A Cowboy's Courage

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Reaching up, she touched his cheek. She looked as shell-shocked as he was. Even a little scared. Hell, so was he.

  But he didn’t want her to be. “It’s okay.” Leaning down, he kissed her gently. Then he lifted his head and smiled. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you want me to stop?” He wasn’t sure he could. The urge to complete what he’d started nearly overwhelmed him, but he had to ask. If she said yes, he’d manage. Somehow.

  “No.” She swallowed. “I…want this. I just didn’t think it would be so….”

  “Me, either.” He eased back and the sweet friction made him groan. “Good.”

  Her tiny frown of anxiety disappeared and she wrapped her slender arms around him. “Very good.”

  He started slow. Something this amazing shouldn’t be rushed even if his body clamored for release. With each stroke her eyes grew brighter and her cheeks turned a deeper pink.

  He basked in the glow of her pleasure. When he moved a little faster, the glow increased. She wasn’t scared now. She was as eager for the grand finale as he was.

  And completely in sync with him. She rose to meet every thrust as if she craved the connection they made at the top of the sensual arc. He drove in a little harder and she responded by clutching his hips and urging him on.

  He didn’t need to ask if she was close. Her eyes told him. Her breathing told him. The undulations of her welcoming channel told him.

  Reining in his climax, he concentrated on hers. Yes, there. Once more, right there. When her eyes widened and her spasms rolled over his eager cock, he abandoned himself to the incredible joy of sharing an orgasm. With her. With Olivia.

  When it was over, when the gasps, the moans and the cries had faded away, he looked down and discovered her looking back, eyes sparkling and smile jubilant.

  “That was awesome.”

  “Not bad for a first try.”

  “No kidding.” She cupped his cheek. “We should celebrate. I have a few cookies left. Want some?”

  He laughed. “Do you even have to ask?”

  Fifteen minutes later, she’d put on a bathrobe and replaced her contacts with her glasses. He’d pulled on his briefs and jeans so he could be halfway decent when they sat at her dining table eating cookies and drinking milk. A kid’s snack to follow a very adult activity. He wasn’t complaining.

  And he liked the seating arrangement better. Before she’d made him sit across from her. Now she was at the head of the table on his right, which meant they could touch each other. He found himself touching her a lot.

  She grabbed another cookie from the plate. “Thanks to you, whenever I look at this table, I think of tabletop sex.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I wasn’t actually thanking you. It’s a pain in the ass to have a dining table become an erotic piece of furniture. How am I supposed to have dinner parties?”

  “Do you have a lot of those?” He reached over and ran a finger over her arm because it made her shiver and her cheeks turned pink. He liked that.

  “Not really.” She nudged his knee under the table.

  He nudged back. “Have you ever had one?”

  “No.”

  “There you go. Problem solved.”

  “But what if I did have one? Then I’d be blushing all the time because I’d have erotic associations with the furniture.”

  “That’s just wrong.” Reaching under the table, he pulled her robe aside and fondled her knee.

  “Yes, it is. And right now, you’re making it worse.” She gave him a mock glare of disapproval.

  “I want to make it worse. What’s the point in worrying about erotic associations when it’s all in your head? If the table is already causing a problem, you might as well do the deed.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He grinned. “If you’re trying to cool me down, don’t act prim and proper. That only makes me hotter. Especially when you’re wearing your glasses.”

  “Are you one of those guys who gets turned on by uptight women wearing glasses?”

  “Apparently. Who knew?”

  “What happens if those ladies stop being uptight and start wearing contacts? Does the attraction fade?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “Yes, but can you be sure?”

  “I have the perfect test. Have sex with me on this table.”

  She flushed, which indicated she was interested. “That’s a very hard surface.”

  “I’ll take the bottom.”

  She glanced at the uncovered windows looking out on the forest. “We’ll be in plain view.”

  “Sure will. The owls and bats would see right in. They’ll be scandalized.”

  “So we’d do this to prove whether it’s my uptight vibe that has you begging for more?”

  “And to give you a legitimate reason not to have dinner parties.”

  “Okay, I’m in.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “But you’ll need to grab the condom from the bedroom.”

  Digging in his pocket, he pulled it out and held it up.

  “You’ve been planning this all along?”

  “I swear I haven’t. But I tucked it in my pocket in case of a dire emergency.”

  “You only brought two, right?

  “More than that seemed obnoxious.”

  “Do you want to spend it on this?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  She stood and dropped her robe. “Then I’m game.”

  Olivia standing naked in her dining room with her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders and partially covering her breasts was an arousing sight. Any man would pause and stare. Trevor was no exception.

  “What?” She spread out her arms. “You’ve seen all this before.”

  “In your bedroom. And you weren’t wearing your glasses.”

  She reached for them. “Then I’ll take—”

  “No, don’t.”

  “I have to. Otherwise it’s not a test. We’re trying to discover if you lose interest if I become a wild woman instead of an uptight, glasses-wearing accountant. Wearing glasses during sex would taint the data.”

  That was the speech. That was the crazy, adorable speech that captured his heart. But instead of saying so, he merely nodded. “You’re right. Ditch the glasses.” It wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference. Glasses or no glasses, she had him in the palm of her hand. He wasn’t going to say it. Not now and maybe not ever.

  Peeling off his jeans and briefs, which revealed that he was more than ready for this experiment, he started to roll on the condom.

  “Let me. I want to do it. A wild woman would offer.”

  “Now?”

  “No, when you’re stretched out on the table. Are you sure you want to lie on it, though? It’s extremely unyielding. I might have a camping mattress in the storage closet.”

  He shook his head. “We’ve already put too much thought into this. Ideally two people are eating at a table, get worked up, and sweep the dishes aside so they can get busy.”

  “Spontaneous sex.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’ve always wondered about that. What about birth control?”

  He waved the condom in the air. “The guy has to be prepared.”

  “Are you always prepared? Because that’s kind of smarmy.”

  “No, I’m not always prepared.”

  “Glad to hear it. But I’m still hung up on this table sex thing, which seems as if it could end up with spilled food, broken dishes and unplanned pregnancies.”

  “We don’t have to worry about any of that.”

  She studied him for a moment. “No we don’t. Let’s do it.”

  Even though she’d killed the spontaneous factor, he would never say no to having sex with her, anytime, anywhere. He stretched out on the table. It was damned uncomfortable. In the heat of the moment, a person might not notice, but they’d talked this to death and he noticed.

  Then she climbed up th
ere, straddled him and lovingly rolled on the condom. He’d lie on a bed of nails in exchange for that privilege. Bracing her hands on his chest, she lowered her hips.

  As she slowly took his cock into her warmth, he forgot about the table. Nothing mattered but the glow in her eyes, the flush on her skin, the perfect connection that was nearly…yes…now.

  He bracketed her hips, holding her there, prolonging the moment when everything made sense. Such times didn’t come along very often.

  With a Mona Lisa smile, she slid her hands forward. Her hair swept over his hot skin as she leaned down and gave him an open-mouthed kiss. Her nipples brushed his chest. Heaven.

  Lifting her head, she gazed into his eyes. “You look happy.”

  “So do you.”

  “I am. I’d forgotten what happy feels like.”

  “Like this. It feels exactly like this.”

  “It does.” She kissed him again, softly. “Ready to take this happy feeling up a notch?”

  “Think I can handle it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Her hair caressed him as she eased back and flattened her palms against his chest. “I get the impression you can handle most anything.”

  She had that wrong. When it came to her, he was vulnerable as hell. Making love with her was like nothing he’d ever known. He was falling hard and fast.

  She would give him her friendship. She would give him her body. But she’d made it clear she’d never give him her love. Was he strong enough to handle that? Maybe not.

  Chapter Seventeen

  For some reason, Olivia had assumed Trevor would spend the night, but after they recovered from their wild episode on the table, he held her close and murmured that he had to leave.

  “I wish you could stay.” The words were out before she could stop herself.

  “I wish I could, too.” He gave her a lingering kiss. “But I didn’t plan for that and I have to get up early for work.”

  “That makes perfect sense.” She reined in her disappointment. After blurting out that she wanted him to stay, she hesitated to ask when she’d see him again.

  He pulled on his briefs and jeans. “I’m usually pretty busy during the week between Paladin and the station. But I might get an evening off. I’ll text you when I know my schedule.”

  “Okay.” Since he was getting dressed, she put on her robe and tucked her glasses in the pocket. “Murphy’s Law it’ll be the night of my kickboxing class, but I’m home by nine.”

  He smiled. “Any chance you’d be willing to skip the class just this once?”

  She matched his teasing mood, which was better than acting forlorn because he was leaving. “Depends, cowboy. Give me a reason to skip the class and I will.”

  “I’ll give you a reason.” Grabbing her, he kissed her until they were both panting. Then he slowly let her go. “Good enough?”

  She sucked in a breath. “Great start. But can you guarantee there’ll be follow-through?”

  “I can if you’re flexible.”

  She pretended to misunderstand. “I’m getting more flexible every day.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Kickboxing helps.”

  His gaze heated. “I could come over when I’m on call. But it means I might be able to stay all night and I might have to leave in the middle of flexible sex.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  “Then I’ll see you for sure this week.” He grinned. “Assuming you’re willing to skip a lesson if that happens to be the night I can make it over.”

  “Depending on my client appointments, maybe I could switch to a midday one.” She clasped her hands behind her back and arched her spine. “To stay flexible.”

  He groaned. “I’m gonna get my shirt and leave before my willpower deserts me.” He started down the hall to her bedroom.

  Picking up the empty cookie plate and the milk glasses, she took them into the kitchen.

  He walked in minutes later fastening the snaps on his shirt. “I’m hoping I’ll have Friday night off so we can go dancing at the GG, but if that doesn’t work out, I could spend time with you next weekend. Unless you have plans.”

  “I don’t and it would be great if we could go riding. I’ve managed a couple of trips to the ranch to see Bonnie and Clyde but I haven’t ridden either one of them.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He pulled her into his arms and held her gaze. “I love being with you.”

  “Same here.”

  A slight crease appeared between his brows and then was gone. He smiled. “Good. I’m going to kiss you once more, and then I’m leaving. It’s been a big day and we need—”

  “Oh, that’s right! You haven’t given me a bill for the roof work.”

  He combed her hair back from her face. “I’m not going to.”

  “Of course you are. You can email it to me this week.”

  “Nope. You paid for the materials. The labor is free.”

  “That’s not fair to you. You had three family members over here, too. Everyone should be compensated for all the work.”

  “Remember the barn raising? Friends and family pitched in without getting paid?”

  “But—”

  “My family loves you, Olivia, and they want to help you through a tough time with the fire and…well, everything you’ve been through.”

  Her throat tightened. “That’s very generous. I’ll…I’ll bake everyone cookies.”

  “Perfect.” Leaning down, he kissed her slowly and tenderly. Then he gave her a tight squeeze and released her. “See you soon. Stay flexible.” He left the kitchen.

  “Count on it,” she called after him. Putting on her glasses, she watched from the kitchen doorway as he scooped up his hat from the couch and settled it on his head.

  He glanced back at her, flashed her a grin and touched the brim of his hat in a quick salute. Then he was gone.

  Dashing. That was a fitting description for Trevor McGavin. She had a bit of a crush, but what woman wouldn’t?

  He seemed to have a crush on her, too. How funny if the glasses had something to do with it. She hoped it was only a crush. Just now he’d used the word love twice.

  Probably meant nothing. People tossed the word around in casual conversation all the time. She was guilty of it herself. Still, that particular word coming from Trevor made her twitchy. She didn’t want him to be in love with her. That would ruin everything.

  Coordinating schedules turned out to be more complicated than Olivia had expected. Trevor was on duty at the firehouse Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday night and on call Thursday and Friday.

  They made plans for Thursday with the understanding those plans could be torpedoed if they needed him at the station. She juggled her client appointments to make time for a kickboxing class on Thursday morning.

  She missed him, but she was busy, too. Fortunately she’d finished filing tax returns for her clients who’d asked for extensions, so her workload was lighter, but she still had a demanding schedule to maintain.

  She’d moved her client appointments to Monday morning so that Monday afternoon she and Kendra could shop for plants. That worked for everyone except Ellie Mae Stockton. Olivia ended up scheduling her for noon. She’d grab an energy bar before she met Kendra at one-thirty.

  Ellie Mae was a new client. The man who’d been her tax accountant for thirty-two years had retired and moved away, so she’d called Olivia.

  She walked in with an old-fashioned briefcase so stuffed with papers it wouldn’t close. She plopped the briefcase on the floor and sat in one of two chairs on the far side of it. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stockton.”

  “You can call me Ellie Mae. Everyone does.”

  “And you can call me Olivia.”

  “Good. We have that out of the way.” Ellie Mae was in her eighties and she obviously took pride in her grooming. She didn’t have a single gray hair and her makeup was tastefully applied. Her slacks, blouse and jacket were stylish.

  She settled a c
alm gaze on Olivia. “It was a real shame about your husband. He seemed like a nice fellow.”

  “He was.”

  “I admire the way you’ve carried on since he passed. I’ve buried two husbands and I know it’s not easy.”

  “No.”

  Ellie Mae cleared her throat. “Before we get started, I should warn you that I don’t think Arnie strictly adhered to the tax code when he prepared my returns.”

  Olivia blinked. “How so?”

  “He gave me a yearly deduction for my vodka purchases. Does that seem right to you?”

  “Not really. How did he justify it?”

  “He claimed it as a medical expense. He said without my nightly martinis I’d be a total stress case and quite likely would die young. I don’t think that would fly with an auditor, do you?”

  “No, I’m afraid it wouldn’t. Not unless you find a doctor who’ll write you a prescription for vodka.”

  “If I knew such a doctor I’d be his patient in a flash. Thank goodness I’ve never been audited, then. Since Arnie allowed me that deduction, I always bought the expensive stuff.” She leaned back in her chair and gestured to the briefcase. “But I could still be audited for past returns.”

  “Do you want to file an amended return and eliminate that deduction?”

  “Good Lord, no! And pay back taxes when they might never catch up with me? I should say not!”

  “Then what would you like to do?”

  Ellie Mae lifted the briefcase to her lap. “It’s all here. Seven years of deductions for top-shelf vodka. You’re a smart lady. If I should get called up by the IRS, I figure you’re my best bet for dealing with them.”

  “Ellie Mae, if the worst happens and you get audited, I doubt I could keep you from paying those taxes. If that’s what you’re expecting of me, I can’t—”

  “No, sweetheart, I’m not looking for guarantees. I just need to know I’ll have someone in my corner to help me through the process.”

  “I’m more than willing to be that person. But when it comes to this year’s return, you won’t be able to deduct your vodka.”