Texas Wishes: The Complete Series

by Kristina Knight

  What a Texas Girl Dreams

  Kristina Knight, author of What a Texas Girl Wants and What a Texas Girl Needs

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Kristina Knight

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5572-9

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5572-5

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5573-7

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5573-2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © Istockphoto.com/Shelly Perry

  For Jennifer, thank you for believing in this series when two of the books were still just ideas in my head. Kathleen, Vanessa, and Monica salute you! (And so do I.)

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Prologue

  Seven Weeks Ago

  Monica Witte’s hands shook as she negotiated the hairpin curve leading from the main road to Trick Samuels’s private lane. A chicken-shaped mailbox appeared a few hundred yards down the road, and she slowed, took a deep breath, and turned into the driveway.

  No cars waited inside the open garage door. Damn, he wasn’t home.

  But, no, there were a few lights burning in the deepening dusk. Maybe he’d run out for groceries? Or maybe he’d loaned out his truck? Either way, this had been mistake number four hundred fifty-seven: coming to Trick’s house to soothe her wounded pride after a really bad run at the rodeo in New Mexico.

  It was all because of that stupid kiss when she was home for the bull sale in February. She’d been feeling lonely. Out of place, like she always did when she came home, but worse. Seeing Super-Sister Kathleen happily settling in to life with her new husband, Jackson, started it. Monica was happy Kathleen found her New York cowboy, she was. When Vanessa and Mat, the ranch foreman, let their relationship out of the closet, Monica didn’t have a twinge of jealousy. Two sisters, who each swore they would never fall in love, and look at them now. Happy as clams and with babies on the way.

  Monica liked things to be in order. She lived in Austin, where she trained her horses. Kathleen lived at the Double Diamond ranch, training her racers. Sometimes she flitted off with her new husband on one of his photography assignments. Van was supposed to be the city girl, but she now lived on a property adjoining the ranch and rarely went to San Antonio or Austin. Monica didn’t know where she fit in this new order, especially when the ranch felt more like home and more claustrophobic at the same time. Slipping into Trick’s arms for a dance at the ball following the bull sale seemed harmless enough. A distraction.

  Kissing the town veterinarian should have been a one-off but ever since the man just wouldn’t be put into that comfortable box where they flirted with one another and then went their separate ways. The single kiss should have been forgotten in the six weeks since. Instead, here she was, showing up on his doorstep.

  She most definitely was not jealous of her older sisters. It was unsettling, that was all.

  Monica needed to get away from his house. Showing up here would give Trickett Samuels the entirely wrong impression. Before she could think twice, Monica shoved the gearshift into reverse and backed slowly down the lane.

  Directly into Trick’s big, blue truck.

  Sweet God, she had to be batting about three thousand by now. First, her inability to control her attraction to him. Then, that kiss that she should have seen coming and cut off at the bull sale. Now, backing in to his truck in the dwindling light. She caught Trick’s incredulous expression in her rearview mirror: surprise first, and then as realization dawned, that hungry look that hadn’t left his eyes for a moment since that kiss on the makeshift dance floor.

  Through two thousand pounds of metal and the dwindling daylight, the power of his lust and her own rekindled the fire in her belly.

  Maybe it isn’t just lust. The traitorous words echoed in her mind as her eyes remained locked with Trick’s in the mirror. It had to be lust. Only lust. Easy to deal with. Mercifully, the sun sank below the horizon, and darkness broke the connection between them. Monica drew in a shaky breath, pushed the gear shift back into drive, and pulled forward, so they could inspect the vehicles. Since she was driving an SUV, Monica was fairly certain most of the damage would be superficial.

  After putting the SUV in park, she joined him at the rear of her vehicle. She couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be only the tiniest of scratches on her bumper. A mirror image marked his bumper, too.

  Way to be unobtrusive, Monica.

  “You know, there are better ways to get my attention.” His deep voice rumbled along her nerve endings and tickled her skin. The small hairs on her arms stood up straight.

  “I wasn’t trying to get your attention, only to drop off some papers from Kathleen.” Of course, her sister didn’t know Monica had snatched them off her desk earlier that evening. But kudos for not sounding like a wanton prom date hoping for a little more than an after-dance kiss.

  Trick tut-tutted as he looked over the damage. Tight Wranglers accentuated his tight butt, and his boots were dusty. He wore a polo with the vet office logo on one side. Trick took off his cowboy hat and ran his hands through his light brown hair. “Mmm-hmm. Kathleen would have just messengered the papers over tomorrow morning. Nothing that crucial going on. Also, she would have sent them to Dr. Vance, since I’m technically still a resident.”

  Crap, she’d hoped he wouldn’t think of that.

  “So your sister sent you, did she?” he continued, without giving her time for rebuttal. Fine by her. The less she spoke, the better off she’d be. Probably. Monica nodded her head. “And the papers?”

  “On the passenger seat.”

  “You were leaving without dropping them off?”

  Caught. Monica’s heart beat sped up. “I didn’t want to leave anything on your doorstep.”

  “Anything?” he echoed.

  “Well, bills. Information.”

  He smiled in the darkening evening. “Then, by all means, grab those oh-so-important papers, and let’s go inside and get started on the busywork.”

  “No need to go inside, I can just … ” She was losing her nerve. With every second they stood by the vehicles, Monica wanted to run. Away to Austin. Back into a rodeo-arena spotlight. Anywhere but here, where Trick was seeing right through her.

  “So we shouldn’t go inside?”

  No, they shouldn’t. But, God, yes, she wanted to. Inside the house, alone with Trick, she could forget about her horrible performance in New Mexico. Block out everything else and just feel. Lord, her emotions were such a mess. Lately, she couldn’t do anything without thinking of Trick. Wanting to be near him. She’d jacked up that ride because she was thinking of him and not the barrels.

  He tilted his head to the side and motioned to the front porch. “Mon?”

  “Maybe. Just for a second. I really do have papers for you.” Monica followed him inside, Trick’s hand at the small of her back urging her forward, into the living area filled with black leather furniture, a native-stone fireplace, and glass-topped tables.

  “Welcome to my home.” He turned to her, passion burning hot in his
eyes. “Now why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

  Monica reminded herself for the hundredth time that sex with Trick was a mistake waiting to happen. It didn’t serve any purpose except physical release. Nothing she couldn’t get from battery powered devices. She was a grown woman, for crying out loud; she could imagine an orgasm as powerful as any a man could provide her.

  And yet, she wanted Trick.

  He reached for her, his index finger tracing an invisible line down her jaw, sending a wave of pleasure down her spine. Leaning her head into his hand, Monica opened her eyes, looked into his, and exhaled. Their gazes caught for a long moment, and the fire between them burned hotter, pushing the room to inferno level.

  “Monica Witte,” he whispered. “You aren’t running away this time.” He reached around to gently release the elastic in her hair, allowing the dirty-blond waves to fall past her shoulders. At just over six feet, he was only a few inches taller than Monica’s five-feet-seven inches, but she felt positively tiny next to him. Feminine.

  She could only shake her head. His thumb found her lip and pressed, the gentle move at odds with the fire in his touch and the wanting in his eyes. The ranch papers fell from her grasp, scattering across the hardwood floor.

  “Who said I wanted to run away?”

  “It was just a reminder,” he said and locked his lips to hers. He tossed his hat onto a leather chair, freeing his hands to tangle in her hair.

  The kiss was an inferno unto itself, blazing a path from her lips to her belly and beyond, settling between her thighs, making her wish they weren’t standing up.

  And then they weren’t. Trick pushed her onto the sofa, positioning his body above hers as he memorized every centimeter of her mouth. Nibbling here. Caressing there. Tasting and tasting and tasting, as if she were the most decadent dessert available. Monica could have stayed wrapped up in that kiss for hours, and maybe she did. After only a moment or two, everything ceased to exist except the gentle heat of Trick’s lips against hers, his insistent tongue tangling with her own.

  The hint of beer on his breath and the slight musk of cigarette smoke on his clothing made her wonder where he’d been earlier. She knew he didn’t smoke, not even after the most stressful day at the clinic. His tongue found the sensitive spot behind her ear, and his hands slid under the soft cotton of her tee, and all thoughts faded into a haze of want. He played with her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Torturing her with the rough lace of her bra a barrier between his hand and her breast. She wanted his skin against hers. Wanted to feel those rippling muscles. His rigid erection. She wanted her hands on him the way his hands were now exploring her.

  There was a tug at her waist, and then his hand delved beneath the waistband of her jeans. His mouth sucked against the pounding pulse in her neck.

  Monica shook with need. She told herself it was need of release, but a small voice inside mocked her. Whatever pushed her to this point, she didn’t care, Monica realized. She wanted Trick for as long as she could have him, and all this mental jousting with her conscience was only serving to distract her from his delectable body. Finally she shoved everything except the feel of his body on hers from her mind.

  His hands scorched her skin, but it wasn’t enough to be touched. She wanted, no, she needed, to touch, as well.

  Shaking uncontrollably, her hands memorized the definition in his arms, felt the pounding of his heart beneath the strength of his pecs, and she gave herself over to the taste of his skin.

  But he didn’t stop or even pause much. His hands worked her jeans over her hips while she pulled his tee over his head. She traced his collarbone with her mouth, teasing the skin with her tongue until he shivered.

  “Monica, you’re killing me,” he said, his face buried in her hair. And then they reversed the process with Monica pushing his jeans down his legs.

  “You go commando.” The words slipped from her lips as his cock sprung free of the stiff denim.

  “There’s no other way to play,” he said as he pulled her tee over her head.

  The thin lace cups of her bra brushed against her sensitive nipples, and Monica arched her back. The heat of his skin burned against her, pleasuring her more than she’d thought possible.

  “Consequences be damned,” she whispered against the tanned column of his neck. Her hands tangled in the length of his hair while he kissed his way down her body.

  Trick explored her belly button with his tongue, dipping into the crevice as she knew his hard length would soon dip into her slick heat. Monica moaned, the sound low in her throat, and Trick chuckled. He plunged two fingers beneath the lace of her panties to find her folds and then pressed her center with his thumb.

  She was lost in sensation. The colors of the rainbow exploded behind her eyes, abdomen spasmed with pleasure as she pushed her center more firmly against his hand as the orgasm wracked her body. It seemed to go on for hours, each wave stronger than the next, and Trick’s fingers working her with every wave of feeling.

  While she still rode that first wave, Trick ripped her panties away. He kissed his way down her belly, worshipping her body with his mouth. When her muscles quivered at the sensations, he chuckled and slowed the exploration, spending long minutes at her belly button, licking along her hip bones until she thought she might die from pleasure. Then Trick found her center with his tongue and another explosion went off deep within her. His hot breath teased her clit, followed by the wet heat of his tongue, and his fingers never stopped, plunging into her as deeply as he could and then slowly pulling out, teasing her. She tried to pull him back inside her but when she clenched her muscles, he pulled out entirely, leaving her feeling empty. Bereft.

  He tilted his head, his mouth wet with her juices. “Now, play fair, Monica. We’re just getting started.”

  “I need you inside me, Trick.” She meant the words to sound throaty, cool and wanton. Instead, to her ears, she seemed to beg him for more. So be it. “Please, more.”

  “Patience.” His mouth returned to her moist heat, his fingers still playing, and Monica again gave herself over to him.

  He seemed to be everywhere — playing with her nipples, teasing her entrance, destroying her focus with every hot swipe of his tongue. She couldn’t get close enough to him. When she reached for his cock, he maneuvered away from her. She wanted to press her palms against his chest, needing the feel of hard, smooth muscle against her, but could only reach his strong shoulders. And that was not nearly enough.

  Trick remained intent, teasing her with fingers and tongue, until she thought she might explode again from the wanting.

  Monica shivered. Trick’s tongue and fingers pushed her further into oblivion. Monica wiggled her hips, easing her way down Trick’s body until they were eye to eye, her breasts finally pressed against his chest and her hips finally aligned with his.

  “I wasn’t finished with you yet.”

  “And I’m not nearly finished with you. But I need more than a couple of fingers and a tongue. I want you. Inside me. Now.” She hooked her ankles around his knees, urging him to complete them both. “We can play later.”

  The hot length of him pressed against her center, still teasing. Still playing. He grinned. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said and plunged deep inside.

  He filled her, stretching her velvet walls until she didn’t think she could take any more. The friction was maddening as he slid in, nearly touching her womb. But it was worse when he oh-so-slowly pulled out. Centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch, the hard steel of him fired her core until his cock teased her entrance, mimicking the movement of his fingers a few moments before.

  Monica panted, sounding more like a wounded puppy than the wanton sex goddess she wanted to be.

  The feel of him against her was heaven. The press of his flesh against hers exactly the release she wanted. But it still
wasn’t enough.

  “Trickett. Please.” The plea barely left her lips when he pushed into her again, faster this time. He paused for the smallest of moments before finding his rhythm.

  Trick fused his mouth to hers, his tongue echoing the movements of his cock. In, out, in, out. Each slide inside hotter than the next. Monica found his nipples with her fingers and tweaked them, teasing him as he’d teased her earlier. He pushed her higher with each thrust. They catapulted over the edge, their passion a shooting star against the night sky.

  Chapter One

  Present Day, Utah

  The early May heatwave poured down on the Utah arena, air so thick Monica wondered that she couldn’t reach out a grab a piece of it and toss it into the stands. Her horse, Jinx, shifted, restless in the heat.

  But it wasn’t just the heat getting to her. It was seven weeks since that first night with Trickett Samuels.

  Seven weeks of agony because she was away from Texas more than she was home.

  Seven weeks of heaven because from the moment she arrived at his house in Lockhardt it was sensual overload.

  The last three days had been pure torture. She was supposed to be home already, but her ranking was in the toilet because even when she was running barrels she was distracted. Thinking about Trick. Wondering what he was doing.

  Remembering the things he did to her in bed. Imagining the things she’d do with him once she was back under the Texas sky.

  Sleeping with Trick was supposed to ease the ache. Make it easier to stay on the road, continue forging her identity independent of the Double Diamond, her sisters, or the family strings that seemed to pull at her more every day.