Tempted by a Cowboy

by Vonna Harper, Melissa MacNeal

  And what an awesome sight as the riders finished their first lap! Each man vaulted from his galloping pony onto the next mount that awaited him, prancing and tossing its head. With a slap and a cry, the hostlers urged them on while other wranglers recovered the spent horses: the handlers’ shirts matched their riders’ paint, so it was easy to distinguish the various teams. And it was a miracle no one got trampled during this complicated, colorful, exhilarating exchange.

  Michael was a study in male grace as he urged his second mount into a tight gallop. Diana followed his progress through this lap and the next with the binoculars. When he vaulted mid-stride onto his final horse, she shot up from her seat.

  With a wild cry that sounded suspiciously like her name, Michael shot forward. The frenzied audience cheered, yet all she saw was Michael White Horse riding low and sleek and fast, a raven-haired warrior astride a black. Only the contrast in their coloring distinguished horse from rider as they rounded the first turn. His loincloth flapped and the pony’s haunches bunched as they galloped low into the next turn. Unbound manes and red feathers flapped in the wind. Her heart was beating so hard she couldn’t breathe. Diana could only gaze in wonder at this primal display of man and animal pitted against time and distance. It was all about testosterone and sweat and adrenaline. And it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

  As a fierce whoop rang out above the others, Michael shot forward from the pack as though his life depended on winning. God, he looked glorious! How did he hang on without a saddle? How did he control his mount with only that rope? She was a pretty fair rider herself, but never had Diana witnessed such formidable power—such oneness between horse and rider. Gripping the binoculars, she panted, “Go, Michael! Go, Michael! Bring it on home!”

  As he shot across the finish line, the crowd erupted in whoops and applause. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Diana joined in until her throat went raw and her hands hurt.

  “And the winner is—Michael White Horse!” the announcer proclaimed as the rest of the contestants galloped past. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for this fine rider from northern Montana!”

  It was a moment like she’d never known, watching Michael leap from his mount to dance in a triumphant circle with his face uplifted and his hands held high. It gave her a pretty fine shot of his thighs in that skimpy loincloth, too. And when Michael’s eyes found hers, they branded her with his potent fire, as though he’d left a smoldering handprint across her heart to match the one on his own. She held her breath, oblivious to the spectators around her.

  “Hey, lady, you want to move it already?”

  Diana flushed at the stares of the people in her row. She made her way down the grandstand steps, engulfed by the chattering sea of people, her heart still hammering to the beat of those ponies’ hooves. Michael had told her to meet him at the truck, and as she gazed out over the vast field full of vehicles, she tried to recall which row it was in. The rest of the week was theirs to enjoy as they headed to San Bernardino, California, and she had no trouble imagining how they’d spend most of it.

  An arm hooked around her shoulder and she gasped. Up close, red war paint and feathers looked truly startling. Michael laughed, swallowing her surprise in a fierce, ravenous kiss.

  “Let’s take a shortcut to the truck,” he murmured against her ear. “Time for the real games to begin, angel.”

  15

  “We’ll have to pull over. I won’t make it to the motel.” Michael wedged his hand between her thighs as he steered the pickup into the lanes of traffic leaving the fairgrounds. The fierce heat on his painted face made his eyes shine hard and bright, and the peak in his loincloth left no doubt of his intentions.

  Diana giggled. “You sound like a horny kid on a hot date with his—”

  “I’ve been a horny kid my whole life, Diana. Get used to it.” His tone was playful but it brooked no arguments: Michael White Horse was a man on a mission, and he’d be penetrating her sooner rather than later. Maybe before they got to the road. Maybe right here while they waited in this bumper-to-bumper line.

  She squirmed with wanting. Gazed quickly around the corrals and tan tents on either side of the road that was packed with pickups and SUV’s.

  The truck jerked sideways and Michael left the line of traffic, headed for the corrals and the grandstand. She gripped the edge of the bench seat, gasping when Michael squeezed the fleshy spot between her legs. Then he cranked the wheel with both hands.

  “Hope you don’t mind a public fuck,” he muttered as he steered between a corral and the stable next to it. “You up for some slam-bam, lady? Some hard-core, straight-up rocket launching?”

  “Long as it’s your rocket,” she breathed. “But I can’t believe we’re doing this, right here in—”

  “That’s the nice part about being visitors. You’ll never see these people again.”

  “And you think no one’ll recognize you, after you won the relay?” Any respectable woman would walk home before she’d get caught on the fairgrounds in broad daylight with her panties down. But then, respectability lost its luster when it was outshone by Michael’s eyes. Diana glanced nervously around them. He’d stopped the truck—Garrison’s truck—in the shade of the stable, where a cluster of longhorns stood watching them with interest.

  “Unzip,” he challenged, “and while I trot around to your side, you can scoot over here. And once I land in that seat, you’re gonna whip my loincloth aside and ride, Diana, ride. You with me?”

  Her pulse revved as she reached for her zipper tab.

  “On the count of three, then! One—” Michael threw open his door and jumped out to scurry in front of the pickup. “Two—”

  Diana flung herself to the driver’s side. Breathlessly she yanked her jeans off, damn glad she was wearing sandals.

  “Three!” Her war-painted lover vaulted back into the truck with his feathers and hair billowing around his face. “I’m comin’ in—and then I’m comin’. Get over here, woman.”

  A loud cheer went up from the grandstands. If someone came to investigate a truck in this odd spot…if they looked in the window to see her head and shoulders bobbing in that telltale rhythm…

  “Just go with it, honey. Play along like this is the wildest, wickedest dare you’ve ever taken a guy up on.”

  “You think it isn’t?” As she straddled him, she stifled a surprised cry. Michael had slipped his hand beneath her to insert an inquisitive finger. She held her breath to keep from making any more noise: he plugged her with his thumb and shoved it deep inside her, instinctively hitting that sensitive spot that nailed all her nerves to the same place.

  “Don’t move.” Micheal riveted his gaze on her eyes then; stroked the curve of her ass with his urgent palm as he plumbed her wetness with the fingers of his other hand. She arched above his lap, suspended by a tension that left her too captivated to move…too breathless to utter a sound. The temperature inside the truck had risen to a stifling stillness, but the heat around her was nothing compared to the wildfires raging within. Her ass quivered uncontrollably. The spasms racked her body while she stifled her screams against Michael’s firm, bare shoulder.

  When her vision cleared, Diana focused on his bottomless black eyes. “I love you, Michael. In case you were wondering.”

  And where had that come from? What business did she have expressing such a dangerous emotion after only a few weeks?

  “I already knew,” he whispered raggedly. “And I just realized I left all my protection back at the—”

  “Like a warrior in a loincloth would whip out a condom right now.” Her body ached to feel him inside her, with nothing coming between them. Michael inhaled fiercely, clearly recalling the consequences of a lover’s lies…daughters born and then torn away from him. His doubts seemed intensified by the red handprint on his face, “Michael, it’s all right. In fact, it’s downright perfect this way! I can’t have your baby, but I can have you. Any time I feel like it. You’re all I’ve ever
wanted.”

  Would those words come back to bite her? Had she lost all perspective because this brazen young lover had to fuck her in the truck?

  “I’m gonna ride you, Michael.” Diana gripped the sides of his seat to steady herself. “I’m gonna lower myself, and then I’m gonna hump your long, hard cock like I’m a bitch in heat. And female dogs don’t let go until they’re satisfied, you know.”

  His eyes widened, and when he looked ready to protest, Diana quickly kissed him. From this angle, he was all mahogany skin, midnight hair, and red feathers reclining against beige leather. And with his flagpole pointed skyward, his loincloth had conveniently fallen to one side, like a banner on a breezeless day. She planted her knees on either side of him…lowered her mouth to taste his need and speak silently of her own. His intake of breath sucked all the air from the truck cab as she slowly positioned her hips above his cock. It throbbed at her opening, skittish yet so ready to claim her.

  “Diana,” he rasped, “we can go back to the room for—”

  She sat on his rigid shaft and sheathed it. Squeeeeezed. There was no going back, not from saying “I love you” or from this coupling where nothing came between them. Michael gritted his teeth, his eyes telling stories of love lost and hard betrayal. Yet she raised her hips…bore down on him again…hoped her gaze reassured him of her intention to honor her words as surely as he lived up to his. A third time she lowered herself on his cock, struggling to keep it slow—to let him go with yes rather than maybe we’d better not.

  “Faster.”

  The word slipped between his clenched teeth and she didn’t need him to repeat it. Diana pressed against his hot, painted chest, intent on rubbing the right spots inside herself so her body would ignite his. Up and down she drove her hips as she reveled in the feel of his hands grasping her ass. Never had she envisioned herself doing this in her husband’s truck, yet the audacity—the tension on his painted face as he succumbed to her—drove her to please him. Or at least to make him explode so hard he’d forget his misgivings.

  “More, angel,” he breathed. “God, you can’t stop now!”

  Jubilant, she angled her body so her hips thrust straight down his cock. He slipped his hands under her shirt…unclasped her bra to cup her unbound breasts. They writhed as one, joined at the hip as their moans filled the cab. Her head fell back and he set the pace with his hands on her hip bones, until he was driving upward, upward—

  Michael convulsed deep inside her. His wetness filled her as she rode him to her own shuddering climax. She felt sultry and dirty and decadent—and alive. So vibrant, like the waves of crystalline color exploding behind her eyelids.

  When she opened her eyes she gasped. A huge, mottled longhorn had pressed his nose to the window. “We’ve been caught!” she teased, and when Michael strained to see what was so funny, he, too chuckled uncontrollably.

  “Now that’s one horny devil.” Then he sobered, running his warm hands up her sides. “Diana…”

  “Michael.” She gazed steadily down at him, praying he voiced no regrets. Her hands covered his, and she let him express his thoughts first.

  He blew a feather from his damp, painted face. “Life’s an open road, Diana. And I’m damn happy to be your vehicle.” He grinned tentatively. “Trust is something I have to relearn. So keep teaching me till I get it right, okay?”

  “You’ve got a deal.” Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Absolutely not,” she breathed. “Life hasn’t been this right for a long, long time.”

  16

  The open road Michael had talked about took them to California, but by a circuitous route with a lot of motel rooms along the way. Never in her life had Diana felt so wicked, so wayward…or so damn happy. Never had she lived on the fly, without the maps and plans she and Garrison had sworn by. All she knew was that when Michael looked at her, she felt naked and open to anything he wanted. It was a far cry from her staid, settled life as the wife of a middle-aged rancher—and a huge improvement over haggling with Jerry Pohlsen.

  About a hundred miles from San Bernardino, her cell rang. She glanced at the number on its screen, grinning. “Well, hello there, Mr. Killiam,” she crooned. “And how are things at Seven Creeks?” She secretly adored the flicker of jealousy on Michael’s face when his head jerked in her direction.

  “I have some exciting news,” Will replied. “But I’m hearing news in your voice, too, Diana. Like maybe things are going very well for you and Mike.”

  “You’re so perceptive—which is why Michael recommended you.” Her heart thudded as she made herself wait; didn’t jump into the questions whirling in her mind at his jubilant tone. “We’ll arrive in a couple hours, and Michael rides his first round of saddle broncs at tonight’s performance.”

  “Give him my best—and then give me your take on this.” Diana imagined him sitting at her kitchen table…maybe in the jeans and chambray shirt that did such fine things for his tight butt and broad shoulders. “I’ve found a way to prevent the sale. Pohlsen’ll get hot around the collar, but that’s his problem.”

  “Yeah? And?” Michael looked ready to snatch her phone, so she glanced out the window.

  “A competitive bank wants to loan you the money to pay off your mortgage. When I explained about Garrison’s extended illness and expenses, the president put paper to pencil. Didn’t take him long to consider this a viable investment.”

  “Which means?” She swallowed hard, praying this was for real—hoping Will Killiam wouldn’t let her fall from this emotional high.

  “It means no bankruptcy, so no auction. He’ll make the loan at a much lower rate, too, because the real estate market has changed a lot since you took out your mortgage.”

  “Holy—and why didn’t Pohlsen tell me about this option?” she blurted.

  Will chuckled. “Not in his best interest. Fritzi wants that mega-mansion in the new resort development, after all.”

  Diana’s breath escaped in a rush. “So—so why would this other banker offer to—”

  “Politics. He’s tired of Jerry’s shenanigans, so he’s doing everything legally possible to discredit Pohlsen and prevent the loss of so many productive acres of ranch land in the area.”

  Blinking rapidly, Diana grinned. “Tell that guy I want to kiss him!” she spouted. “And then tell me what I need to do.”

  “Just say yes. I can initiate the paperwork and you can sign the loan when you get back,” Will replied breezily. “Then you’ll have the pleasure of paying Pohlsen and stopping his whole damn project.”

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” She felt downright dizzy as she envisioned this transaction, and when Michael’s hand closed over the phone, she let him have it. Diana stared ahead through the windshield, so damn happy she couldn’t see.

  “What’s cooking, guy?” As Michael drove down the highway, listening, his face lost its jealous edge. “Well, hot damn. I’m an accountant, for cryin’ out loud. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because your brain’s gone between your legs?” Will’s voice teased through the phone.

  Diana choked on her laughter. It was sinking in, what this meant! No bankruptcy! No humiliating auction while the neighbors looked on. No asking Garrison’s forgiveness for losing his beloved ranch.

  Leave it to reality to catch her off guard. “Just one problem,” she mumbled. “How will I repay another bank when I didn’t have the money for Pohlsen? I’ve still got no income—”

  “We’re gonna take care of that, sugar.” Michael handed the cell back to her, his face alight with plans…some of which had nothing to do with income. “I’ve had ideas for your place since I first set foot on it.”

  Diana gaped. How did this guy talk big business—the rescue of her ranch and her future—while his grin reeked of sex?

  “Diana, is everything okay?” Will asked loudly.

  She put the phone to her ear again. “More than okay.
I can’t thank you enough for setting this up, Will.”

  When she clicked off the call, Michael grabbed her hand. “This calls for a celebration! We’ll have a great dinner tonight after I ride—bottle of champagne to toast outfoxing Pohlsen! And maybe another bottle for bedtime! And after a hot session in the sack, we’ll talk about Seven Creeks profits. I knew we’d turn this thing around, Diana!”

  She was still riding the high of Will’s phone call as she watched Michael saddle the bronc he’d drawn. It was stifling hot. The crowd was rowdy, and that redskinned cowboy in the black hat seemed psyched for his most glorious ride yet. What a difference his positive attitude had made in her life!

  “Next up—Michael White Horse, who’s drawn the mount they call Nightmare!” the announcer crooned.

  The buzzer sounded and the band began to play. And then something shiny caught the lights as it spun out of the upper level seats.

  Diana watched in horror. Just as Michael’s mount started spinning like a tornado, the bottle hit its head. The bronc shrieked and bucked out of rhythm. Somehow Michael jumped away from the crazed animal, but when he hit the ground running, the bronc’s back legs caught his shoulder. With fiendish accuracy, the horse then spun and trampled its fallen rider before racing away from the frantic clowns and pickup men.

  The arena echoed with a stunned silence. Unable to scream, Diana ran for the nearest exit.

  17

  Things slipped into an eerie slow motion as the rodeo’s rescue unit raced into the arena. Diana dodged the guy at the gate and nearly stumbled in the loose sand trying to reach Michael’s side. “Michael! Michael, can you—”

  “Out of the way, lady! Let the paramedics do their job,” a gruff voice ordered. Burly hands clamped around her shoulders, but then the man spoke more kindly beneath the wail of the siren. “You with this cowboy, ma’am?”