Rodeo Heat

by Desiree Holt

  Maybe just giving up men and sex was the best idea. It didn’t seem to be working out this way at all. Rather than feeling settled, stable, she went to bed with her body unsatisfied and dreamed of a cowboy with an enormous erection walking toward her and grinning.

  * * * *

  As if the fates were determined not to make a liar out of her, Grace opened her door Saturday morning to find a grinning Bridget on her porch.

  “I come bearing gifts.” She lifted a white box tied with string. “Chocolate croissants from your favorite bakery. How about some mocha cappuccino to go with it?”

  Grace sighed and shoved her fingers through her tousled hair. “You don’t think we’ll die of a chocolate overdose?”

  Bridget laughed. “One of the best ways to go.”

  “Okay.” Grace stepped back to let her daughter in. “How about starting the coffee while I brush my teeth and wash my face?”

  “Good deal,” Bridget said, heading for the kitchen.

  Grace sighed again and trudged to her bedroom. In the adjoining bath, she did her best to make her hair and face presentable then dragged on a pair of jeans and a blouse. She knew Bridget was here with a plan of attack and she felt somehow defenseless in her robe.

  Everything was on the table when she entered the kitchen and sat down.

  “We don’t do this enough,” Bridget told her as she poured the coffee.

  “You’re busy,” Grace pointed out, “and so am I. But you’re right. We need to make more time for each other.”

  They’d been close ever since Bridget was a young child, and they still spoke several times a week on the phone, but they were each busy with their own lives.

  “So,” Bridget said, picking up a croissant and breaking off a piece. “I hear you’ve been seeing Curt Sanderson.”

  Grace grimaced. “Like I said the other day, Joyce has a big mouth.”

  “Mom, it’s not like she called me and blabbed, or anything. I was looking for you a couple of times and she said the two of you were having lunch. Oh, and she thought you had dinner plans last night.”

  “Which is nobody’s business but mine.”

  “So, how was it with the old goat?” Bridget popped the piece of roll in her mouth and watched her mother with bright eyes.

  “He’s not an old goat. Be respectful.” Grace took a swallow of coffee, hoping the hot liquid would wake up her brain cells. Her sleep had been restless and she had the feeling she wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

  “Are you kidding me? He’s definitely in the elderly category, and looks like someone created him out of Play-Doh that’s now drooping.”

  Grace burst out laughing, because the description was so appropriate. That’s exactly what she’d felt last night when she’d forced herself to go out to dinner with him so she could establish a nice ‘safe’ relationship and get Ben Lowell out of her mind.

  “You’re unkind,” she said, but she couldn’t hide her grin.

  “He’s not what you want, Mom.” Bridget chewed thoughtfully on another piece of croissant, her eyes glued to Grace’s face.

  “Oh, and I suppose you know what’s good for me?”

  “I know that Joyce said a hunky cowboy put a smile on your face and made you glow. I know I tried a bunch of times to reach you and when I couldn’t I figured out exactly where you were. So what happened to him?” An impish grin turned up her lips. “He sounds like someone too luscious to lose.”

  “He’s gone,” Grace said in a flat voice. “He was only here for the rodeo.”

  “And you spent all that time with him?” Bridget squealed. “Ooh, I’m jealous.”

  “He’s probably more suited to you than me, anyway.” Grace fiddled with the roll on her plate.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bridget’s eyes widened and she grinned again. “Oh, I get it. He’s younger than you.”

  “That’s part of it,” Grace agreed.

  “Damn! Mom, the older woman-younger man thing is very ‘in’ right now, didn’t you know? Besides, you look ten years younger than you are.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “That is the point,” Bridget argued. “He could probably have his pick of tons of women and he chose you.

  Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  “But—”

  “But nothing.” Bridget said. “You so need someone like him and not like Curt Sanderson.” She wiped chocolate from her hands and leaned across the table. “You think I don’t know you’ve buried yourself since Dad died, taking care of Ryan and me and building a successful business? You made yourself old way too soon. Dad died before I could ever get to know him, but I’ll bet he’d hate what you’ve done to yourself.”

  Grace’s whole body clenched at the mention of Joe’s name. She pushed the plate with her croissant away from her and turned to stare out of the big kitchen window.

  “How can you even know what your father would want?” she asked. “You were barely a toddler when he died.”

  “Because I’ve seen the pictures of the two of you.” Bridget was relentless now. “You both looked so alive, so…so…full of joy and happiness and pleasure.” She reached across the table to touch her mother’s hand. “My favorite picture is the one of him in a T-shirt and jeans in an old lounge chair and you in shorts and a blouse sitting on his lap. Every time I saw that picture, I thought, ‘that’s what I want when I get married’. And when I got older, I added, ‘and I bet they had a great sex life’.”

  “Holy hell, Bridget.” Grace pulled her hand away as heat crept up her face. “That isn’t something you should be discussing with me.”

  “Why not?” Bridget cried. “I want someone who can put a glow on my face the way Dad did for you.” She leaned back in her chair. “And you won’t get it from Curt Sanderson, believe me.”

  “Can you imagine what people would say if they saw me with a man so much younger than me?” Grace snapped.

  “That is just so stupid.” Bridget smacked her fist on the table, rattling the crockery. “The women will all be jealous and the men will wonder what they missed. You’ve been so safe and circumspect all your life, Mom. Do something for yourself. Take a chance. Ryan and I want to see you happy and Curt Sanderson isn’t it. Trust me.”

  “And what happens ten years from now, when I’m past fifty and showing my age. And the hot young stud will have women half my age ready to lick his boots?”

  “If he’s someone who loves you,” Bridget told her, “he’ll kick the bootlickers to the curb because no one will compare to you.”

  “Well.” Grace pushed back from the table. “It’s immaterial because love has nothing to do with this. He’s not interested in it, and neither am I.”

  “Then ride it for as long as it lasts,” Bridget insisted. “Don’t miss out on what’s waiting for you, Mom.”

  After Bridget left, still lecturing as Grace shoved her out of the door, Grace poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and sat in the big armchair in the living room, staring at the family pictures displayed everywhere and letting her mind wander. The mention of Joe’s name had been like a sharp knife, stabbing at her. He had once told her if anything happened to him, he wanted her to continue to embrace life, not hide herself away. She’d brushed it off, not having the least idea that his death was much closer than either of them expected.

  Overwhelmed by grief, she’d pulled the frayed edges of her life together as best she could, determined to be both mother and father to her two children. Provide a good home for them. Give them security.

  Safety.

  In doing so, she’d sublimated all her needs as a woman, to the point where she hadn’t been sure any part of her had survived. Bridget was right. She and Joe had had a great sex life, despite the fact they were both young and inexperienced. Would they have evolved into the kind of things she did with Ben? Maybe but she’d never know. Instead, she’d buried her sexuality until she hadn’t been sure it even existed any more.

  When she’d
begun reading erotic romance novels, she’d allowed herself to fantasize, to daydream about experiencing erotic adventures, never realizing or expecting that she’d have the opportunity. Or the courage to explore her own hidden desires.

  She couldn’t decide if she was more frightened by the extent of her response to the books or the sudden knowledge that she could experience pleasure beyond anything she imagined. In the powder room, she examined her face in the mirror over the sink. What did the world see when they looked at her? A respectable woman who didn’t have much fun in life? Or someone hiding from what life had to offer.

  Grace shook herself. This was doing her no good. And, despite what Bridget said, her interlude with Ben had been just that. She couldn’t imagine any way she could fit him into her life. And she was sure she wouldn’t fit into his.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ben leaned back in his chair and tilted his beer bottle to his lips. All around him in the bar, riders from tonight’s events at the Houston Stock Show and Rodeo were backslapping winners, commiserating with losers, soaking up Smoky Joe’s beer as fast as the bar owner could serve it and making none-too-subtle passes at the willing buckle bunnies. Ben had been adding his fair share to the noise, something new for him since he usually kept to himself. And even when he hooked up with a girl, he did it quietly and discreetly. His business was his business.

  But tonight, he’d been pouring down the beer, pinching ass, splitting the air with piercing wolf whistles. At the moment a blonde with tousled curls and breasts that could knock anyone’s eyes out was standing between his chair and Lonnie Clark’s, purring over both of them.

  For a moment, an image of Grace flashed across his brain before he deliberately forced it away. Like everyone else in the bar, he was still fueled with adrenaline from the night’s events. The rodeo had two more days to run and again he was the leading contender in his events. He should be celebrating instead of turning into a maudlin drunk.

  He grabbed the blonde and hauled her into his lap, grazing his fingers against the side of a breast as he curled his arm around her. Instead of jerking away, she pressed herself closer to him.

  “Buy me a drink, cowboy?” Her voice had the husky quality of someone who’d had one too many whiskeys in their life.

  “Maybe more than one, if you promise to be good to me.” He nuzzled her neck and let his hand rest more firmly on her breast.

  She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I can be very, very good.”

  “Well, all right, darlin’. What are you drinking?”

  Three beers later, hoping he didn’t kill both of them on the drive back to the hotel, he packed her into his truck and took off. They made as sedate a trip through the lobby as they could, considering the blonde’s fit of giggles. The moment he shut the door to his suite, he pulled her into his arms and took her mouth in a predatory kiss. She opened for him and he thrust his tongue into her wetness, dueling with hers, exploring, stabbing, sucking. He cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples through the thin fabric of her blouse and he ground his erection against her mound.

  “Strip,” he gasped, as he lifted his head.

  Something flickered in her eyes at the crude command, but she found a smile somewhere and undressed. Ben was out of his own clothing in seconds, toeing off his boots and yanking his boxers and jeans down with one push of his hands and ripping his T-shirt over his head.

  “Come here,” he said, lifting the blonde and carrying her to the bedroom.

  Impatiently, he ripped the covers from the bed, dropped her onto it and followed her down. He gripped her thighs, spreading them apart before he settled himself between them and ran his tongue the length of her slit.

  “Ooh,” she squealed. “I love that. Do me, cowboy.”

  Suddenly a warning bell went off in the back of his alcohol-soaked brain. He looked at the woman in his bed, her body suddenly fuzzy as his eyes lost focus, and he collapsed beside her.

  He felt her push his shoulder.

  “Hey, cowboy, you awake? Come on. I’m hot and ready for you.”

  “Jus’ a minute,” he slurred, but his eyes slammed shut with no effort from him and a thick blackness wrapped itself around him.

  He awoke in the early hours of the morning, restless, vaguely disturbed about something that he couldn’t quite define. The sight of the naked woman next to him shocked the cobwebs out of his brain. He slipped out of bed, grabbed clean clothes and headed for the shower. But all the hot water in the world couldn’t wash away the slimy feeling that captured him when he realized what he’d almost done.

  Finally, clean and dressed, he called room service and ordered coffee. Then he bent over the nude woman and shook her awake as gently as he could.

  “Hey. Rise and shine. Time to go home.” He backed away from the bed. “I ordered coffee. You should get dressed before the room service waiter gets here.”

  “Can I tell you what a loser you are?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re absolutely right. But you still need to get dressed.”

  She started to say something else, but instead gathered her clothes from the other room and carried them into the bathroom. By the time the coffee arrived, the blonde had joined him in the sitting room, looking as put together as was possible at that hour of the morning.

  “Have some coffee before you go.” He nodded at the tray. “Did you leave a car at Smoky Joe’s?”

  She shook her head. “I came with a girlfriend.”

  He found his wallet and handed her three twenties. “Cab fare. I don’t know how far away you live.”

  She took the money silently, stuffed it in her jeans pocket and poured herself a cup of coffee. Neither of them said a word while they drank the hot liquid. Finally she put down her empty cup.

  “Let me just say you’re the first man I’ve been with who fell asleep like that. I guess your reputation is better than your actions. Don’t bother looking for me next time you pass through here.” She found her purse where she’d dropped it on a table then turned to him. “You know, you didn’t even ask my name.”

  Ben felt a flush of shame but he couldn’t figure out what to say at this point to make the situation better. It was just empty sex. He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d done something wrong.

  “It’s Tina.”

  He raised his eyes to look at her. “What?”

  “My name. It’s Tina.”

  “Oh. Well, Tina, thanks. You’re a great gal.”

  “Yeah, right.” She opened the door but, before stepping into the corridor, she turned one last time. “And, by the way, you’re an asshole.”

  She slammed the door as hard as she could and was gone.

  Ben sank into the nearest chair, dropping his head into his hands. He’d thought another woman would wipe away Grace’s invisible prints on him, but that was a true fucking disaster. Except of course there hadn’t been any fucking, for which he was grateful. Somehow he would have seen it as soiling what he and Grace had done together. Would Grace Delaney haunt him forever?

  Shit!

  He wondered if she’d gotten his package yet, and if so, what her reaction had been.

  * * * *

  “I guess we can scratch one client,” Joyce commented, walking into Grace’s office as Curt Sanderson stormed through the outer door. “Man, what did you do? Tell him his taxes are going up?”

  “Worse than that.” Grace unfastened her hair, ran her fingers through it, and pulled it once more into the clip. The early morning headache was now a real head-banger. She’d have given anything not to have gone through the scene with Curt.

  “Wait, let me guess.” Joyce closed the door, poured Grace a cup of coffee from the carafe on the credenza and carried to the desk. “You told him you weren’t going to see him anymore.”

  Grace nodded, rubbing her temples in an effort to ease the tension gripping her head.

  “Well.” Joyce sat on the corner of the desk and handed the coffee to Grace. “I know I
’m just the secretary—”

  “Oh, can it,” Grace snapped. “We’ve worked together for fifteen years. You almost know me better than my kids do.”

  “All right. I didn’t think you should have gone out with him to begin with.”

  “Because he’s a client.”

  “That has nothing to do with it. Honey, he is way too old and stodgy for you.”

  “He’s sedate,” Grace protested. “And settled.”

  Joyce snorted. “He’s settled all right. He may be only in his early sixties, but he could pass for seventy any day.”

  “Maybe running an engineering firm took too much out of him,” Grace offered, drinking gratefully from her cup.

  “Bullshit. That man was born old. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, Grace? You could give women ten years younger than you a run for their money.” She leaned closer. “Besides, you have something most of those idiots don’t have.”

  “And I know what it is—wrinkles and falling gravity.”

  “I am going to smack you.” Joyce stood and paced in front of the desk then stopped, hands on hips. “You listen to me. You’re smart, funny, educated and as sexy as all hell. Don’t you dare downplay yourself.”

  Sexy? Me? Not even Joe ever called me sexy.

  “Are you listening to me?” Joyce demanded.

  Grace looked up at her. “Yes, Mother, I am.”

  “Mother, ha! Your mother wouldn’t give you this advice. Go track down that cowboy who put such a glow in your face and tie him to the bed.”

  “Joyce!” Grace’s face heated. “For God’s sake.”

  Joyce put both hands on the desk and leaned forward until she was eye to eye with her boss. “And do it pretty damn soon. Life goes by too fast.” She stood up. “Enjoy your sexuality, Grace. Don’t run away from it.”