Down in Texas

by Delilah Devlin

  She’d cupped them in her small hands, just as he imagined he would if he stood behind her, lifting them, her fingers spreading and kneading the pendulous globes.

  When she’d plucked the nipples into erect little points, he’d groaned out loud. Their rose hue darkened. The tips drew into tight beads that invited a mouth to sip at them. He imagined drawing on them, rooting into her soft flesh and suckling hard.

  When her hands had reached behind her again and slowly slid down the zipper of her denim skirt, he finally admitted to himself he was there for the duration. No possibility of him moving from his vantage outside her window.

  Steam rose inside the bathroom. She’d drawn a bath. Foaming bubbles blanketed the surface of the water. Soon she’d sink into the water, and he would leave.

  Her skirt slid down her legs. She stood clad only in a demure, pink pair of cotton panties. From the side, her bottom flared, rounded, lush. Perfect.

  His cock strained against his zipper, and he reached down to adjust himself, but his hand lingered. He cupped his balls and squeezed, then slid along the erection growing increasingly more insistent as it dragged against his pant leg.

  He slid open his belt, unbuttoned the top snap, and scraped down the zipper, intending only to relieve the pressure. Instead he drew his cock outside his pants and wrapped his fingers around his shaft, his gaze never straying from Maggie as she pushed her panties down her legs and stepped out of them. Then she faced the window as she leaned over the bathtub to turn off the water.

  The thatch of dark brown hair between her legs was glossy, the curls tight, masking her sex until she opened her legs and stepped over the rim of the tub.

  She paused with one foot sinking into the water, the other still on the floor, and reached for the white bar of soap lying on a dish beside the sink.

  Her feminine folds parted, giving Danny a glimpse of tightly furled pink labia.

  His hand fisted, gliding slowly up and down, drawing blood into his thickening staff. He spit into his other palm and coated his shaft with it, easing his fingers through the moisture.

  Lord, she was beautiful. Sleek, pearly skin, rounded thighs and calves, a soft, fleshy bottom beneath a deeply indented waist. Her breasts drew his attention again.

  So close now that he could see perspiration glazing the tops of her breasts, his hand tightened, beginning to pump in earnest on his aching cock.

  She gathered the soap, a washcloth, and slipped into the water, settling with a visible sigh, laying her head against the rolled rim of the large tub, the tips of her hair dragging in the water.

  Her eyes closed and her chest rose, her breasts lifting the bubbles.

  He stared for long moments, feeling the urgent heat settling in his balls, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he spilled his seed into the dirt.

  Her eyes opened and slid to the washcloth. She rolled the soap and cloth inside her hands and then dipped the cloth beneath the water. Her knees rose, parting to fall against each side of the tub, and her hands reached between them.

  Her eyes squeezed shut, her pink mouth opened around a gasp, and he knew what she was doing.

  The pleasure flushing her cheeks with heightened color was reflected in the pout of her lips and the crease deepening between her eyebrows.

  He slowed his hand, wanting to wait and ride the crest with her, to share this intimacy even if she never knew.

  Although hidden by the cloud of bubbles, he could tell when she neared the peak. Her neck arched, her knees drew higher. When she came, the water lapped toward the edge of the tub as a muffled but audible moan tightened her lips.

  Danny’s hips had thrust forward, spearing through his tightly wrapped fingers, desperation making him reckless as he pumped faster, the wet, slapping sounds growing louder until his balls exploded and cum burst from the tip of his cock to stripe the dirt in glistening white. He sagged against the tree, at last closing his eyes.

  Immediately a hot wave of shame dampened his pleasure.

  God, he was bastard. He’d spied on her, violated her privacy.

  With shaking hands, he’d tugged his clothing together and slunk like the snake he was back to his bedroom where he’d jacked off in the dark to the memory of her beautiful, womanly curves every night until he’d finally gone home.

  Danny stripped the burning end from his cigarette and pocketed the butt and then quietly entered the house. He undressed in the dark, sitting on the edge of the bed to wrestle off his boots and then standing to strip his belt from its loops and push his pants down his legs.

  Naked at last, he tried to ignore the pressure growing between his legs. A bath? No, a cold shower.

  Danny heard the creak of a floorboard in the hallway outside his bedroom and nearly groaned. He’d been on the edge of arousal, remembering every lurid moment. Now the object of his obsession walked a few feet away.

  The sound outside his bedroom cinched tight around his balls. He gave up trying to control the hard-on steadily growing between his legs.

  To ease the ache, he spread his legs and fisted his hand around himself, coming in minutes, wanting it over quickly to ease the excitement humming through his veins before he sought his first meeting with the woman whose face and body had owned his lust for over seven years.

  2

  Danny Tynan was all grown up.

  Maggie had noticed that fact right off. She’d hidden in the house like a coward when he arrived that morning, watching him through the curtains as Reggie greeted him with a handshake and a manly slap to his shoulders.

  And such broad shoulders they were, too. Something else she’d noticed. He’d been tall as a teenager, all elbows and knobby knees, but anyone looking at him then would easily guess he’d grow into a handsome man.

  He’d far exceeded her expectations.

  Dark brown hair curled in careless, spiked waves around his head. Thick eyebrows shadowed brown eyes that could melt a woman’s heart in a single glance. Those features hadn’t changed.

  What had changed took her breath away. He turned and stood with his back to her, feet braced apart. She took the opportunity that presented itself, letting her gaze embrace the breadth of his shoulders, the narrow indent of his lean waist, the small, round globes of his buttocks, and thighs that looked sturdy, powerful….

  If she’d thought him distracting when he was young, he was lethal to her peace of mind now.

  Not that she’d ever acted on her attraction when he’d stayed at the ranch all those years ago. Although she’d entertained lurid fantasies in which she’d played teacher to his youthful sexual education, she’d studiously ignored his adoring glances. Still, she hadn’t been able to resist deepening their connection, appealing to a young man’s endless appetite….

  For food, that is. She’d always loved to bake. Used it when she needed to work out her problems, a kind of “kitchen” therapy that soothed her restlessness when she hammered a slab of steak or kneaded a loaf of bread.

  And she’d needed that release during the years of her marriage to Douglas. For, while her husband had been ideal in many ways, he’d left her unfulfilled in two.

  The man had never given her an orgasm, never realized the need to provide her passion. He’d provided her a roof, a purpose, given her a home to transform into her own haven.

  Though not a handsome man, he’d still managed to impress her when he began to court her. Promising her comfort, protection—family. Something she’d craved since she’d been left alone in the world.

  And although he’d tried to fulfill the promise of giving her family, that was another hole he’d left in her life. He’d been sterile. When they’d discovered the fact, he no longer thought it necessary to use her body. What was the point?

  When Danny Tynan came to the ranch, she’d met a good-looking boy about to be a man, and a very sexual creature if the state of his bedding was any indication.

  Perhaps the hormones raging in his young body had affected her, for she began to feel those stirring
s again. The ones her husband’s neglect had buried. She’d felt shame for her feelings, for the yearnings that tempted her to leave open a button or two at the top of her blouse to tempt him to peer inside her shirt, to wear shorter shorts to feel his glance rake the length of them.

  That was as far as she’d allowed it to go because she hadn’t trusted herself to do the right thing.

  Now he was back. More of a temptation than ever. But it was much too late for her.

  She’d seen his résumé come in on the fax machine, not believing she was reading the name at the top of the form. She’d hidden it, carrying it around all day, debating whether to show it to Reggie.

  They’d needed someone like him. She remembered how Douglas had spoken of the young man, about his natural talent with horses, his gentleness when he trained them, how he’d settled a saddle on a particularly fractious stallion inside a day and had him quivering but quiescent as he’d slowly added weight to the young horse’s back.

  In the end, it hadn’t been Danny’s talent that had convinced her to give the application to Reggie. She’d needed Danny to come. To see him and to discover that he wasn’t as handsome as she remembered and couldn’t have been anything more than the sexual fixation of a very frustrated woman. Seeing him again should dull the luster of her memories.

  And she’d try anything to dull the wild and inappropriate attraction she’d felt for the boy.

  Reggie had taken one look at the crumpled paper she’d shoved at him, and his bushy eyebrows rose high. “Danny Tynan,” he’d said quietly. “Seems pretty eager. Says he’s free and clear to start right away.” His gaze rose from the paper and gave her a searching look. “We’ve needed some new blood around here.”

  Maggie shrugged, not wanting to make the decision that would place temptation squarely in her path. “It’s up to you,” she said, forcing a bright, unconcerned smile.

  She’d turned on her heels and fled the office they shared.

  When Reggie had mentioned later that day that Danny would be arriving in the morning, she’d given him another vague smile, knowing the wily old man saw right through her.

  After a sleepless night filled with second and third thoughts about the wisdom of hiring Danny, and a firm resolution not to let his presence change a single thing, Maggie had played the coward. She’d avoided him all day, breathed a sigh of relief when he hadn’t shown up at suppertime, and then retreated to her room right after it to make sure their paths didn’t cross.

  The sound of his shower starting down the hall quieted her nerves for the first time that long day.

  For all the stern talking she’d done with herself, she’d never worked up the courage to confront herself over why she’d decided to let him sleep under her own roof again.

  Not once had she considered putting him in the bunkhouse. She’d given him his old room, having always thought of it that way—as his.

  Reggie had given her a strange look when she’d told him but held his tongue. Reggie knew how things had been between Douglas and her even before her husband had fallen ill. After Douglas had been diagnosed, their relationship had grown even more remote.

  Maybe Reggie didn’t question her, because he thought her sexless anyway.

  Or maybe he was more compassionate than that.

  Even if she wouldn’t act on her desires, the thought of Danny sleeping under the same roof filled her with more excitement, more hope than she’d felt stirring inside herself for years.

  She wasn’t going to feel guilty about it. Wasn’t going to feel ashamed. It was time to stop hiding.

  First, she needed to make some pies. Something to help her soothe her breathless anticipation and help her sleep.

  Flinging on a night robe, she opened her bedroom door to head to the kitchen and slammed into a solid wall of muscle.

  Hands reached out to steady her, settling at the tops of her hips. She froze with her arms locked at her sides, gazing up into the brown-eyed gaze that had haunted her for so long.

  Only thin layers of cotton separated her chest from his. Her nipples sprouted instantly. “I’m sorry,” she said, tilting her head to look fully into his face. “I didn’t see you.”

  Although the hallway was shadowed, she did see the way his lips twisted and heard the swiftly indrawn breath that pressed his chest harder against hers.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice sounding gruff.

  She shivered at the low timbre of his voice. “I thought you were asleep,” she said quickly, trying not to take too deep a breath to keep her nipples from poking against his chest. Though she was only gently pressed against him now, the sensation was wreaking havoc with her mind.

  He cleared his throat. “I got hungry.”

  Her mouth suddenly went dry. She swallowed hard. “I can make you a sandwich. From leftovers,” she said, trying to get her tongue and her mind to work together.

  However, the large hands bracketing her hips made her legs weak and her tongue stick to the top of her mouth.

  “You don’t have to. I know where the kitchen is. My own damn fault I missed dinner.” His fingers tightened, and he gave his head a slight shake. “Pardon me.”

  “For what?” she asked dumbly.

  “Cussin’.”

  “I don’t mind; I’m surrounded by men. I know how you talk,” she said softly, charmed by his attempt to mind his manners and beginning to grow warm inside his embrace. “You can let me go now. I won’t fall.”

  His breath hitched, and his hands dropped as if they’d been burned.

  Instantly she missed the heat of his fingers, the strength in his hands, but she turned, tucking her head down to hide her expression as she pursed her lips and blew a silent whistle.

  Danny followed her, keeping just a step behind her all the way into the kitchen.

  With a tall, handsome man trailing her through her home, she’d never felt so aware of herself, of the sway of her hips, of her shorter height, or of her femininity.

  When she reached the kitchen, breathless and flustered, she turned on the lights and then wished she hadn’t been so quick. She wore a white cotton gown with a thin white robe over it. He might see something if the cloth pulled too close to her body or her figure was silhouetted in the light.

  As soon as the thought flitted through her mind, another followed closely: would he like what he saw?

  She stopped hunching her shoulders—which was hiding the sharp points of her nipples—and concentrated instead on pulling out slices of freshly baked ham and bread and the rest of the “fixings” a young man might appreciate.

  He didn’t have to know she deliberately displayed herself. It would be her wicked little secret. One to savor in the darkness when she returned to her lonely bed.

  In the meantime, she watched him from the corners of her eyes, catching his glance darting toward her bare legs and then rising higher, snagging on her chest as she stood on tiptoe to reach for glasses from the cupboard.

  “Let me,” he said quietly, reaching over her shoulder into the high second shelf.

  His body leaned against her back, a thickly muscled arm entering her sight as he stretched past her to take down two glasses.

  He’d never know how her body trembled as he pressed closer and his rich, masculine scent poured over her.

  “Got it,” he whispered.

  Startled, her glance swung to his.

  Or maybe he did know.

  Standing so close, the glare of overhead lights illuminated his features, revealing the heat flaring in his deep brown eyes.

  A breathy gasp escaped her lips.

  Danny blinked and drew away, setting the glasses on the countertop.

  Maggie turned and gripped the edge of the counter behind her and watched as he walked stiffly toward the table and sat. He winced, widened his legs under the table, and then rested his forearms on the edge as he clasped his hands together.

  He didn’t look up. Seemed to studiously avoid looking her way.


  Maggie dragged in a deep breath, shaking her head to clear it of the luscious thoughts skittering through her mind.

  Pushing away from the counter, she gathered what she needed, made two sandwiches, and portioned out a generous helping of her homemade potato salad. Then she walked over to him, standing beside him to set the plate on the table. “What would you like to drink?”

  His head stayed down, color rimming the top of his ear. “Whatever’s handy,” he muttered.

  “Iced tea? Milk?” she said breathlessly.

  “Milk, I guess.”

  She walked away, opened the refrigerator, and then bent to reach inside and pick up the carton. Before she straightened, she cast a glance toward him to find his head turning sharply away.

  Dear Lord. Did he find her attractive? After all this time?

  With her hair mussed, no makeup, and wearing old cotton nightclothes?

  The sight of him, dressed in T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare, was too delicious for her peace of mind. Her hands trembled as she poured milk into the two glasses and carried them to the table. She took a seat opposite him, keeping her gaze on his plate.

  She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and swallowed. “You aren’t eating.”

  He cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She lifted her head and stared, not understanding. A moment passed as his steady stare held hers before his words registered.

  Douglas. He was talking about Doug. “Thank you. He’s been gone a while. I’ve gotten used to it.”

  That Doug’s passing had been a relief at the end, for them both, was a guilty secret she held close to her heart.

  His fingers curled on the table beside his plate. “You shouldn’t have put me up here.”

  “You mean in the house?” At his slow nod, she added, “Why?”

  “Pretty woman like you. People might talk.”

  Truly surprised, she blurted, “But I’m older than you.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Whatever,” he muttered.

  She took a deep breath and looked around the kitchen, trying not to read too much into his intense expression, trying harder to ignore the excitement heating her body inside and out. “You think I’m pretty?” Dear God, had she really blurted that out?