"Clint…" She turned his name, a name that had always seemed to have such hard edges, into a gentle caress.
"Almost there." But he didn't really need to speak at all. They both knew exactly where they were, hovering on the brink of a mutual climax with the power to change what they believed about themselves, what they thought about each other.
Maybe if he'd known this could happen, he'd have found the strength to refuse her. Discovering something so amazing and knowing it couldn't last was a cruel joke. But he couldn't stop the avalanche now.
"Hang on," he murmured.
"As tight as I can." Her eyes grew bright.
"Here we go." Closing his eyes would be some protection, but he couldn't do it. Having gone this far, he wanted everything.
Her pupils widened and she dug her fingers into his back. And she didn't look away
Blood rushed in his ears as the first wave crashed over him. He kept going, holding her gaze as fiercely as she held his, matching her cry for cry. He watched her through each surge, watched the flush of orgasm glide up over her breasts, her throat, her face as he poured himself into her with a force that left him breathless.
He held her gaze as the quivering slowly subsided and they both struggled to breathe. He would not take the cowardly way out and look away. Whatever had happened between them, he would have the courage to face it.
For a long while her eyes reflected only wonder. Then her expression changed, and he saw the one emotion he didn't want there—regret.
He leaned down and kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead. "Hey, none of that."
"I didn't know. I had no idea."
"Neither of us knew." He looked into her eyes again. "We only planned on having a little fun."
"It was more than that."
"Uh-huh."
She was silent for several long moments. "Now what?"
"You already know the answer." He smiled at her, touched that she even had doubts about what came next. "You'll go on with your life and I'll go on with mine. That was the deal before, and it's still the deal."
She cupped his face in her hands. "Can you stand it?"
"Yes. Because that's the way it has to be. I don't want your life, and you don't want mine." He landed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Crummy TV reception in Sonoita, remember?"
"You're a cowboy, aren't you?"
He kissed his way along her jawline and gave a little tug on her earlobe. "I don't know what being a cowboy has to do with the price of jalapeños."
"That's why you wouldn't want my life. You need the wide-open spaces."
He lifted his head to gaze down at her. Continuing to play games made no sense anymore. "Yeah, I suppose I'm a cowboy."
"I knew it." She ran her hands along his shoulders. "You have too many muscles to be a business consultant. And I'll bet you got this scar doing something cowboyish."
"Something dumbish. Got crosswise of a very irritated Brahma. I barely made it under the barbed-wire fence in time. The bull didn't get me, but the fence did."
She traced the uneven line of the scar. "Why didn't you want me to know you were a cowboy?"
"I'm sure you can figure that one out, too."
"You didn't want to be on TV?"
"Bingo."
She cradled his face again and studied him earnestly. "You would be awesome on TV."
"Don't even go there, pretty girl. I've told you the truth, and you have to promise not to use it against me."
She opened her mouth, as if to argue with him. "No." He gave her a quick, hard kiss, as if that would put the lid on the matter. He hoped to hell it would. This discussion had been a good thing, reminding him of how far apart they were, lessening the effect of the moment they'd just shared. "And now that we have that settled, we're back to figuring out our next move."
She looked into his eyes for several long seconds. "Would it be better if I spent the rest of the night in my own room?"
"I suppose that would be the sensible thing."
"Then I'll do that." Taking a deep breath, she gave him a brave smile. "Let me up and I'll be on my way."
He didn't move. "You didn't ask me if I wanted to be sensible."
"Oh." The brave smile wavered as she searched his expression. "You don't?"
"No. But that's just me. You get a vote, too. If you want to play it safe, I wouldn't blame you a bit. I'll let you go and promise not to sneak into your bed during the night to try to change your mind."
Her smile returned. "Maybe I'd be the one sneaking into your bed. I have to say if we make a pact to keep our hands to ourselves from now on, it's going to be a very long night."
"That would be true." He couldn't imagine how he'd make it, knowing she was in a room right down the hall. "So what do you think?"
"I think…" She paused.
Impatient though he was for her final verdict, he reminded himself that dramatic pauses were likely her stock-in-trade. He didn't want to rush her when he had a fair idea what her decision would be.
"I think we should keep doing this."
His triumph was bittersweet. Short-term pleasure, long-term heartache. The key to surviving would be to establish a playful mood and avoid the heavy stuff. "Define what you mean by keep doing this. Do you mean lying here in front of the fire having a conversation?"
She reached down and pinched his butt. "I mean having a mutual-orgasm fest, and you know it."
"Just wanted to be clear." Looked like she'd taken his cue to keep things light, just as she'd kept up with him perfectly as they'd roared together to a climax. They were beautifully matched. Dammit.
"Then let me be even more clear. I want to have a superduper boinkathon. I want to keep doing it 'til the cows come home."
He pretended to think about that. "That could be a really long event, because we don't have any more cows on the Circle W. You could be waiting quite a while for one to wander into the barn."
"I knew that." She grinned at him. "It's all part of my plan to enslave your virile body."
"In that case, maybe we'd better eat more of Jose's enchiladas, to keep up our strength."
"Naked?"
He winked at her. "Absolutely."
* * *
Clint insisted on heating up the enchiladas, even though Meg would have been happy to eat them at room temperature. She usually had meals on the run, and she rarely ate anything exciting, so she'd given up worrying about the quality of her food. Because Clint had Jose, he was spoiled rotten. She wondered what it would be like to live here and eat Jose's cooking all the time. She'd turn into a hippo, no doubt, unless she worked off the calories having lots of sex.
After Clint poked at the fire until he seemed convinced that no sparks would escape while they were gone, he invited her into the kitchen while he heated up the food. She carried their glasses of beer while he brought the pan of enchiladas.
She imagined that heating up the enchiladas wouldn't take more than a few minutes in the microwave. Then they could return to their cozy spot in the living room. But to her amazement, Clint turned on the oven and stuck the pan inside.
"Aren't you going to nuke them?" She glanced around the kitchen to locate the appliance she couldn't live without. Well, not counting the vibrator in her bedroom, of course.
"Jose doesn't believe in them." Clint closed the oven door and picked up the beer she'd set on the counter for him.
She leaned against the counter, which was tiled in the same bright pattern as the bathroom counter. "Then I'll make an educated guess that you don't have a month's supply of frozen dinners in the freezer." As she did.
"That would be a good guess." He picked up his beer, took a swallow and grimaced. "This is both warm and flat." He poured it down the sink. "Yours must be the same." He reached for the glass she was holding.
"No, mine's just fine!" She held it away from him. Assuming the Circle W was on a tight budget, she wasn't about to waste whatever was given to her.
"Can't be fine. Yours sat out there as long as mine did."
He pinned her to the counter with his hips and got his hand around the top of her glass. "Let me get rid of it and pour you a new one."
"No." She tightened her grip on the glass, but wiggled her hips and cupped his tush with her free hand. "However, I like your method of intimidation a lot."
"You're using your feminine wiles on me so I won't take your beer, aren't you?"
"Maybe. And judging from the response I'm getting, my wiles are working great. I think you've almost forgotten about the beer."
"Have not." He wrapped his other arm around her waist and started tickling her.
She squirmed, protesting even as she giggled helplessly. "No fair! I'm going to pinch you if you don't stop!"
"Go ahead. I like it when you pinch me. It gets me hot." He continued to tickle her as he tried to pry the beer loose. "Ouch! That was a serious pinch!"
"Warned you!" She couldn't remember when she'd last wrestled with a naked man. She was having way too much fun. "I'll stop pinching you when you stop tickling me. And let go of my beer, dammit!"
"I'm gonna get your beer whether you like it or not." He was breathing hard. "Pinch away."
"You asked for it." But when she tried for a better grip on his fanny, he managed to get the beer glass away from her. As she let go, he jerked the glass toward him and splattered the contents down her front and his.
The cool liquid made her skin tingle and her nipples tighten. "Whoo-hoo! I don't know what you're talking about! That beer is definitely not warm!"
He put down the glass, stood back and surveyed the beer dripping from her breasts. "If it wasn't warm before, but I'll bet it is now. You're a mess. Allow me to take care of that for you." He swooped down to lap the beer from her skin.
She started laughing. "Hey, I thought you didn't like warm beer."
"I guess it's all in the delivery system." He continued to clean her with broad swipes of his tongue. "I'd drink lighter fluid if it came packaged like this."
Watching him lick her with such enthusiasm was turning her on, plus it gave her an outstanding idea. The beer had anointed him, too, landing on a certain projecting part of his anatomy. Still, she didn't think he was wet enough to justify what she had in mind.
Taking the glass from the counter, she tapped him on the shoulder. "Uh, Clint?"
"What?" He lifted his head.
"There's some beer left in the glass. Want me to pour it out?"
His eyes sparkled with lust. "Yeah. Pour it, baby. I need a good excuse to keep this up a while longer. Maybe it'll drip farther down this time."
She could imagine what fun that might be, but she had a different concept in mind. "Okay." Instead of pouring it on herself, she tilted the glass so the stream of beer cascaded over his penis on its way to the floor. "Whoops. Missed."
"Doesn't matter." He leaned toward her breasts again. "I can make do with whatever is left."
"No, no. Let me handle this." Dropping to her knees, she ran her tongue slowly around the tip of his penis where droplets of beer had gathered.
He groaned. "Okay, I get it."
"Hold still and you just might." She glanced up at him. "To think you poured your warm beer down the drain."
"I don't know what I was thinking."
"Me, either." And she began to lick him clean. She did a complete, detail-oriented job, and to make certain that she got all the beer off, she drew him deep into her mouth and sucked vigorously. One couldn't be too thorough when cleaning up one's messes.
He hung onto the counter and moaned. Then he began to shake. "Meg, you need to … stop."
She didn't feel like it. Having him completely in her power was exhilarating and stopping wasn't an option she wanted to consider. Besides, his request had sounded on the halfhearted side. Chances were he didn't mean it.
On that assumption, she kept going. If he wanted her to stop, he'd ask again. Surprise, surprise, he didn't. Instead his groans became louder and his shudders more intense. She had him now.
When he came, she felt a personal sense of victory. Until now he'd been the one in charge of orgasms. Maybe he'd been following some Code of the West in that regard, but this kitchen event had restored some balance to their interaction. Meg thought that was a good thing considering how off-balance she'd felt since the moment they'd met.
* * *
Clint damned near burned the enchiladas, but it was worth it. How he'd explain the condition of the kitchen to Jose was something he'd have to work out later. He and Meg washed the floor with damp paper towels, but he was so fascinated by the way her breasts jiggled while she scrubbed that he doubted he'd got all the beer off the tiles.
And the enchilada pan would require a heavy soaking because he'd left it in the oven too long. Other things going on. Oh, yeah. Incredible things.
Once they were back in the living room, Clint moved the cushions over behind the table again. This time he made sure they were as close together as possible. When they sat down cross-legged, she parked her knee on top of his, which was exactly the way he liked it.
The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing embers, and he decided not to build it up. After they ate he planned to suggest they try out the comforts of an actual bed. The thought of Meg stretched out on his mattress took away all interest in food, but he didn't Want to deprive her of Jose's cooking when she obviously didn't allow herself to eat like this very often.
She dished the enchiladas and salad while he opened two more bottles of beer. "I've never eaten dinner naked," she said.
"That makes two of us." But he could get used to it. Without clothes, they were just two people enjoying each other's company, each other's bodies. He could forget, sort of, that she was famous and he was … not.
She ate with gusto, obviously loving every bite. Then she paused, her fork in the air. "This is so good. Do you have meals like this all the time?"
"We have a lot of good chow, if that's what you mean. Not always Mexican, either." He was having too much fun looking at her to concentrate on his food. "José makes all sorts of stuff. One Christmas he cooked Beef Wellington. He whips up a mean spaghetti sauce, too."
She moaned. "Spaghetti. I can only dream about spaghetti."
"I don't get it." He surveyed her incredible body. "You look like you could eat anything you wanted."
"That's what people always say to me, but inside this skinny body is a fat person waiting to get out, hoping I'll gobble up the package of Chips Ahoy sitting in my freezer and top that off with a gallon of Sticky Chewy Chocolate ice cream."
Clint took a swallow of his beer. "It's none of my business, but are you sure this job is worth starving yourself and going without sex?"
"It's what I've wanted my whole life—to be in front of the camera—and now I'm finally there." She glanced at him. "There's no such thing as a free lunch, you know. Or a nonfattening one."
"I know, but are you sure you're having a good time, considering all you're sacrificing?"
She paused, as if giving the question serious thought. "I have a good time when I'm on the air. I really do love being on camera, joking around with Mel and interviewing guests. So yes, it's worth it. There's nothing quite like the moment when we go live."
"Then I guess you're in the right place." While talking about her work, she seemed to take on the charisma of a celebrity, even though she was sitting here buck-naked in his living room.
"I think I am, too," she said. "But I hardly ever spend time wondering about it. I'm too busy doing it. If I'm not on the show, I'm making appearances or I'm at the gym or the salon." She combed her fingers through her hair. "I'll bet at this moment I don't look like a woman who spends hours at a beauty salon."
"Yes, you do." He loved the tousled look of her, the kissed and thoroughly loved look of her. He reached over and wrapped a lock of her silky hair around his finger. "You muss up real good."
She grinned at him. "Sweet of you to say that. And it's fun to forget being polished, even for one night. Sometimes the maintenance angle gets
to me. I've fantasized going off to a desert island for a week so I could have seven days of not caring about hair, nails and makeup."
"You might not like it. I mean, aren't you used to having everything perfect?"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean I need to have everything perfect."
He was inclined to believe her. From the moment she'd walked into the living room tonight, she'd shown no interest in finding a mirror so she could primp. That impressed him.
"I love performing," she said, "but I could do without the constant work to keep moderately presentable."
"I'd say you hit a higher standard than moderately presentable."
"Thanks." She smiled. "I try."
"You succeed." But listening to her, he couldn't figure out her reasons for staying in this career. Near as he could tell, she had five hours of fun per week, tops.
She picked up her glass of beer and took a sip. "How about you? I'll bet there are disadvantages to your job, too. Don't you have to shovel smelly horse poop?"
He laughed. "Yes, ma'am, I do."
"You sounded exactly like a cowboy when you said that." Her eyes twinkled. "Tomorrow will you put on your cowboy duds for me?"
"I don't know." He grew wary. "Depends on where Jamie is pointing that camera."
She put down her beer and reached over to stroke his cheek. "I can't believe it would be that horrible for you. Most people think it's fun."
"Not me. If there's the slightest chance you'll try to rope me into this production of yours, then you'll never see me in jeans and boots."
She cupped his face in both hands. "I'd love to see you in jeans and boots. I wasn't kidding about my cowboy fantasy."
He brought her hands to his mouth and placed a string of kisses there. "But you said you wouldn't know what to do with a real cowboy."
"I didn't think I did." Her voice grew husky. "But you've changed my mind."
He looked into her eyes and desire hit him hard, heating his skin, his blood, his brain. "I didn't think I'd know what to do with a TV star, either."
"But you do."
"So far, so good." And he'd be fine as long as he didn't let himself get lassoed and hog-tied by Meg's charm.
"So far, very good," she murmured.
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