by JoAnn Ross
“Of course I didn’t imagine that I’d edit a magazine exactly like Hunk of the Month back when I was a little girl—”
“That was probably a relief to your mom.” He’d no sooner said the words than Lucky wished he could recall them. “Hell,” he muttered, “I’m sorry, Jude. I forgot about you losing your mother.”
“That’s all right. It was a long time ago. I’ve gotten over it.” Except when I hear a siren, she thought. Or catch a whiff of smoke.
“How did it happen? Was she sick? Or did she have an accident?”
“It was Christmas Eve.” Jude had never told the story to anyone. Her father, who believed in the power of inner strength, had encouraged her to swallow her grief and fear and move on. And she mostly had, except for those occasional flashes of memory that still possessed the power to chill her blood and make her feel five years old again. “We’d all gone to bed, but I’d sneaked downstairs again and was hiding behind my father’s chair, hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus.”
“I can remember doin’ the same thing,” Lucky told her. “But I camped out on the roof.”
“In December?” It was a wonder he hadn’t frozen to death.
He slipped an arm around her in that same easy gesture he had that first night. Just as it had when they’d been sitting on the swing out on the front porch, the light touch of his hand on her shoulder caused her heart to skip a beat.
“I didn’t say I stayed out there very long,” he said with a quick grin that gave her a very good idea of what this man must have looked like when he was five years old.
It was amazing that he’d grown up to be so responsible, since Jude knew that she, for one, would have difficulty disciplining a child who possessed such a winning smile. The kind of smile designed to coax females of all ages out of warm cookies or the keys to the truck. And, in later years, she had no doubt he used the sensual talent to coax women into bed.
“So.” His voice broke into her thoughts, which were threatening to turn erotic on her yet again. “You were telling me about the night you lost your mama.”
It was too beautiful a night for this. Tailor-made for romance, not sad memories. “I don’t understand what this has to do with what we’re doing out here.”
“What we’re supposed to be doin’ out here is getting to know each other,” he reminded her.
“I suppose that is what we agreed to.” She remembered discussing that, but when he’d invited her on this drive tonight, she’d had a much different scenario in mind.
“Before we get naked,” he reminded her.
She laughed and shook her head. “You truly are the most straight-talking man I’ve ever met.”
“I told you, darlin’, what you see is pretty much what you get.”
And what she’d seen thus far was glorious. “There isn’t all that much to tell,” she murmured. “I fell asleep, of course. But there was a short in the wiring of the outdoor lights, which started a fire on the roof. My father managed to find me in time to get me out of the house. But my mother died of smoke inhalation.”
At least that’s what they’d always told her. And coward that she was, she’d never dared press for any more information.
“That’s rough.” His wide hand soothed her shoulder, his cheek was on the top of her head.
“It does tend to make me more than a bit ambivalent toward Christmas,” she admitted.
“You need to spend one here. We’d keep you so busy climbing all over our mountain, looking for the perfect Christmas tree, and eating Buck’s cookies—”
“Buck makes Christmas cookies?”
“The man’s a regular Julia Child. Or Keebler elf.”
“I wouldn’t advise calling him that last name to his face.”
“Good idea.” His laugh exploded from him, expelling the potentially depressing mood that had threatened. “So, what about your dad?”
“He died last year. On the golf course.”
“Although it’s too bad for you, it probably wasn’t such a bad way to go,” Lucky suggested. “Doing what he liked.”
“I suppose not.” She decided not to contradict him by saying that everyone who ever knew John Lancaster would have expected him to go out while sitting behind his desk, barking orders. Which was, she’d often thought, what he really liked to do best.
She sighed. Lucky sighed.
“I guess this wasn’t the best idea after all,” he said.
“No. It was a great idea.” She turned toward him, surprised to find that their faces were so close together. All she’d have to do to kiss him would be to lean forward the least little bit....
“Favorite ice cream,” he said suddenly, shattering yet another sensual fantasy.
“Butter pecan,” she answered off the top of her head. “How about you?”
“Vanilla.”
She was not surprised.
“With chocolate sauce.”
The way he was looking at her, his eyes gleaming as if she were a hot fudge sundae made Jude tingle all the way to her toes.
Determined to take things slowly, to get to know her before ripping the clothes off that trim little body, Lucky stomped down the image of pouring Hershey’s sauce all over Jude, then licking it off.
“Favorite vacation spot,” he said. “Mountains or the beach?”
“The mountains,” she answered promptly, not adding that until recently she would have chosen the beach. Every beach boy, pirate, tropical lagoon fantasy she’d ever indulged in paled in comparison to the idea of making love to Lucky in some high country meadow. Or one of the natural hot springs Zach had told her about while they’d been rounding up the bulls.
“Mine, too, which probably doesn’t make a lick of sense, since I already live in them. But I’ve never been all that fond of sand. It can get in some really uncomfortable places, if you know what I mean.”
Oh, she most definitely did. Especially since she was currently vividly aware of those particular places which were feeling more and more uncomfortably hot.
“Favorite movie.”
“I suppose that’s a four-way tie. Anything with Tom Cruise. While You Were Sleeping. Sleepless in Seattle. And Ghost.”
“Ah, the high-powered career lady is a closet romantic.”
She tossed her head. “Something wrong with romance?”
“Nothing at all.”
His gaze was warm enough to melt her into a puddle of desire on the floor of his pickup cab. “How about yours?”
“How about my what?” He was looking at her mouth. Jude thought if he didn’t kiss her soon, she’d have to throw herself at him.
“Favorite movie.”
“Oh.” He seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. “Young Guns. Comes a Horseman. Oh, and Old Yeller.”
“The one about the dog getting rabies?”
“That’s it. Every time I see that movie, I bawl my eyes out.” His gaze, which had been centered on her lips, moved upward to her eyes. “Guess I shouldn’t have told you that.... You’ll probably think I’m a big old sissy.”
“No one could ever think that.” She touched her fingers to his cheek, felt a muscle clench, and knew that he was no less affected by the tension that was strung between them as tight as barbwire.
He cupped her chin in his hand; his thumb brushed against her lips. “Jude—”
“Yes.” Her lips parted at the softly stroking touch, the single word expelled on a breath of warm need.
He needed no further invitation. His mouth captured hers, crushing, conquering, as he pulled her onto his lap and held her tight against him.
His teeth, scraping over her lower lip, dazed. His mouth, as it drank deeply, insistently from hers, stole the very breath from her lungs. The passion that had been simmering beneath the surface since that shared kiss in the barn sparked like a Wyomi
ng wildfire. Jude gasped as he tugged her shirt free of her waistband and shoved his hands beneath it, his fingers digging into her waist as he rotated her hips against the huge hard bulge in his loins. Control shattered, Jude clung to his shoulders, willing to go wherever he took her, eager to ride him all night long as he began touching her, stroking her, wherever he could reach.
A ragged curse felt like a hot wind against her mouth as he struggled with the catch of her bra. He tore at it in the same way he’d torn at her self-control from that first meeting, ripping it away.
He cupped her breasts in those wide dark hands she’d seen wield a rope with unerring accuracy. His callused thumbs rasped against her ultrasensitive nipples like sandpaper, wrenching an involuntary whimper from her ravished lips.
She could have screamed when he suddenly stopped the painfully pleasurable caress. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Desperate, she arched against him. “Never.” Her avid mouth ate into his. She ripped open his shirt, as she had in the barn. “I need...” She pressed her open mouth against his rib cage. “I want...” Her voice drifted off as the dark male taste emanating from his hot damp flesh intoxicated her.
“Sweet heaven.” Lucky moaned and tore at her belt, gaining access to the metal button at her waist. Displaying the strength that allowed him to control a thousand pounds of horse and chase down a ton of bull, he lifted her up with one hand, while yanking the zipper down with the other. “I want you, too, darlin’. All of you.”
His touch was profoundly intimate and possessive. His fingers delved deep, then deeper still, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, claiming every ounce of her control, claiming her in a primal way that went beyond the physical. And even as she struggled to maintain some ragged grasp on sanity, he touched her sensitive bud with his thumb, a swift, practiced stroke that sent a series of convulsions ripping through her.
Jude cried out and would have pulled away, but he refused to release her, holding her tight, his arm locked around her like an iron band, as he wrenched climax after shuddering climax from the body she no longer controlled. Just when she was certain she had no more to give, he proved her wrong. He swallowed her strangled cry, kissing her until the storm had passed.
She had no idea how long she lay there, limp and exhausted in his arms, gasping for breath. It was as if having spun out of its axis, the planet had now ceased spinning altogether.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” The blood was still pounding thickly in her ears, making his deep voice sound as if it were coming from far away. His hand still cupped her intimately, but with tenderness now, rather than passion. “How you make me feel?”
As Jude struggled to focus on the meaning of his words she felt the unmistakable proof of his still unsatiated arousal beneath her bottom and belatedly realized how selfish she’d been.
“I’m sorry. It’s your turn—”
As she turned her attention to his gleaming silver buckle, he forestalled her, holding both her wrists with one hand.
“That’s not what I mean.... Well, perhaps it is,” he admitted, as his body swelled even harder in anticipation of the sweet touch he seemed determined not to allow. As his deep chuckle vibrated through her, Jude thought it said a great deal about Lucky O’Neill’s character that he could find humor in this situation. “What I meant was, do you realize the number you do on my self-control?”
“Your self-control?” If she’d had the energy left, she would have laughed at that. “You’re not exactly the one turned inside out here, cowboy.”
Her heart did a little stutter step as he treated her to another of those dazzling grins that she’d come to realize made him the irresistible man he was even more than his thick hair and muscle-roped arms.
“Is that a compliment I hear coming from those tender, petal pink lips, New York?”
“Of course it is.” She smiled back, wondering why it was that she, who had always managed to avoid talking about sex in the past, even afterward—especially afterward—felt so comfortable now. “I realize you’ll probably think this is a horrendous cliché, but I never knew I could have more than one...well...” So much for feeling comfortable. As Jude felt the heat flood into her face, she was grateful for the darkness. “You know.”
“Yeah.” He touched his smiling lips to hers. “I know.”
The kiss started out soft, but as he slowly deepened it, degree by devastating degree, Jude was stunned to feel a renewed stir of desire.
“I want you,” she murmured raggedly as his lips plucked at hers and his fingers began making sensual little figure eights through the silky hair at the juncture of her thighs, which were beginning to tremble all over again.
“Aw sweetheart, I want you, too.” He parted the soft swollen flesh, dipped a finger into her wet warmth and drew a shimmering sound that was half sigh, half moan.
“Not that way,” Jude said, even as her rebellious body—which definitely had a mind of its own—arched against the intimate touch. “I want you inside me. All of you.”
“I want that, too,” he repeated. Then cursed, released her lips and rested his forehead against hers. “But the thing is, darlin’, I really didn’t plan for this.”
“That’s all right.” She drew away, framed his atypically somber face between her palms and bestowed her sweetest, most seductive smile upon him. “Some of the best things in life are spontaneous.”
With desire thrumming anew through her veins, Jude wasn’t about to admit that she couldn’t recall the last time she’d done anything spontaneous. Other than follow Lucky to Wyoming, she considered on an afterthought. And look how lovely that had turned out.
“The point is...dammit,” he cursed again through clenched teeth as she stroked her palm across the placket of his jeans. The denim was straining from the heavy male bulge. “The point—and dear Lord, I do have one—” he rasped, “is that I didn’t exactly come here tonight prepared to make love to you.”
He fisted his hand in her hair, lifted her gaze to his, and sighed heavily. “The way I see it, we have two choices.”
“What are they?” If they kept talking much longer, she was going to grasp hold of the reins of control again, yank down that damn zipper and take him in her mouth. The way she’d dreamed last night. Slowly. Deeply...
His next words jerked her from that erotic fantasy.
“We can go back to the Double Ought and I’ll drive into Cremation Creek at first light tomorrow morning and—”
“That’s not an option.”
“Darlin’, I was hoping you’d say that.” He put his hands under her arms, lifted her as easily as if she were a feather and deposited her back onto her seat. “Buckle up.”
“What?” She stared at him as if he’d suddenly begun speaking a foreign language.
“It’s the law. Drivers and passengers have to buckle up when the truck’s moving.”
“We’re moving?” When he started the engine, she did as instructed. “Where are we going?”
“To Cremation Creek.”
“Oh, no.” She groaned and slumped back onto the seat and told herself she should have seen this one coming. “We’re going to the Feed and Fuel for condoms, aren’t we?”
His answering grin was filled with admiration and promise and sexy as hell. “I knew you were as smart as a whip, New York.”
Knowing that it would do her no earthly good to argue, Jude sat back, gazed out at the wide star-spangled sky and decided, for once in her life, to go with the flow.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE DRIVE TO Johnny Murphy’s Feed and Fuel seemed to take forever. Anticipation thrummed in the cab of the pickup, like electricity through a high-voltage wire. There was a thunderstorm in the distance; sulfurous flashes of lightning lit up the horizon along with the dusty red glow of the wildfires that were still burning out of control.
“Do you
think the fires will reach us?” she asked.
Now that he knew her family history, Lucky understood the reason for the uncharacteristic nervousness he’d heard in her voice whenever she mentioned the fires.
“Nah,” he assured her with more conviction than he felt, as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “The wind’s blowing the wrong way.”
“But it could change.”
“True. But we’d have plenty of warning, Jude.” He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss against her knuckles. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
She desperately wished she could believe him. But old fears, it seemed, ran deep. “It would be such a shame,” she murmured, “if your hay would burn up before you could get it in.” He’d told her that next week he was planning to begin cutting the native wheat grass hay they used to feed the cows during the long cold winters.
“We’d just have to buy some off Johnny, or some other rancher,” he said. Such a nonchalant attitude, she guessed, was necessary to a man who depended on the vagaries of nature. “Thanks to you and your hunk magazine, we’ll have enough money to buy all we may need.”
“It really is going to be a terrific issue, Lucky. I knew you were going to look sexy, but believe me, you’re going to be our best hunk yet.”
He laughed to hide his embarrassment. Although as the day had gone by, he’d begun to relax just a little—thanks in part to Zach Newman’s casual, matter-of-fact work attitude—the idea of an O’Neill man posing for such a magazine still proved more than a little discomfiting.
“If I look sexy, it’s because of you.”
“Me?”
“Because of what I’m thinking. Because I look over at you and imagine all the things I want to do to you. With you.” He turned their still-joined hands and touched the tip of his tongue to the center of her palm, creating an instantaneous spark of heat she imagined she could hear sizzling in the stillness of the night. “Of all the things I want you to do to me. With me.”
“I know.” She’d seen the lust in his gaze as he’d looked up at her from his bed of wildflowers in the meadow, felt his hunger as she’d leaned over the stock tank to arrange the frothy bubbles. “I’ve been thinking all those things. And more.” Her voice was soft and faint, as if coming from one of the sensual dreams she’d been suffering while tossing and turning in Kate’s teenage bed.