That was how this felt. It shouldn’t. She didn’t really know Brady that well. She hadn’t spent much time with him—except in fantasies. If fantasies counted, she’d spent a lot of time with him.
She needed to be careful. Brady was a man, not a fantasy. A…man.
The proof of that fact was pressing into her at this very moment, making her body heat and soften, opening to take him in, to make him a part of her memories forever. Because whatever happened, she’d never forget this night.
Chapter 5
Brady looked down at Suze and tried to forget that he was breaking every rule he’d ever set for himself when it came to women.
Never sleep with a woman who takes things too seriously was number one.
Never sleep with a woman who has a yapper dog was number two, but Suze might be exempt from that one, since she wasn’t your typical yapper-dog woman.
The third rule was Never talk to a woman about anything personal. He normally kept his conversations light. He’d talk about rodeo, about music, and about drinking, but never about a girl’s home life or his own goals and dreams. But he’d let Suze spill her heart to him, and he’d told her more than he’d intended about himself.
The fourth rule was one he hadn’t expected to break tonight.
Never sleep with a woman who makes you feel too much.
Something about Suze’s combination of strength and vulnerability spoke to him, deep down inside in parts of his heart he usually kept walled off. As a foster kid, he’d learned that caring about people only made it hurt more when they left you, so he was careful to keep his relationships superficial.
Suze had always seemed so standoffish that he’d never dreamed she’d get under his skin like this. Being with her felt like stepping into a kiddie pool and discovering it was six feet deep. He was way out of his depth, and he couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten there.
And they’d only just started.
He glanced toward the door. He could make a run for it.
But then he looked down at the woman lying beneath him and decided he’d regret running for the rest of his life.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Nope.” He smiled, hoping she couldn’t read the fear in his eyes. It was fading anyway. She looked so sweet, lying there—a word he never thought he’d apply to Suze Carlyle.
That long blond hair, freed from her trademark braid, lay uncoiled on the pillow. Her body was uncoiling too. He could feel her relaxing, softening, letting him in.
But there was still one hill to climb. Actually, it was looking more like a mountain. She’d relaxed enough to let out a little whimper a while back, but then that V between her eyebrows had returned and he knew she was taking this way too seriously.
“Suze,” he said.
She opened her eyes and blinked up at him.
“Stop thinking.”
“I’m not.” She squirmed against him. “In fact, I was just thinking that—oh.”
“Yup,” he said, grinning. “Exactly.”
Green. Her eyes were green and had a strange crystalline clarity to them. They reminded him of a stream flowing through a forest, the cool, clear water reflecting the spring green of the leaves.
She shrugged, prettily embarrassed. “I guess you won’t believe me if I told you I was thinking about how I wasn’t thinking?”
“Guess not.” He rose to his knees. “Turn over.”
“What?”
“Turn over. Don’t worry. I’m not going to spank you.”
She grinned. “Darn it. A girl can hope.”
Wow. He’d expected Suze to be shy, or maybe cold—not feisty and funny and warm.
Once she turned over, he let her wait a bit, partly so he could enjoy the sight of her and partly so she’d wonder what was coming. For him, that was half the pleasure of making love with a new partner—wondering what was coming next.
Or who was coming next. It would be her. He’d make sure of that.
Now he was thinking too much. He put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded the tight muscles there, pressing hard with his thumbs until she moaned aloud.
“Oh, Brady,” she said. “I didn’t realize how tense I was.” She moaned again. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“Man, you’re easy,” he said, moving down to press his thumbs along her spine. “You’re already calling my name, and I’m still fully clothed.”
“I was going to talk to you about that.” The joke tapered off into a moan.
Brady had had his share of massages, from physical therapists and from women who wanted to impress him with their skills. He did his best to remember everything that felt good, and he used that knowledge to knead her neck and rub hard under her shoulder blades.
“Loosen your belt,” he said.
She was so lost in the massage, she didn’t seem to think at all as she hiked up her very fine butt and struggled with the clasp to her belt. Tugging her jeans down until they were dangerously low, she relaxed again. He had a little trouble getting started again, since he hadn’t expected the combination of tight athleticism and hourglass-shaped sexiness her body revealed. She always wore those baggy pants and shirts. He wondered why.
He kneaded her lower back, making her moan even more.
“Dang, I didn’t know I was so sore,” she said. “I should do this more often.”
“A lot of times you can get a massage at the Justin tent,” he said. Justin was a boot company who’d put their brand on the map by sponsoring sports medicine stations at every major rodeo. They patched up the cowboys who wrecked and offered advice for those with chronic injuries. Since a lot of cowboys rode hurt, the tent stayed busy through every rodeo.
“I guess I should try that.”
She sighed, giving herself over to the massage. Brady gradually gentled his touch. He was a little worried she’d fallen asleep, but hell, if she had, he’d lie down beside her and count himself lucky he didn’t have to break all his rules.
Maybe he should pretend he was just here to give her a massage. He glanced at the door again, then back at Suze, who had suddenly turned over. Her eyes were wide-awake, and he was now straddling her hips.
There was no turning back. His pardner down under was ready for action, and though Brady himself might be a coward, his pardner never let a good woman down.
“Um,” he said.
She smiled. “Were you going to say something?”
“I was. But danged if I can remember what it was, now that I looked in your eyes.”
She turned her head.
“That won’t work,” he said. “Now I’m looking at the way your lips turn up at the corners and the sweep of your jaw.” He reached down and stroked her jawline with one finger. “You have a strong face,” he said.
“Is that a compliment?”
“From me it is. I like strong women.”
“Is that what you were going to say?”
“Nope.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Whatever that was, it’s lost and gone forever.”
* * *
Suze closed her eyes and gave herself over to sensation as Brady kissed his way down her jaw, then trailed his lips and tongue down her neck, down her throat. He reached her cleavage and tugged at her sports bra, but it wouldn’t budge.
She tugged at it, trying to help, but the danged thing was designed to hold tight, no matter what kind of pressure it was subjected to. It was more like armor than lingerie. She let out a mew of frustration—a very embarrassing mew—and sat up, hauling the thing up over her breasts and off.
Oh Lord. What had she done? He was staring at her as if something was wrong. And no wonder. She’d stripped like she was in gym class or something. There was nothing sexy about what she’d done. Nothing sexy at all.
And her breasts, always too big, were bouncing all over the place. Sh
e started to cover herself, but he shook his head no.
“Perfect,” he said, his voice low. “You’re so perfect.” He reached out and cradled her breasts in his hands, running his thumbs slowly over her nipples until they peaked and ached. She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the feeling, and resisted the urge to cover herself again. Losing herself in sensation, she threw her head back, inviting him to touch and fondle and stroke and kiss.
He did all that and more. Sensation swirled from his touch, and she tugged at his shirt until the snaps came undone and she could run her hands over his chest. There wasn’t an extra ounce of fat on the man; he was all muscle as far as she could see. How someone who spent all his time carousing could stay so fit was a mystery she’d never solve.
He flipped her over. She wasn’t sure how; one minute she was on her back, the next she was on all fours, with him behind her. She could feel how hard he was, pressed against the tight seat of her jeans, and she rocked against him while he cupped her heavy breasts in his hands and pushed back.
She suddenly realized she hated blue jeans. Sure, they were great for riding and comfortable for most everything else, but they were practically impossible to remove with any kind of grace. After that scene with the bra, she wanted to entice, to tease.
She wished she were wearing yoga pants. And she wished Brady wasn’t wearing any pants at all.
Well, her mother had always said that if you had a wish, it was up to you to make it come true. Suze kind of doubted this was the kind of situation she’d been referring to, but it was still good advice.
She reached behind her and tugged at his belt.
“Take these off,” she said.
“Is that an order?” His tone was easy and humorous—a total contrast to hers, which was desperate and out of control.
“Yes, it was,” she said. “Are you going to follow it?”
“Not unless you take yours off too.”
“Bet I can beat you.”
She squirmed and wriggled in a desperate effort to peel her Wranglers past her hips. She didn’t wear pants as tight as the other girls, but dang it, they fit well enough. It was a struggle and well, this was embarrassing. She ended up feeling like a turtle on its back, trapped, waving its legs in the air.
Brady, who’d shed his own jeans with relative grace, helped her out, but with maddening slowness, taking the time to pull off her belt and set it aside, then easing her jeans down while she tried to hide the fact that she had to hang on to her panties or they’d be gone too.
Finally, the two of them lay face-to-face, a little worn out from all the struggling and heaving and squirming but happy as a cowboy and a cowgirl could be.
She ought to do this more often. One-night stands were actually kind of fun. She felt better than she had in days. Months. Years.
There were other good-looking cowboys out there who probably wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay with the women’s barrel racing champion. She’d had some offers, but she didn’t know how to make love to someone she didn’t even like.
And that was the problem. She was no virgin, but this was the first time she’d taken off her clothes for a man she wasn’t in a relationship with. It was also the first time she hadn’t been nervous or even reluctant. Because the kind of guys she could stand having around all the time weren’t like Brady at all. They were thoughtful, sensitive guys, guys who watched her race and brought her flowers. Guys from other worlds.
In the past year, she’d dated a financial advisor and a real estate agent. Both were the kind of guys her father said she should be dating—men with responsible jobs that didn’t involve risking their lives on the backs of broncs every day. She wished she had a dollar for every time her father had warned her about cowboys, about their drinking and carousing, their lying and their cheating and their evil hound-dog ways.
But eventually, she’d had to admit that she just didn’t have the kind of feelings for those nice, ordinary men that made for a successful relationship. They made good friends but lousy lovers. So she’d broken up with them and gone back to fantasizing about Brady Caine.
Who was here now, in her trailer, making love to her.
Well, having sex, anyway. Her father was right about the hound-dog ways. The wandering, town-to-town life of the rodeo cowboy made it easy for a man to leave women behind, and a lot of the cowboys—including Brady—took full advantage.
Brady nuzzled her right where her neck and shoulder met. “You’re thinking again.”
He was right, but something like goose bumps or tickles or happy-dancing nerve endings spread from the spot where he was kissing her, taking over first her body and then her brain.
So this was the solution. One-night stands, all the time, with cowboys. Look how good Brady made her feel. All she had to do was dress up a little and visit the beer tents and barrooms in the small towns where rodeo held sway, and she could have a cowboy every night.
But it wouldn’t be Brady. And Brady was the only one she wanted.
And he’d never settle down with someone like her. When he got ready to start a family, he’d find someone as attractive, clever, and good-natured as himself.
So this was it. Not just a one-night stand, but a limited engagement, once-in-a-lifetime event. She’d better make it count—for both of them.
She wanted to be the best he’d ever had. She wanted him to remember her. She wanted him to wish, once in a while, that he’d hung on to her.
“You’re thinking again,” he said between kisses.
“Trust me,” she said. “I’m thinking good thoughts.”
“Like what?”
She whispered in his ear, making sure her lips and tongue did a lot of the talking, and was pleased to see his eyes widen with surprise.
He pushed her down onto the bed.
“Tell me something,” he said, stroking her hair and smiling as if he’d just won the lottery. “Why haven’t we done this before?”
Chapter 6
Brady couldn’t believe his luck.
He was in Suze Carlyle’s trailer, on Suze Carlyle’s bed, making love to Suze Carlyle. It was truly a rodeo miracle. He’d always thought Suze was far too high above him in the rodeo hierarchy of champions, strivers, and deadbeats to give him so much as a glance.
In fact, she probably considered him one of the deadbeats. Most people did. His rides did look sloppy—he’d seen the agreement in her eyes when he’d said so. But he knew what he was doing, and he won more often than people realized. His sloppy rides gave the audience exactly what they wanted: the impression that he was going to get bucked off and stomped at any moment. That’s why he was popular enough to get endorsement deals for everything from trucks to Tony Lamas.
The other miracle was that Suze seemed to be experienced. He’d been a little worried she’d turn out to be a virgin. As far as he knew, she’d only dated a couple of guys, and they were losers—some accountant and a real estate huckster who wasn’t man enough to shine her boots.
But judging from what she’d just told him, she knew exactly how to please a man.
“Now you’re thinking.” She laughed, lying beneath him with her gorgeous body laid out like a feast.
The massage had worked. That laugh hadn’t come from the tightly wound Suze he’d picked up at the beer tent. It had come from a woman who was comfortable in her own skin—maybe more comfortable in her skin than in her clothes, come to think of it.
“Why do you cover yourself up?”
“What?” He could see why she was confused. She sure wasn’t covered up now.
“Normally,” he said. “With those baggy jeans and big shirts.”
“I don’t know.” She looked away. “My breasts are too big, and my butt—you know.”
“Not yet I don’t. But I will.” He touched her lips—just touched that full lower lip—then stroked her chin, her thr
oat, her chest, working his way down through the valley of her cleavage to her tanned, flat stomach. She rippled at his touch, catching her breath.
That was all the encouragement he needed. All the encouragement he could take. He bent to kiss her, and the tender touching was all over—for the moment, anyway. They pressed their bodies together and kissed hard—deep, wet, hotly sexual kisses that left him nearly exhausted.
If this was what kissing Suze was like, what would it be like when they got to the main event?
It’s going to be fantastic.
But Brady was determined to take his time getting there. He was going to enjoy those breasts—the one place where her long, lean body offered a little something extra. He wanted to feast on them, make the nipples stand up till they ached, and then taste them, touch them, drive her wild. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling of her flesh filling his hands. He wanted to squeeze and stroke and fondle, and she didn’t seem to mind letting him.
That’s why it took him by surprise when she reached down and cupped her palm over his erection. The warmth of her hand, the pressure, but most of all the fact that it was Suze touching him there, nearly made him come right then, like some high school kid, but he hung on and let out his feelings in a groan of pleasure.
Was that what she wanted? Was she in a hurry for this to be over?
He groaned again at the thought, and that seemed to drive her wild. Grabbing his shoulders, she pulled him down on top of her again, pushing her hips against his pelvis, demanding what she wanted without saying a word.
She was in a hurry, all right. But not for it to be over.
They were just getting started.
* * *
Suze was not a passive woman. She wasn’t willing to lie there while Brady did all the work, much as she enjoyed his efforts. No, she wanted to touch him the way he was touching her. She wanted to drive him wild.
He was experienced, obviously. The accountant and the salesman hadn’t exactly taught her the Kama Sutra; their lovemaking had reflected all the excitement of their occupations.
A cowboy would expect something more. Brady was an adrenaline junkie. They all were, herself included. You couldn’t deal with the hazards of rodeo unless you fed on danger like horses fed on hay.
How to Kiss a Cowboy Page 4