Six Weeks to Catch a Cowboy

by Brenda Harlen

  She’d nixed the petting idea in their conversation, but she didn’t protest when his hand slid from her hip, under the hem of her shirt, his callused palm creating delicious friction against her skin as it skimmed up her torso to her breast. And when his thumb brushed over the turgid peak through the delicate lace of her bra, she felt the rush of blood through her veins like molten lava, melting her bones, and she sighed with pleasure.

  “Maybe a little petting,” she allowed.

  He chuckled softly against her lips as his thumb circled around her nipple.

  Yes. Please. More.

  Her hips instinctively lifted.

  His unshaven jaw scraped against her tender skin as he kissed her throat.

  He found the center clasp at the front of her bra and released it, then pushed back the cups, baring her breasts to his gaze, his hands, his mouth.

  His hot, wet and oh-so-talented mouth.

  She knew that her breasts were on the smallish side of average. As a result, they didn’t get a lot of attention, even in intimate situations. Spencer was certainly remedying that now. His exploration was leisurely and thorough, and shifted from one aching peak to the other and back again. He nipped and nibbled, licked and suckled, until she was almost unbearably aroused.

  She drew up her knees to bracket his hips and tilted her pelvis, wordlessly urging him closer.

  He stilled, then lifted his head. “Was that—”

  “What?”

  The answer came in the form of a fat drop that hit her forehead and slid down her temple to disappear in her hair.

  “—rain?” he finished.

  But there was no longer any question that it was.

  He swore and rolled off her, beginning to gather up the remnants of their picnic while she refastened her bra and tugged her shirt back into place.

  What had started as sporadic drops quickly changed to a steady fall. By the time they were packed up and mounted on their horses again, it was a driving rain.

  A frigid driving rain.

  As if Mother Nature had decided they both needed a cold shower, and Kenzie shivered as water slid past the collar of her jacket and down the back of her shirt.

  She instinctively turned her mount back in the direction from which they’d come, but Spencer caught her reins in one hand and gestured to the hills with his other. “The hunting cabin is just over that ridge.”

  She nodded and followed his lead, grateful not to undertake a thirty-minute ride back to barn in these conditions.

  The cabin was less than five minutes away, but in only half that time, the icy rain had soaked through her denim jacket and jeans, chilling her to the bone.

  Spencer told Kenzie where to find the key near the front door, then waited until she’d unlocked the cabin and ducked inside before leading the horses to their nearby shelter.

  Though it was only midafternoon, the sky had gone dark. She looked around for a light switch, but found none. Apparently the cabin wasn’t just rustic but primitive. She did, however, find a kerosene lamp on the counter by the sink—which suggested running water, at least—and a box of wooden matches. She picked up the box of matches, then decided that Spencer wouldn’t be happy to come in and find she’d set the cabin on fire, and set it down again.

  At least her eyes had started to adjust to the dimness of the interior, so she looked around for supplies—specifically towels and blankets. The offerings were scarce: a couple of clean but threadbare towels from under the sink in the tiny bathroom, a woolen blanket laid across the foot of the solitary cot tucked into the corner of the main room and another tossed over the back of an ancient sofa.

  She removed her cross-body bag and her jacket, setting them both over the back of one of the mismatched chairs around a scarred wooden table. Her shirt was wet, too, and she was contemplating how to get dry without taking off her clothes when Spencer finally came in. Water poured off his hat when he hung it on a hook by the door. Then he dumped the saddlebags on the table and shrugged out of his coat.

  Moving to the fireplace next, he opened the damper then selected logs from the stockpile, assembling them in the grate with an easy confidence that assured Kenzie he’d done this once or twice before. He topped off the stack of wood with paper and twigs and struck a match. In no time at all, the kindling was fully engaged, flames crackling and dancing.

  “That should warm this place up in short order,” he told her.

  “I h-hope so.”

  His brows drew together. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”

  She nodded.

  He yanked his boots off his feet, then quickly stripped out of his shirt and jeans, leaving him clad in only a pair of knit boxer briefs and wool socks. He should have looked ridiculous. To Kenzie, those long, muscled legs, taut abs, broad shoulders and strong arms were ridiculously tempting.

  He scooped up the wet garments and laid them out on another one of the chairs that he moved closer to the fire to speed up the drying process. She quickly averted her gaze so that he wouldn’t catch her staring.

  He pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and draped it over her shoulders. “Clothes off,” he instructed firmly.

  She might have made some joke about expecting a guy to buy her dinner before she got naked with him, but her teeth were clenched together to prevent them from chattering, so she only nodded.

  He moved away—perhaps to give her some privacy—and busied himself tending to the fire. Not that it needed tending, judging by the tongues of flame that eagerly licked the dry wood. But her fingers were too cold to work the buttons of her shirt. When he turned around again, she’d only managed to release the first two.

  Realizing it wasn’t reticence but numbness that slowed her progress, he brushed her hands away and made quick work of the remaining buttons. He set another chair by the fire and draped her shirt over the back of it. She pulled the sides of the blanket together, to cover her pink lace bra.

  “Jeans, too,” Spencer told her.

  She managed the snap and the zipper but struggled to get the damp denim over her hips. A task made even more difficult because she was pushing at her pants with only one hand while holding on to the blanket with the other.

  He took pity on her again, working the fabric down her legs. Of course, he couldn’t get the pants off with her boots on, and he gently nudged her down onto the sofa and knelt on the floor in front of her to relieve her of her footwear and then the jeans. His movements were brisk and efficient, but she was aware of the intimacy of their position and their near-nakedness, and a fire started to flicker low in her belly to rival the heat from the hearth.

  He looked up at her. Though his face was mostly in shadow, their gazes met and held for a long moment. Then he abruptly stood up and turned away, busying himself by setting her clothes out alongside his own.

  She pulled the blanket tighter around her body, but the coarse fabric felt scratchy against her bare skin and abraded her chilled nipples even through the lace of her bra.

  He took her hand and drew her to her feet again, urging her closer to the fire. As the warmth of the flames began to penetrate the chill that enveloped her, she sighed in blissful relief.

  He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, through the blanket, to increase the circulation of her blood and speed up the warming process. “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Much. Thanks.”

  “Well, that’s the last time I’m going to disregard a weather warning from Gramps,” he assured her.

  “I didn’t believe it, either,” she said. “Until the sky got really dark really fast.”

  “I haven’t been out here in so long, I almost forgot about the cabin,” he admitted. “But I’m not surprised Gramps keeps it stocked for emergencies. There’s enough wood to keep the fire going for days, a cupboard full of canned goods and a couple of jugs of water.”


  “Right now, I’d gladly trade a can of beans for a hair dryer,” she told him.

  “A hair dryer’s pretty useless without electricity,” he pointed out.

  “True,” she acknowledged, wrapping the towel around her braid so that she could squeeze some of the water out.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She moved a tentative step closer. He uncurled her fingers from the towel and pulled it away from her hair. Then he tugged the elastic fastener from the end and began to separate the wet strands. His touch was gentle, and somehow intimate, as he worked his way toward her scalp, his fingers patiently combing through her hair to remove any tangles. When the braid was completely undone, he picked up the towel again and rubbed it over her head.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” he said gruffly.

  They were silent for a moment, each huddled in their respective blankets, watching the fire.

  “Are you starting to thaw out yet?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  In fact, she was starting to feel very warm.

  And unexpectedly bold.

  For weeks now, the attraction had been simmering quietly in the background while they focused on other things—his daughter being the most obvious and important one. But now, there were no other things. No distractions. They were isolated here, a man and woman alone—and more than halfway to naked.

  Maybe there were a thousand reasons she should huddle inside her blanket until the storm passed and their clothes were dry. But there was at least one compelling reason not to play it safe: she wanted him. And she suspected that if she wasted this opportunity, she’d spend another seven years wondering “what if?”

  “There’s probably whiskey in the cupboard,” he said. “If you want something to help warm you from the inside.”

  “Let’s try this instead,” she suggested, and leaned closer to touch her mouth to his.

  * * *

  Just like that night in the hayloft, she made the first move. Unlike that night, this was a woman who knew what she wanted—and she wasn’t shy about communicating it to him.

  She let the blanket fall open, so that she could press herself against him. She wasn’t quite naked, but the scraps of lace that covered her breasts and bottom were more seduction than substance, and Spencer was unable to prevent his body’s instinctive response to her and—in his current state of undress—helpless to hide it. She pressed closer and rubbed playfully against him, leaving him in no doubt that she was aware of his arousal—and thrilled in it.

  She parted his lips with her tongue, stroked the inside of his mouth with tantalizing little licks. At sixteen, she’d been shy about French kissing. She wasn’t shy anymore. She was bold and hot and she completely stole his breath.

  She continued to kiss him as she reached a hand between their bodies and stroked the hard length of him through his briefs, murmuring a low sound of approval as she traced his shape and size, from base to tip.

  His eyes crossed with lust. “What are you doing, Kenzie?”

  “You’re a smart guy—I’m sure you can figure it out.”

  “I’m trying to figure out what’s gotten into you,” he admitted.

  “I’m hoping—” she nipped playfully at his bottom lip “—it’s going to be you.”

  His fingers encircled her wrist to remove her hand, because there was no way he could be expected to concentrate on conversation when she was touching him like that. “How much of that wine did you drink? Are you drunk?”

  Her throaty laugh hit low in his belly. “No, Spencer, I’m not drunk.” She nibbled the underside of his jaw, then drew the lobe of his ear into her mouth. “I just figured that, since we’re both mostly naked anyway, we might as well take advantage of the situation.”

  “You said you didn’t want this,” he reminded her.

  Reminded himself.

  Because he’d always respected the word no and she’d said it loud and clear. Of course, she’d pretty much nullified that directive by sliding her tongue into his mouth, but still.

  “I lied,” she said, unapologetically.

  “Why?” he cursed himself for asking the question.

  Did it matter why?

  Did anything matter except that she obviously wanted him as much as he wanted her?

  “Because I didn’t want to want it,” she confided. “Because I should have stopped wanting you a long time ago. But I think I’ve wanted you, wanted this, since I saw you sitting on my massage table that first day.”

  He’d fought against wanting her. Wanting this. And it had been a losing battle from the start.

  Still, he made one last-ditch effort to do the right thing.

  “You also said that you wanted more than heat and passion,” he recalled.

  “I’ve decided that, for right now, heat and passion are enough.”

  It was all he’d ever wanted before. But he’d never been with a woman that he cared about as much as he cared about Kenzie, and he suspected the no-strings sex she was advocating wouldn’t be enough—for either of them.

  “So what do you say we agree to enjoy some fun and games together until it’s time for you to ride off into the sunset again?” she suggested.

  And then, in case the words weren’t incentive enough, she dropped the blanket.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I guess you’re not cold anymore,” he remarked inanely.

  “I’m so cold I’m numb,” she said, stepping closer so that her body brushed against his. “But I’m trusting you can warm me up.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

  He held her gaze as he spread the blanket on the floor, close enough to absorb heat from the fire but not so close as to be in danger from any wayward sparks, then he slowly eased her down onto it.

  Maybe he hadn’t been waiting for this for seven years, but he wanted it now. Wanted her with an unexpected and intense hunger that might have worried him if he’d given it too much thought. But right now, he was more focused on doing than thinking.

  He took his time removing her sexy underwear, exploring her body with his hands and his mouth, discovering her curves, savoring her sweetness. Her breasts were small and firm; her nipples rosy and erect. Irresistible. He lowered his head and took one of those nipples between his lips, drew it into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. She sighed and moaned, telling him without words what she liked...and what she really liked.

  Then she took his hand and guided it to where she wanted it—between her thighs. He would have made his way there eventually, but she was in a hurry. Demanding.

  And damn but her impatience was incredibly arousing.

  He parted the soft curls, the slick folds of skin. She was already wet, more than ready. His mouth shifted to her other breast as he continued his intimate exploration, circling the sensitive nub with his thumb as he dipped a finger inside. He suckled her nipple, groaned as she flooded his hand.

  So much for taking it slow. Her eager response snapped the last restraint on his desire, and he slid lower, kissing and licking his way down her body, his own wants fueled by the soft, sexy sounds she was making. He tasted her wetness, her sweetness, his tongue lapping up her juices, drinking in the heady flavor of her arousal.

  “Spencer...please.”

  It pleased him to please her, to watch and witness her undoing as she came apart in his arms. Passionately. Completely.

  He started to shed his briefs, eager—almost desperate—to bury himself deep in the welcoming haven between her thighs. He just needed to reach into the nightstand—

  He swore.

  She blinked, confused by his sudden withdrawal. “What...where are you going? Don’t you want to...”

  “I want to,” he assured her. “More than you can possibly imagine. But I don’t have—” he
huffed out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t prepare for this to happen.”

  “Oh.” She exhaled, sounding relieved. “If that’s all...inside pocket of my bag.”

  He found her bag—and the promised condom. Actually, there was more than one little square packet in there, assuring him that they wouldn’t get bored if the rain continued through the rest of the afternoon.

  When he returned to the blanket, she rose up onto her knees to take the condom from his hand, carefully tearing it open and unrolling it over his rigid length.

  Just like when he was eighteen, her touch nearly undid him.

  Thankfully, he had more experience and stamina now, and he gritted his teeth and held on to the slippery thread of control.

  Then she leaned back on the blanket and drew him down with her, her knees bracketing his hips, her mouth seeking and finding his.

  “Now,” she whispered against his lips.

  He didn’t make her wait any longer for what they both wanted.

  In one smooth stroke, he was buried deep. He captured her mouth again, swallowing her blissful sigh, and began to move. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him close, holding on, as their bodies merged and mated, seeking and finding a rhythm that drove them both inexorably toward the pinnacle of pleasure.

  His hands fisted in the blanket as he teetered on the brink, fighting for control. But she was already off-balance, starting to fall. And the rippling waves of her climax washed him over the edge right after her.

  When he’d caught his breath and regained some strength, he gathered her close and rolled over, so that she was on top now, draped over him like a blanket. She tucked her head against his shoulder and exhaled another blissful sigh.

  “Now that’s what I call riding out a storm,” Kenzie murmured, when her heart rate had slowed to something approximating normal.