Cowboy Lust: Erotic Romance for Women

by Delilah Devlin

  I gripped the armrest as I was jostled even harder. Jake swerved away from the track, avoiding rocks and larger clumps of spinifex, plowing through the smaller ones. The smell of burnt vegetation filled the cab.

  “They’re the drug lords you’re hiding from.”

  The pickup careened over a washout, dropping with a thud onto its springs.

  “But Agent Dolan brought me here.”

  “There is no Agent Dolan. That man is not an FBI agent, whatever you might think. Now shut up and let me drive.”

  Fear and dust coated my mouth, and for the first time I wondered if I was going to make it out alive. I didn’t know much about Jake, but his words had a solidity to them that reassured me. I decided to trust him. Right now, I didn’t have any other option.

  I glanced back. It was hard to see over the bouncing rolls of fencing wire in the back of the pickup, but then I got a clear view.

  “Jake, they’re on fire!”

  Flames shot out from the side of the Toyota, and the smoke rolled thick and dark.

  Jake glanced at the mirror. “Spinifex must have got trapped on the chassis and caught alight from the exhaust. This will give us a chance.” He didn’t slow his cracking pace.

  The Toyota slowed as flames engulfed its rear.

  “She’ll blow,” Jake muttered, but he didn’t slow down. “The fuel tanks won’t last.”

  The Toyota’s doors opened, and it came to a rocking halt. I could see Agent Dolan scrambling out, but he’d barely taken one pace when the explosion boomed, a giant fireball rising to the sky.

  Jake stopped. Agent Dolan lay face down, but even from a distance it was obvious he was dead. Of the other two men, there was no sign.

  I started to shake, a fine tremor in my hands that wouldn’t stop. Three men were dead, I was alive, and the topsy-turvy world I’d been living in for the past week had just taken another quarter turn. I buried my face in my trembling hands and waited for the nausea to pass.

  Long minutes later, when I trusted my voice not to waver, I looked over at Jake. “What happens now?”

  We made camp an hour later. I wanted to be far enough away from the Toyota that I couldn’t see or smell anything. We made soft, sweet love on the bedroll, a slow merging of our bodies. When it was over, I cried big gulping sobs. Jake held me close to his chest and didn’t say anything.

  It was much later, after we’d eaten, that I turned to Jake and said. “Tell me.”

  “I was sent to Malory to look out for you.”

  “You’re not a jackaroo?”

  “I am. I work on a station about three hours south of here. But I also work for ASIO—the Australian equivalent of your FBI.

  “Dolan contacted you in L.A., posing as a FBI agent, and spun you a story about the witness protection program. But he worked for the cartel—they wanted you out of the way.”

  “Why not just kill me?”

  Jake looked down at his dusty boots. “You were a hostage. While the real FBI hunted for you and tried to negotiate your release, the gang went to ground. The FBI finally located you here, and that’s when ASIO became involved. It was my job to gain your trust and get you out before the cartel came to get you. A few days ago, the FBI arrested the main players in L.A. That’s when the cartel came looking—but they couldn’t find you, so they brought Dolan back.”

  I sat, silently digesting what he’d said. “So the people at Malory work for the cartel?”

  “No. They genuinely thought they were helping the FBI. There are stations here that take people on the witness protection program.”

  My life had been turned upside down for a lie. And Jake was a lie too. I tried to feel anger at how he’d seduced me, but all I felt was sadness. “Is Jake your real name?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And seducing me was part of keeping me safe?”

  “No!” For a big man he moved swiftly, and he crouched in the dirt next to me. “Don’t think that, Sam. That was very definitely not supposed to happen. But you’re smart and sexy, and I like you. More than like you, if you must know.”

  I searched his face, hunting for the truth.

  Jake stared back, a half smile on his face. “Do you believe me?”

  “I do.” And I did.

  Later, when the kissing had stopped, when we were sticky and sated once more, I asked, “What happens now?”

  “We get dressed. We’re expected back at Malory Station.”

  I had to ask. “And after that?”

  He touched my face. “That’s up to you. You’ll have to return to L.A. for the trial. But after that…” His eyes were clear and blue. “Maybe you’ll come back and find me.”

  BANGING THE COWBOY

  Randi Alexander

  Annie Paris watched him from the stage, stealing peeks from behind the concealment of her cymbals as she banged out the rhythm to a Brad Paisley song.

  Rafe McCord. God, he was big. The Big Cowboy, women called him. And one lucky girl was tight in his arms right now, two-stepping around the scarred wooden dance floor.

  Almost missing her cue, Annie slid into a four-measure drum solo. When she’d finished, the lead guitarist/singer—her cousin Shawn—told the crowd, “On percussion, Annie Paris!” Polite applause sounded here and there around the room like the first pellets of a hailstorm.

  She twirled one drumstick over her head and smiled a thank you, then went right back into the groove. After introducing the rest of the band, Shawn announced, “We’re gonna take a fifteen minute pause for the cause, folks. Stick around for the last set.”

  She stood and scanned the crowd, but her glance caught on one stare from the bar. Rafe. Looking at her? A jingle of desire vibrated through her, making her heart thud as she gazed back into dark eyes shaded by a black Stetson.

  He was tall, but the name Big Cowboy came from his muscles. Tonight his broad shoulders and massive arms were clothed in a light plaid western-cut shirt he’d probably had to buy from a bodybuilders’ store.

  He raised his longneck in salute, which made things even hotter low in her belly, deep in her pussy. But she looked away. It was one thing to crush on a cowboy, but quite another to act on it.

  Annie grabbed her water glass and headed to the bar for a refill, but the thirsty crowd was three-deep. The only opening was the server’s station, right where Rafe had planted himself in his usual spot.

  Her steps slowed as she caught his gaze. Had he been watching her the whole time? Pasting on a smile, she stepped up to the open spot. “Hey, Rafe.” They’d talked a number of times in the last year—her band played here the second weekend of every month. The sexual tension had always been thick between them, but tonight it was downright palpable, setting her knees to wobbling and her core to quivering.

  “Evenin’, Miss Annie,” he drawled, and touched the brim of his hat. That smoky voice sent heat to places between her thighs that had no business responding to him. She didn’t look down, but she knew her tingling nipples were hard and jutting, obvious for everyone to see through her lacy bra and pink silk tank top. Obvious for Rafe to see.

  As the bartender refilled her glass with ice water, she looked at Rafe and let herself drift away under the spell of his beautiful, dark brown eyes. Nine months ago she’d been sure she was falling in love with him. They’d flirted a dozen or so times. She’d been confused as to why he’d never asked her out.

  Then one night she found out why. In the ladies’ room. She was in a stall, just zipping up her jeans, when she heard two women come in.

  “He’s gorgeous,” a southern accent twanged. “I can see why you warned me away from him. You want him all to yourself.”

  “True. But that’s not the main reason,” a sultry voice purred. “He likes it…rough.”

  “Really? Yeah, I can see that. He’s so big.”

  “They call him The Big Cowboy, but his name is Rafe.” She sighed. “He’s so damn good, I can’t get him out of my mind. But we only had that one night.”

  “
If he’s so good, why don’t you just grab him and drag him home?”

  Another sigh. “I’ve tried. But it’s not by my choice. He’s turned me down a couple of times already. Very nicely. He’s a gentleman…until he gets you naked. Then he’s all man.” She walked to the stall next to Annie’s and closed the door.

  The twangy woman called, “Well, rough sex isn’t for me, so don’t worry. If he talks to me, I’ll give him the freeze out.”

  From the stall, the woman laughed, “He won’t ask you out. That’s his thing. He never asks—he makes women come to him.”

  “Serious?”

  “Uh huh.” She flushed and opened the door. “Word has spread, and women hang all over him. He has his pick every night.”

  The women left, and Annie stood immobile. Although the thought of rough sex with Rafe did something naughty to her body, she’d backed off, smothering the fire he’d started inside her.

  She wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl. She was looking for more, and it would have killed her to make love to him and then have to watch him take home a different girl every time her band played here.

  But sometimes she wished she’d listened to her body instead of her heart that night. She would have asked him to come home with her, and then she would have known what it was like to be taken by the sexiest man she’d ever met.

  “Annie?” Rafe was smiling. A killer cowboy grin that sent tingles across her flesh.

  “Huh?” she asked, blinking out of her trance.

  “I asked,” he said kindly, “how things are going tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah. Good.” Brilliant. “You?”

  “No complaints.”

  Before she could compose an intelligent sentence, a tall, leggy redhead sidled up behind him and put her arms around his waist. He turned.

  Damn. Annie crossed the empty dance floor and set her glass on the stage as she passed, then scooted into the bathroom. Her face in the mirror was stoplight red.

  Goddamn, that man made her moist. Hot and throbbing. Sent her halfway to an orgasm with just his voice, his eyes. And she wanted it rough. Nine months of fantasizing had brought her close to obsession. What sexy things would he do to her? And what wicked things would he let her do to him?

  But it wasn’t going to happen with Rafe. She wouldn’t risk it. She’d just keep dating guys from church and friends of her friends’ boyfriends, and one day she’d find someone who wanted her love as well as her body.

  Finishing up, she walked out of the bathroom and climbed the three steps onto the stage. She tried to avoid looking at Rafe. Didn’t want to see him with another woman when she wanted to be the one wrapped around him. But she was unable to resist one quick glance. Oh, God. He was alone. And he was watching her.

  The distance between them seemed to shrink, the sounds of the bar fading to white noise. Yes, damn it, she wanted to sample his rough loving, wanted his big body flattening her against a wall, kissing her savagely as his hand tweaked her nipple, pulling and twisting just hard enough to make her cry in ecstasy. Lifting her legs with his big, calloused hands, sliding his hard cock into her dripping pussy. A hard fuck. A fast bang, both of them grunting as they slammed their hips together, deeper and faster…

  “Annie!” A spritz of water hit her face from her cousin’s fingers. “Your water.” He held out the glass. “Where the hell were you just now?”

  She took the cold, sweating glass, pressed it to her cheek and thought fast. “Grocery list.”

  “Right. More’n likely you were pickin’ out a cowboy to take home.” He walked away.

  Annie shook her head and sat on her drum throne, adjusted her snare and high-hat, then dug out her drumsticks.

  It’d been too long since she’d brought anyone home. And the only cowboy she wanted in her bed was Rafe. The guys she dated were nice, maybe even boyfriend material, but there was never any spark.

  The next set was a leisurely one, getting people out to slow dance, mellowing them down so there wouldn’t be any fights outside the bar. Rafe danced with a few women, each of them sashaying up to him and brazenly offering themselves.

  But when each dance was over, Rafe walked his partner back to her table and left her to head back to his spot at the bar—standing alone again until the next woman gave it a try.

  By the end of the set, Annie was watching him so intently, she flubbed a transition. Shawn grinned at her, and said into the mic, “Our little Annie here, isn’t paying attention.” He winked at her, then scanned the crowd. “Which makes me think…”

  He wouldn’t…

  “She’s trying to decide who to bring home with her tonight. All you single cowboys out there…”

  “No.” Her eyes opened wide.

  “She’s single. And has her own apartment with a king-sized bed.”

  Oh. Fuck. She closed her eyes and tapped along to the last song as shouts of “Yee-haw,” and “Show us your tits,” and “Annie get my gun” reached her.

  Her cousin grinned.

  Using one drumstick poking out of her fist, Annie flipped him off—drummer style. But all he did was laugh.

  As the song finished, he thanked everyone and gave them a “Drive safe, folks,” and then the band started packing up.

  Annie folded the legs on her throne and set it aside. She started unscrewing the wingnut holding her ride symbol on its stand, but stopped, sensing someone behind her. She turned and nearly tripped on the base drum petal. “Rafe?”

  When he stood this close, she could see the faint scar that slashed his cheek and smell his aftershave, dark and mysterious. Just like him. Then his lips curved into a seductive grin, making her insides shimmy, amping up her desire until it was painful to keep from touching him.

  “So. You’re single with a king-sized bed, huh?”

  She blinked a few times.

  He bent and picked up her throne, then grabbed her floor tom. “Your van’s out back?”

  She nodded, amazed he was helping, but even more so that he knew she had a van and where she’d parked it.

  “Unlocked?”

  Another stunned-speechless nod from her.

  He gave a quiet laugh and walked off, his heavy thighs bunching as he went down the steps, his boots thudding heavily on the wood. All she could do was stare at his ass.

  She unfastened everything and picked up the bass drum just as he came back. He took it, and as their fingers brushed, their gazes locked. His nostrils flared, and she imagined him doing the same thing as he moved his head between her spread thighs, looking at her over her mound as he breathed in her woman scent. His lips would open and his tongue would find her secret place, exploring, licking, kissing. “Oh, yes.”

  “Yes?” he said with a wily grin.

  Had she just moaned that out loud? Shit. “Yes, thank you for helping.”

  His chuckle was pure cowboy as he walked off the stage and out the door.

  On the last trip, they walked out together. This side of the lot was nearly empty now, and as she closed the back doors of her van she sensed him behind her again. “Thank you, Rafe. I appreciate the help.”

  Okay, now was her chance. She could just invite him home with her. Let him know that she was okay with—no, craved—his rough loving. That, in fact, it turned her on to the point where she could smell her own pussy juices flowing from her cunt. But just one night? Could she be satisfied with that?

  She turned to face him, opening her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, but he spoke first.

  “Annie, I was hoping you’d…” There was a long pause.

  She leaned back on the van for support. “Yes?”

  He stuffed his hands in his front pockets and tipped his head down.

  Oh. My. God. Was he nervous? A tiny whimper escaped her. She’d never seen this side of him. Never imagined he had a side that was introverted. She wanted to go to him, hold him around the waist, look up into his eyes, and kiss away his doubts.

  But she stayed where she was. Hoping she was
reading the situation correctly. Hoping he wasn’t about to ask her for drum lessons or to borrow her van.

  His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, then he looked at her. “Would you like to go someplace for coffee?”

  “Coffee?” Okay, so it wasn’t an invitation to his house by the river where he’d toss her on his bed and ram his cock into her until they both screamed with ecstasy. “Coffee?” she repeated. Stupidly.

  He pulled his hands out of his pockets and squared his shoulders.

  Annie waited for the rest.

  “I want to ask you out.” His jaw worked, then he added, “On a date.”

  “A date?” Things weren’t filtering through her brain, they were just going directly from her ears to her mouth and out.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, like dinner and a movie.”

  She sunk slowly to sit on the van’s bumper, not trusting her knees to hold her up. “I’m a little confused.” She shook her head. “I mean, from what I’ve heard…” Oh, shit. She hadn’t meant to say that.

  He took off his hat. Almost as if he was just remembering his manners. “I know what you’ve heard. And about half the rumors are true.” Smacking his Stetson on his leg, he asked, “Do you think you could ignore all that and go out with me sometime?”

  This was so much farther than any of her fantasies ever took her. A date, a real opportunity to have the Big Cowboy, Rafe, in her life. Using her hands as leverage, she pushed up and walked to him, every nerve in her body on edge, wanting him, wanting all of him. Right now. No waiting for some future date night. She would make the first move tonight. If he was brave enough to ask her for a date, she’d be brave enough to go after what she wanted.

  Standing toe to toe with him, she placed her palms on his chest. Her skin met warm flesh over hard, sculpted muscles, and it sent shivers through her. “Yes, Rafe. I’d like to date you.” Deep breath. Work up the courage. “But I want you tonight, too.”

  His eyes widened then narrowed—and then he moved, walking her backward and pressing her against the van door. He reached up and set his hat on the roof, then stroked a hand down her hair, across her jaw line, ran his calloused thumb across her lips. “I want you, Annie.” His voice was rough, like dry gravel. “I’ve wanted you since that first day, almost a year ago.”