All-American Cowboy

by Dylann Crush

  Her even breath turned ragged when he lowered his mouth to run his lips along her collarbone. What was he doing? His heart crashed against the walls of his chest like an out-of-control junker in a demolition derby. She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, finally giving up and tugging in an attempt to pull it over his shoulders. It bunched around his chest, and her hands began working his undershirt up, allowing the skin on their torsos to connect. He felt a sizzle like when bacon hits a hot skillet, the heat of skin-to-skin contact making him desperate to feel her, all of her, under him.

  Lips mashed together, tongues swirled, his hands fumbled, trying to find a way under the long, flowy skirt. Someone could come along at any moment. He needed to stop. At least take her back to her place, if not abandon this crazy hookup altogether. That would be smart.

  But then her fingers skimmed his abs, paused to unbutton his jeans, and eased down the zipper fly. He hissed as she wrapped her hand around his shaft and worked her thumb over his tip. He could have let himself go right here and now if he’d wanted to. Instead, he gathered every scrap of willpower he had and pulled her over on top of him.

  “Charlie, we should go. Let me drive us back to your place.”

  She raised up over him, peeled her bra off, and finished the job she’d started on his buttons.

  “It’s too far.” She flung one leg over his, grinding into his thigh as the air whooshed out of him.

  Screw it. He wasn’t ready to deal with the emotional stuff yet. It was too new, too raw. But the physical—he couldn’t wait to start dealing with that.

  Finally free of his shirt and her bra, their chests aligned, her breasts pressing down on his pecs. Heat radiated out from his core, smoldering through his limbs, flaring at each and every place their bare skin touched.

  She felt so good. No, not just good. She felt fucking fantastic. Her lips pressed kisses along his jaw, then she nipped at his earlobe and ran her tongue along the shell of his ear. Her mouth was everywhere at once, licking, sucking, kissing, searing his skin. He was putty in her capable hands.

  His fingers finally found a way through the yards of material bunched up around her waist, and he cupped her incredible ass with both hands, kneading the soft skin and pressing her hips harder into his thigh.

  Charlie moaned into his mouth. He wanted to slow it down, savor every sensation and let them take their time getting to know each other’s bodies. He wanted to see every uncovered inch of her. But she wouldn’t let up. Next time. Damn, he hoped there would be a next time.

  Did he have a condom? He worked his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, and it fell on the floor. His fingers felt for the familiar foil packet. A sigh escaped his chest as his fingers closed around the crackling package. Thank God for small favors.

  * * *

  “You sure about this?” Beck’s voice cut through the fog of lust that had crowded all rational thoughts from her brain. What was she doing? She hadn’t had sex in more than eight years, and she was willing to hook up with a one-night stand in a parking lot where anyone could see them? No. This wasn’t right. She couldn’t be a notch on the cover of his leather portfolio.

  But it felt so good. Underneath the ridiculous shirt Whitey must have sold him off the clearance rack, hard pecs, a six-pack—no, make that a twelve-pack—of abs felt like an escape route to some sort of nirvana. Not to mention the promise of salvation she still palmed in his pants. Her little battery-operated ticket to the land of O’s had nothing on what Beck could offer.

  This was wrong. Wrong on so many counts. First, the employer–employee thing. Second, they were in a parking lot. A freaking parking lot. How had she managed to lose every shred of control? Third, she hadn’t had sex since Jackson. Her heart squeezed as a mental image of the last time they’d been together fuzzed at the edges of her mind.

  Beck’s finger slid along the waistband of her panties, and she shuddered, a long shiver that hit every nerve ending she had. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Jackson would have wanted her to go on. Why couldn’t her brain seem to follow instructions?

  As Beck pushed her underwear down over her hips, a tear worked its way out of her clenched eyelids and rolled down her cheek. Dammit. She should be enjoying this. She was enjoying this. His hand drifted between them, edging its way toward the epicenter of her need. Just do it, get it over with.

  “You okay?” Beck stilled underneath her. “Charlie?”

  She sniffled, wiping at her cheek. Great. Now he’d know what an emotional hot mess she was.

  “Hey”—his hand brushed her cheek—“we don’t have to do this.”

  But she did. She wanted to. God, how she wanted to. “It’s just been a long time.”

  “Okay.” His fingers brushed along her arms, grazing her back. “You’re in charge. We can take it as slow as you want.”

  How could she explain? She didn’t want to go slow. She wanted him to erase all the hurt in her heart. Wanted him to wipe her memory clean of any pain. Wanted him to satisfy the deep, aching need she’d been carrying around with her for the past eight years.

  She pulled his hand to her mouth, kissed his palm. It was time to move on from Jackson. And she wanted to go there with a man like Beck. No, not just a man like Beck. The realization hit her like a two-by-four to the heart. She wanted to go there with Beck.

  Committed to opening herself up to this man, unlocking the chains and padlocks she’d wrapped around her heart, she slipped her panties off her legs. He slid the condom into place. She hovered over him, his hands on her hips, ready to guide her, to take her where she needed to go. Every nerve ending she had concentrated in that one spot, desperate for him to put an end to her need.

  A loud knock sounded on the driver’s side window. Beck banged his head on the roof of the cab as he shot to a seated position. She straddled him, her skirt still bunched up around her waist, bare breasts pressed against his chest.

  “Charlie?” A beam of bright light sliced through the darkness, illuminating Beck’s face. He ran a hand over the delicious scruff that had been scraping along her skin just moments before.

  “Oh my God. I don’t believe it.” She climbed halfway over the front seat to locate her shirt and bra. Coming up empty-handed, she made a grab for Beck’s instead and shoved her arms through the sleeves as the front door creaked open.

  “Who is it?” Beck asked.

  “Charlie? You okay?” The light bounced around the inside of the cab, finally stopping on her face.

  Blinded, she put her hand out to shield her eyes. “Tippy, get the damn light out of my eyes.”

  “Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” The light disappeared, and the whole truck shifted as Cash’s best friend and coworker stepped off of the running board and onto the ground.

  Charlie yanked the shirt over her shoulders and squelched the panic rising in her chest. Just her luck. She ran her hands over her hair in an attempt to wrangle it back into place.

  “What the hell?” Beck rebuttoned his jeans before clambering out of the truck. She held her breath as the two men faced each other. A few folks had gathered around in the parking lot. Everyone for fifty miles around would recognize her truck. No sense pretending she wasn’t here. She cracked the door, drawing Tippy’s and Beck’s attention.

  “Damn, Charlie. What are you doing out here? I got a call from Dwight saying he thought something awful was going down in your truck, seeing as the windows were all steamed up.” Tippy had his hands on the hips of his polyester uniform. With his sheriff’s deputy hat covering the receding hairline and an official sidearm in the holster on his waist, he looked like he meant business.

  “Can we just get out of here? Obviously the only thing going down out here is my reputation.” To hell in a handbasket.

  Tippy chuckled. “Yeah, but I logged it. Need to follow up with a report. What do you want me to say I found when I arrived on the s
cene?”

  Charlie glared at the man who’d spent more time at her parents’ place than his own home. “Tippy, I swear to you—”

  “Get out of here. I will have to report it though, you know that.” He tipped his hat to her, then turned and crunched across the gravel parking lot to where he’d left his squad car.

  Her hand shook as she lifted it to climb back into the cab.

  “You okay?” Beck asked. “And who is Tippy?”

  Beck looked ridiculous standing in the dimly lit parking lot with no shirt on. She’d messed up his hair when she’d run her hands through it. She wanted to reach up and smooth down the adorable cowlick but pressed her arm against her side instead.

  “No, I’m not okay. And Tippy works with Cash. Family friend and all that. What time does your flight take off tomorrow?”

  “Ten. Figured I’d leave for the airport around seven.”

  “Leave at five.”

  A crease appeared across his forehead. “Why?”

  “Because that way you might just avoid the gossipmongers.” He still didn’t get it. “Right now, Tippy is radioing in that he found us half-naked in the parking lot of the Suds Club. Whitey keeps a scanner and will pick up on the news. Within five minutes, half of Conroe County will know that you and I were doing a horizontal two-step in the back seat of my truck.”

  Beck blinked. “You’ve got to be exaggerating. Don’t people around here have better things to do on a Sunday night?”

  Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She glanced at the screen, then held it out for Beck. Darby’s “WTF” had a slew of exclamation points and question marks after it.

  “Still don’t believe me?” She climbed over the center console to the passenger seat. “Keys are above the visor.”

  Beck settled into the driver seat. “I don’t get it.”

  “Of course you don’t. You probably grew up in a place where your neighbors didn’t keep tabs on your comings and goings for their own entertainment. People around here know my business before I do sometimes.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know this would cause all kinds of trouble for you.” He navigated out of the parking lot and onto the dark, two-lane county road.

  She turned to look out the window. “It’s my fault. I should have known better.”

  “Should have known better about what?”

  “Nothing.” How would she be able to explain it to him? He didn’t grow up around here—he’d never get it.

  “Don’t shut me out here, Charlie. Tell me what you mean. I want to understand.”

  She pulled his shirt tighter around her. “Not tonight. It’s late. You have to leave early. Can we talk about it when you get back?”

  “Fine.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “But we will talk about this. I mean it.”

  She’d made a mistake. But with the bluish glow of the dashboard bouncing off his still-naked chest, her unsatisfied traitorous body argued with her.

  She couldn’t deny the attraction. She couldn’t deny he’d awakened a part of her she’d stuffed away years ago. She couldn’t deny the fact that if she had to do it all again, she’d have done the same damn thing.

  Chapter Eleven

  Beck exited the terminal at La Guardia and inhaled the muggy heat of a New York City summer. He’d missed the city. As his dad’s regular driver navigated the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the sight of concrete and high-rises calmed his nerves. The blare of horns and the unmistakable sounds of midday Manhattan were like a lullaby to his ears. It was too quiet in Holiday. Set him on edge and made him jittery. He cracked the window, letting the competing smells from hot dog stands, garbage, and exhaust heal him from the inside out. Damn, it was good to be home.

  Forty-five minutes later, he stepped off the elevator in a high-rise bearing his last name. His boots clacked on the Italian marble floors as he strode past the reception area. The perfectly poised blond who worked the front desk turned in his direction and raised an eyebrow at his attire. He winked and barreled toward his office at the end of the hall. Eager to get back to work, he hadn’t wanted to waste time stopping at his apartment. Not when he had an extra change of clothes here.

  His assistant, Emily, rounded her desk when she saw him heading her way. “Welcome back, Mr. Holiday. I take it you, uh, enjoyed your time in Texas?”

  She ran her gaze up and down, probably not sure what to think about the jeans, cowboy boots, and few days of scruff on his usually clean-shaven chin.

  “It was interesting, that’s for sure.” He took the pile of paperwork she handed him and continued to his corner office. Pausing to appreciate the view, he took in a deep breath and stood by the window. That’s how he enjoyed nature—bathed in air-conditioning and from behind tinted glass.

  Emily entered the office, clipboard in hand. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be back today. Your dad is having drinks with the mayor at five, and he wants you to go to that fund-raiser at the Plaza tonight at seven. Oh, and that lawyer called.”

  “Which one?” He turned to face her. He’d never noticed how pale her skin looked next to her crisp white button-down. Did the woman ever get out in the sun?

  “The one with the accent—Mr. Hill.”

  “Thanks, Emily. Please tell my dad I’ll meet him for drinks and gladly represent at the Plaza.”

  “He RSVP’d for two. Will you be taking someone with you?”

  The only person he’d want to take anywhere was a thousand miles away. “No, I’ll just stop in by myself. Oh, and can you send something to Charlotte Walker at the Rambling Rose? I owe her an apology.”

  “Flowers okay? The usual spend?”

  “That would be great. Thanks, Em.”

  Emily nodded and left the office, closing the door behind her.

  Beck ducked into the bathroom attached to his office to get cleaned up. While he showered and shaved, he let his mind drift to thoughts of Charlie and what she might be doing on a Monday afternoon in Holiday. She’d probably wrestled with the crazy pig and put in a full day’s work at the Rose already. What would she look like in a floor-length ball gown like the women at the fund-raiser were sure to be wearing tonight? Red. She’d have to wear red. She’d stand out like a wildflower against the fifty shades of black couture. He nicked himself with the razor. Damn. No more thinking about Charlie.

  Once he’d returned to his standard Monday-through-Friday uniform of a tailor-made suit and tie, he began to feel more like himself. He’d just eased into his padded desk chair when Emily poked her head through his office doorway.

  “Your father wants to see you in the conference room.”

  “Can it wait? I need to get the financials done on that boutique hotel in the Village. He said he wanted them ASAP.”

  Emily held her ground just inside the door. “He’s mad. He told me to tell you”—she consulted the notepad in her hand—“if you don’t get your ass down here right now, the sanitation department will be scraping it off the sidewalk.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “His words, not mine.”

  Beck paused. “He does sound mad.”

  The poor girl looked like she’d burst into tears any moment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Holiday. It’s all my fault.”

  “What? What are you talking about? Em, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “I’ll understand if you want to let me go. But he told me if I didn’t tell him, I’d get fired anyway, so—”

  Not sure whether he should touch her, he shifted from foot to foot. But she looked so lost, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms in an effort to provide some comfort. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Want to fill me in here so I can help?”

  She sniffled and lifted her glasses to wipe a tear from under her eye. “It’s that Morris Park project. He knows you made contact with the broker before you left town. I’m so sorry.”

 
“Everything will be fine.” He should have known better than to try to make a move of his own. All he’d done was make a phone call. His dad couldn’t get too upset over that. He moved past her, hoping he was right, and entered the giant conference room.

  Beckett Sullivan Holiday Jr. sat at the head of the table, his most trusted adviser, Stu, on his right and Beck’s coworker and confidante, J.T., on his left.

  “What’s this?” Beck asked. He twisted his wrist to check his watch. “I’ve got a ton of work to catch up on. Can’t this wait?”

  “You tell me, Son, since you seem to want to call the shots now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Beck fired a look at J.T., who lifted his shoulders and let them sag into a defeated shrug.

  His dad stood. “Going behind my back? You think you’re ready to make big decisions on your own?”

  It was just a phone call. Beck put his hands out, palms up, in an attempt to pacify his old man. “No one’s talking about making any kind of decisions.”

  Holiday crossed the plush carpet to the built-in bar and lifted the crystal topper off the decanter of single malt he kept on hand. “I’m hearing a different story from your partner in crime here. So one of you must be lying.”

  J.T. examined his cuticles, engrossed in his left thumb. Beck wouldn’t be getting any backup from him.

  The elder Holiday poured a glass of scotch. “You know I don’t tolerate liars. So which one of you is it? Which one of you is going to leave this conference room without a job?”

  J.T.’s head snapped up. “Mr. Holiday, sir, no one was trying to go behind your back. We—”

  The shattering of an empty crystal tumbler on the granite counter silenced poor J.T. But Beck had seen his father bully associates like this before. If he could play along, string out the conversation until the old man calmed down, he could defuse the bomb ticking away in his dad’s chest. But he didn’t have the time or energy to play this game. Which left him with one choice. Suck up. Hard.