Hunk of the Month

by JoAnn Ross

  Even if Lucky hadn’t told her about growing up knowing he belonged here in cowboy country, she couldn’t have been able to imagine him living anywhere else other than Wyoming. Cowboy life had a hold on the man. With a long, strong rope. And she couldn’t imagine him ever doing anything else.

  Which meant, of course, that there was no future in their relationship. Because even if she wanted to stay here with him—and a very large part of her was sorely tempted to do exactly that—she knew that she’d never be happy as a traditional ranch wife. And even if she could settle down and spend her days cooking enormous quantities of chicken-fried steak, beef, countryfried potatoes and homemade bread, there was always the little fact that her culinary skills consisted of nuking diet dinners in the microwave or opening a can of soup. There was no way she could compete with Buck in the kitchen, even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t.

  But she did want Lucky O’Neill, dammit. With a passion that frightened her. And made her almost a stranger to herself.

  She was so caught up in trying to understand these atypical feelings that she failed to see Lucky return. She literally jumped when he opened the driver’s door of the Dodge.

  “You looked about a million miles away.” He was smiling, but in the glow of the mercury vapor floodlight illuminating the parking lot, she could see the seeds of concern in his midnight dark eyes.

  “I was just thinking.”

  “Must not have been all that pretty a thought.” He put the key in the ignition and twisted it, bringing the massive engine under the cherry red hood to life. “If you’re trying to figure out how to tell me you’ve changed your mind—”

  “No.” She put her hand on his thigh as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward the Double Ought. “I was just thinking about possibilities,” she admitted wistfully.

  “Isn’t that a coincidence. Because where you are concerned, little darlin’, that’s just about all I’ve been pondering lately myself.”

  Jude didn’t even consider challenging him on calling her “little darlin’.” Not only did she know it wouldn’t do any good, she also had to admit that, deep down inside, it made her feel feminine. And desirable.

  He drove back to that same place beside the creek; and wasted no time hauling her from her seat into his arms. He began kissing her in a way that made her head spin and wiped her mind as clear as polished glass.

  Jude kissed him back, deeply, hungrily. She twined her arms around the strong tanned column of his neck and clung to him, her body hot and pliant. And needy.

  He was breathing hard; his chest was heaving up and down like a bellows.

  “Lucky,...” A moan caught at the back of her throat. Urgency had her twisting in his arms as his rough strong hands moved over her, from her shoulders to her thighs, kneading her scorching flesh, cupping her swollen breasts, rubbing hard at the denim between her legs. “Please...”

  The only thing she’d had to drink tonight was Buck’s horseshoe-melting coffee, and yet she felt drunk. Drunk with desire. With need. Although the steering wheel was hard against her back, as she straddled him, arching in a way that begged him to take her breasts in his mouth, she was only dimly aware of a vague discomfort.

  He caught hold of the V-neck of the blue-and-white plaid shirt and yanked it open, sending buttons flying. They scattered onto the floor mat, the white plastic gleaming like pearls in the moonlight streaming through the windshield. An animal growl rumbled deep in his throat as he took the offered flesh in his mouth, suckling deeply, not as a child, but as a man would. A man who could make her weak with a single look, her heart sing from a flash of a cocky cowboy grin, her entire body ache from the touch of those work-roughened hands.

  She tangled her hands in his hair, pushing him deeper into her yielding flesh, spread her legs wider, rubbing against his rock-hard erection. The sound of denim rasping against denim sounded unnaturally loud in the cramped confines of the pickup cab.

  “If we keep this up, I’m going to explode like some horny teenage kid,” he groaned, burying his mouth in the fragrant curve of her neck. His body was already racing toward the finish line, and his heart was beating so hard and so fast in his chest, Lucky wondered if it was possible to be having a damn heart attack at his age. “I want you, Jude. But not this way, wrestling in the front seat of a truck. I want to lie with you, naked, flesh to flesh, man to woman, like the good Lord intended.”

  An errant thought flashed unbidden through her mind. A thought Jude instantly tamped down. No way was she going to suggest that the good Lord to whom Lucky referred undoubtedly would have preferred them to be married before they started joining that hot male and female flesh.

  “I want that, too.” More than she could say. “But where—”

  “Boy Scouts aren’t the only ones who come prepared.” He grinned and kissed away her frown. “I might have forgotten the overcoat. But there’s a bedroll in the back of the truck.”

  She laughed. Then kissed him deeper. Harder. “My hero,” she sighed.

  Later she would realize she had no idea how, exactly, she got from sitting in the front seat to lying on the sleeping bag beneath the endless glittering sky. But however he’d managed it, Jude knew that it was a night she’d remember for the rest of her life.

  Lucky wanted to take things slow. To do them right. That had been his intention, during the earlier makeout session, and while he’d been buying the rubbers that had let Johnny, Dixie, and seemingly half the cowboys in the county who’d gathered in the store, know his plans for the night. It was a vow he’d repeated to himself over and over again on the drive back to this spot that had always held so many fond teenage memories, but from now on would only remind him of this woman.

  But he hadn’t counted on her hands stoking such hot internal fires so fast, hadn’t planned on her scent drawing him like a bee to a honeycomb. And he definitely hadn’t expected the panic that set in when he realized that somehow, when he hadn’t been paying proper attention, he’d fallen in love with this sweet-smelling city slicker.

  The knowledge that this would probably be all they’d ever have, that she’d be gone in another few days, taking his heart back east with her, caused the last tether on his control to unravel.

  They were lying side by side, one of her hands playing with his hair, the other stroking his length in a slow, sensual rhythm that had him swell beneath her touch. Need overcame his fear of losing her, and Lucky rolled her over in one swift movement, covering her damp slick body with his.

  “I want you.” He thrust her legs apart, not gently. “Now.” Forever, he thought grimly.

  “Now.” Always, she wished silently.

  And then, with intimate secrets hovering thickly in the air between them, he drove into her with a deep, battering force that made her cry out.

  “Oh, yes,” she gasped before he could ask if he’d hurt her. Her fingernails etched anxious, needy paths up and down his back. “Don’t stop.” She grasped hold of his taut buttocks, pulling him tighter against her. “Whatever you do, don’t—” she was panting, already breathless “—ever stop.”

  “That might be beyond even my capabilities,” he managed to reply in a strangled tone. “But since I don’t want it said I ever disappointed a lady, I’ll give it a shot.”

  He braced himself on his forearms and began moving against her, slowly, rhythmically, his eyes on hers, holding her gaze with the steely strength of his will as he drove her into the softness of the bedroll, then pulled nearly all the way out again, going deeper and deeper with each successive thrust.

  “Put your legs around my hips, darlin’. So you can take all of me.”

  She’d been afraid that was going to be impossible. But she did as instructed, and he sank deeper still, until his groin was rubbing against acutely sensitive tissues, causing a climax like sparklers on the Fourth of July.

  “That’s my girl.”

  He touched his mouth to hers, his tongue echoing the invasion of his shaft as he sa
nk back into her, this time all the way to the hilt. When she felt him touch the back of her womb, she came again, this time with a rush of feeling that felt like waves crashing against the shore.

  The hot flood of her release was all it took to trigger Lucky’s own. His entire body tensed—arms, shoulders, back, thighs. The muscles in his neck corded and, as the pressure built like a branding iron at the base of his spine, his hips began pumping, harder, faster. His groans rumbled in the dark of night like wild animal growls.

  He felt her come again, her inner convulsions clutching at him, massaging him in a way that caused a wrenching climax to rip through him. Then he collapsed on top of her, the sound of her name that had been torn from his throat at the moment of release lingering on the night breeze.

  Afraid he was crushing her, he rolled over, taking her with him, staying inside her when she managed a murmured plea for him not to leave. As they lay in each other’s arms, their heated flesh cooling, Lucky stared up at the diamond bright sky and wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into. And why, as Jude snuggled closer, murmuring soft inarticulate words of pleasure, he was considering getting out his rope and tying her to the truck. To the Double Ought. To him.

  He was actually allowing himself to contemplate somehow working out a long-distance relationship with this city slicker. But he had to face that she’d irretrievably slipped beneath his skin and trespassed into his heart.

  Suddenly he felt her lips trembling against his chest. And the way her shoulders were shaking revealed she was weeping.

  Terrific. Make the lady cry, O’Neill, he blasted himself.

  “Jude?” He caught her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” She bit her trembling lip. “I was just—um—thinking about something.”

  He wondered if she was crying about having to go back east to her magazine and, although he knew it was selfish as hell, Lucky kind of wished she was.

  “Care to share?” Her eyes were bright and wet. He braced himself for an onslaught of female tears.

  “I just realized...” She took a ragged breath. “I just finally figured out why it’s called a pickup bed.”

  He chuckled even as he felt chagrined that he hadn’t used more finesse the first time. “You deserve better.”

  She touched her hand to his cheek, her look as warm as the maple syrup Buck heated up on Sunday mornings for flapjacks. “I can’t imagine topping that.”

  Masculine pride warred with the tenderness she seemed to inspire. “You’re probably used to soft music—”

  “We have the breeze in the tops of the trees,” she said with a soft smile that seemed strangely shy, considering what they’d just shared.

  “Champagne.”

  “I already feel drunk enough whenever you kiss me.”

  “Satin sheets.”

  “Too slippery.” She wiggled against him with the obvious intention of rekindling smoldering sparks. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be right now. Any other man I’d rather be with.”

  The way she was moving had desire pounding in his loins. He couldn’t seem to be with Jude and not want her. More terrifyingly yet, not need her.

  He pulled her on top of him, fitting her soft curves to his hard angles. “I want you again.”

  The feel of him, hard and urgent beneath her, was all it took to send anticipation soaring. “I want you, too.”

  She bent down, her lips plucking at his, the ruby hard tips of her breasts brushing against his bare chest. Although she’d been looking at his near-naked body all day, it still drew her like a lodestone.

  Proving that with the right incentive she could proceed slowly, Jude slid down him, pressing lingering kisses against the chestnut hair that arrowed down the center of his body. She circled his navel with the tip of her tongue and realized the extent of her power when his legs began to shift restlessly beneath hers.

  “Jude—”

  She laughed, a soft, shimmering sound, enjoying herself. Enjoying him. Lucky O’Neill was a magnificent male animal. And for this one magical night, he was all hers.

  She was merciless, tempting, tantalizing, teasing, drawing the exquisite lovemaking out, until they were both strung as taut as a rope around the horns of a stubborn bull. Despite the seeming disparity in their life-styles, in this, at least, they proved perfectly matched. By the time the morning sun spread its shimmering rays over the distant mountaintop, both knew that what they’d experienced during the long lovefilled night had been more than mere sex. The profound intimacy they’d shared had surpassed the physical. And inexorably changed their lives.

  “We have to talk about it,” Lucky said after they’d managed to retrieve the clothes that were scattered in the bed of the truck and the front and back seats.

  Since the morning had dawned cool and her shirt was essentially useless due to its lack of buttons, she was wearing his denim jacket. She pulled it tighter and momentarily wished that he wasn’t such a plainspoken man. She would have preferred allowing herself to continue basking in the warm pleasurable afterglow. There’d been more than once during the seemingly endless night when she’d actually allowed herself the fantasy of staying in Wyoming with this man—a man who could make her heart sing and her body flame. She wasn’t quite ready to deal with the problems of real life.

  “What’s to talk about?” She prepared herself for him to tell her all the reasons why any relationship between them wouldn’t work out. “It was sex, Lucky. Better than I’ve ever had before, better than I ever thought possible, but that’s all it was.”

  “Liar.” His tone was firm, but lacked heat. “Sex is easy, darlin’. Too easy, sometimes. This was different.” He glanced over at her, his expression stone-serious in the shimmering morning light. “You’re different.”

  She couldn’t lie. Not about this. “So are you,” she said quietly. Then waited—her breath in her throat—for him to ask her to stay here at the Double Ought with him.

  “The logical thing would be to just enjoy the next few days and not worry about it.”

  “I’ve never been one to go in for vacation flings.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Well...you could ask me to stay.”

  “No.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as if the gesture could hold back those very words he was sorely tempted to say. When he felt her flinch, he realized how curt he’d sounded. “That’s not my place. You have your own life, New York. An important life. I may be accused of being old-fashioned from time to time, but I’m not such a chauvinist that I’d expect you to give all that up for me.”

  What would she be giving up? Jude asked herself honestly. A noisy, crowded city, a day spent with jangling phones, computer glitches, Tycoon Mary breathing over her shoulder, a life where her only close friend was this man’s sister, where her entire existence revolved around work, where antacids were merely another food group?

  “What if I wanted to?” She didn’t want to push. But she needed to know exactly how Lucky felt about her.

  He plowed his hand through his hair and exhaled a long, frustrated breath. “Maybe you don’t indulge in flings, but you’ve undoubtedly been hit with City Slicker Syndrome. I’ve seen it before, Jude, people come out here for a couple weeks in the summer, fall in love with the land, envision living like some western novel, with their pretty horses and cute baby cows, without thinking about the fact that they’re not going to able to run out to the corner store at midnight for ice cream—”

  “Actually, I seldom eat ice cream.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said in a way that had Jude wishing again that the subject hadn’t come up.

  “Yes. I do.” She reached out, caught his hand as it completed another frustrated pass through his hair and linked their fingers together. “It’s been a long night. Though a wonderful one,” she said quickly when he shot her a look “But neither of us have had much sleep. Perhaps we’d be better off discussing this later. W
hen we’ve both had time to gather our thoughts.” And our arguments.

  “Are you trying to manipulate me again, New York?”

  His tone lacked an edge, letting her know that he was teasing. “Yes. Is it working?”

  “I’ll let you know. After I get some sleep.”

  “That sounds very reasonable.”

  “I don’t know about reasonable. I wasn’t exactly thinking of sleeping alone.”

  Oh. “That sounds better yet.”

  “Yeah.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “One more thing we can agree one. Looks as if we’re on a roll, darlin’.”

  ANY THOUGHTS JUDE might have had of inviting Lucky into her bed disintegrated when they pulled up in front of the ranch house. A huge tractor trailer was parked between the house and the barn. O’Neill Rodeo Stock had been written across the gleaming white surface in shamrock green paint.

  Lucky didn’t sound particularly excited to see the trailer. “My folks are back.”

  “Oh.” Although she was a grown woman, Jude suddenly felt as if she were sixteen years old and about to get caught staying out all night after the prom.

  Once again Lucky proved to be on the same wavelength. “Maybe we can sneak in the back way.”

  They looked at each other as he parked the truck beside the trailer, then burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of their situation.

  Marianne O’Neill didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at their disheveled condition. She rose from the kitchen table, greeted her son with a hug, then turned to Jude with a friendly smile.

  She was a tall, slender woman who seemed, like Lucky, not to have a superfluous ounce of fat on her. Hard work had muscled her shoulders and arms, the sun had created little lines at the corners of her brown eyes, suggesting she was a woman who smiled easily. And often.

  “Hello.” She held out a slender hand. “Welcome to our home, Jude. Buck’s been telling me all about you.”