The Cowboy Meets His Match

by Jessica Clare

  “Remember that part where I said I wasn’t very good at this dating thing?” he murmured. “Still applies.”

  “Yes, but—”

  She didn’t get to finish her sentence. He clamped one of those big hands on the back of her neck and pulled her toward him, and then his mouth was on hers. Becca stiffened, shocked at the bristly feel of his beard against her face, but the softness of his mouth soon took over everything. He tasted sweet—like peppermint and popcorn—and she wondered if he’d been sneaking breath mints. His lips brushed over hers, nipping and kissing and exploring, and a little sigh of pleasure escaped her, her arms twining around his neck. Then his tongue was brushing against hers, and she let out a full-blown moan.

  God, his mouth was amazing. Hot and insistent, he knew just how she wanted to be kissed. He didn’t try to attack with his tongue. It was more of a coaxing, a flirty dance between mouths, slick and subtle and teasing all at once, and it made her ache all freaking over her body. His hand was in her hair, his other on her back, and the kisses grew hotter and more intense with every moment that passed.

  He cupped her face, tilting it ever so slightly, and then began to lick at the inside of her mouth, as if he couldn’t get enough. She’d never been kissed so deeply, so erotically, and her hips shifted against his thigh.

  To her surprise, Hank groaned, the sound full of need, and it made her toes curl with pleasure to hear it. Oh wow. So he liked kissing her? So—

  She lost track of her thoughts as he slid a hand under the hem of her skirt and caressed her thigh. Oh sweet heavens, that felt good. So good.

  Whimpering, she grabbed his hand and steered it out of her skirt and to someplace new and equally bold—her breast. “Keep touching me,” she whispered. “I like it.”

  “Becca,” he groaned against her mouth. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  He half chuckled against her mouth and then kissed her hard once more. His big hand cupped her breast, and then he began to stroke back and forth with his thumb, caressing her nipple through the layers of her clothing.

  And, oh, that was so unfair. So good, too. She moaned, rocking against his leg once more, and when he shifted his weight, his other hand locking around her back, she didn’t protest. A few more kisses and maneuvering of their bodies, and then she was under him on the couch, her dress hiked up at her hips, her legs cradling him.

  “Just gonna kiss you,” he promised between strokes of his tongue. His hand was still on her breast, teasing her aching nipple into a rock-hard point. “Nothing more. I promise.”

  “Just kissing,” she agreed, and tugged his shirt free from his belt. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over those granite-like muscles. “Just kissing. Just . . . oooh.” Her hands slipped under his shirt, under his undershirt, and then she touched nothing but warm, hard flesh. He felt amazing. Like a sculpture come to life. Before she’d met Hank, she’d always said she liked a dad bod—a guy with a little softness in his gut.

  Nope. Apparently now she had a thing for washboard abs.

  “Love these pretty tits,” he rasped against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip. “Can’t stop thinking about them.”

  She loved hearing that. Loved knowing that he was thinking about her, obsessing over her. He’d turned her down flat when she’d asked him out. Had he been regretting it this whole time? Moaning, Becca scratched her nails along his sides and loved the ragged noise he made when she did. God, she bet quarters would bounce off his ass. She suddenly wanted to see that.

  His hand left her breast and she whimpered a protest.

  “No,” she told him, digging her nails into his skin. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

  Her words died on a moan as his hand slid back under her skirt again, and he found her panties. His hand pushed between her thighs, and she was soaked. He said something sexy, something deep and growly between kisses, but she wasn’t paying attention. Her focus was entirely on the hand between her legs, the thumb rubbing up and down her folds. Oh god, she’d worn the ugliest panties tonight. Why had she been so stupid? “You can’t laugh at my panties,” she told him between frenzied kisses. “No laughing.”

  “Panties . . . staying . . . on,” he promised her, then claimed her mouth again.

  She was lost in the dizzying kiss, in every delicious sweep of his tongue, and then he pushed the elastic of her panties aside and his fingers were on her folds. Becca’s fists knotted in his shirt and she made a sound that was distinctly unsexy. It might have been a gurgle. She didn’t know. Didn’t care, either. All she knew was that Hank was dragging those thick, calloused fingers over her pussy, and if he touched her clit, he was going to make her come. She was so wet, so needy—

  And then he touched her clit and she exploded. The world shattered around her and she cried out against his ear, her entire body seizing up like it wanted to fold in on itself.

  Oh god, she’d never come so hard. And he just kept touching her and kissing her like he wanted to make her come again.

  Not that it happened. Eventually the kisses slowed and became more languid, and her muscles unclenched.

  He pressed another light kiss to her mouth and chuckled, his fingers stroking over her pussy one last time. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

  “Huh?” Becca shook her head, trying to focus on him. She was too dazed, felt too toe-curlingly amazing to try to put words together. And sounds. He kissed her slowly again . . . and then she realized she was pinned on her couch underneath a big, hairy cowboy with his hand in her ugly squirrel panties as some hideous clown killed people on the television.

  This was not how she’d imagined her first date going. A hot blush seared her face.

  He rubbed his nose against hers, his eyes heavy-lidded. “About you not coming back to the ranch. Yesterday morning. I tried to chase you off and that was mean of me.”

  “Oh.” Were they talking about the ranch and not their date? “Um . . . okay.”

  He nipped at her upper lip, and, gosh, if his hand didn’t stop stroking her pussy, she was going to start grinding against him like a shameful hussy, desperate for the next orgasm. It was his turn now, wasn’t it? She supposed he was waiting for her to get up and reciprocate. Somehow, the idea didn’t irritate her like it normally did with Greg.

  Damn it, the last thing she wanted to think about was Greg, especially when the man on top of her felt so good, and he was still nibbling on her lips like he never intended to leave.

  Hank’s mouth lazily moved over hers in one last kiss, and then his hand left her pussy—and she could have cried at the loss. “You’ll come by in the morning, then? With doughnuts?”

  An odd request, especially after making out. “Do you . . . want me to?”

  “Yeah. Gonna wanna see you.”

  Ooh. That made her feel warm and fuzzy. She smiled shyly. “Then, yes. I will.”

  He nodded. “Guess I should head home now.”

  “You don’t . . .” She gestured at his lower half. “I can . . .”

  Hank frowned at her. “No. This wasn’t about getting something for myself.” He almost seemed offended that she’d suggested it, and Becca wondered what she’d somehow stepped into.

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  He sat up, raked a hand through his hair, and then got to his feet.

  She sat up, too, eased her dress back down, and turned the movie off while he headed for the door. When she stood up, her legs were wobbly. Should she follow him out? He was already in the foyer, as if he couldn’t wait to leave. Strange man. Kinda hurt her feelings, really. “I had a nice time,” she called out.

  Hank immediately turned around and moved back to her side. He grabbed her by the arms, bent down, and planted a hot, searing kiss on her face that made her mouth feel puffy. He stared down at her for a long moment, nodded, and then turned and left. />
  “See you in the morning,” she called softly after him as the door shut. Well, okay, there were a few mixed messages in there, but overall, the date had been rather nice. Her thighs squeezed together, reminding her of the rocket-fueled orgasm she’d just had under him. Okay. More than nice. Amazing. Her fingers brushed over her mouth and for some reason the lower half of her face felt sore. Curious, she headed upstairs to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

  And gasped. The lower half of her face was bright red, her mouth swollen. Not just from the kisses, but from his beard. She leaned in and stared at her face in horror.

  She had a full day booked tomorrow—Saturdays were busy at the salon. If this didn’t fade, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hank couldn’t stay there for one minute longer, or he was going to fling Becca down on the couch and screw her brains out. He knew she didn’t want that, so he’d beat a hasty retreat out of her house and practically ran off the porch to his vehicle. He managed to drive safely out of town, but when he raked his hand through his hair, he smelled her on his fingers.

  He quickly pulled over, freed his aching cock from his pants, and stroked it three times before he came all over himself. With a deep sigh, he rested his head on the back of the seat and thought about the evening.

  He was terrible at dating. He knew that now, after painful hours with Becca in which he couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. She kept trying to make small talk, and all he could think about was kissing her. Touching her. Tasting her. He couldn’t concentrate through dinner because her hair was in this messy bun-thing and all these tendrils had escaped and kept touching her neck and he had to keep thinking about skinning and hunting and fishing to try to keep his dick from standing at attention.

  Then those jerks at the bar had embarrassed her, showing the entire restaurant her panties—pink with big brown blotches on them. Squirrels, she’d said later. She’d completely frozen and he’d seen red. He was out of his seat before he could even think, and he’d wanted to hurt the man at the bar for daring to fucking touch her. The only reason he hadn’t was because Becca had told him not to.

  But he’d seen how red and puffy her eyes were when she came out of the ladies’ room, and his chest had hurt. He’d wanted to fix it. He felt responsible. She hadn’t wanted him to, and he was of half a mind to drive all the way back to the bar and hope that the jerk was still there . . .

  And then what? Have Becca bail him out of jail in the morning? Explain to Libby that her daddy didn’t know how to keep his temper in check? He stared down at his messy hands and sighed, then grabbed the package of wet wipes from the back seat of the truck. He always kept them on hand because Libby was a toddler disaster, and they were useful now to clean up the evidence that he couldn’t control himself when it came to Becca Loftis.

  She was just . . . so damn pretty. And sweet. And soft. He shouldn’t have touched her when the movie came on, but he couldn’t help it. Her hair was down, and he thought he’d sneak a quick feel of it. Just a touch, and then he’d keep his hands to himself because he needed to treat her right, treat her like a lady.

  He’d mauled her anyhow. Just shoved his big brutish hand in her panties and made her come because he’d needed to like he’d needed air. Afterward, he’d felt a little guilty, but not as guilty as he should have.

  Because he’d wanted to do more. So much more. But . . . more resulted in Libby the last time he’d lost his head about a woman. Becca wasn’t much like Adria. She was softhearted and kind and gentle and she’d fall in love with him. She’d want to have a family.

  And while he liked the thought of a family—and Becca in his bed—it would be here. In Wyoming. Because someone like Becca wouldn’t last very long in the Alaska wilderness. It took a certain type to live in the northern reaches, and she wasn’t it.

  So, no, he couldn’t touch her like he had tonight. Couldn’t kiss her like he needed her. He sure shouldn’t have wrung those little cries out of her or played with her pretty tits and . . . hell.

  He grabbed more wet wipes, because he was going to need them. His cock was already hard in his pants once more.

  This might be a problem. He couldn’t walk around with a permanent hard-on. He had to decide if he wanted the problem of the pretty hairdresser, or if it was better to cut ties before she got too attached.

  And because he was a weak man, he sniffed his hand again and jerked off one more time.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next morning, the redness in Becca’s face had mostly disappeared. Mostly. She still looked rather suspiciously pink in the lower parts of her face, so she styled her hair to frame her face as much as possible, slathered on a bit too much makeup, and tried to pretend like it wasn’t a problem.

  Because really . . . as problems went? This wasn’t one. She’d been kissed thoroughly on her date with a handsome man. He’d made her come so hard that she’d seen stars. And now she was going to see him again this morning. She’d slept so well last night, and she couldn’t seem to stop smiling even though it was ridiculously early. Maybe she was getting used to the early-morning ranch hours, which might not be a bad thing if she was going to date a cowboy.

  She picked up the doughnuts, with a bag of pink-iced doughnut holes for her little angel, Libby, and drove out to the Swinging C. She parked in her usual spot, grabbed her things out of the car, and was a little surprised that Hank wasn’t waiting to take the packages from her. He was normally the first one to greet her in the morning.

  That felt a little weird, especially after last night.

  So she knocked, and when Doc answered the door, she gave him a brilliant smile. “Your early doughnut delivery is here!”

  “Prettiest deliveryman I’ve ever seen,” Doc teased, just like he did every time she arrived. “Come on inside. Everyone’s just now stirring.”

  “Hank sleeping in?” she asked, then felt her face flush because, gosh, wasn’t she being so obvious?

  “No, he’s in the barn. Bit of a calf emergency.” Doc gave her a crooked grin. “You just have me this morning, and Libby.”

  “Oh.” Well, that was disappointing, just a little. She supposed she could text him . . . or would that be too pushy? “How are the puppies?”

  “Set those doughnuts down and I’ll show you.” He winked at her.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hank didn’t text her all morning. Or afternoon.

  It was fine, of course. She told herself that over and over again, imagining the cow version of the television show ER. If a cow’s life was on the line—or a calf’s—he might not have time to text or call. She told herself that was totally normal, even if she was hugely disappointed to not hear from him. She might have had visions of showing up with doughnuts that morning, only to be swept into his arms and kissed hard.

  Didn’t happen.

  And she couldn’t dwell on it. She had clients. Her day was full and Libby was with her, so she didn’t have a moment to herself. Libby was great, quietly coloring and keeping herself occupied while Becca worked and checked in on her. The new schoolteacher in town, Amy Mckinney, had showed up as a walk-in, and Becca had seated her immediately. She was nice and friendly, shy and sweet and excited about the summer session of preschool, and she’d mentioned that she wanted Libby enrolled. Becca promised to talk to Libby’s father about that.

  Provided she ever spoke with the man again.

  No sooner had she started drying Amy’s hair than Hannah came in the door. It wasn’t time for her weekly appointment yet, which meant this was a gossip session disguised as a grooming emergency. Becca smothered the groan in her throat and forced a smile to her face. “Hey, Hannah. What’s up?”

  “Oh, my nails are looking ragged,” the older woman said, wiggling her fingers as she plopped herself down in the empty salon chair next to Am
y. “Thought I’d come in and see what you could do.”

  “Sure, give me five minutes.” She smiled at Amy in the mirror and dried another section of her hair. “So, do you like Painted Barrel, Amy?”

  Amy smiled. “I do. It’s a great place. I—”

  Hannah cleared her throat loudly and gave Becca a pointed look. “Lots of good-looking men, right?”

  “I . . . I guess so?” Amy looked embarrassed. “I’m not really seeing anyone.”

  So she wasn’t seeing Greg? Not that Becca cared, but she still felt a little stab of vindication. It wasn’t that she wanted Greg to be unhappy forever . . . maybe just for about ten years to make up for all the time Becca had wasted on him. “Plenty of time for that,” Becca told her. “Spend your time with your girlfriends.”

  “No girlfriends here,” Amy began again, only to be interrupted by Hannah once more.

  The older woman leaned over confidentially. “I heard you were kissing that mountain of a cowboy, Becca. It’s all over town this morning.”

  Gah. She knew Hannah had something she’d wanted to gossip about, but hearing it out loud was still embarrassing. Becca checked her reflection quickly, certain that the beard burn was going to be bright red like a scarlet letter. Nope. Her face looked blessedly normal, thank goodness. “Who said we were kissing?”

  “That’s just the rumor,” Hannah said innocently. “Is it true?”

  “It was just a date,” Becca insisted. “A first date. A very nice, chaste one.” Man, she was such a liar. Her mind was still fired up with thoughts of how Hank had felt as his weight pressed her down on the couch, his hand in her panties as he’d made her come. Yeah. Not very chaste at all.

  “Mmm. I’ve never talked to him. What’s he like?”

  Oh god. She was being put on the spot. “Um . . . horror movies? Steak? His daughter?” She gestured over at Libby in the corner. “It’s just casual, I promise.”