Devil In Cowboy Boots

by Sylvie Kaye

  "I was so busy calming her down I didn't question her reasoning. If I have to, I can phone him when I get back home, even though I'd much rather borrow money from him in person."

  "Maybe you should call her back."

  "I'll wait until tomorrow. If she hasn't heard from him by then, I'll persuade her that I don't mind asking for a loan over the phone.” But she crinkled her nose at the thought.

  "Are you going out like that?” Cindy raised both brows. “You'll have to hurry if we're sharing a cab."

  "I'm staying in tonight."

  "Better watch out. Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she teased.

  "I hope not.” Mercy hooked elbows with her friend and walked her to the foyer. “I'd just as soon avoid Sinner since his lapse in character."

  Cindy jerked her arm free. “What has he done now?"

  "Made plans with me ahead of time. I don't need a boyfriend. I need a sex machine."

  "So he's considerate and sexy.” Cindy shrugged, grabbing for the door handle. “Maybe you brought out some long dormant manners in the guy. Don't freak over it. Enjoy it. By the time he lapses back into his demon self, you'll be home in Pennsylvania.” She flung the door open. “Oh, hi."

  There stood Sinner about to ring the bell. Tonight, he didn't have a stitch of black on. He wore washed out blue jeans and a gray T-shirt. Mercy's heart flipped. He wore them so well.

  He stepped aside and let Cindy dart by. “Goodbye."

  Slamming the door, he greeted Mercy with a passionate liplock that took her by surprise. His lips were firm yet sensual, and the taste of him drove her wild. Stretching up on her bare toes, she maneuvered her neediest body part up against his solid, inviting fly.

  How could she want him this much and this soon after last night's more than satisfying encounters? Who was she kidding? The kitchen floor had barely dried when she had wanted him again.

  Now that he was here, why deny herself?

  With a moan, she snuggled into his groin, grinding her hips in suggestive motions. Both his mouth and his zipper reacted, hot and eager.

  Once she left Texas and Sinner, who knew when she'd meet a man who measured up again. If ever. She imagined a woman was only entitled to such volatile sex once in her lifetime.

  He pulled away. “Let's save this for dessert."

  She looked behind him on the floor for the takeout containers. “Where's the hot fudge?"

  He laughed. “I was mending the corral fence and lost track of time. I figured we'd walk down to the local deli for something."

  "I'll fetch my sandals.” She hurried, greedy to get the eating part of the evening out of the way and begin the sweaty, naked part.

  In no time, they were outdoors, walking down the sidewalk like any ordinary couple, strolling hand-in-hand in the early evening. At first, she chafed at the boyfriend/girlfriend image reflecting back at her in the storefront windows. But she and Sinner were not an average twosome—once indoors, he'd take her to heights of ecstasy that were anything but typical.

  She looked up and met his dark eyes. His barroom pallor was sun-kissed from his workout today while repairing the corral. A warm breeze brushed through his black hair, giving him a sexy, mussed appeal. She itched to get her hands in it, all over him really.

  He crooked a smile as if reading her mind and chucked her under the chin. “Hungry?"

  "Very."

  His hold on her hand tightened. He entwined his fingers with hers. Noise from the nearby traffic hummed in her ears but couldn't drown out the thrum of her heart, beating with a sexual hunger they both meant to satisfy after they ate. She sped up their pace. The canopied entrance to the deli couldn't come into sight fast enough.

  When they finally arrived, he held the door open for an elderly man and woman who both used canes. Next, a party of six, led by a red-headed woman, barged through ahead of them. The last person in the group, a tall, thin man, greeted Sinner when he brushed by. “Hey, Killer."

  Sinner's jaw muscle tightened.

  With a slight chuckle, Mercy ducked under Sinner's muscled arm, teasing, “It's no secret you're a lady killer."

  He shook his head, his eyes dark and brooding.

  Why was he insisting he wasn't a ladies’ man? Was he becoming infatuated with her? She didn't like that idea and decided to do something about it.

  Grabbing hold of his tense arm, she turned so that her breast brushed against his ribs, enticingly. Her tone became suggestive and drew his focus back to where she wanted it. Strictly on sex. “Let's hurry and eat."

  He glanced to where the group was being seated. “Let's not stay."

  Good. Eating at a cozy table-for-two was too romantic to her way of thinking.

  "We can eat alfresco in the park across the street.” She lowered her voice. “Under the lamplight. Where licking each others’ fingers is more acceptable."

  His dark eyes devoured her. “I seem to recall fresh air and park benches have a horny effect on you."

  Her body heated to an instant glow. She had her sexy Sinner back.

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  Chapter Sixteen

  In the dimly lit park, Mercy bit into a piece of crunchy celery, then gripped the short stalk between her teeth while she peeled the waxed paper from her sandwich.

  Spence sat across from her on the wooden bench, the white deli bag between them. His appetite forgotten.

  The jerk from the restaurant had pissed him off. Calling him Killer, and in front of Mercy. The guy was damn lucky she'd been there or Spence would've taught him some manners.

  The scent of roast beef wafted as Mercy waved his sandwich under his nose to urge him along. Instead, he grabbed hold of her wrist, leaned in, and bit at the piece of celery in her mouth. When his lips grazed hers, she tasted wet and welcome.

  She had a way of taking his mind off anything but her, and right now that's exactly what he needed. Pulling back, he crunched the crispy veggie between his teeth, chewing slow and deliberate to entice her. He flicked at his lip with his tongue, much the same way he'd licked at her clit last night before he penetrated and made her come. With her eyes riveted on his mouth, she sighed, and the stub of the celery fell from her lips.

  A shopper bustled along the nearby walkway so he let go of her wrist and took the sandwich. When he didn't unwrap it, Mercy offered him a bite of her ham on rye. He shook his head. “Rancher's prefer beef."

  "Being from the northeast, I've never seen a ranch, other than on TV.” She grinned. “Or a rancher, until you."

  He chuckled. “You've seen plenty of me."

  "Not enough, apparently. I have an uncontrollable desire to eat faster, talk less, and grope more."

  "I'll toast to that.” Digging in the bag, he grabbed a carbonated beverage and popped the cap. The cold liquid sprayed and dripped down the sides of the bottle, wet and glistening beneath the streetlight.

  They both licked at the foamy drops, the tip of his tongue meeting her velvety one on the smooth glass. He allowed the sensation for a moment and then pulled back to tease her and leave her wanting more.

  Disappointment flickered in her eyes before she lowered her lashes, but when she gazed back up, challenge replaced dissatisfaction. Her flashing blue eyes warned him two could play his game.

  She toasted with a demure smile. “Be good or be good at it."

  Was that another Doriasm?

  She clasped the bottle with the same reverence she paid to his cock when she stroked and mouthed him. Mesmerized, he watched her tongue caress the circumference of the bottle lip. He let out a low groan before he could stop himself. At the sound, her eyes took on a wicked glint. Forming her moist mouth into a perfect O, she rested the bottle opening against her lips before inserting the longneck an inch and then another, and finally drinking. Her throat thrummed as she swallowed, and by the time she stopped, his mouth had gone dry and his dick rock hard.

  "Lose your appetite?” She gestured to his sandwich.

  "No.” He shredded aw
ay the paper, took a big bite and chewed, while keeping his stare trained on her, wondering what she was up to next rustling through the food bag.

  Soon her hand reappeared, clasping a kosher pickle so large its size rivaled his own. The smell of vinegar and dill tinged the air. “I get first dibs on the pickle,” she announced.

  He chuckled, but knew she was capable of wiping the smirk off his lips. When she took the long, cold pickle into her mouth, toying with it and sucking it, his smile drooped and the crotch of his Levi's bulged.

  She grated her teeth along the shaft of the dill-delight with light, teasing strokes while he shifted on the bench and stretched his legs out, seeking some comfort from his confining fly. Her tongue, pink and slick, was about to swirl around the rounded head of the kosher-king when he'd had enough. Sitting up, he growled, “Do you know what I'd like to do with that?"

  No. She shook her head, the pickle wobbled, and a car horn honked from out on the street.

  "I'd like to eat it from your lips ... bite by bite ... from between your legs."

  By her familiar glazed-over look, he knew moisture pooled hot in the very area he'd mentioned.

  Abruptly, the picnic ended. She tossed their leftovers, pickle and all, back into the white paper sack.

  "Second dibs, coming up."

  * * * *

  Back at the penthouse apartment, Sinner lived up to his words. The hard, large pickle was a poor substitute for the real thing, but his tantalizing lips and teeth and tongue made up for it. When he inserted the cold, briny vegetable into her pussy, she shivered and her muscles clenched to hold it tight.

  With each nibble, the pickle shifted and teased her insides. Lust prickled in her belly, exciting her, making her moan. His soft hair tickled her inner thighs, and his rough-shaven chin grated her flesh as he moved on her. The combination of sensations was overwhelming, as was the final crunch before he tickled her cold, sensitized clit with his warm, dexterous tongue.

  Afterward, replacing the dill stub with his penis, he ardently pumped and brought them both to a potent orgasm.

  The man fulfilled Mercy's every sexual fantasy, and she'd had years to store them up with no outlet. A part of her never wanted to let him go. Another part understood not to open anything more to him than her thighs.

  She still knew little about him. He wasn't the verbal type. Dark, mysterious, and sexy. Perfect for her vacation-gone-wild, before she settled down to the seriousness of retooling for a new career and a life with bigger horizons than Lily Pond or sinners.

  "Mercy.” He lay next to her, sexy and sated and drowsy amidst her tangled sheets.

  Poor man. Too much sun fixing fences, not enough bedtime.

  "Hmm.” She teased her fingers along his hard-muscled chest and sleek ribs, raking her nails through the wiry hairs surrounding his nipples. Touching his body delighted her.

  "Do you want to see a ranch? My ranch?” His usual confidence sounded slurred. His voice kind of rusty. “Tomorrow afternoon."

  He was normally so cocksure, and her heart went out to him for risking her rejection. Despite the fact that she shouldn't go, that his home might reveal more than she needed to know about him, she heard herself say, “I'd love to."

  They both fell silent. Minutes ticked by. The quiet became awkward.

  "Want to take a warm, relaxing bath?” she asked.

  "Why not?” Spence asked when it was the last thing he wanted to do. But it beat lying here listening to the quiet following his clumsy invitation.

  What was wrong with him? Asking her out to his place? And in broad daylight, too. First, he'd asked to see her tonight, then he'd asked for her phone number, and now this. He was acting like a boyfriend.

  He shook loose from her arms and hopped out of bed, anxious to put space between them, even if it included the damn bubbles from the bath.

  "I have a surprise,” she said, after she'd lit a slew of candles and they were both seated in the large, empty tub.

  "The utility company shut off Cindy's water or something,” he said glibly, facing Mercy in the pink, marble tub, his toes touching hers. Their naked bodies dry as a bone.

  She reached onto the shelf behind a stack of pink and brown towels and lifted out a cellophane-wrapped package. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and expectation.

  He snatched the box, holding it up, squinting in the dim candle lit bathroom. “Body paint."

  "Edible,” she said, proudly.

  He shrugged, giving the idea a chance to sink in. The woman was insatiable with her desires. But then, she'd been love-starved for years. What would it hurt to oblige the lovely lady while she was in town and he had nothing better to do?

  Once Parker showed up, reality would turn ugly fast enough.

  "Dessert's on me,” she teased.

  The sexy glow in her eyes made him hard against his better judgment that anything sexually enjoyable could take place in a pink tub. Surrendering to her carnal charms, he ripped open the cellophane with his teeth. Accommodating her might be fun. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had any fun. Probably his last night on the town with Mark. They'd laughed and teased right up until the deadly incident.

  He blanked out the intruding memories by concentrating on Mercy and her dancing blue eyes. She was fun. They'd laughed at the bulls-eyes they scored last night in the kitchen with the corona of flowers and certain sexy body parts. And earlier in the park, he'd enjoyed teasing her before his hard-on took over.

  Her rosy lips urged him to flip open the box. “What's your pleasure?” he asked, unfastening the lids from the jars and handing them to her one at a time.

  She read the labels. “Seductive strawberry, penile pineapple, blueberry bliss, and cherry crème. I hope you like fruit."

  "What's the recommended daily allowance?” He winked and she grinned. She was so easy to please. In and out of bed. His heart lurched. There was no denying his attraction to her, which could prove fatal. He'd fall; she'd leave for home. Safe for her but unfortunate for him.

  But he was a big boy. He could risk it.

  With a final sniff, she selected a jar, and he licked the rim. “Tastes good enough to eat."

  Sticking his index finger into the container, he came away with a thick glob of strawberry paint that he tapped to her nose and traced onto her lips. She lapped at the goo before sucking his finger into her warm mouth, simulating a rhythm they both knew well by now.

  Once she let up, she draped her arms around his neck and smudged her painted mouth against his. The invigorating flavor of strawberry mingled with her intoxicating taste. He savored the satiny texture as he suckled her lips until they were clean.

  "My turn now.” She dipped four fingers into the yellow paint jar and smeared a slippery, citrusy path down his chest. Her slick yellow palm wrapped itself around his dick, sliding up and down until his erection throbbed.

  "I hope you're planning to clean that mess up.” His voice sounded thick and syrupy.

  With a nod, she dipped her head and her tongue touched his chest like a flame, licking at his nipples, flicking in and around his belly button before her hungry mouth descended onto his shaft. His hands tangled into her hair, and he thrust his hips, urging her to engulf his full length. Pleasure built fast, and he groaned when her hot, wet tongue allowed him entrance into her throat. His cock pulsed with lust.

  He untwined her silky hair from his fingers and broke their contact.

  She looked up, her eyes heavy-lidded, her frustration apparent.

  But he couldn't let her taste his cum. Didn't she realize the binding trust and commitment involved in such abandonment? He took the bond seriously. He couldn't allow her to become that important to him.

  "What else do you have?” He grabbed up a jar and the box to read the directions.

  Tattoo stencils and feathery paintbrushes fell from the carton. Picking up one of each, he traced a blueberry tear onto her cheek. She giggled with each tickling stroke and the teardrop ended up looking more like a blue pear
.

  His artwork took on a more original bent when he drew a freehand star over her breast. She didn't giggle with those brushstrokes. Her nipple tightened into a tempting bud. Resisting, he moved on to paint a rosebud on her belly.

  Leaning back, he closed one eye to admire his creativity. “Stand up so I can finish."

  "No thorns,” she warned, getting up.

  He curled his finger. “Come closer."

  She edged nearer.

  Again he gestured. “Closer.” Another step and another command. “Closer."

  She straddled his waist. Her legs spread, her thighs open wide, exposing her glistening swollen lips and clit to his view and his paintbrush. Her willingness shot heat to his groin. He drew a thick blue line between the folds of her labia. She shivered with the contact but didn't move. The slickness of the paint matched the slickness of her desire, and the scent of musk and berries meshed. Each touch of the soft bristles caused her to shudder. Her breathing came in pants.

  She grabbed at his hair, directing him to put his mouth on her, bring her to climax.

  He ducked away. “I'm not done painting."

  She raked her fingers across his scalp before letting go to stand there, open to him, steady and waiting. Re-dipping the brush, he printed the letters of his name down her thigh, like an artist putting his signature to a masterpiece. Something primal stirred inside him at the thought of her being his.

  Wishful thinking.

  Looking down, she slanted her head to make out the letters. “S-P-E-N-C-E,” she spelled out. “Spence.” She blinked and stared at him. “Is that your name?"

  He nodded with his eyelids.

  She dropped down onto his lap and hugged him around the neck, locking her gaze to his. “That's a sexy name."

  He licked at the blue-painted tear on her cheek, her eyelashes fluttering shut. “Nothing's as tempting as Mercy."

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  Chapter Seventeen

  Mercy painted a few abstract smudges onto his chest, which resembled a bad Picasso in the flickering candlelight.