The Cowboy

by Vonna Harper, P. J. Mellor, Nelissa Donovan

  His need was a living, breathing thing. He wanted to bury himself so she didn’t know where he ended and she began.

  Frantic to touch and taste every inch of her, he was aware on some level of a difference. No matter what she claimed, this was not just sex. It was more.

  So much more.

  He had to make her understand.

  And admit it.

  Her thighs clamped his, her slender back arched. Her scream when she came echoed from the tiles of the bathroom walls.

  The sound, the feel, the smell, the taste all conspired to wrench his climax from him.

  Weak. God, he was so weak. What did sex with this woman do to him? He couldn’t remember ever being so wrung out.

  On his lap, she stirred and began to rise. He wanted to tell her to stop. Wanted to tell her how special she was to him. Wanted to tell her to wait for him to catch his breath, that he was just out of shape.

  Instead cool air bathed his sweating skin.

  “Tyler?” Her voice didn’t sound as winded as he felt. “Tyler!” Damn. She sounded odd.

  He cracked open one eye. “Huh?”

  “Where’s the plastic wrap?”

  11

  B oth gazes flew to his penis, which looked sort of bare and vulnerable, just hanging there, exposed.

  Shit. His first thought fell out of his mouth. “You had it last.”

  “Are you kidding?” She motioned toward something, but he was too distracted by the bobbing of her breasts. “Do something!”

  Do something. Right.

  “Now, don’t get all riled up.” He stood and walked toward her. “Let me help you.” He dropped to the floor, the tile grinding into his kneecaps. He petted her thighs apart. “That’s it, baby, relax. Don’t move.”

  He inserted a finger, ignoring the hot, slick moisture, and tentatively moved his fingertip.

  She gasped but did not move.

  “I think I feel the edge. Move your foot a little that way.” He nudged her leg, and she obeyed. Inserting the index finger of his other hand, he was able to grasp the edge.

  By the time he dragged the mess from her delectable body, his hand was drenched, and they were both experiencing altered breathing.

  He loved her. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know her name. It didn’t matter if she loved him back. It didn’t matter if they didn’t make love again. He loved her.

  And nothing would ever be the same.

  He watched her breasts rise and fall with her shallow panted breathing, the hard, puckered tips of her nipples. The unmistakable flush of sexual arousal colored her pale skin.

  He flipped on the light.

  Yep, her eyes were unfocused. She licked her lips, a pained expression on her face.

  She was hurting, needy. He could help her. He twisted the faucets.

  Lifting her into the refilled tub, he gently bathed her heated skin, smoothing body wash until she was restless and panting, shifting against the slick surface of the tub.

  Beneath the water he petted her, calmed her, then, ever so slowly, inserted his finger, worrying the pad of his thumb over her distended nub.

  She arched, her nipples protruding from the water. “Please,” she said in a scratchy voice. Her hand came up to cup her breast, offering it to him.

  He leaned closer to swipe his tongue over her nipple. They both groaned. He nipped the tip with his teeth, eliciting a gasp from her, although her eyes stayed closed.

  Watching her face while he pleasured her, he knew if he lived to be one hundred, he would always remember her like this.

  Gulping in air, she arched again, sloshing water from the tub, and then quieted.

  He reached for a bath sheet and lifted her from the tub, leaning her against his side while he dried her.

  After laying her on the sheets of his bed, he went to get the bottle of pear body lotion. Determined to deny his own gratification, he thoroughly massaged the lotion into her skin.

  She barely roused when he climbed in beside her and pulled the sheet over them.

  With a sigh she snuggled close to his heart.

  Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he heard her whisper, “Meg. My name is Meg.”

  12

  S unshine streaming through the open window woke him after the best night of his life. He couldn’t stop smiling. Meg. The future mother of his children was named Meg. He stretched and reached for Meg, only to encounter cold sheets. Other than a faint indention on the other pillow and a lingering scent of pear, it was like she had never been there.

  He tugged on his boxer briefs and slippers and headed toward the kitchen. As he suspected, it, too, was empty.

  A key sounded in the lock, and Meg let herself into the kitchen, a grocery bag in her hand.

  For a moment they stood, smiling at each other.

  Tyler rallied first and reached for the bag. Her continued stare caused a telltale lump in his boxers. Then he followed her gaze and wiggled his toes.

  She met his eyes and grinned. “Now, what do you call those things?”

  “They’re my house boots.” He stuck out his foot. “Like ’em? Gram had them made for me for Christmas a few years ago.”

  “Well, they’re unique.” She studied the brown felt. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen slippers that looked like cowboy boots.”

  “Yeah, cool, huh?” He peeked into the bag. “What did you get for breakfast? What’s this?” He pulled out a big green bottle. “Champagne? For breakfast?”

  She yanked the bottle out of his hand and placed it in the refrigerator. “I already made breakfast. It’s in the warming oven. I thought it might be nice to have mimosas.” She chewed her lower lips. “But if you don’t want any, I can always—”

  “No, darlin’ Meg, don’t be getting all bristly on me.” He nuzzled her neck, arousal slamming through him when she tilted her head for better access. “What’ve you got planned for today?”

  She went still.

  He stopped nuzzling and looked at the distress on her face. “What? You got a date or something? ’Cause if you do, break it. You’re officially out of circulation.”

  “Excuse me? What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean I’m putting my brand on you.” There. He’d officially declared his intentions. Only problem, she didn’t seem too taken with the idea. Not like he’d thought she would be, anyway.

  “Your—your brand! Have you totally lost your mind, cowboy? I’m not livestock!” She started to stalk past him, but he was faster. She shot him a withering look.

  Used to be a time when fast was a good thing.

  Damage control was needed. He stepped back and raked a hand through his hair then flashed a smile he knew had an effect on women.

  Evidently, not this woman.

  He huffed out a breath. “Could we start over?” He bent his knees to stare into her stormy blue eyes. “Please?”

  She visibly wilted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

  “True.” He smiled down at her. “Guess we need to get you over your fear of branding irons.”

  “Let’s just have breakfast and discuss instruments of torture later.”

  “Ahhh, I love the beach. No doubt about it, I could definitely get used to this.” Tyler tilted down his hat to shade his eyes and rested his mimosa on his tan belly.

  Meg glanced over at him and chewed the inside of her cheek. Should she mention the potential problems with his grandmother’s project?

  Tyler had been so sweet and helpful during breakfast. Floating in the pontoon lounge chairs while tethered to his grandmother’s dock was also his idea. And mimosas had never tasted so sweet.

  Despite self-preservation warnings, she was more than halfway in love with Tyler. She had to share her passion about the beach just as surely as she’d shown her passion for the man floating next to her.

  “I love it, too.” It was easier to talk with her eyes closed, face up to the sun. “That’s why I was so saddened by your grandmother’s decision t
o hook up with Roger Ferris.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?” Despite his lazy tone, he had an alertness to his voice that gave her courage to continue.

  “I grew up in Paradise Beach. My parents still live here. Every summer we rented a cottage here on the cove. My sister and I practically lived on the beach right up through college.” She took a sip of her drink. “It’s always been a safe haven. A family beach. But now…”

  “Now?” he encouraged.

  “Well, now, once the new gated community is built, the beach won’t be a family beach anymore. Access will be closed off.”

  He was silent for so long she thought he may have fallen asleep. Her eyes were definitely getting heavy from the combination of the relaxing rocking of the waves, her drink, and the sun. Not to mention her sexual escapades from last night.

  “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

  “I tried to talk to your grandmother when she first decided to go into business with Ferris Properties. I didn’t get far.”

  “Any idea who the grim reaper is?”

  Jerking at the mention of her alter ego, she lost her drink to the Gulf, and only some fast strategic moves prevented her from capsizing.

  “Grim reaper?” she asked when she regained her balance, trying to sound casual.

  He nodded, hat still pulled low over his eyes. “Yeah, surely you’ve seen her. Or heard her god-awful squawking through her bullhorn. She’s out here almost every morning and afternoon, protesting the building.” He snorted. “For all the good it’s done her.”

  “Do you agree with her?” She held her breath.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged. “Who am I to judge anything or anybody? I’m sure she thinks she’s right. But so does Roger Ferris.”

  “Roger Ferris is a slimeball!” She grasped the pontoon chair until she regained her balance again. “I mean, I’ve heard he isn’t the most reputable builder.”

  “Oh?” Tyler tipped his hat and looked over at her, causing her stomach to somersault again. “Why’s that?”

  She couldn’t tell him she worked for Roger and knew firsthand of his shady dealings. And she certainly couldn’t tell him she was the grim reaper. At least, not right now.

  So instead she strove for nonchalance and shrugged. “I think anyone who blocks public access to Paradise Cove is a jerk, plain and simple. The beach needs it. The people need it.”

  “I went and talked to Roger,” he said, once more sliding his hat low on his face. “He claims there is access—by water. Guess, legally, that’s all he has to have.”

  If she told him about the fences she had seen the purchase order for last week, he would want to know how she knew. Darn.

  “Not everyone has a way to get there by water,” she pointed out instead.

  “True.”

  They floated in silence for a while.

  “Meg?”

  “Hmmm?” Despite the sun charbroiling her, she was loathe to move, lethargic from the soothing tide, the champagne, and the contentment of being with the man next to her.

  “I’m feeling like I could stay on for more than eight seconds now.”

  She opened one eye and regarded his smiling face. If by some miracle they ended up together, she knew she would never live down that flippant remark. Her gaze swept him. She could live with that.

  “What did you have in mind, cowboy?”

  “I’m thinking maybe you could lose that little string you call a bathing suit and climb on over here and help me relieve some of my frustration.”

  His smooth drawl stroked her senses as surely as his calloused hands had stroked her skin all through the night.

  “I think we would capsize and both drown.” But what a way to go.

  “Then let’s try something else,” he said right next to her ear. She jerked and would have fallen had he not gripped her chair. For a big guy, he sure moved fast. And quietly. She hadn’t even heard him slip into the water.

  He slid the tips of his index fingers under the edges of her bikini top and skimmed the edges of her nipples. Her breath lodged. Her nipples immediately puckered, begging for more.

  “You have the fastest hands of anyone I’ve ever known,” she said in a breathless voice, watching her top float out to sea.

  “I hope so, darlin’, I surely hope so.” He closed his hands around each breast and lightly squeezed before taking one into his mouth and sucking deeply. “Damn, I love your tits,” he said, his breath hot against her nipple.

  Experiencing altered breathing, she forgot to be offended by his word choice.

  His talented hands slid down her sides and untied the strings holding her bikini bottom together.

  She meant to protest—after all, they were in public. But instead she lifted her hips, allowing him to remove the offending fabric and toss it aside.

  The warmth of the sun, combined with the warmth of the water resting at the juncture of her thighs, made her want to spread her legs for increased stimulation.

  Tyler’s hand did it for her.

  “Tyler—” She gripped the armrests and stiffened.

  “Shhh, darlin’, you’re fine. I got you. Relax.”

  And indeed he did have her. She was anchored firmly to the chair by his mouth on her right breast and his fingers buried deeply within her.

  The sun, the water, the man and his talented mouth and hands…all conspired to bring her to a lightning-fast climax that left her weak and panting.

  Through heavy eyelids she noticed a blob of fabric floating toward her suit that looked suspiciously like Tyler’s trunks.

  The next instant, the chaise rocked crazily, then righted itself, with Tyler stretched out on top of her, his erection prodding her. His big hands on either side of her face steadied her for his bone-melting kiss.

  “Hi,” he said when they broke for air, the tip of his nose touching hers.

  Up close she realized his eyes were really more turquoise than blue, with little flecks of gold in them.

  “Hi, yourself.” She carefully spread her legs as wide as possible to accommodate him without unseating them both. Every inch of skin pressed to Tyler’s skin burned with the contact. She wanted him. She needed him.

  She loved him?

  The very thought struck terror in her heart. What good was it to read the Powers of Seduction book if you fell in love with your first victim? Dang, she couldn’t do anything right.

  But she couldn’t let Tyler know. She’d been the one to insist they keep it casual. There was only one thing to do. Cringing at what she was about to say, she looked him in the eye and said, “Shut up and fuck me, cowboy.”

  13

  S omething flared in Tyler’s eyes but was quickly gone. Gaze locked with hers, he replied, “Yes, ma’am,” and plunged into her with enough force to set the chair rocking in the waves.

  With a squeak she grabbed his warm shoulders and held on. Within seconds the rhythm caught her up. Desperate for him and the pleasure he gave her, she gave in to her passion.

  Against its tether, the chair groaned and bucked with their movements. The rope grew slack and then taut, snapping with each thrust.

  Rushing to meet their climax, it hit them just as the rope gave its last hurrah, along with the chair. The resulting action plunged them deep into the boat channel beside the dock.

  Saltwater burned a path down her throat through her nose. Her vision was nothing but dark green water. Popping to the surface, coughing, she saw Tyler treading water a few feet away.

  He grinned, teeth white against his tanned face. “Woo-wee! Hot damn, what a ride!”

  Although she agreed, it was like a slap in the face to hear him say it. But what did she expect? It was what she’d wanted. Casual, no-strings-attached sex.

  Sometimes you had to be careful what you wished for.

  Back onshore she wrapped a towel around her nudity, avoiding Tyler’s lascivious glances. “I really should be going.” She slipped her feet into the flip-flops she’d left by the dock. “Tomorrow is a w
orkday, and I have a ton of laundry to do for the week.”

  He looked at her so long she had to force herself to stand still and not squirm beneath his rapt gaze. Finally he nodded.

  “Yeah, I have some stuff to do today, too. See you tonight?” he called as she turned to walk away.

  She pretended not to hear.

  Tyler sat on the porch watching the sunset and took a draw from his beer. Beside him the coals of the grill had turned to white dust. The steaks he’d planned for dinner were now inedible.

  Where was Meg? Why the hell hadn’t he thought to get her phone number?

  Maybe a miscommunication. Yeah, that had to be it. She was probably waiting for him on the beach, all that smooth, perfumed skin hot and ready for him.

  Practically tripping in his rush to get to her, he went to the stable and saddled a reluctant Jim in record time.

  The wind off the Gulf, the solid sound of hooves meeting packed sand, and the waves rushing to shore didn’t work their usual magic on him tonight.

  Tonight, he would not, could not be soothed by anything less than holding Meg in his arms again.

  He tipped his head to allow the breeze to caress his face and breathed in the sea air.

  He’d done it. And it was easier than he’d thought it would be.

  Not only had he made some calls and pulled strings to hopefully stop Roger Ferris from destroying the public beach, he’d sold his grandmother on the idea when she called.

  But his biggest and best accomplishment, in his opinion, was that he’d succeeded in turning over a new leaf. Not only that, he’d fallen in love. And with Meg at his side, he could do anything.

  After three or four passes up and down the cove, Jim’s steps slowed. By the tenth turn he headed back to the stables, and no amount of cussing or discussing could change his mind.

  The night was long and lonely, but Tyler used it to plan his strategy.

  First on the agenda was convincing the grim reaper to talk to him. He already had what he needed to force Roger to include a beach access road, but after talking to Meg about it, he would rather halt the project altogether. According to Tyler’s attorney, his grandmother would lose nothing, and the property would revert to her if the project folded at its current phase of completion. Maybe the grim reaper had some information he didn’t.