Love With a Perfect Cowboy

by Lori Wilde

  She cried out, arched her back higher. God, he loved how responsive she was.

  “Luke,” she whispered his name so softly he could scarcely hear her.

  “Tell me what you need, darlin’.”

  “You. Inside me. Now.”

  “Not yet.” He shook his head.

  She whimpered, pursed her bottom lip in a lust-­fueled pout.

  Ah man, he was getting in deep here.

  Something at the back of his mind prodded caution. Urged him to back off, back out. Hell, get all the way out of New York before he did something irrevocable.

  The cool air blowing against his back from the air-­conditioner vents, her hot little body wriggling beneath him, her eager palms kneading his ass, jettisoned him into another realm. He spanned her hips with his hands, his palms sliding beneath her buttocks, tilting her spine upward, and giving him a heart-­stopping view of that sweet spot between her legs.

  His mouth watered. He couldn’t wait to get to know every inch of her with his tongue, to explore every delicious nook and cranny. He wanted to shuck her open like an oyster, learn all her secrets, find that brilliant pearl inside her, taste all her delights.

  He groaned, pressed his mouth to her abdomen and set off to mysterious territory, an intrepid explorer in the erotic land of Melody Spencer.

  She sighed with pleasure. How he loved that sound! Walking away from her after this was not going to be easy. Why had he said he could do it?

  His tongue found her most cherished region—­warm, earthy, fully feminine. She rocked her hips against his face, urging him to go where she needed him most. Whimpering. Begging. Her taut thighs closed around his ears, locking him in place.

  “Ooh, baby,” she moaned.

  “I know, darlin’,” he murmured, deep in the thick of her. “I know.”

  Her fingernails combed restless through his hair, her hips rotating in rhythmic swirls. He picked up her pattern, mimicked it with a tempo of his own. Stroking her higher and higher, hotter and hotter. Her breathing came in short, high pants, moving air only in the upper part of her lungs.

  He smiled against her moist skin. Her briny taste filled his mouth. Soon. She was so damn close. Soon. Very soon. She was almost there.

  “Luke!” His name shot from her mouth on a sharp, guttural cry.

  She pushed down, pressed against him, and he felt her come. Her body shuddering hard as she rode wave after wave of pleasure.

  Grinning, he moved up onto the bed with her, pulled her into his arms. Kissed her face, smoothed her hair.

  The woman was sexy as hell and he was so lucky to be here with her, to have caused that reaction in her. But she wasn’t about to give him one minute’s rest. Now that they’d started this, apparently she was in all the way.

  “Get those condoms I saw in your first aid kit,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Get them now!”

  He chuckled at her ferocity.

  “I’m not kidding!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, rolled off the bed, and groped around for the first aid kit.

  “Hurry,” she urged, leaning over the side of the bed.

  “Doin’ my best, angel,” he drawled, but truth be told, he was just as anxious as she. His hands were trembling so hard from excitement that he fumbled the condom and dropped it twice before he made it back to the bed.

  “C’mere.” She was on her knees on the mattress. She reached over, hooked one finger inside the waistband of his undershorts, and pulled him back onto the bed beside her.

  He grabbed at the edges of the foil packet, desperately trying to get the thing open in the darkness.

  “Let me,” she said, yanking it from his hand and using her teeth to tear it open. This was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and had no inhibitions about her sexuality.

  He liked her boldness in bed.

  Liked it a lot.

  They were going to have all kinds of fun.

  She spit out the foil, removed the condom from the wrapper, and before he knew what hit him, she had a firm hold on his Johnson and was rolling the condom over the throbbing head of his penis.

  He was quivering so hard that he was terrified he was going to spoil it all by coming way too soon. He wanted this to last. He’d spent many a night dreaming over her. He didn’t want it over in two hot strokes. Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts, think … God, what a supple body she had.

  “Here we go,” she said, rocked back against the pillow, locked her legs around his thighs, and pulled him down on top of her.

  It would have been so very easy to sink into her. Just slip right in and let Mother Nature take her course.

  Melody arched her hips up, pushing against his pelvis. “I’m ready. Slide on in, cowboy.”

  He lowered his head. “Can’t,” he whispered against her hair. “I won’t last eight seconds and this isn’t a rodeo where eight seconds is a good thing.”

  She laughed, and the sound sent a saddlebag full of joy bucking down his spine. “Eight seconds is fine for me. We’ve got the rest of the night to play catch-­up.”

  The woman was desperate for him. Luke grinned. Just as desperate for him as he was for her, but clearly, he was the one who had to put on the brakes because if she kept cupping his balls like that, he was going to explode in her hand.

  He pulled his body back, but leaned down to press his forehead against hers and peer deeply into those sweetly wicked brown eyes. “No.”

  “Spoilsport.” She pouted.

  “You’ll thank me later.”

  “Bragging, are you?”

  “It’s not bragging if you can back it up.”

  “You’re running the risk of losing me,” she threatened. “I cool off quickly.”

  “Not if I do this,” he said, and bent his head to nibble at her earlobe as he remembered how she’d squirmed with delight when he’d done the same thing when they were teenagers.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You fight dirty.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” he growled playfully.

  He teased her ear until she was writhing and begging him again. “Please, Luke. Please just get inside me.”

  He couldn’t resist her, not one second longer, and he slid into her soft, welcoming wetness.

  Bull’s-­eye. He was home.

  All the air left her lungs in an audible whoosh and her body clamped down on him and now he was the one who was having trouble breathing. She’d turned the tables on him again.

  He clenched his jaw, tried hard to think of something that would keep a leash on the lust that was charging through him like a raging Brahman bull stampeding from the chute. Cupid. Drought. Family. Feud.

  Whoa. Wait a minute. He wanted to rein things in, not stop the momentum entirely.

  But he needn’t have worried about getting sidetracked. Melody was massaging his ass with those amazing fingers of hers, kneading his muscles like he was a bread dough.

  Yee-­haw.

  He slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her closer, diving in deeper.

  She tightened her legs around his waist, her body encompassing his. He cupped his hands around her face, stared into her eyes. He felt as if he was falling, tumbling into a place he’d dreamed of but never fully believed existed.

  Their bodies were locked. Their gazes cemented upon each other. Her hands were clamped around his upper arms, her fingernails biting into his biceps.

  “Oh,” she cried, and her eyes stared fixedly as if she were seeing through him, peering directly into his soul.

  He felt something then, a movement deep inside his very center. Something shifted or melted or broke loose or hell, he didn’t know what, but it happened. A change. An alteration. A revolution.

  And then her inner muscles seized him and squeezed so tightly he knew there was no hanging on. He was gone and so was she. One last hard thrust and they burst together. Better than a bonfire, bigger than fireworks, brighter than a meteor shower—­sizzling hot explosion, fire and heat
and brilliant light.

  Breathlessly, he collapsed against her. Not wanting to crush her underneath his weight, he moved to roll away, but she squeezed her legs around him, holding him down.

  He had to admit it felt pretty damn good pressed so tightly against her sweaty, panting body. Anchored. Lord, but the woman was prime fine.

  To keep from squashing her, he put his weight on his forearms and looked down into her laughing eyes.

  “You …” she whispered, “were spectacular.”

  “Not so bad yourself.” He kissed the end of her nose.

  “We should have known it would be this good. All those years of waiting. All that sexual buildup.”

  They lay like that for several minutes, limbs entangled, heart rate slowing in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

  Not lovemaking, he corrected himself. Just sex. Just for now. Just for tonight. Her life was here. His was in Texas. She was a Fant descendant. He was a Nielson. Nothing more could happen between them.

  But damn, he couldn’t help thinking it was a crying shame, because he could get accustomed to spending time in her bed.

  Very accustomed indeed.

  JUST BEFORE DAWN, they used up the last condom in Luke’s first aid kit.

  What a wild and crazy night it had been.

  Hooking up with Luke was a reaction to getting fired and dumped all in one day. Melody knew that. It was great sex because it was taboo and unexpected. She knew that too. It was nothing more than an off-­the-­chain, out-­of-­control, lose-­your-­mind impulse. She never wanted or expected anything more than this one beautiful, forbidden night, a sweet salve to soothe her wounds.

  In theory anyway.

  But as she lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling, their hands linked, their legs knitted together like skeins of yarn, she couldn’t quash an obnoxious little voice that whispered, Too bad this can’t be more.

  It could not, so no point in thinking about it.

  But all she wanted to do was have sex with him again. Never mind that she was raw and achy and worn out. It was a good kind of exhausted.

  “We’re those ­people, you know,” she said.

  “What ­people?”

  “The ones you hate to get a hotel room next to because they pound the bed against the wall all night long.”

  He grinned. “I guess we are at that.”

  “Should we feel guilty for being inconsiderate?”

  “Nah. We’re giving them something to aspire to.”

  “They’re probably jealous.”

  “Oh yeah. I’d be jealous if I was in the next room, instead of in here with you.”

  She giggled.

  “You wanna make them jealous all over again?”

  “Tempting, but you’re flying back to Cupid this afternoon and you haven’t had a lick of sleep.”

  “I can sleep on the plane. What I can’t do is leave town until you have a place to stay.”

  “I’m a big girl, Luke. I can take care of myself. I’ll just get a hotel room until I can make long-­term arrangements.”

  “I know,” he said. “But I’m a traditionalist. Let me at least take you back to get your things from the doorman.”

  “All right,” she conceded, because she did not want to go back to Jean-­Claude’s apartment building by herself.

  He pulled her into the curve of his body. “Close your eyes and try to sleep for an hour or two.”

  She snuggled against him. “This is the last time we’ll ever do this.”

  “Well, never say never, darlin’. Now that I’ve seen New York, I might get a hankering to come up and visit every once in a while. Would that be okay with you?”

  She nodded, wanting that too much to say so. She was treading on boggy ground here.

  “And of course, you’ll come home to Cupid to see your folks from time to time.”

  “We can’t see each other when I come to Cupid. It’s too risky.”

  He didn’t answer, but he played with a lock of her hair. He knew as well as she did the kind of trouble the two of them pairing up would cause in their hometown.

  “If I was a poetic guy, this is where I would quote something pithy from Shakespeare,” he said. “Something all Romeo and Juliet about star-­crossed lovers.”

  “Good thing you’re not poetic. It would sound cheesy.”

  He laughed and hugged her tighter. “You’re one helluva woman, Melody Spencer, and don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.”

  “I’ll try to remember that the next time I’m getting fired and given the romantic brush-­off.”

  “I believe everything happens for a reason. You’re going to do great things with your life. Never doubt that. I don’t,” he said fiercely.

  The guy sure knew how to get under a woman’s skin. She had to give him that.

  “I mean look at the way you thought of that cornbread bake-­off thing to help bring tourists back to Cupid on the spur of the moment,” he went on. “You’ve got a sharp mind.”

  “Not really. It’s just my job. I’m always thinking of clever ways to sell things, the same way you think about cattle.”

  “Maybe, but this bake-­off is going to be the shot in the arm that Cupid needs. I can just feel it.” He shook his head. “And to think some ­people back home thought the trip up here to see you was going to be a waste.”

  She wanted to ask, What ­people? But she hated to spoil the short time they had left together by dipping into small-­town politics and family grudges.

  “Don’t count your chickens,” she cautioned. “This thing with Quaker is nowhere near a done deal. I just made the first overtures. The ball is in my court. I’ve got to find some celebrity judges or my proposal will never see the light of day.”

  “You’ll do it.” He sounded so positive that she was starting to believe it could happen. “One day Cupid will be as famous for its cornbread as Terlingua is for its chili.”

  “No pressure, huh?” She laughed.

  “I have faith in you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a woman of your word. You do what you say you’ll do.”

  “I wish I could be certain of that.”

  “You don’t have to be. I’m certain enough for both of us.” He kissed the nape of her neck and she turned in his arms to face him and they were kissing all over again.

  “We’re out of condoms,” she panted after his kiss left her gasping for air.

  “There’s other ways of pleasuring each other,” he said, and kissed his way down her body.

  Within minutes she was tingling and quivering and calling out his name all over again, and in that exceptional moment, her mind detached from her body and she was nothing but pleasure.

  The experience was so intense it was as if she were watching herself from a long distance away. Watched her arms draw him close. Observed her lips kiss his forehead, his eyelids, his cheek, his chin. He was so substantial, so powerful and solid.

  “God, Melly.” He breathed. “You are amazing.”

  Her mind, still objectively disconnected from her body, saw her arms twine around his neck and squeezed tightly, as if, it were up to them, they would never let him go.

  In that moment, she knew she should not have done this. It was a terrible mistake. There would be no going back. No undoing what had been done.

  She was forever marked.

  Chapter 8

  MELODY woke sometime later. Sunlight seeped through the curtains, revealing that the spot beside her on the bed was empty. She squinted at the clock. Nine-­thirty.

  Oh crap, she was late for work.

  It hit her all at once—­the loss of her job, boyfriend, and living arrangement. And the fact that she’d had sex with Luke Nielson.

  She sat upright in bed as the consequences of her actions fully set in. Beware. She had seriously screwed up. Midnight and Dom Perignon had a way of doing that to a person.

  The door opened and Luke himself walked through the door, carrying a paper
bag. Instantly, her body responded, nipples tightening, skin tingling, womb constricting. She was in some kind of trouble.

  “Mornin’, sleepyhead.” He swept off his Stetson, and dropped it on the bureau.

  She pulled the sheets up over her breasts, suddenly feeling shy and exposed. It was a little late for modesty. Last night he’d seen every inch of her body. She had no secrets left from him.

  He held up the white paper bag. “Bagels and cream cheese and coffee. Get it while it’s hot.”

  She felt weird parading around naked. Where was that T-­shirt? But she couldn’t wrap the sheet around her either because he plopped down on the bed beside her and passed her a large cup of coffee.

  “Got plain old joe. Didn’t know if you like those fancy kinds or not.”

  “Regular coffee is fine.”

  “I snagged some cream and sugar packets too.”

  “Black’s okay.” She took a sip of the coffee, more to avoid looking at him than anything else. “Maybe I will have a packet of cream.”

  He passed it to her and she stirred it into the dark roast, studied the swirling cream instead of meeting his inscrutable gaze.

  “You’ve got your choice of bagels,” he said. “Cinnamon raisin, blueberry, or plain.”

  “Cinnamon raisin.”

  He smeared cream cheese on half the bagel before passing it to her. Then slathered the other half for himself. “And, oh yeah, I got you these.”

  From inside his jacket pocket he pulled out a pair of ballet flats. “So you don’t have to go back to the Frenchman’s place in broken heels.”

  For some stupid reason the ballet slippers really touched her. A lump formed in her throat that had nothing to do with the bite of bagel she’d just swallowed.

  They were pretty flats. Green and blue brocade that matched the skirt she’d worn yesterday, and they were a size eight.

  “How did you know my size?” she asked.

  “I peeked inside your shoe.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Hey, you’re doing me a big favor. The least I can do is buy you breakfast and comfortable footwear.”

  “I’m doing this for Cupid,” she said.

  “You’re doing it for me,” he corrected. “Save Cupid and you save my ass. If I don’t do something, I’ll go down in history as the mayor who allowed the drought to kill the town.”