Cowboy Lessons (Harlequin American Romance)

by Pamela Britton

  She looked back at him, and, damn it, it wasn’t fair. Why’d he have to be so cute? So adorable as he gave her that boyish smile of his.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Yup,” Scott said as he waited for his pilot to open the door. Who needed a limo when one could have a helicopter chauffeur?

  Unbelievable, she thought yet again. As she thought it, she realized that there was a part of her, a pretty big part of her, that was impressed.

  And seriously turned on.

  She’d never been kidnapped before, and suddenly she was finding the prospect just a little bit titillating, especially when the door was opened with a pop. Scott turned back to her with a suave lift of his brows and said, “Am I going to have to drag you inside, or will you come willingly?”

  Ready, willing and able.

  “Willingly,” she said over the sound of the rotors spinning.

  He smiled, his lips tilting just before he hopped down and then helped her to her feet.

  Spinning on her leather seat in a way that wouldn’t shove the slinky material of her dress up too much, she told herself to ignore Scott’s hands as she slid out, which she did, yelling “Where to?” above the hydraulic whir of the rotors powering down.

  “This way,” Scott answered, taking her arm…not asking for it, but taking it as if it was his right to do so. She told herself such an autocratic gesture should make her angry. What it did was make her panty hose melt. Well, it would have if she were wearing some.

  She let him lead her away, telling herself not to gawk as she stared around her.

  This was as far removed from the ranch house she grew up in as a Porsche was from a VW Bug…a very old VW Bug.

  “So tell me,” she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “When you see starving children from Ethiopia, do you ever feel guilty?”

  “Yeah, but I console myself by heading up a food drop once a year.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Actually, no, I’m not.”

  Which made her stare at his profile in amazement for a minute. Could someone actually do that?

  If they had enough money they could. And Scott Beringer definitely had enough money. Nothing demonstrated that better than the house he led her toward, its stucco facade dwarfing her the closer they got. A path made up of granite stones led toward an entry obviously specifically designed for Scott’s helicopter-commuting guests. Did he really have that many?

  “Welcome home, sir,” a bald-headed man said with a bow as the wood-and-glass door—with gold trim, no less—magically opened. The man’s white jacket was obviously some sort of uniform.

  “Let me guess. Jeeves, right?” Amanda asked as Scott stopped to let her precede him.

  “Actually, it’s Sal,” Scott said.

  “Oh,” Amanda said. “Hi, Sal.”

  “Welcome, miss,” he said with a polite smile. Not bald. There was a small horseshoe of hair that cupped his head, about the density of tennis-ball fuzz, less the neon-green color.

  “Do you want a tour?” Scott asked.

  “Won’t that take a couple of days?”

  “Actually, no, not if we skip the bedroom.”

  Something about the way he said bedroom, something about the way he looked at her lips for a second as if he’d dragged her off here to show her exactly that…the bedroom, that is, made Amanda lick her lips in sudden nervousness.

  “Sure,” she said, turning away from him and the sight he made in his tux. The black pants did marvelous things for his legs. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was attracted to him because she was used to jeans-clad legs.

  She pulled her eyes away from Scott, finally noticing that they were standing in some kind of foyer as big as her horse barn back at home.

  “Holy cow.”

  “You would know a holy one better than I.”

  She looked at Scott, blinked, assimilated what he’d said, determined he was joking, then looked around her again. The place was huge. Just huge. There was no ceiling above her, rather the tallest vaulted glass dome Amanda had ever seen in her life.

  “You must be able to fit a huge Christmas tree in here.”

  “How’d you guess?”

  Off to the left was an open area with walls of windows.

  “Do you have those little moving sidewalks they use at the airports to keep guests from getting tired?”

  “I thought about it, but we couldn’t fit the machine that runs them into the basement.”

  She nodded as if that made perfect sense and as if he wasn’t joking, which she knew he was. “What’s down there?” she asked, pointing to the only normalsize hall visible.

  “The maid’s quarters.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Because if you lived in a house this large, you’d have maids.”

  “Something like that.”

  She turned, her feet bogging down in the plush carpet as she crossed her arms in front of her. “And you want to be a cowboy,” she said.

  “I do.”

  “Why?” she asked, uncrossing her arms to motion around her. “Why do you want to traipse through acres of cow poop? To get up at the crack of dawn every morning to feed the cow-poop makers? Is it just a momentary phase?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, taking a small step toward her. “All I know is I’ve always wanted to own a ranch.”

  “Wouldn’t another ranch work?”

  “It would if my selling the place back to you would make you happy.”

  Her breath caught. “You would do that?”

  “I would,” he said, closing the distance between them. And then he glanced down. Just a quick peek, but enough of one that she knew he’d seen her reaction to him.

  “Darn it,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Darn what?”

  “Why are you such a nice guy?” she said, wanting to cup his face in her hands.

  “Is that a bad thing?” he said, coming nearer.

  “No,” she finally said out loud.

  “I want to kiss you,” he said while coming closer.

  “That’s not a good idea,” she said, holding her ground, though her stomach had begun to whirl like a washing machine on the spin cycle.

  When he pulled her to him, she didn’t resist. And when he bent his head down, she didn’t move. When he kissed her, well, that was the time to stop what was happening.

  But when he kissed her, she forgot all about resisting. What she suddenly wanted to do was kiss him back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Scott expected Amanda to pull away. He really did. But when instead she sighed against his lips, pressed her breasts against the front of his shirt and then kissed him back as fiercely as he’d ever imagined her kissing him, he knew the moment had come.

  Then another realization hit him, one that blew his mind as he opened his mouth and sucked in her sweet essence.

  He was nervous. Nervous. His hands shook as he lifted them and placed his fingers against the warm flesh of her neck, her pulse beating beneath his fingers with enough force and speed to show she was just as charged. His breaths came faster and faster as he greedily lapped at her mouth. His whole body flexed and then hardened as blood flowed so quickly to every part of his body, it felt like a rush of heat had hit him. He’d made love to women before, and yet, this felt like the first time.

  Then she was pulling back, pulling away, and Scott was filled with a disappointment that she’d changed her mind. Then she asked, “I suppose you’ve got a bedroom in this place?”

  He took her hand. It was such a mundane thing to do, yet he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that Amanda Johnson was finally going to be his. Not because he was wealthy, but because she desired him, in spite of the fears she had. He still just about ran with her to his bedroom for fear she’d change her mind, but his rush to get there made her laugh, and the sound of that laughter made a rush of something else fill him, something warm and tender and sweet.

  “Slow down,” she said.

/>   “No,” he answered, tugging her up some stairs until, thankfully, they reached his bedroom.

  She stopped, her hand slipping from his grasp. He turned to see her staring around in awe.

  “You have a whole floor for a bedroom,” she stated, more than asked.

  “Well, no,” he said. “There’s a bathroom and private spa and the tennis court over behind that wall.”

  “Tennis court?”

  “Kidding, Amanda.”

  As he watched her stare around her, the fear returned that she might change her mind.

  “What am I doing?” she muttered.

  Then he watched her straighten. Watched her look him in the eye and say, “Maybe I just need to get you out of my system.”

  He wanted to laugh. “Maybe,” he answered with a smile, but he knew it was more than that. He’d planned this whole date as a way of trying to “sweep her off her feet,” as Roy Johnson had instructed. Only instead it was him getting swept.

  He took her hand again and led her to his bed, his hands still shaking as he turned to face her and lifted a finger to one of the thin straps holding the dress he’d bought her. It slid down her smooth skin with ease. Scott repeated the movement to the other strap. He hadn’t bought the dress thinking about what she’d wear underneath, but he sure hadn’t expected her to be wearing nothing, and that gave vent to a burst of eroticism that made his head buzz. And when the dress fell, revealing Amanda in nothing but a thong—a cowgirl who wore a thong—and her boots, Scott almost froze. Sure, he knew she was beautiful, twenty times prettier than those so-called models he’d dated, but Amanda standing almost naked before him was a sight Scott could never have imagined…not with any accuracy.

  She wasn’t simply beautiful, she was…perfect.

  “You’re making me feel self-conscious.”

  He looked up, met her eyes, seeing her insecurities there. “You take my breath away.”

  She rolled her eyes. He cupped her face in his hands, lowering his face so they were almost nose to nose. “You do.”

  She didn’t blink as she stared up at him, didn’t move as her pupils grew wide, and he realized in that moment that she thought she wasn’t pretty.

  “Undress me, Amanda.”

  She blinked then, her tongue licking her lips. Scott wanted to groan again, he wanted to take off his own clothes, he wanted to pick her up and deposit her on his bed.

  He didn’t move.

  No, he savored the moment, savored each gentle brush of her fingers as she took off his jacket—the swish as it fell to the floor the only sound in the room, other than their rapid breaths. Then she began to undo the buttons of his shirt, first across his chest, then his cuffs. He enjoyed the way watching her made him feel, the way his manhood throbbed hot and heavy in anticipation of loving her, the way he could see her lashes flicker as her eyes darted over his body, the way her hands trembled as she moved her hands to his pants. The feel of her fingers there, tickling him, brushing him…

  He released a breath, realized he’d closed his eyes, only to slowly open them again as she spread the fabric wide and let his pants drop.

  He couldn’t contain himself anymore. Bending down, he nipped at her neck, then sucked in the salty taste of her, his tongue fluttering against her flesh as he imagined doing the same thing to other parts of her body.

  She threw her head back. Scott edged closer, their bodies touching for the first time flesh to flesh.

  “Finally,” he said, using an index finger to slide her underwear off her hips.

  When she didn’t protest, he almost groaned. And when she was naked before him, he found that spot again, that sweet spot where his manhood nestled and made him want to lift her up and impale her on his shaft. Now. This minute.

  Instead he bent his knees, rubbing himself against the folds of her flesh, finding the spot he knew she wanted stroked as badly as he wanted to stroke her.

  “Scott,” she moaned.

  He kissed her neck again, his hand finding her breasts. Too fast. He needed to slow down. This had to be good. He had to give her pleasure. Once. Twice. Maybe three or four times…then it would be his turn. Only then.

  Gently, slowly, Scott backed her toward the bed, capturing her lips as he did so, his tongue slipping inside as control slipped further and further away when he kissed her with erotic thrusts of his tongue. Her knees buckled just before she sank atop a down-filled cover. Scott followed without releasing her lips, or her tongue, or without stopping his thrusts. His shaft found her folds again, those steamy, moist folds. At this rate he wouldn’t last two minutes.

  He pulled his lips away.

  “No,” she protested.

  He’d closed his eyes again, he realized, had thrust his head back so that the hair at the back of his neck brushed the tops of his shoulder. He sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring as he caught a whiff of her woman’s essence. Only when he’d gotten control did he open his eyes. And the sight of Amanda Johnson as she lay beneath him was one he swore he would never, ever forget. Her hair lay beneath her, tighter against her scalp, loose around her shoulders. The sweeping angle of her cheekbones caught his eyes, as did the perfect shape of her lips and the amazing size of her eyes. Those eyes were black with desire.

  Desire for him. Darn, how’d he get so lucky?

  “Scott?”

  She blinked, her breasts looking heavy and full while pressed beneath his weight. She was panting. He could feel her rib cage expand and contract beneath him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Except something was, something heavy and dark and almost sad. What? What?

  “Scott,” she said again, her shoulder flexing, her hand lifting to the side of his face. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

  He shook his head, smiling down at her to cover his confusion. “Nothing,” he said, and then he shifted a bit, his mouth covering her left nipple.

  She gasped.

  The sound of that gasp, the way it hitched near the end as he flicked his tongue against her hard little nub, that sound touched him in a way he’d never felt before, made him lean back on one elbow and watch as her head thrust back, as her body arched, as her hands dug into the covers.

  “Tell me what you want?” he asked.

  “That,” she said as he played with her nipple.

  “How about this,” he asked, his hand moving down her stomach.

  “Yes,” she gasped as her muscles hopped.

  “And this?” His fingers trailed lower.

  “Scott,” she gasped as his fingers skated around her woman’s mound.

  “And this?”

  Amanda’s hips came off the bed. “Yes,” she gasped as he touched her like he had at the lake. Only this time there was no fabric between them. This time it was flesh to flesh. Hot, probing fingers finding her folds, separating them, dipping inside her.

  She just about came apart. But Scott wouldn’t let her climax. He seemed to know when to stop touching her, seemed to sense the exact moment she was about to fragment.

  “Tell me when,” he said.

  “When,” she moaned. “When, when, when.”

  He moved. Amanda almost cried out in protest. But then his tongue replaced his fingers and she climaxed with such force she came off the bed.

  “Scott,” she cried. “Oh, my gosh, Scott,” she said as her body peaked in a rush of pleasure. She didn’t move, not wanting to lose that miraculous feeling, that throbbing release that made her feel like she floated in a never-never land of satiation.

  Scott moved up her body, little kisses pecking her skin, leaving wet goose pimples behind. “That was once,” he said.

  Once?

  His fingers found her again. She was tempted to tell him she didn’t want fingers. That she wanted him. She almost ordered him to put on a condom and get the deed done, but amazingly, it began to build again: that feeling. She lifted her knees up, giving him total access as he whispered, “That’s it, Mandy. Again.”

&
nbsp; Mandy? No one had ever called her Mandy before….

  And then she couldn’t think anymore because miraculously, she felt desire surge through her again, and then something more surged until she was calling out his name again.

  “Amanda,” he whispered, his breath washing over her. “I want you now. I thought I could wait, thought I could give you even more pleasure. But I can’t—”

  She felt him move, felt him poised and ready to take her.

  She lifted her hips.

  And then he was in her, filling her, and having him at last, feeling him inside of her after all the times she’d imagined it, after all the minutes she’d wondered about it, after all the days they’d been together…it almost sent her into climax again. But she couldn’t climax again, she was convinced of it, no one could possibly climax…

  Then Scott’s hard body flexed above hers—and it was hard, his chest sleek like a cat’s, his shoulders and neck bulging with cords of sinewy muscle. She touched those shoulders, seeing the look on his face as he took his pleasure, hearing the sound their bodies made as they mated. Everything built and built and built until she knew she’d climax again.

  He thrust. She took those thrusts. He pressed into her. She pressed back. He held himself against her. She froze, too.

  Then he emptied himself inside her. She knew it because she could feel him flex, feel the heat of him there…right there.

  “Amanda,” he moaned.

  His pleasure triggered her own, only this was different than before, this was a fulfillment that went beyond a climax. She took his seed, and as she did so she felt more like a woman than ever before. That feeling, that complete and utter surrender brought tears to her eyes, eyes that she closed as she turned her head away, Scott nuzzling the hollow in her neck.

  What the heck is wrong with me?

  There were tears running down her cheeks. Tears.

  Because that had been incredible, she admitted. She felt rubbery, like a balloon that’d been filled and filled and filled only to pop, leaving behind a relaxed shell that just sort of lay there.

  You’ve lost it, Amanda.

  She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand, not wanting him to see what a baby she was by crying because she’d just made love to him.