The Cowboy Meets His Match

by Jessica Clare

  Even so, this was the best, most thoughtful present ever. Ever. It beat the heck out of a bouquet of flowers or a bracelet. Anyone could get those, but Hank didn’t want her to be lonely, and he’d gotten her her favorite of the litter deliberately.

  It was the little things that made her melt, and she was definitely melting into a puddle right about now.

  Smiling, she rubbed the puppy’s ears. The little girl didn’t have a name, but maybe Hank could help with that. “She’s wonderful. Thank you so much. You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

  Hank leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. “I’m glad it was a good call.”

  The puppy started to chew on the ribbon, her head tilting as she tried to get to the bow, so Becca carefully removed it from her neck and set her down to explore. “It’s the best call . . . Did you say a two-part gift?”

  He nodded.

  “You know my birthday isn’t until December, right?” She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve all this.

  “It’s not a birthday present. And part two is coming just as soon as I get the guts.”

  Guts? She sucked in a breath. Surely . . . surely this wasn’t what she thought? Her heart fluttered in her chest, and Becca wasn’t sure if it was excitement or anxiety. What if he proposed and then just strung her along for years like Greg did? After all, he wasn’t staying in Wyoming. He—

  “I think the puppy just pissed on the floor.”

  His chagrined words broke her out of her freak-out spiral. Becca whirled, and sure enough, her new little buddy was popping a squat right in the corner. “Poor baby.” She grabbed paper towels out of the back and mopped up quickly. “She probably needs a walk.”

  Hank pulled a leash out of his pocket and offered it to her.

  She clipped it onto the tiny, adorable collar on the equally tiny, adorable neck, scooped her up, then looked at Hank. “Or do we need to do gift number two first?”

  He waved a hand. “It can wait.”

  She exhaled—had she been holding her breath? God, why was she so nervous? Becca watched Hank out of the corner of her eye as they went outside and let the puppy explore the grassy medians. Was he distracted? He kept rubbing his beard, a faraway expression on his face. She wondered what he was thinking.

  “I need a name for her,” she told Hank. “Did Libby have any ideas?”

  His smile was rueful. “She called her Alaska.”

  Oh. Okay, that was a weird coincidence—she hoped—but it was kind of a cute name. “Alaska it is.” She scooped up the puppy when she lay down in the grass, and gestured to the salon. “Should we go back inside?”

  Did he look pale? Oh god, was this bad news? But Hank nodded. “Sure.”

  Her heart pounded as he put a hand to her back and they returned to the salon. The moment the door shut behind them, Hank moved aside and headed for one of her salon chairs. He sat down and gave Becca a long, long look.

  Okay, now she was really confused. She folded a few towels into a makeshift bed behind the counter and set Alaska down, then moved to Hank’s side. “What is it?”

  One big hand gestured at his brushy beard. “It’s this. Cut it all off.”

  Becca frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “This is for you. I’m gonna cut it off.” He smiled, but it looked more nervous than excited. “It’s part of my big gesture to show you how much you mean to me.”

  Was that what this was? Becca melted, reaching up and touching his face. She caressed his jaw—and his beard. “Oh, Hank, you don’t have to cut your beard off to impress me. I would never ask that. I like your beard. I like you. You don’t have to change a thing.”

  He gazed up at her thoughtfully, his expression turning heated. His arm went around her waist and he caressed her butt through the skirt of her dress. “I don’t like how it tears you up. Your pretty skin gets all red and raw when I’m done kissing you. Both your face and your thighs.” He stroked his knuckles along her jawline. “Don’t like to think I’m hurting you.”

  “I like your beard,” Becca stated again, blushing. She especially liked it below the waist. “And let me show you a little something.” She moved to her counter, picking through the bottles of product before she came upon the one she needed. Becca returned to him and showed him the bottle of beard oil. “This will help a little.”

  “I . . . see.” He sounded so reluctant that she wanted to laugh.

  “You put a bit of oil on your hands”—she demonstrated—“then rub it into your beard and massage it into the skin.” She leaned close, so close that she was practically straddling him as she worked her fingers through his beard, then rubbed his jaw. His body tensed under hers, and Becca was getting ever so slightly aroused just from this. Touching him was a turn-on, always. “What do you think?”

  He scowled at her. “I think I don’t like the idea of you doing this to your customers.”

  She arched a brow at him. “You think I crawl all over all my clients just to rub a bit of oil into their beards? This is just for you.” She stroked her fingers through his beard again. “Don’t you think this feels softer? Sexier?”

  He groaned and tugged her closer, his hands cupping her butt. “I like the way this part feels.” Hank gazed at her thoughtfully. “You sure you don’t want me to cut it off for you? I will.”

  “I like you just as you are,” Becca admitted. “If you like the beard, I like the beard. Besides, I think it’s sexy.” She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “All of you is sexy.”

  “Becca,” he groaned, closing his eyes. “Before we get too distracted, we—we need to talk.”

  She leaned back, eyeing him with worry. “Well, that didn’t sound good. Talk about what? Is this why you came bearing gifts?” She was immediately suspicious . . . and a little hurt. This had happened in her last relationship, too. Whenever Greg had wanted to apologize for something or to tell her something he knew would upset her, he’d tried to sweeten the bad news with flowers or a nice “surprise” dinner out. It had gotten to the point that she’d started to dread whenever Greg showed up with flowers, because it meant her day was about to go downhill.

  “I can’t keep doing this,” Hank began.

  She jumped out of his lap instantly, stung. What the hell? “You’re breaking up with me?”

  “What? No, I didn’t say that.” Hank lurched to his feet.

  Becca rushed away from him, grabbing a hand towel and wiping the oil from her palms. “You came here with gifts so you can break the bad news to me easily, is that it?” She laughed bitterly. “I guess it’s a good thing we never made it past casual, right?”

  He practically snarled, the sound surprising in its utter frustration. “That’s the problem, Becca. You keep saying that we’re casual like it’s something we both decided on, but every time I hear that word, I want to scream.”

  Surprise flooded through her. She turned to look at him, confused she hadn’t just misheard him. “You don’t want to be casual?”

  “Have I ever said that I did?”

  She blinked. Tried to think. “I thought . . . I thought we agreed that we’d be casual since you were going back to Alaska.”

  “Am I in Alaska, baby?” He got up from the chair and moved toward her. Stalked, really, like she was his prey and he was a predator on the hunt. It was . . . really damned sexy.

  She shivered. “No.”

  “I don’t like casual,” he said, approaching her. “In fact, I hate casual. I hate the thought of anyone thinking you don’t belong to me. I hate the thought of someone else touching you. I hate the thought of you and me not being a thing. Of it not being important. Because it’s sure as hell important to me.” Hank gestured at the puppy. “That’s why I wanted to do something big for you, show you how much I cared. Because I can’t do this casual shit, I really can’t. I’m not a casual man.”

  Joy s
welled inside her, and Becca clutched at her chest, as if a touch could contain the pounding of her heart. “I don’t want to be casual, either. I’ve never wanted that.”

  Hank gave her an exasperated look. “Then why the hell did you say it?”

  “Because I thought that was what you wanted! I know I can get clingy. I worry I latch on entirely too fast for a normal relationship. I wasn’t sure if you wanted that.”

  “I’m fine with fast.” His words were low, sweet music to her ears. “Real fine with it.”

  “I am, too,” she told him, and then added, “I’m on the pill.”

  His brows went up. “We moving that fast, then?”

  “Why not? I want you, and you want me . . .” she said boldly, and then her bravado failed her. “Don’t you?”

  Hank’s look grew utterly intense. “You know I do.”

  She wanted to ask him about Alaska. Wanted to ask him what happened to her—to them—when he moved back. But that was months away, wasn’t it? And he’d pointed out that he was here right now. This wasn’t a marriage proposal. This was being exclusive with someone and seeing how things shook out.

  Alaska was far off in the distance.

  Hopefully.

  So she bit her lip and gave him a smile. He moved toward her, closing the distance between them, and she sidestepped, scooping up the puppy. “Lock the door to the salon, please,” Becca whispered. “I’ll take this little girl next door and get her settled so you and I can be alone.”

  His mouth curved in a hint of a smile, and he gave her a look that devoured her. “Hurry, then.”

  Oh, she would. She all but dashed through the connecting door into the house and headed for the kitchen. She didn’t have puppy food, but she did have some leftover chicken from yesterday, and she cooed and made kissy noises at the wiggly baby in her arms as she pulled it out of the fridge. Five minutes later, it was chopped up and in a bowl on the floor in the bathroom, along with fresh water and a nest comprised of a couple of shirts that smelled like her and a thick blanket. That ought to hold the little girl for a bit . . . she hoped. She was new to puppy parenting, but she couldn’t wait to learn all about her little girl.

  “Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to the pet store after work and get you all kinds of goodies, okay?” She promised Alaska, stroking her soft fur as she gobbled down the chopped chicken. “A bed, some dog food, and all the good stuff. Maybe Dad would like to come with us.”

  “Dad?” came the voice from the hall. “Am I a dad to a puppy now?”

  “You might be,” Becca said, straightening. She washed her hands and then carefully closed the bathroom door while the puppy was eating, escaping into the hall. “You think it’s okay to leave her alone in there for a bit?”

  “Unless you want to show her what Mom and Dad do in the privacy of their room.”

  Maybe it was a better idea not to have the puppy watching them together. At least . . . not their first time. She wanted it to be all about her and Hank, nothing more. “We’ll just keep an ear out to see if she cries, then.” Her pulse was fluttering in her chest as he moved closer, then leaned one hand against the doorjamb, practically standing over her and pinning her to the wall. Her nipples hardened in response and she was incredibly aware of his nearness. “So . . . Libby?”

  “Uncle sleepover,” Hank murmured, reaching down and toying with a lock of her hair that danced over her shoulder. “Had to pay Jack and Caleb double their usual rate for watching her tonight. I think they’re getting tired of babysitting.”

  “Oh. We can always set her up in the guest room,” Becca said, thinking. “It’ll be like she has a room of her own. We can get a nightlight and some stuffed animals and a baby monitor—does she need a baby monitor?—and make it feel like home . . .” She trailed off as he brushed his fingers under her jaw, then ran his thumb over her lower lip.

  “Let’s worry about all of that in the morning. Is the puppy situated?” When she nodded, he slid his hands to her waist and then hefted her into his arms. She gave a little cry of alarm and flung her arms around his neck to steady herself. “Then we’re going into the bedroom and we’re not coming out until I’ve made you scream my name. Twice.”

  Now, that sounded like her kind of challenge. Becca shivered with anticipation, stroking her fingers over his neck as he hauled her into the bedroom. She was so glad she’d made her bed and cleaned up this morning . . . and even more glad that since she’d started dating Hank, she’d thrown away the squirrel undies. Today she was wearing a matching pink set that made her feel pretty and flirty . . . because she’d secretly hoped he’d get a chance to see them.

  Not that he’d paid much attention to her panties this last week. It was more about what was under them.

  Hank set her gently down on the bed and stared at her, his gaze locked on her as he reached over and took one boot off, then the other. He was starting with undressing, which meant that things were going to get heated fast. That was totally fine with her. She felt like this week had been one long bout of foreplay, and she was more than ready to take things to their natural completion. Heck, she was practically quivering with need. Hadn’t she thought about this for days on end? Dreamed about what it would feel like to have his big body covering hers as he claimed her for himself? They’d been enjoying each other this week—oh boy, had she ever enjoyed herself—but this felt good. It felt right.

  It felt like it was about time. But then again, Becca was an impatient sort.

  He tossed aside his boots and pulled his socks off, then moved his hands to his waist. Slowly. Far too slowly. Biting back her frustration, she reached for his belt, trying to unbuckle him faster. He batted her hands aside gently and continued his slow undressing, to the point that she glared at him as he slung his belt aside with all the speed of a snail.

  He wanted to be like that? Fine, two could play that game. Becca got up from the bed and kept her gaze locked on him as she reached behind her for the zipper to her sundress. She eased it down and the straps fell forward on her shoulders, the bodice sagging. She shimmied and held it to her breasts as she slid her arms out of the straps, and then turned away as she let the dress fall to the floor. Then she was in only her pink lacy bra and panties and her sandals.

  And the sandals were quickly discarded.

  Hank groaned and reached for her, but this time she was the one that pushed his hands aside, casting him a coy, playful look over her shoulder. “Naked, please.”

  “Tease,” he muttered, but she heard the impatient rustle of clothing as he stripped down behind her. She sauntered to the far side of the bed, only to be snatched at the waist by her big, strong cowboy.

  With a yelp, Becca bounced on the bed and giggled as Hank flung himself down next to her. Hank was so serious most of the time, so when he showed a bit of playfulness, it just made her melt. He tugged on her leg and flipped her onto her back, and then she was gazing up at him, breathless, as he grinned down at her.

  The man was naked. Finally.

  A pleased sigh escaped her, and Becca slid her hand over his chest. “You’re the best boyfriend.”

  “I’d better be the only boyfriend,” he mock growled, and lowered his head. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he slid lower, nipping at her neck, and the now-softened bristles of his beard tickled her skin. A little moan escaped her, and she squirmed underneath him as he nipped again, moving slowly but steadily lower. His big hand reached behind her back, unfastened the clasp of her bra, and then tugged it off her.

  Her nipples were tight and aching with anticipation as he moved down her collarbones, his hand warm as he caressed her arm. His big body was over her, but he kept his weight carefully propped up so as not to crush her. She wanted that crush, weirdly enough. She wanted him to sink down on her with that heavy, delicious weight so she could revel in the feel of all of him on top of her. It was an oddly specific craving, but sh
e’d been unable to think of anything else for days now.

  Well, okay, that wasn’t entirely true. She thought about a lot of things when it came to Hank. Like the tickle of his beard on the insides of her thighs. The way he knew how to go down on her and make her come so hard. The way he didn’t mind if she took a little longer to climax, because it gave him more time to taste her. The way his big, heavy cock felt in her grip—or against her lips. His reactions when she touched him.

  She was obsessed. Happily so.

  Hank’s mouth moved lower, and his hand moved to her breast even as his lips closed over her other nipple. He teased her with his lips, then gave her a gentle scrape with his teeth that made her senses reel. A moan escaped her, loud against the quiet sounds of their breathing.

  “Love the way you taste, baby,” he told her between licks and nips. “Love these pretty breasts.” He palmed one and toyed with the tip, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth over it in the way that drove her absolutely insane. He spent an exquisite amount of time on her breasts, lovingly tasting and caressing each mound, making sure to give each breast equal amounts of attention. When his mouth lingered too long on the left, he’d lift his head, blow lightly on the wet nipple, and then switch to the other side.

  It was the most delicious kind of agony, and Becca was squirming, panting, and utterly lost by the time he began to kiss lower. She arched against him in silent suggestion, but he only put a hand on her belly and gently pushed her back down to the bed.

  She made a sound of protest, her hands going to his hair, and she gave him a little push in the direction she wanted.

  His teeth scraped at her bellybutton, and she felt him chuckle against her skin. “Pushy, pushy.”

  “I need you,” she whispered. “I need you so badly.”

  “I’m gonna give you everything,” he promised, kissing lower. “Don’t worry.”

  Oh, she wasn’t worried. It was that hungry impatience that was driving her insane with need. Even so, she knew he’d make it good for her. Knew that by the time he was done, she’d be practically lifting off the bed with her orgasm. Knew that he’d make her come over and over again if that was what she wanted. He’d never rushed her. Not once, not ever.