by Sonja Gunter
“I’m not sure why you’re letting this affect you like it does. It happened,” she reminded him and strode to the door. “We got married. We didn’t have sex. They’re showing the truth. I’ve nothing to hide. Do you?”
“No, I don’t . . .”
Not giving Allan time to respond, Rosalind unfastened the door. Immediately they were surrounded by reporters with microphones and cameras.
“Are you and Mr. Smith married?”
“Did you file for a divorce, Mrs. Smith?”
“Who was the mastermind behind this scam?”
She stood stone-faced. The pressure of Allan’s hand on her back was oddly reassuring. The crowd of people moved closer.
Finally she snapped, “You’re trespassing on private property. I have no comment. You all need to leave.” Rosalind disregarded Allan’s whispered words to stay calm and marched toward Sheriff Hoffman.
“Mr. Smith, why did you pick a cowgirl to marry? She doesn’t compare to the beautiful women you’ve dated in the past.”
Rosalind halted in mounting anger. Allan ran into her. She shook off his hand, but he took hold of her arm. As she twisted to free herself, he released her but stepped in front of her.
“Allan, move aside.”
He ignored her. “People . . . people, please excuse us. My wife informed you all you’re on private property. If you choose to stay, the sheriff will have to arrest all of you.”
Sheriff Hoffman pushed forward. “Everyone move aside. The Smiths have asked you to leave.”
The men and women slowly moved and formed a path, their questions ceasing for the moment. Allan grasped her hand and maneuvered her through the crowd of media personnel as they resumed shouting questions.
Inside the warmth of the house Rosalind’s embarrassment bloomed beyond the point of no return. She fell against the wall as tears flooded her eyes. She bowed her head to hide them, but he pulled her into the safety of his arms.
“I’m so sorry. The media can be cruel.”
His soft words surprisingly calmed her. Yet she had to wonder why he’d stayed. True, she was a nobody. Yet he kissed her as if he cared.
“Why don’t you sign the divorce papers and leave? You’ve won. We slept together. You’ve made my life miserable, and I don’t need this now,” she sobbed, even as she wanted to remain in the comfort of his embrace.
“Rosalind—”
A knock on the door interrupted.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she whispered.
“Go upstairs and lie down. I’ll take care of everything.”
Before she could protest he took her face in his hands and kissed her. This time his kiss was gentle, different from the one in the woods.
“I’m holding you to the invitation in your kiss. Go on, we’ll talk later.” He turned her around so she faced the stairs and pushed her toward them. She wiped at her tears. A second knock prompted her to move faster. Before heading upstairs she took off her boots, not wanting to leave a wet trail of snow.
Allan had opened the front door. “Hello, Sheriff Hoffman.”
“Mr. Smith, I’m sorry. They’re leaving. I’ll have someone stationed out by the road. I noticed the new gate. Do you know how they got it opened?”
Rosalind paused to listen to Sheriff Hoffman and Allan.
“It was opened for a special delivery. Will you be making sure they don’t step foot on my wife’s property?”
“Yes, sir. Everything’s in place. A squad car is on its way to park at the entrance. You might want to install a video camera.”
A small grin eased some of her saddened mood. He hadn’t claimed her property as his. A small sliver of her independence was still intact. Rosalind took the stairs two at a time, their voices disappearing. Instead of lying down like Allan suggested, she went straight to the bookshelf in her bedroom. Pulling out an old photo album, she flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted.
She touched the photograph. “Dad. Mom. What am I doing? Everyone is gone and I’ve made a mess of my life.”
The family picture had been taken a few days before her parents’ deaths. Her mother’s hand was on Rosalind’s rear, helping her mount the racehorse Mom owned, while her dad held the reins.
Look at our smiles. Was that why she hadn’t pressured Allan into leaving? Could he make those feelings return?
She heard the front door shut, clutched the photo album, and drifted to the window. A line of vehicles headed toward the road. Sheriff Hoffman and his deputies were getting into their cars too.
Would Allan be coming to claim her—make love to her? If he did, should she let him? Rosalind straightened and lowered the album, her thoughts as crazy as popcorn popping in a pan. Nothing was making sense to her.
The stairs creaked.
Hurriedly, she shoved the album onto the shelf. She looked to the bed and then the window seat, not sure what to do.
If she sat on the bed it might imply she wanted him. If she sat on the window seat—
“Why aren’t you resting?” He stood in the doorway.
“I didn’t . . . I see everyone’s left. What did Sheriff Hoffman have to say?” Her tongue felt thick and her voice sounded raspy to her own ears.
Allan leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. Who needed cowboys in Wrangler jeans? She moistened her lips.
“Yes, all the trespassers have left. The sheriff has assured me an officer will be parked out by the entrance. He suggested putting in a camera,” Allan said.
“A camera? We don’t . . .”
Her breath caught with each step he took. One. Two. Three. She staggered backward and slumped into the window seat as he stood within arm’s reach.
“Your social status has changed, whether you like it not. I’ll call around and have one installed.”
His next stride brought him inches from her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. She cleared her throat to corral her roaming sexual desires.
“It’s okay,” she demurred. “I’ll get Max or one of the others to do it in the morning.”
“Are you sure? I’d like to help.”
She hesitated. His fingers massaged her shoulder and the tension eased.
“Have you—when will you be leaving? I’ve told you before, I need to practice for my upcoming competition. I’ll need the money to—”
“I’m not leaving. I’ve decided to stay and help you through the championship. I doubt we’ve seen the last of the media. Besides, we’ve got a date for this afternoon.” Allan knelt in front of her, slid his hands to her face, and tilted it until her eyes met his.
Then his mouth took hers, pressuring her lips apart. Before he could succeed, she nudged him away.
“Don’t. This isn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t have encouraged you this morning. The reporters are right, you need to go back home—back to New York, to the life you’re accustomed to.”
She refused to look at him.
Before she made a fool of herself and Allan figured out she’d fallen for him, he needed to go. He could have any woman. Why would he ever want her?
He just shook his head. “I can’t. I made a promise to Sam. He asked me to stay and see you complete your competition no matter what happened. My word is as good as gold. You’re stuck with me until then.”
“This is wrong. Neither of us wants to be tied down.”
“I say we make the best of our . . . situation. My appetite for some afternoon delight needs to be satisfied. Let me pleasure you. Our first time was rushed,” he said softly.
Against her better judgment, Rosalind let Allan brush his lips on hers. In a slow seduction he nuzzled her lower lip and freed her shirt. His cold hands prickled her skin. She gasped.
His fingers weren’t calloused, but smooth.
They roamed her shoulder blades and unhooked her bra. She fought against the agonizing, but welcome desire.
Why not enjoy what he’s offering? He’s a damn good kisser.
Succumbing to the crazy moment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer. Their tongues devoured each other’s mouths.
He joked, “Do I need to be afraid of any hidden knife?”
“It depends, if you please me or not,” she whispered.
He laughed richly, lifted her into his arms, and carried her the few steps to the bed. She took the lead and started to unbutton her shirt, but he stopped her.
“No. I want to undress you.”
And he did. One button at a time until her shirt opened. His fingers stroked her bare skin and slid her shirt off her shoulders, immobilizing her arms.
Rosalind shivered as his lips touched her skin. His mouth left a fiery trail from her shoulder to her neck. As her own needs leapt swiftly, she tilted her head to allow him full access to the spot below her ear. His tongue, teeth, and lips sent explosive currents through her.
“Allan . . .”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Ohhhh, mmmm . . .”
“I’ll take it as a no.” His whisper was a gush of warm air in her ear.
Lost in the sweet euphoria, she moaned again as he nibbled her earlobe. Allan traced her rose tattoo with his fingertips.
“Your breasts are beautiful. Women pay thousands of dollars to have them look like yours. This rose is so delicate and enticing.”
She smiled. Only one other person had ever seen it. Tom. He hadn’t liked it, said it was the mark of a slut. Allan, on the other hand, appreciated the rose’s beauty. She slid to the center of the bed, allowing room for him.
Before he joined her, he discarded his shirt and shoes. Once he was next to her, Rosalind’s hands explored his chest, enjoying the texture of the coarse hairs.
Allan tugged her belt off, unzipped her jeans, and yanked them open.
“Blue lacy thong? Aren’t such things incredibly scandalous for a cowgirl?”
“And what are you wearing, boxers? You being an uppity businessman and all.”
He grinned, then placed a tender kiss on her bellybutton. She shuddered in pleasure. He continued a path of kisses and nips, down to her panties.
“I’ll need your help here. Your jeans are tight. Not that I’m complaining.”
She laughed and wiggled out of her jeans. She heard his sharp intake of breath.
“What’s wrong, City Boy? Cat got your tongue?”
He sat back on his heels. She watched the way his eyes appraised every inch of her, finding his leering sexy, and felt a warm gush between her thighs.
“Rosalind, I want you so bad it hurts. I promise to take it slow this time. I don’t know why I thought you were an Ice Princess.”
She positioned herself on her elbows and parted her legs. “Then what are you waiting for? I can see you’re ready. Do all city boys take this long in satisfying their women?”
Her words came out as a purr. She unzipped his jeans, heaved them below his hips, and cupped his major hard-on with just enough pressure to obtain a moan from him.
The atmosphere had changed from fun and delight to a primal animal impulse. Allan yanked off her lingerie. In the next moment he was standing and undressing faster than a jackrabbit on the run.
Naked, he crawled into her bed. She caught a wicked gleam in his eyes. In a slow deliberate move, he gently grabbed her wrists in one hand and held them above her head. His other hand glided over her bare skin to the place between her thighs. She ached with desire and need as she spread her legs wider to welcome him.
His hardness electrified her as her body accepted his entire length. His raw, untamed passion carried her to unexpected heights, and she raised her hips to meet his eager, fast thrusts.
“Kiss me,” she cried.
Instead of her mouth, he kissed her breasts as he ground harder against her to reach her sweet G-spot. With her arms imprisoned she was helpless to control the passion. When she thought she couldn’t take the enthralling sensation and was on the verge of losing it, he stopped thrusting and set her hands free.
“Rosalind, turn around,” Allan commanded in a heavy, sex-laden drawl, slipping from her body.
She managed to position herself on her hands and knees, trembling. Gently and slowly, he pressed against her back, moving her legs to each side, then surged forward in a single thrust. He brushed aside her hair with one hand, and let his other hand trace her horseshoe tattoo.
“Oh my God. Don’t stop, Allan.”
He touched her nub, and her climax came fast.
Before she sank down on the bed, Allan thrust again and again for his own release. They collapsed, holding each other.
“Hello? Hello, I’m back.”
At the sound of Helen’s greeting, their eyes flew open at the same time.
“Can we ever have time to ourselves?” Allan tightened his hold.
“I was thinking the same thing. I was hoping for a second round.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “My dear, I’m good for at least four times. Want me to show you?”
Not waiting for a reply he stroked her nub and slid two fingers inside. She moved her hips, giving in to his mad, sensual teasing.
“Mr. Smith? Rosalind? Sweetie, are you in here?”
Fighting exasperation, Rosalind followed Allan as he scrambled off the bed and frantically looked for their clothes.
Chapter 25
“I’m coming,” Rosalind yelled.
Allan looked at her and she stared at him. Without warning, she burst into laughter, making him grin. They scurried around, caught in a bout of afternoon delight.
“Why are we running around like two adolescents? We’re grown adults. And married.” Yet he held his finger to his lips, not wanting Helen to know he was with Rosalind.
Helen’s reply drifted to them. “Okey—dokey, honey, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Allan bent to retrieve his shirt and located Rosalind’s bra. He threw it impishly across the room, his aim perfect, hitting her in the face. Rosalind giggled harder and held out his torn plaid boxers.
“Don’t think you’ll be able to put these on.”
At the sight of the split piece of fabric, he laughed.
“Shh, Helen will hear you,” Rosalind warned.
Her repeat of his earlier actions made him laugh more. She stood next to the dresser, buckling her belt, her hair a mess, her face flushed. Allan crouched to gather up his jeans, and found Rosalind’s lacy panties.
“Excuse me, did you forget something?”
Her head snapped up. Allan grinned and brandished her forgotten panties as if they were a prized possession.
“Well, I couldn’t find them,” Rosalind teased. She faced him with her hands in her back pockets. “Besides, I like free-buffing.”
“Oh . . . very interesting. I thought only men liked commando-style.”
“You are a City Boy,” she taunted. “Get dressed.”
Rosalind turned to leave the room. Allan caught sight of her frown, but at the last second her mouth lifted.
“I saw that,” he said with false authority.
Her hurried footsteps were her answer.
Dear lord, my appetite for her is insatiable.
He viewed his unwearable boxers, puzzling over how they’d been ripped. Now what? His clothes were still downstairs.
Commando it is.
He zipped his jeans, wriggled his hips, and cupped his groin to adjust his private parts.
Not bad. Weird, but sort of comfortable. I need to do this more often.
Lips twisted in a smile, he headed to the kitchen where
he found the two ladies talking and drinking coffee. Rosalind smirked at him, and he noticed a sparkle of desire flicker in her eyes before she looked away.
Did she want him again? With a sexual appetite comparable to his, they definitely shared a tangible bond. She simply hadn’t realized it yet.
He nodded to Helen. “Hello, Mrs. Knutson.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.”
“Please, call me Allan.”
“Thank you. I’m planning the meals for the week. Is there anything you’d like me to look for at the grocery store?”
“Yeah, Allan. Is there anything you might like?” Rosalind lowered her glance to his groin for a split second.
Two can play this game.
“I like apples,” he baited, directing his glaze to Rosalind’s chest.
He received the desired reaction. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything.
“Oh, apples. Good choice. I can make apple pie and applesauce,” Helen noted and mumbled the ingredients.
Allan busied himself by pouring a cup of coffee to hide his amusement.
Rosalind tapped a pen on the table. “Would you like me to help with dinner?”
“No, no, my girl. You go do what you need to do. I’ll deal with the laundry tomorrow,” Helen rambled and then wrote on a piece of paper.
Allan turned and found Rosalind studying him. Damn you, Rosalind. Stop eying me. Or I’ll carry you right back to your bedroom.
“I’ll move my things from the downstairs bedroom to upstairs.” He shifted his stance, liking the freedom of no binding underwear. Rosalind lifted her eyes to meet his as he cleared his throat. “I don’t have much. It shouldn’t take long. Helen, why don’t you give me the keys to your car? I’ll bring your suitcases inside.”
Helen nodded. “Mr.—Allan, that would be nice. Everything is in the trunk. Take your time, honey. Dinner won’t be ready for a least an hour or more.”