A Cowboy's Luck

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  By the time he kissed his way back to her breasts and began moving lower, she was frantic with need. She didn’t want to do anything to slow him down. She only wanted…yes…that…that.

  In no time, he drove her out of her ever-loving mind with his talented mouth. She began to quiver as tension coiled tighter with each flick of his tongue. He grasped her hips, keeping her steady as he continued his sensual assault, coaxing her up, up…and now.

  Crying out in breathless abandon, she came thoroughly and gloriously, whirling in a vortex of delirious pleasure. As she slowly settled down to earth, he slid up beside her and gathered her close, giving her safe harbor.

  Satisfied and drowsy, she sank against his broad chest. And slept.

  She woke to the scent of coffee brewing and pale sunlight filtering through her bedroom curtains. She was alone in the bed but not alone in the apartment. Michael was in the kitchen. Judging from the careful way he opened and closed the cupboard doors, he was trying to be quiet.

  He’d also managed to get her under the covers last night without waking her. She must have been out like a light. Not to mention crazy as a loon.

  She’d invited Michael, a man she’d met about three weeks ago, up to her apartment and into her bed. What had she been thinking?

  There was the problem. She hadn’t been thinking. Instead she’d reacted viscerally to a magical evening with a sexy man. Dazzled by the stimulating atmosphere of the Guzzling Grizzly, the success of the t-shirts and a romantic waltz, she thrown caution to the winds. She’d never gotten naked with a man on the first date.

  Even with Phil, she’d waited until the third date, and she’d been wild for that guy. Stupid wild, as it turned out. Hadn’t she learned her lesson?

  Holding the covers to her chest, she sat up. Time to get a grip. She could salvage the situation. They’d only spent one night in bed together, and without condoms, they hadn’t engaged in the ultimate sexual act.

  If she called a halt now, she could avoid heading down the same path to heartbreak she’d walked with Phil. She’d be smarter this time around, catch herself before she repeated her previous mistake of getting too chummy, too fast.

  She glanced around the bedroom. None of his clothes lay on the floor, so they must be on him. Her jeans, panties and boots were sitting beside the bed, but the rest of her ensemble was out in the living room.

  Ditching the idea of a robe—too provocative—she climbed out of bed and grabbed sweatpants and a sweatshirt out of a dresser drawer. She had the pants on and was pulling the sweatshirt over her head when he walked into the bedroom.

  “You’re up!”

  She popped her head through the neck of the sweatshirt and pulled her hair free. “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself.” Smiling, he walked toward her, his intention shining in his gaze. He had loving on his mind.

  Her body warmed in response to that look, but she tamped down her reaction and backed up a step. “Michael....”

  His smile faded. “Are you worried about my morning bristle? Because I’ll be care—”

  “It’s not that. It’s…last night was…” She took a shaky breath. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Five

  Easy does it. Evidently Roxanne had morning regrets. It happened. Michael hadn’t dealt with that before, but no need to panic and think she was about to kick him to the curb.

  Except he didn’t know a guy in the world who welcomed the phrase we need to talk. He gave her a smile, anyway. “Sure. I’ve started the coffee. I hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine. Thank you. Coffee would be good.”

  A kiss would be better, but he chose not to say that. She didn’t seem in the mood. He had been, but not anymore. He waited until she put on some fuzzy slippers before following her out the door.

  On the way through the living room, she cast a furtive glance around. “Thanks for picking up my stuff.”

  “You’re welcome.” He’d folded her jacket, her shirt and her bra and laid them on the couch. His jacket and hat sat beside her pile of clothes. A few minutes earlier, the arrangement had looked fun and cozy, something to joke about.

  Since he’d been the first one up, he’d roamed her living room and admired her tech equipment. What a kick if he could be there when she was working on a project, although he wouldn’t want to interrupt the creative process.

  He’d also taken a tour of the art on her walls. The ones signed Q. Sawyer had to be the scratchboard art she’d mentioned. Amazing detail. Michael could easily become a fan.

  She also had some innovative free-form prints that looked as if they had been generated on a computer. He didn’t know enough to understand how they were made, but they were beautiful, filled with light and color. He’d looked forward to asking her about all of it. That discussion would have to be postponed.

  She walked into the kitchen and took a couple of sturdy ceramic mugs out of the cupboard. “Do you like anything in your coffee?”

  “Just black is fine.”

  “That’s lucky. I have sugar but no cream.”

  He chuckled. “What if I’d wanted cream?”

  “I could have offered you a spoonful of chocolate ripple ice cream. Ingrid says that works okay. She likes cream.” She handed him a mug. “Or I could have run downstairs to the bakery. It’s open.”

  “I smelled bread baking. What a great way to wake up in the morning.” The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the sweet aroma of sex had given him a morning woody. He’d tamed it, but walking into the bedroom just as she pulled on her sweatshirt without a bra had resurrected his bad boy. Not a problem now, though.

  The coffee was done. She poured them each a mugful and handed one over before heading toward her kitchen table. “Let’s sit here.”

  He could be wrong, but he’d bet she wanted to avoid the living room, the scene of her first orgasm with him. Once she sat down, he took a seat. The chair fit him. So had the bed. Likely she’d bought generously sized furniture because she was tall, too.

  She gripped her mug in both hands but didn’t take a drink. “First let me say, this is all my fault.”

  “Fault?” He didn’t like the sound of that.

  “You were ready to walk me to the door, maybe kiss me goodnight, and—”

  “Definitely kiss you.” He took a sip of coffee. He needed the caffeine boost to get through this.

  “But you didn’t expect an invitation to go upstairs.”

  “No, but I was extremely happy about it.” The coffee was good. He drank some more.

  “I know, and I apologize.”

  He put down his mug. “Hang on. What’s all this about fault and apologies? Last night was wonderful. At least I thought so.”

  Her gaze gentled. “I thought so, too. It was magic.”

  That was more like it. “Good word. I agree.”

  “But magic can make people act out of character, which is exactly what I did. I don’t have sex on a first date. That’s not who I am.”

  He began to get the lay of the land. “Did it feel like a first date to you?”

  “Not exactly, but technically it was. We’d interacted as business associates but we hadn’t spent time together socially.”

  “Does that matter? Because of the business connection we’ve come to know each other a little, more than a little. It wasn’t like we met because of a dating app. I consider us friends.”

  “I do, too, but last night we moved way beyond the friendship stage. That’s on me. I’m so sorry for that.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “Are you?”

  Her cheeks turned bright pink.

  If he could, he would have taken her hand, but she had them both wrapped around her coffee mug. “For the record, I’m not a bit sorry. You’re an amazing woman and if we skipped a few steps going from friends to lovers, so what?”

  “It’s a really bad idea to do that.”

  “Says who?”

  She took a shaky breath. “I do.”

&nbs
p; He drank more coffee to buy some time and fuel his brain cells. He didn’t know where this conviction came from and if he hoped to overturn it, he needed that information. “I don’t mean to pry into your personal life, but—”

  “It’s okay. After I blew the call and brought you up here last night, you have that right. His name is Phil.”

  Phil the asshole. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but if the guy had made her this gun-shy, he deserved the label. “What’s the story with Phil?”

  “We met in college. Hit it off immediately, just like you and I have. The chemistry was off the charts. I thought we were soulmates. I think he even said something to that effect and I bought into it totally. Three weeks later he was gone.”

  “Why?” Yeah, asshole.

  She shrugged. “The flame was too hot and burned itself out. If something is meant to last, you need a slow build, a chance to get to know each other.”

  “One bad experience doesn’t—”

  “It does if you’re the one it happened to.”

  The one who was badly hurt. Chances were that jerk Phil hadn’t shed a tear. His type showered a woman with attention, lured her into bed and kept her around until he needed a new conquest to feed his oversized ego.

  Michael could cheerfully wring his neck. “I’m sorry you went through it.”

  “Me, too. And I should know better. My parents were best friends long before they became lovers. Their marriage was something special because of that careful tending of the relationship before it became sexual.”

  It would be stupid to continue an argument he was bound to lose. Her opinion was emotion-based—fear of repeating her mistake and love of her parents and their idyllic story.

  And yet…she was attracted to him or she wouldn’t have invited him into her bed. He might have some hope of turning this around if he could be patient. He was in Eagles Nest for the duration. So was she. She wanted time. He could give her time.

  She continued to clutch her mug as if needing something to hold onto. “The irony is that I really like you.”

  “I really like you, too.”

  “I can’t believe I did the very thing that could mess up our chances.”

  “You didn’t.” He was wary of touching her but did it, anyway. Reaching across the table, he laid his hand on her arm. “We can start over.”

  “Do you think so?” She looked adorably hopeful.

  “It’s worth a shot. I’m not going anywhere. If you want to try some old-fashioned dating, I’m up for that.”

  “Me, too.” Her throat moved in a slow swallow. “Thank you, Michael. That’s very…mature of you.”

  He shrugged. “I’m just not ready to give up.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “I’m in charge at the GG for the next two nights. Bryce and Nicole are booked for a gig in Jackson Hole this weekend.”

  “They are? That’s super.”

  “I’m excited for them, but it means I’m tied up this weekend. I’m off Monday night, though. We could drive to Bozeman and see a movie if you want.”

  “I’d love to.”

  “You can pick which show, but I vote for something light-hearted.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “Then it’s a date. We’ll drive to Bozeman, grab some dinner, see the show and come back here. No funny business.”

  “Okay. Great idea.”

  It sounded like torture, but he’d go along. “You have to do your part, though. If you invite me up to your apartment after the movie, I guarantee I won’t refuse.”

  “I know. Like I said, this was totally my fault.”

  “Do me a favor.” He squeezed her arm and released his hold. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened last night, okay?”

  “But I’m the one who—”

  “It’s not all you. I set up what I hoped would be a special night. I wasn’t trying to get you into bed, but—”

  “Clearly not or you would have tucked condoms in your pocket.”

  “Not my style. Even so, I’d hoped you’d enjoy the evening and like me enough that maybe, in another couple of dates, you’d invite me up to your apartment. The truth is, I’ve wanted you ever since we first met.”

  “The truth is, I’ve wanted you, too.”

  “Thank you for saying that. It helps.”

  “But I shouldn’t have acted on impulse. Like I said, I know better.”

  He longed to debate the point, but she wasn’t ready to listen. She’d been unlucky enough to run into a slimy character who’d played the soulmate card to get what he wanted from her.

  Crazy thing was, he and Roxanne might be the real deal. She might not believe in soulmates anymore. But he did.

  * * *

  Roxanne left her coffee untouched. Michael finished his. She walked him down the stairs and at the door he kissed her on the forehead. Chaste and non-sexual, exactly as she’d requested. Then he left.

  Closing the door, she leaned against it and swore softly. He’d been wonderful about this whole thing. But when he’d kissed her on the forehead, she’d wanted a real kiss, instead. What a hot mess she was! She’d better get her act together before their movie date on Monday night or she’d ruin everything…again.

  Returning to her apartment, she gathered up a load of laundry, including her logo t-shirt and her jeans from last night, and shoved the clothes into a compact washer in a corner of the kitchen. There’d been no good time to model the shirt for Abigail and Ingrid yesterday and she’d promised to show it to them this afternoon.

  She loved that darned shirt, although wearing it came with hazards, now. How could she forget the moment when Michael had tried to peel it off? He’d been so eager, and then the shirt had snagged on her earrings.

  Oops. She pulled the jeans out of the washer and took the earrings out of the front pocket before starting the washer. The night had sparkled like those earrings, like the disco ball, like street lights reflected off ice crystals on the road as he’d driven her home.

  If she could rewrite history, would she? Would she choose to end the evening with a goodnight kiss? No, dammit. She’d made a mistake, but she’d enjoyed every minute of it.

  Chapter Six

  A little before two that afternoon, Roxanne’s shirt was dry. She texted Abigail to find out if the shop was busy and whether Ingrid was still around. Abigail told her to come on over.

  Throwing on her denim jacket, she hurried down the steps, out the door and across the sidewalk to the bakery entrance. She glanced at the display window to make sure her St. Patrick’s Day paint job was holding up. Sure was. The familiar aroma of yeast bread, pastries and coffee greeted her as she opened the door.

  “Great timing!” Abigail called out from behind the cash register. Her short brown curls and bright smile matched the cheerful atmosphere of the bakery. “It’s dead now, but twenty minutes ago we were swamped.”

  “It’s the new coffee flavor.” Ingrid looked frazzled as she rounded the counter with a spray bottle in one hand and a cleaning rag in the other. Wisps of blond hair had escaped the bun she wore during work hours. “Luck o’ the Irish is a hit.”

  “People keep asking if there’s real brandy in it.” Abigail closed the cash drawer. “Especially the teenagers. They think they’re getting away with something.”

  “It tastes real to me,” Roxanne said. “I’m not surprised they’re asking.”

  Ingrid set the spray bottle and rag on the nearest bistro table. “Enough about that. Let’s see your shirt!”

  “Ta-da!” Roxanne opened her jacket, faced Ingrid and then spun around so Abigail could see it, too.

  Ingrid whooped. “I love it! Oh, my God, it’s so cute.”

  “Adorable!” Abigail came out from behind the counter. “Take off your jacket so I can see how it fits.”

  Shedding her jacket, Roxanne hung it over the back of a bistro chair. Then she spread her arms and twirled slowly. “It’s been washed and air dried and didn’t shrink at all. The cotton’s go
od quality.”

  Ingrid came over and fingered the cap sleeve. “It does feel nice and the cut’s flattering. When can we get one?”

  “Call the Guzzling Grizzly. They’re taking orders.”

  “I’ll do that,” Abigail said. Hands on her hips, she studied the shirt. “What a brainstorm to sell these. Was it your idea?”

  “No, Michael’s.” Right on cue, her face began to heat.

  Ingrid exchanged a look with Abigail. Then they both folded their arms and gazed at her expectantly.

  “I didn’t have a chance to tell you guys, but he asked me to have dinner last night at the GG.”

  “Oh, did he, now?” Ingrid smiled. “And?”

  She played innocent. “And what?”

  “Blushing’s usually a sign there was more to it,” Abigail said. “Not that you have to tell us, but we are your besties, right?”

  “Right. And there, um, was more to it. Listen could we have some of that Luck o’ the Irish coffee? I’ll help make it.”

  “Sure we can.” Ingrid started toward the gleaming machine that had turned into a business bonanza in the past month. Pie in the Sky was the only place in Eagles Nest serving specialty coffee and Ingrid was constantly coming up with new recipes.

  Moments later they’d gathered around a bistro table with whipped-cream-topped coffee drinks and shamrock cookies frosted bright green with sprinkles.

  Ingrid bit into hers. “These bring out the kid in me. “

  “You’re never too old for holiday-themed sugar cookies with sprinkles.” Roxanne admired her cookie before grabbing her phone and taking a picture of it for Wes. She quickly texted it to him. “My brother would love these.”

  Abigail picked up her coffee. “When’s he coming to visit?”

  “Soon, I hope, but he hasn’t settled on a date.”

  “And speaking of dates…” Ingrid gave her a nudge.

  “Yeah, well.” Roxanne sighed. “We had a great evening. He’s started something new over there, a VIP treatment for anybody celebrating a special occasion.”