will bother us.”

  He pressed his fingers to her back, steering her out the exit door. Out in the alley, there were a couple of the show’s people smoking. The crew nodded over at them, extinguished their cigarettes, and then went back inside. Gillian leaned against the wall as though waiting.

  “These people are a lot different from folks around here,” he ventured.

  “Yes. I guess they are. Pretty sophisticated.”

  “Naw, that’s not exactly what I had in mind. But it’s also not why I thought we should talk. I’ve been thinking, this show isn’t exactly my brand of beer. I know we’ve been practicing, but I’m not feeling that I’ll do well on camera. I get this thing going in the pit of my stomach, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “You mean, like what happened when you were riding?”

  His head snapped up. “I didn’t know that was common knowledge.”

  “It’s no big deal. So you didn’t want to be filmed. A lot of people aren’t into the paparazzi intruding on their privacy. You told me about what happened in your personal life.”

  He’d shared a little with Gillian about his past. He wasn’t about to revisit that ordeal out in the open. Coming home and finding out his girlfriend was engaged and pregnant, he’d lost it. His heart had been torn to bits. It wasn’t the motocross jumps or the television crews, it was his focus that had been shredded and he had nothing but rage running in his veins. He’d walked away from a sponsorship and hadn’t lived in regret. More like, with eyes wide open. This was Gillian’s chance and she’d didn’t need to learn from his experience.

  “It wasn’t about the media; I had other things going on.” He reached out to her. “I’m not going to let my life mess you up. I said I’d be your dance partner, or whatever you needed. I’m your friend. I care about you. Deeply.”

  “But not enough to see this thing through. You’d just walk away and leave me with a partner who doesn’t know the routine. He won’t get it right. Even if we practiced for a year, it wouldn’t come out right.”

  “That’s not true. You’ve got this idea stuck in your head, just like other times. You’re letting your pig-headedness get in the way of what’s true. A professional dancer can dance.”

  “This isn’t just a dance. At least, not to me.”

  “Then what is it? Your chance to escape Annona? And you want everyone to stop what they’re doing to help you build an ark? Well, I think we have. I mean, look at all the people who have rallied to your side. Your grandparents, my sister, me. No matter how much we practice, it won’t be professional. You’re letting other things get in the way. Don’t play it safe. Play it big. You’ve got a brother who almost made it big. Show him it’s possible without getting eaten alive. Or had you forgotten all these little details? No sense denying how much this means to you. Go on, do what comes naturally. Leap for the golden ring. If you’re always looking for the net, baby, I promise you’ll miss your chance.”

  The urge to punch the side of the building roiled strong inside him. Not because of her dreams, but from the sight of her unraveling before his eyes. He’d said the very words he knew would make her cave. He’d not expected she’d melt from his words. Fucking producers. He hoped they all rotted in hell. They’d more than likely sell their souls for a boost to their ratings.

  She touched him lightly on the arm, yet the ripple effect was earth-shattering. Her chin and lips trembled as she gazed back at him. “Would you do that to me? Leave me on the sidelines? After I’d helped you? Worked my tail off?”

  He swallowed precious moments. Her asking this question wasn’t what he’d planned. The polar opposite, if anyone had asked. So far away from what he believed was their future together. She needed to hear a lie. One so big, it threatened to tear him in half.

  “Yes. I’d do what I had to do because you were my friend and wanted me to make you proud. As a friend, I know that the worst thing I could do was to give up. It’s not about failing. If I’m happy, so are my friends. My real friends. Otherwise, they’re not my friends. And I’d be miserable if I let go of my dream. How can that be good for either of us?”

  Her eyes clouded, and she seemed to be weighing his words. Every cell in his body demanded that he take her into his arms. Kiss her and tell her he loved her. Jesus. It was true. Cory had pegg
ed the truth. His sister had dared him to be a man. What he was called to do, at this second, was beyond anything he’d known before, and opposed to what he thought defined a man. What man let go the woman he loved?

  “Now, don’t you give up. You’ve got to go for your dream. Baby, you know it’s the truth.”

  “Whose truth, Stephen?”

  “Ours. Your dream is my dream. Come here for a minute.” With her in his arms, he inhaled the wildflower scent of her hair. Its softness pressed against his cheek.

  This woman was everything to him. So, maybe being in love went beyond being a man. Went to the core of one’s soul, where it didn’t matter if you were man, woman, hawk, or dove. He loved Gillian enough to want her happiness. Hell and tarnation, he refused to be the reason she might hesitate. If anything, he’d rather be the reason she left. At least then he could partway live with himself. He’d rather be able to face the mirror than drown in a bottle. This girl had taught him a way out of misery and into life again. He owed her his life in giving him back the ability to feel. If repaying her meant losing her, so be it.

  She hugged him close. “I don’t know if I could have been as gallant or as gracious as you’re being. I thought things were different between us. I guess I was wrong.”

  A railroad spike hammered into his heart wouldn’t have been as painful. “I’m your friend. Today. Tomorrow. Always.”

  Chapter 17

  Stephen’s face was chiseled marble. Calm, cool, collected. And branded into her memory. Stephen went from the man in her dreams to her best friend. Her worst nightmare had come to life. She’d wondered if it would happen—lover to BFF.

  Well, mark her calendar--she’d become another one of Stephen’s friends with benefits. Should she have known there would be this type of transformation? It seemed to come when Mr. Fitzgerald suggested a switch in dance partners. Apparently, it was the out Stephen was looking for, since he jumped mighty quick at the chance to spout, See ya.