Trouble in Cowboy Boots

by Desiree Holt

  “See?” Wyatt took her elbow, his fingers singeing her where they touched her skin. “All set. Let’s get going.”

  Lola cleared her throat. “Emily, are you sure about this?”

  No, but I can’t say it out loud.

  “Yes, if you’re positive you’ll be okay.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Roxie told her. “I’ll make sure. You just stay safe. If you change your mind, we’re right here. We’ll figure out what to do.”

  “She won’t be changing her mind.” Wyatt guided her to the door. “This will work out just fine.”

  Emily cast one glance back at her friends before letting Wyatt lead her outside to a shiny black pickup and the unknown. What have I done?

  Chapter Two

  Emily blew a stray hair from her forehead and turned off the hot water faucet. Standing at the sink, she could watch twilight descending and see a sliver of moon emerging. Day Three at the Lazy Aces Ranch. A far cry from the Hotel Royale in Las Vegas. The sun was blistering hot, dirt from the yard and the corral flew everywhere, especially when there was a breeze, and instead of the scents common to a luxury hotel all she smelled here was cattle, horseflesh and more animal shit than she thought possible to accumulate in one place.

  Not to mention the fact that her clothes were hardly appropriate. Silk and linen slacks just didn’t cut it at a working ranch. She wore her jeans shorts the first day, but after wolf whistles from the men—albeit good-natured—she’d changed to the oldest pair of slacks she had with her and a loose T-shirt.

  And the nickname! That was almost more irritating than anything else. Some jerk who’d seen too many reruns of The Wizard of Oz had started calling her Auntie Em and the others had picked it up. She’d waited for Wyatt to say something but he seemed as amused by it as everyone else.

  The men had worked hard all day, moving cattle to the summer pasture, and as usual, they were hungry. She’d done her best to feed them, but she was waiting for Wyatt to lose patience with her and dump her back in Mesa Blanco.

  The little apartment off the kitchen Wyatt had said was hers was nowhere near the class of her condo—make that former condo—but it was far more presentable than she’d expected. Bedroom, bath, sitting room. Even a television with satellite hookup. Too bad she didn’t know enough about her job to earn her keep.

  Oh, she’d been all bluster when she first arrived, prowling the kitchen and nodding as Wyatt told her what the men liked to eat. She was lucky she’d found a couple of cookbooks someone had stuck away in the pantry closet and spent the first night studying them as if her life depended on it. Which, in a way, it did.

  She’d managed to get by with scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast the next morning. Even she knew how to make those. After that it had been steadily downhill. Burnt biscuits. Burnt chicken. Burnt hamburgers. Burnt. Burnt. Burnt.

  Emily sighed. Being assistant director for conventions at a Las Vegas hotel in no way prepared one for being a ranch cook. Maybe she should have been spending more time in the hotel kitchen. Wyatt had been giving her a wide berth, but any minute now she expected him to come marching in to the kitchen and tell her to pack her things.

  Then what? Lola and Roxie had called to say they’d found jobs—Lola at the Blue Belle Café and Roxie tending bar at Chaps. She was sure there’d not be another available job in town. But maybe she could bunk in with Roxie at Mrs. Chester’s while she checked out her options. Or better yet with Lola. Belle, owner of the Blue Belle, had given her a tiny apartment behind the café. Yeah, she was pretty sure that would be better.

  Yeah, right. Options.

  Besides, that would take her away from Wyatt, whose very presence, she’d discovered, made her panties wet with desire and her nipples so stiff she had to keep a dishtowel hanging over her shoulder to hide them. Another problem she hadn’t expected—to be in lust with her boss. But the first morning after he’d brought her to the ranch, when he came into the kitchen with that loose-hipped walk of his, worn jeans clinging to long legs and a work shirt stretched across broad shoulders, she’d almost licked her lips.

  There was heat between them. Even Wyatt couldn’t deny it. She saw it in the way he looked at her when no one else was watching. Felt it in the invisible electricity that crackled between them when they were within five feet of each other.

  Not that she thought he’d be interested in taking things any further. For one thing, she worked for him. For another, she was sure she was as opposite from the women he liked as she could get. Although in the three days she’d been there, she hadn’t heard him mention any, or the hands tease him about one. And no evidence that she could find of women hanging out at the ranch. Of course, she hadn’t gone into his bedroom to explore. Still, she could fantasize about what sex with him would be like.

  Which, for some ungodly reason, she’d done in her dreams. Probably the closest she’d get to it.

  Am I crazy? He’s no more my type than I am his.

  Sighing, she went back to scrubbing the burnt pot, wondering if she’d have to pay for all the cooking utensils she was ruining. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear anyone enter the kitchen and jumped when a hand touched her shoulder, dropping the pot into the soapy water with a splash. She looked up to see Wyatt reflected in the window.

  “Sorry.” His deep voice was a caress drifting over her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No problem.” She picked up the pot and began rubbing at it again.

  Wyatt reached around then took the pot from her hands and put it in the sink. “Leave that for a minute. We need to talk.”

  Emily’s heart sank. This was it. In a few minutes she’d be out on her ear. Then what?

  “Come on.” He handed her a dishtowel. “Dry your hands and sit down. How about a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure. Why not?” Maybe the caffeine would give her courage.

  By the time she’d dried her hands, Wyatt had filled two mugs and carried them to the table. He gestured for her to sit down. Wrapping her hands around the mug, she lifted it to sip the hot liquid, hoping she wouldn’t shake and spill it.

  Wyatt took a swallow of his coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug with his come-fuck-me eyes. They had darkened and the flecks of green and gold sparkled like jewels. Emily shivered under his penetrating gaze. Finally, she sat up straighter and squared her shoulders.

  “I think we have a problem here.”

  Emily’s stomach lurched. Oh, yeah, they had a problem. At least she had one. She’d known this was a mistake the minute she’d opened her mouth back at the Blue Belle, but she’d had the insane idea she could figure out how to make it work.

  “Listen.” She set her coffee mug down. “I want to tell you how sorry I am about…well, everything.”

  Was that a smile teasing at his sensuous mouth?

  “Sorry that my men are lusting after you or sorry that we haven’t had an edible meal since you got here?” His eyes danced with mischief. “Tell me something. Have you ever cooked a meal before? In your life.”

  She shook her head, miserable.

  “Never?”

  She shook her head again.

  Just fire me and get it over with.

  He took a swallow of his coffee, studying her over the rim of the mug. “Then why the hell did you take this job? I thought you were going to knock your friends out of their chairs you were so anxious to raise your hand.”

  Emily shrugged. “I didn’t have any other options. I need the work. We’re all broke. We told you that.”

  “But cooking for a bunch of roughnecks?” He shook his head. “I don’t think this is exactly what you had in mind.”

  “As long as they stop calling me Auntie Em I won’t mind it so much. There doesn’t seem to be a place in Mesa Blanco—maybe in all of the county—with a crying need for a convention director.”

  He continued to watch her, the silence stretching out like an old rubber band.

  “I know you’re going to fire me,” she told him,
“so let’s just get it over with and I’ll pack my things. Get out of your hair.”

  “And where did you plan to go?”

  Was that a grin teasing at his mouth again? Asshole!

  “That’s my business.” If he was going to throw her out, she didn’t need to give him any details. She might be broke, but she still had her pride.

  “And mine,” he told her.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? How so?”

  “I hired you, so it’s my responsibility to see you don’t end up on the streets.”

  Heat burned her cheeks. “Listen, Wyatt—”

  “You’re an intelligent woman. I think if you approached this like any project you’ve ever worked on, you could produce at least passable meals.” He chuckled. “But I can’t starve the men in the meantime, so I’m going to get you some help.”

  Her eyes widened. “Help?”

  “Yeah. My foreman’s wife used to do the cooking here but decided she’d had enough. I conned her into coming up here a couple of hours a day in the morning to give you cooking lessons.”

  “Cooking lessons? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not even a little. So what’s your choice? Cooking lessons or should I look around the area for you and see where else you might land?”

  The last thing Emily wanted to do was find herself someplace else. God only knew what kind of a job he’d find for her. Besides, the high point of her day was ogling his very tight butt when he ambled along in those soft jeans of his.

  A close second, however, were the very few moments he got close enough to her that she could smell the male heat of him, feel it emanating from his body. Then, of course, there were the dreams she’d had the past two nights.

  Sheesh! What was happening to her? Had being dumped by Nick left her so sex-deprived that she was having erotic fantasies about a man she’d known less than a week? And one she worked for, to make matters worse.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she began.

  “Oh, yeah, I do.” He grinned again. “My hands will string me up from the water tank if they don’t get a decent meal pretty soon. And the next cook I hire sure won’t be as easy on the eyes as you are. So you still have a job. You can relax.”

  Her heart thumped. “Thank you, Wyatt. I promise I’ll pay very careful attention during my…cooking lessons.” She watched him. Something else was going on here and she hadn’t a clue what it was. “If you aren’t going to fire me, why are we sitting here?”

  He set his mug down and leaned across the table, touching her free hand. The skin sizzled beneath his fingers. “I’m trying to figure out how to do this and not have you shoot me with my own gun.”

  Emily stared at him. “Do what? Holy hell, Wyatt, what’s going on here?”

  Wyatt’s face was dead serious, but heat blazed in his eyes. “From the minute I saw you in the Blue Belle in those shorts and top, I’ve been so hard it’s almost painful to walk. Don’t you wonder why I stay gone from the house so much? I don’t trust myself to keep my hands off you.”

  Emily had just taken a sip of her coffee and she spewed it out onto the table. Flushed, she jumped up and grabbed the dishtowel from the counter and began mopping up the mess. She couldn’t look at Wyatt. She was afraid he’d see what she really wanted reflected in her eyes. “Sorry.”

  He reached over and pried the dishtowel from her hands. “I’m guessing this is a shock to you.”

  “Shock?” She didn’t know what to say. That wasn’t the half of it. The thought of wrapping her legs around that hard, muscular body and feeling his cock inside her made her tremble with anticipation. “You could definitely say that.”

  “So is this a good shock or a bad shock?” His voice had a slight edge to it.

  “I don’t… I just…” She dropped into her chair. “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.” He crossed his legs, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “But we have a real big problem here.” He paused. “Assuming you’re even interested.”

  What was she supposed to say? No? She’d sound like a prig. Yes? Actually, totally yes? She’d sound like a slut. Sighing, she asked, “What’s the problem? I didn’t think people worried about sexual harassment out here in the boonies.” She tried to make a joke out of it, but she was still stunned to find out he had the hots for her.

  His face tightened. “I may be a horny cowboy, but I respect a woman until she gives me a reason to think otherwise. The last thing I want to do is have you tolerate my advances because you think you have to. To keep your job.”

  Emily dropped her eyes and busied herself sipping from her mug. The coffee was cold and bitter, but it gave her something to do while she tried to pull together her scattered wits. “So, if I said I was interested, would that make a difference? And not because I want to keep my job.”

  Wyatt was watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. “I’d want you to think very carefully about it. I’m not offering anything here except my bed and my body. No hearts and flowers. Nothing long term. That’s not who I am. And if it burns itself out and you feel uncomfortable here, I’ll make sure you’re set up in town with a place to stay and a job. Until you and your friends are able to leave.”

  “Did I give you the impression I was asking for anything?” she shot back. “And you don’t have to worry about giving me anything. Look, maybe you’re right and this isn’t such a good idea, after all.”

  Wyatt must have moved faster than the speed of light, because in a millisecond, he was out of his chair, had pulled her from hers and was devouring her mouth as if he’d been starved of it forever. He nibbled at her bottom lip, licked around the edges of her mouth then plunged his tongue inside with possessive forcefulness.

  Emily’s knees weakened and her body seemed to lose all its strength. She clung to him, the heat of his body searing through her and his tongue lighting every nerve in her mouth. Her nipples throbbed and the pulse in her womb did a jungle dance. She was drowning in sensory overload. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.

  His arms tightened around her, pressing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest. One of his long legs insinuated itself between hers and he rubbed his thigh against her heated pussy through her clothes. She was melting, so liquid she didn’t think she could stand without his arms holding her.

  When he broke the kiss, his eyes burned into hers. “You want this as much as I do,” he breathed against her mouth.

  “Yes.” It came out as a whisper. “Yes, I do.”

  He lifted her into his arms and strode through the kitchen to her rooms, through the sitting room into the bedroom. One hysterical thought bounced around in her head—she was she’d made the bed that day. Having sex in a messy room took the edge off things.

  Wyatt stood her on the floor beside her bed, and with fingers that shook slightly unbuttoned her blouse and slid it from her shoulders. His eyes fastened on the swell of her breasts and he traced the slope with the tip of one finger.

  “Exquisite,” he murmured. “Just fucking gorgeous.” He bent his head and trailed kisses across her skin.

  Emily tilted her head back and he moved his mouth to her neck, brushing against her heated skin, taking tiny nips then soothing with his tongue. He pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat where her pulse pounded and sucked the delicate flesh into his mouth.

  She was so lost in sensation she almost wasn’t aware of it when he took off the scrap of silk and lace she wore for a bra, but when his large palms slid around to cup her breasts and he closed his hot mouth over one nipple, a bolt of electricity shot through her so powerful it nearly knocked her to her knees. She hummed at the back of her throat as he worshiped first one nipple, then the other.

  When she was sure she would come just from that alone, he lifted his head, “You have outstanding nipples. I’ll bet they would look unbelievable with clamps tightened on them.”

  “C-clamps?” she stuttered.

  “Uh-huh.” He licked first o
ne then the other. “Haven’t you ever worn nipple clamps? Hasn’t some man been so turned on by them that he just had to find the right ones to tighten on them?”

  “It-it sounds like it would hurt.” She wanted to be afraid but a streak of something dark and erotic flashed through her.

  “It hurts good, sugar. Real good. I think you’d love it. And I’d sure love to see it.”

  He was kissing her again as his hands worked the snap and zipper of her slacks. Then they were gone, along with her thong. Wyatt lifted her and placed her on the bed, spread her legs wide with the knees bent and stared at her exposed cunt. The look in his eyes made her heart race and her nerves fire.

  “I’d like to take a picture of that sweet little puss,” he rasped. “Keep it with me so I can pull it out and look at it any time I want.”

  The muscles in her cunt quivered and liquid trailed from her vagina. She would have been embarrassed at how wet she was if she hadn’t been so turned on. And he’d hardly done anything yet.

  Wyatt trailed the tip of one finger the length of her slit and lifted it to his mouth, licking her essence from it unhurriedly, all the while pinning her with his gaze. His eyes never left her body as he slowly removed his clothes, toeing off his boots and dropping his jeans and shirt on top of them.

  Emily sucked in a breath as she looked at his naked body. He was tall and lean and all muscle. Hair a dark shade of blond covered his chest in tiny whorls then arrowed down over his flat abdomen to create a nest of curls surrounding the most impressive erection she had ever seen. Long and thick, with a broad purple flared head, it quite literally made her mouth water.

  He moved closer to the bed and she was about to ask him if he had any condoms when he dropped to his knees, lifted her legs over his shoulder and put his mouth to her cunt. He rimmed the opening with his tongue before driving it into her hot channel.

  Emily’s entire body shook with tiny spasms. Wyatt’s tongue was an erotic torch, leaving a trail of fire every place it touched. She hitched her hips at him, urging him to penetrate more deeply. He curled his tongue—his very long, educated tongue—and the tip of it scraped her sweet spot, sending another series of ripples through her. He drank from her, holding her in place so there was no relief, no opportunity to roll away when the heat became scorching, the sensations so acute she could feel every individual nerve in her body.