by Nancy Warren
It was High Noon—with a lot more lipstick.
He sprinted for the stairs, nearly pitching down them in his hurry, let himself out her kitchen door and raced across the yard until he was in his own backyard. He shoved the phone in his pocket and strode to the far end of the yard, where he’d started fixing the fence earlier in the day.
He banged a nail into the fence a lot straighter than he had earlier, the grin stuck on his face.
A cowgirl. An English princess cowgirl.
Now he’d seen everything.
Except it turned out he hadn’t.
He heard the clopping of reluctant hooves and then a clipped accent saying, “Now, Raven, you don’t want to make a mess of my outfit. Do not push me into this tree.”
“Neck rein, Chloe. Neck rein,” he heard in urgent undertones, and turned.
There she came around the house. The posse must be hiding. The horse gave him a look that said, I don’t have any better idea than you what’s going on, but I’d rather be back at the barn eating hay. Chloe looked like a toy version of a rodeo rider—small and dainty and far too pretty to be real.
He started walking toward her to help her down, but before he’d taken two steps, she’d dismounted with a flourish. She dropped the reins, but her valiant steed didn’t seem like it was in a hurry to be anywhere. Probably, like Matthew, it wondered what was coming next. He watched, bemused, as she popped a coil of rope off the horn, then strode toward him spinning a lasso like a pro.
Before he’d half figured out what was coming next, the coil of white was drifting through the air like a very determined smoke ring, and then he felt the thing slip over him. She let out a holler, sounding like a rancher at round-up time. “Yee-haw!” She hauled the rope tight so that his arms were caught to his sides. She’d roped him as neatly as a steer.
For a long moment they stood there looking at each other.
He loved this woman to his very soul, he realized, and always would. She was crazy, sweet, sexy, the last woman he would have looked for and the one he needed more than anything.
“You gonna flip me on my back and hog-tie me?”
Heat arced between them down that rope as though it were a lightning rod. “If you’re very good,” she said in that snooty, sexy voice that did him in every time.
Then she began to pull on the rope. Her hands were small and delicate, and the color of her nails, some kind of pale purple, flashed in the sun like drops of grape milkshake.
He didn’t even think about putting up a fight; he wouldn’t want her palms to get scratched. He tried very hard not to think about what her hand wrapped around the rope and pulling reminded him of as he let himself be tugged closer and closer, until their bodies were touching. His lack of mobility irked him.
“I want to put my arms around you so much I can’t stand it,” he said.
Her smile was both understanding and devilish. “You can’t always be in control, darling.”
“I love you. Which has sent me totally out of control.”
“And does that bother you?” she asked, rising on her toes in those boots so that their lips were inches apart.
“Not one damn bit,” he said, kissing her as passionately as a man can without the use of his arms.
They might have kept kissing until the sun went down, but the sound of scrambling feet followed by howls of glee and triumph intruded.
“You did it!”
“Chloe, I can’t believe you roped him.”
“I know,” she said, turning to her posse. “But it’s easier when they don’t try to run away.” She beamed at him. “We’ve all been to a ranch learning to be cowgirls. It’s the most wonderful place.”
“What other tricks did you learn?” he asked, hoping she’d show him so he could get this rope off him.
“Are you joking? This took me four solid days of practice to get right. I had to give up leather tooling and dressage. But I’m going to go back, perhaps next year.”
He didn’t care if she took up bareback bronco riding. The phrase next year sang in his veins.
However, his good mood dimmed slightly when Rafe came slouching up the path behind Brittany, Stephanie, and the shrink from TV.
“You drop by for that beer?”
Rafe had the grace not to laugh, though Matt could see it was a struggle. “Had to see you roped with my own eyes.”
“Don’t be cross with Rafe, darling. He was such a help.”
“I bet.”
“And he and the girls are going to take the horse back for me.”
“Great. How about the rope? Bet that has to go back, too.”
Her smile was warm and intimate and so full of promise that he hoped nobody was looking at him too closely below the belt. “I bought the rope. You never know when it will come in handy.”
“How about the cowgirl getup? You own that?”
“Of course. I’ve discovered I quite like being a cowgirl.”
He had a feeling he was going to like it, too.
The horse sent him one last sympathetic glance, one tethered beast to another, and then turned and headed out with the gang of giggling cowgirls and one lone Mexican wolf.
Then she tugged his rope and he followed his sparkling cowgirl. As they headed into his house—luckily, he’d left the back door unlocked—and up the stairs to his bedroom, he said, “I thought you’d left me.”
She must have heard some of the agony he’d been through, because she stopped right in the middle of the stairs and said, “I wouldn’t have left. Not without saying good-bye. Besides, we had unfinished business.”
“You’ve been engaged three times. Not that I want to sound like I’m doubting your sticking power, but I had to wonder if you’re the kind who takes off the minute things get rough.”
“Oh, Matthew,” her voice was soft. “Even at my worst I always said good-bye.” She smiled a little. “Well, shouted it probably. I was so frightened, but I still couldn’t leave. It’s different this time.”
“It’s different for me. I wasn’t sure how it was for you.”
“Then let me show you,” she said, leading him the rest of the way to his bedroom.
“Honey,” he said, “there’ll be lots of times when I’m happy for you to tie me up, and times I’m going to do the same for you, but right now, if you don’t mind, I really need to put my hands on you.”
For answer, she loosened the ring of rope and slipped it over his head. “I need your hands on me, too.”
He pulled her to him, holding her tighter with his arms than that rope had held him. “I missed you so much.”
“So did I. I love you.” She patted her hand against her chest. “There, I said it.”
“Sounded good,” he said, smiling down at her. “Say it again.”
She did. Then they were kissing, hungrily.
She tasted so sweet, so right, and when he felt her pushing her body against his, wriggling against him so that the studs and buttons on her outfit gouged into him, he knew she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her.
“I need to get you naked more than I’ve ever needed anything,” he said, his voice low and husky.
“But this was a very expensive outfit,” she said, her pout not disguising her raging need for one second.
“Well,” he said, standing back and pretending to think about it.
He stood there just a second too long, so she said, “Matthew,” in that dreamy, needy way that went straight to his cock like a stroking hand.
“Okay. You can leave the hat on,” he said, stepping closer.
“And the boots.”
His hands were on hers as they both struggled to free her from that spangled outfit.
When she stood before him in nothing but her hat, with that rose bobbing, and her tooled leather boots, shiny and new, he thought he’d never been a happier man.
He tore out of his clothes and then, advancing on her, scooped her up into his arms.
She giggled. “Be careful of your k
nee.”
“Don’t you worry about my knee,” he said, dropping her to the bed so that she bounced, laughing. Then reached for him.
She climbed on top of him. “I didn’t do nearly enough riding.”
He put a hand behind his head and looked up at her. “You learn to ride Texan style?”
Her nose turned up at that. “Certainly not. I ride English style. Get used to it.”
And when she mounted him and he slid home so perfectly, he knew he already had.
I hope you enjoyed these four books as much as I enjoyed researching and writing them. I’ve lived in both Oxford and Bath, two of my favorite cities in the world, and I have a love affair with British men, pubs, castles and walking the countryside. An honest review is always appreciated.
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The British are Coming Box Set Copyright © 2018 by Nancy Warren
The British Are Coming: George, Arthur and Jack © 2015
Courting Chloe © 2015
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.