Falling For A Cowboy

by Anne Carrole

  He bunched the edge of the cover in his hand. “I’ve told you I’d like to see where this goes.” He stared at her, his big blue eyes making her pulse jump.

  “It’s me. I’ve things to work out, Clay. Maybe it’s too soon.”

  He took a deep breath and with a growl, threw the cover back and rose out of the bed. His erection stuck out, long and thick, and aimed at her. She gasped and shut her eyes, but the sight of him in all his glory was one she’d never forget. The man was magnificent.

  “I’m taking a shower,” he said. She heard the sounds of feet slapping against wood. “A cold shower.”

  She shouldn’t have peeked as he took the stairs two at a time, but she couldn’t help herself. He looked like a wild animal as he climbed, his heavy shaft waving from the motion. Heaven help her. They’d never fit together.

  * * *

  Why hadn’t Dusty fallen into his bed like every other woman? He must have done something wrong.

  He let the water from the shower spray over him. Warm water, cleansing water. The flowered shower curtain fluttered from the pelting of the drops. He lathered the soap and began to scrub.

  He tried to clear his mind, but Dusty wouldn’t let him. He saw her image, sitting on his lap, her core nestled against his hard length, her nipples erect, pushing through the thin fabric of her top, and her thighs squeezing his hips. Her kisses had branded him like a hot iron. And then she’d jumped off of him as if she’d gotten burned. This morning she’d said no outright. Stopped him cold when he’d had an erection that was close to painful.

  What the hell was he going to do? He wanted her, and not just physically. He wanted more with her. He wanted to be closer to her, share her secrets, soothe her fears. He’d felt a connection with her, a bond. Hell, he’d never confessed to anyone that he spoke to his father. But with her it had seemed natural, safe.

  Yet with the situation being what it was, how could he offer more? Until he raised the stud fee, he was in no condition to get serious about a woman. Hell, he’d never even thought about getting serious. It had seemed there’d always be time. He was only twenty-seven.

  Who was he kidding? He wasn’t exactly a young cub anymore. He had friends younger than him who were on their second kid. So why should settling down seem such a distant prospect and the stud fees such a formidable obstacle?

  He didn’t know if she was the one. He’d never even asked that question before. He sure wanted to find out. Except that she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Jesse had been so right. Dusty was the kind of girl you married. The kind you courted. The kind you brought home to your mother. That Bradley must have been an idiot. And thank God for that.

  Somehow, he had to get her to take a chance and see where things between them went. If it took several more trips to Langley in order to convince her, he’d make them. Because this could go all the way. She could be the one. He’d find out, no question about that. He’d never gone after something he wanted and come up empty. And in the most important issue of his whole life, the woman he might actually marry, he had no intention of setting a new precedent.

  He turned the faucet to cold.

  Chapter Seven

  Awkward as the morning had been, Clay had insisted on taking her to breakfast at the Buttercup Café. He’d kept the conversation light, had asked her a lot of questions about Sweet Water Ranch, and then they’d gone their separate ways. Though he’d promised to stop by the beer stand after his ride, she’d told him he shouldn’t feel obligated. She’d had mixed feelings all day about whether she wanted him to stop by or not. Life would be emptier if he didn’t, more complicated if he did.

  She hadn’t expected to lament the decision she’d made last night. After all, she’d taken the high road, as it were. But in the parking lot after breakfast, when she watched him walk away, she’d never felt more alone. Regret over what she’d missed wore on her all day.

  At the arena, she’d listened to every word as Adam Greene, the announcer, said Clay’s name and called the ride. Her heart had been in her throat, the old fear gripping her tight as she listened to the commentary and tried to decipher the sounds of the crowd.

  When the thunderous roar had drowned out Adam’s voiceover, she’d known something good had happened. She’d let out the breath she’d been holding and scrambled to the opening just in time to see him dust his hat against his jean-clad leg and hold up a hand to shade his eyes. He searched the rim and, even from a distance, she could tell when he saw her. He gave an extra hat wave to her before settling it on his head. He’d just scored an arena record-breaking ninety-one on a bronc named Contrary Mary. Her stomach had tied in knots.

  A half-hour later, the Saturday evening crowd had emptied the stands and was heading past her for their cars. Kids clung to the hands of their parents and tried to keep pace. Older people walked near the arena wall as if it would hold them up should they need it.

  Clay stood before her, hands fisted on his hips. “So…Doug Morgan? He wouldn’t be your father would he?”

  She handed him a drink, her pulse beating a tattoo. It was on the house. Big John’s rules. Any record-breaker got a free beer. Clay’s lips sipped the brew, lips that had held her captive only last night.

  Rico had already shuttered his booth though the heavy odor of fried grease still hung in the air. She began to empty the register’s contents into the green zippered bag. Anything to keep busy.

  “I asked you a question.” His voice grated like rocks tumbling in a rolling wheel.

  “Yes,” she said, the sound more clipped than she’d intended. She didn’t want to discuss her father, or the score, or Clay’s besting it, but from the look in his eye, she doubted she’d get her wish. She slammed the cash drawer shut and tucked the bag in the waistband of her jeans.

  “Your father was the saddle bronc rider?” There was incredulity in his tone.

  She nodded. Grabbing a damp rag, she began to wipe down the counter.

  He pushed back his hat and stood, feet apart, staring at her like she’d grown two heads.

  “I’m sorry, then, that I broke his record, Dusty.” His voice had gone soft.

  “I’m not.” And that was the truth. “The day he set that record was the day he decided to rodeo for a living,” she said scrubbing at a non-existent stain. “He was on the road to the NFR for the next twelve years.” She threw the rag under the counter and took a deep breath. Clay wasn’t her father and he’d done nothing wrong. Heck, she wasn’t sure, anymore, that her father had. Stepping around to the outside of the stand, she brushed by him and reached for a metal handle. The edge of the security grate hit the counter with a clang. She fumbled in her pocket for the key.

  “You had issues with your daddy rodeoing? Is that why you’ve been walling me out?”

  She locked the stand and faced him. “I haven’t been walling you out.” Not much.

  “Hell you haven’t. You’d think you’d have told me your daddy was a bronc rider.”

  “Why? Why would it matter to you? And he rode bulls too. Hell, he rode whatever moved if he thought he could make some money.”

  “I think the information would be of interest to the bronc rider who’s courting you.” He emptied the cup and threw it in the nearby trash.

  She blinked. Her heart thudded loud against her chest. “Courting me? You’re courting me?”

  “Jesse said I wouldn’t be good at it and I must not be if you don’t even know that’s what I’ve been trying to do.” He flung his hands out as if he was exasperated. “Despite your thinking all I want is to get in your pants, which I won’t deny, I’ve also been trying to court you. You know, get to know you. Like a normal guy.”

  She couldn’t help the smile. It was such an old-fashioned way to say it.

  A few stragglers wandered past on their way to the parking lot, their voices echoing in the walkway. She just had to drop the money off at Big John’s and she was done for the night. And Clay could be well on his way back home. The
thought wasn’t a happy one. The way her heart jerked and her pulse sped up and her hands went all sweaty around him, maybe she’d already fallen for him.

  “Now that you broke the record, are you going to do the circuit?” She slid the key back into her pocket and held her breath.

  “I’m here to pick up some extra money,” he said. “I’m not a bronc rider by trade and even after breaking your daddy’s record, I’m not about to become one. It’s a hard life. Harder than what I do.”

  He reached for her. She felt the pull like it was some magnetic force. She didn’t want to fight it anymore. It didn’t matter whether he rodeoed or cowboyed or drove a truck. She’d been struggling against demons that no longer seemed to matter.

  One look at Clay’s hand outstretched in invitation along with the silent plea on his face, and her boots were clicking on the concrete as she went to him. His chest was solid, his arms strong as he pressed her to him. The heat of his body felt good in the mild chill of the night air.

  His hands moved up her back in a warm caress. “I want to celebrate my win. Tonight. With you.” His hot breath teased her skin.

  She pulled back to look at him. She knew what he was asking. If she said yes, they’d be celebrating in a very intimate way. He may not be a rodeo cowboy but it was doubtful he was in this for the long haul, despite his words. He’d take his winnings and go home and resume his playboy ways. But looking into those dark blue eyes, she knew she couldn’t let him leave just yet.

  * * *

  Her room was like a cotton candy factory—pink, soft and fluffy. Ruffled curtains, shaggy carpet and so many pillows he’d had to push them off the double bed to make room. He’d felt as out of place as a sheep in a cow pen.

  But he’d sure enjoyed taking the clips from her hair and watching each tendril drift loose over her shoulders, enjoyed peeling off her clothes, layer by layer, until she lay on the pink bed cover, naked except for a pair of white cotton panties. With her golden hair fanned out around her, Dusty looked like an angel in a pink heaven.

  Her finger traced the veins that mapped the back of his hand. “You have large hands,” she whispered. Her light touch tickled.

  On bent elbow, he braced his head and shifted his body nearer so he had a better view of her adorable face with its delicate nose, sculpted cheek bones, and wide eyes. His shirt was gone but he still wore his jeans which right now were uncomfortably tight and getting tighter by the second. “There’s nothing so big about me that I won’t be tender with you.” He brushed his lips down her smooth throat. Her flowery scent filled his nostrils. “I know how to make it good for you.”

  In the dim gray light her darkened eyes were warm, inviting, encouraging, trusting. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Angel or a nymph, he couldn’t decide. But tonight she’d be his.

  “I’m not…well I’m not as experienced as…”

  He silenced her with a finger to her moist lips as his pulse raced. “You’ve been here before though?” He sure hoped she had, though it might explain her reluctance. Taking a virgin to bed was not an arena he’d ever ridden in. So why did the thought of someone else having her unsettle him? “With Bradley, I take it?” He’d like to know all about Bradley, like how close? For how long? And what did she feel for him now?

  She nodded and worried her lip.

  “He was the only one?” Not that it should matter how many men she’d been with. He’d never been a hypocrite about that kind of thing. But with her, he didn’t want there to be any others.

  She nodded again.

  Relief. And he was being a hypocrite.

  Needing to touch her, he ran his hand down her torso, past her budding breasts. This time she didn’t flinch as his fingers skimmed those sweet nipples. She seemed insecure about her body, about whether she was attractive. Hell, he’d never been so attracted to a woman. Delicate and finely made, she made him want to be tender and loving. He rested his palm upon the silky bare skin of her stomach. Lovely.

  Usually, he’d just shuck his clothes, enjoy a little foreplay, and then go at it hard and fast. Tonight he wanted to take his time, savor her like a fine wine, make it matter, make it memorable.

  The idea some other man had made it memorable for her was jabbing at him. “Bradley must have been a special man to get such a gift.” Why was he feeling jealous? It had been before he knew her and he’d never even met this Bradley.

  “Once I thought so,” she said. She ran her hand up his arm leaving a trail of heat before resting it on his shoulder.

  “He’s not now?” He swirled his thumb over her navel. Soft, smooth, warm skin. He nipped her shoulder. The fragrance of flowers was like incense, drugging him.

  Talking about a woman’s former lover when all he wanted was to bury himself deep within her wasn’t his smoothest move, but he had to know. It mattered. It shouldn’t have. He knew that. But it did.

  “No.” She shifted slightly, angling her neck for better access. He feathered kisses along its swanlike length. “And you? Was there…is there anyone special.”

  No. There was no one. Had been no one. Until now. “Just you.”

  She smiled, a lovable, enticing smile. “At this moment,” she said.

  Agree. Tell her it’s just this moment. That’s what she’s expecting. Saying anything else will set her up with expectations you may not be able to fulfill. She’s not going to run if you tell her it’s just for now. But his heart wasn’t listening to his mind. “No, darling. For more than this moment. Could be for much more.”

  Her arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer. Lips, soft and sweet, met his. He shifted, moved on top of her, covering the lithe body underneath him.

  “Your buckle,” she gasped.

  He jerked back, let go a curse. Already he’d hurt her. His thighs straddled her hips as he fumbled for the clasp.

  “Let me,” she said and reached for the belt.

  His heart was pounding as he watched her small hands undo the large silver buckle. His erection was pressing uncomfortably against the tight fabric. Watching her fingers brush against him made things a whole lot tighter. When the buckle was undone, her hand grazed his length as she tugged down the zipper. Damn, it was hot despite the air-conditioning.

  “I’ll take it from here,” he said. He pulled back from her and set a foot on the floor to steady himself. His cock jutted out as he slipped the jeans and underwear down his legs in one motion and then stepped out. When he turned to look at her, her eyes were wide and rounded.

  A satisfied smile claimed him. “Now I get to do you,” he said, as he climbed back on the bed. In one movement he drew the white cotton bikini pants down her limbs and off. A small sliver of curly corn silk guarded the juncture of her slender thighs.

  His erection throbbing with need, his pulse jumping with anticipation, he captured her hips, straddling her between his knees. He was going to make this good for her.

  Her fine-boned body was toned and sculpted, probably from the work she did at Sweet Water rather than any gym. Two small, pale, mounds topped by what looked like cinnamon candies called his attention. For some reason, she’d been skittish before when he’d touched her breasts. He hadn’t met a woman yet who hadn’t enjoyed his ministrations. Maybe her ex hadn’t known what to do to make it good for her, but he sure did.

  He ran his fingers up the cool skin of her abdomen until his palms rested right under those little sugar cookies. With practiced ease his thumbs flicked their hardened nubs.

  “Clay,” she whispered his name on a breathy breeze, but he couldn’t tell if it was aimed to stop him or convey her pleasure.

  “Let me have some fun, honey.”

  “I’m not, they’re not…”

  He glanced at her face. Her mouth was set in a tight line as if she was trying to hold something in. “You have beautiful breasts, Dusty. Perky. And your nipples are standing at attention which means they like what I’m doing.”

  “Perky?” Her mouth was agape.


  He had to chuckle; she looked so cute. “Yeah. And finely formed like the rest of you.”

  “But they’re not…”

  “Honey you ever hear the expression ‘size doesn’t matter’?”

  Her gaze traveled right to his member which was sticking out like it was reaching for her. Well, where that was concerned he’d like to think size did matter. He couldn’t stifle a chuckle as he swirled a palm over each of her breasts. She sighed and her eyelids closed. Just the reaction he’d hoped for.

  He leaned forward and nipped her ear, all the time massaging her pillow-soft breasts. “Giving you pleasure is giving me pleasure,” he whispered. “I do anything you don’t like, you tell me. But give me a chance to prove I can make it good for you.”

  She barely nodded, seemly lost in what he hoped was a whirlwind of sensation. He feathered kisses across her brow, now relaxed and smooth, and ran his tongue down the silky skin of her neck. He left a wet trail along her collarbone before shifting down to her pert little bosom. His tongue licked her nipple. She moaned. That was all the encouragement he needed. He took the nipple between his lips and suckled, drawing gently but firmly on her. She moaned and gave a little shudder. He shifted to the other one and repeated the attention. She arched her back as if asking him for more. He obliged.

  Lust was rolling through him like an avalanche. His member twitched as it rested against her leg. He went slower than ever and pulled up all his self-discipline to control the urge to take her hard and fast. But he had an idea it would all be worth it.

  When he kissed her again, her mouth fairly devoured his. Her hands grasped his bare back like she was holding on for the ride of her life. He hoped to give it to her. He deepened the kiss, probing and tasting with his tongue as he rubbed against her. He moved over her with a slow and measured rhythm, mimicking what he’d be doing inside of her. When she moaned against his mouth a deep tremor rumbled through him. He wanted more of her and something to distract him from the need pounding through him.