The Rancher and the Rock Star

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “Now Elvis kisses the girl,” he said.

  “Oh.” There was barely breath enough in her lungs to speak. “I guess you’d better follow the script.”

  His mouth devoured hers. In the back of her mind she’d feared the singing would draw Kim’s curiosity, but when his fingers formed their chords on the skin beneath her ears, the worry faded. When Gray’s tongue slid between her lips and more liquid drizzled into her core, she forgot to care.

  He pulled from the kiss, and she moaned in protest.

  “Abby, the rain stopped,” he whispered.

  “Yes, it did.”

  “It’s only nine thirty. I think there’s still time for that horseback ride. Now. As it gets dark.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I want you to myself, for a couple of hours. The darkroom is too close to my son and your daughter. You told me once nighttime rides were fun.”

  “And dangerous. I mentioned that as well.”

  “I can promise you this one would be dangerous in more ways than one.”

  She knew better than to go riding off into danger and, still, her heart soared directly into its path.

  WISPS OF SMOKE hissed skyward, while a tiny flame struggled in Abby’s makeshift fire pit. Gray smiled at her fussing over the fledgling campfire. She added a few precious dry leaves and pursed her lips to blow. His groin tightened. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he wanted to grab her and beg her to blow on him like that.

  He adjusted his seat on one of their two blankets. She turned with a private smile. “It’ll come, I promise you.”

  His groan escaped into the warm night air. “Abby, you did not just say that.”

  Even in the dark he saw her head dip to hide a grin, and she blew again. He forced down his burgeoning desire as he massaged a saddle-sore point just inside his right knee. He and Abby had all but stolen away, telling the kids that they’d decided to take a spur-of-the-moment ride only after Jackson and Fable were saddled and ready to go.

  “Woo hoo!” A gleeful whoop from Abby sent her sinking back on her booted heels.

  Flames had engulfed her twig teepee and were licking at the next level of slender wood branches. The campfire had officially taken hold.

  “I am impressed, woman.” Gray loved her triumphant smile.

  “You’ve been taking care of me all evening. It’s my turn to do something nice for you.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone I wanted to take care of.”

  He eased to a stand, stretched, then sat beside her and ran his hand down her back. She was slim and strong. Her spine curved beneath his palm, and she leaned into his touch like a puppy. Warmth and well-being mingled with his growing desire.

  “This is a great spot.” He gazed up at the pine trees that guarded their secluded little meadow. There are very few places like this for me. It’s a treat.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her earnest eyes lifted to his. “I can’t imagine living your life. I hope you feel safe at the farm, too.”

  “It’s why I’ve grown to love it so quickly. The problem is, I can’t hide anywhere for very long. Now that Elliott knows where I am, it’s just a matter of time.” His gut twisted. Elliott’s betrayal still stunned him. Abby’s body stiffened beneath his touch. “What’s wrong?”

  Still squatting, she turned on her toes and placed both soft hands on his cheeks. Her eyes, colorless in the night darkness, held troubled clouds, and even as her thumbs started new little fires inside of him by stroking beside his mouth, he worried. She leaned in and kissed him.

  “I can’t keep secrets from you,” she said, and sat as he did, tailor fashion. “I saw Elliott St. Vincent while you were gone.”

  “What?” Shocked, he pulled back. “What did he want? Did he harass you?”

  “No. No. Truly he didn’t, Gray.” He searched her face and knew she was telling the truth. “He was very nice. I think he cares a lot about you.”

  “Bullshit.” Gray saw her flinch at his vehemence and grabbed her, hugging her as forcefully as he’d cursed. “I’m sorry, Abby. But that guy’s a lying backstabber.”

  “He says he didn’t sell that picture.”

  “He says a lot of things.”

  “What if he’s right?”

  “Abby. He’s not right.” Elliott St. Vincent was the last person Gray wanted between him and Abby, and he fought to keep his frustration at bay.

  “Don’t you want to know what he had to say to me?”

  The man wasn’t worth ruining this incredible night over. “I don’t want him here with us tonight, okay? Love, he’s charming, but don’t be suckered in by him. Please? Let’s talk about him later.”

  She looked as if maybe she wanted to say more. Her eyes dropped to the blanket one instant then lifted back to his with determination. “I won’t be suckered. He’s not the one I’m falling in love with, Gray. I just didn’t want to hide the fact that I’d talked to him.”

  He couldn’t decide whether to crow with joy at her honesty or shout to the heavens. He set his forehead against hers. “Falling in love?”

  She nodded. “Ever since you brought me that Symphony bar. Or maybe ever since I saw your legs under my frog bathrobe. But, I’ve tried not to.”

  “I think since you knocked the stupid cigarette out of my mouth.”

  She grimaced. “Good, ’cause I’d do it again.”

  “I hope so.”

  The kiss began as a tender exploration—their first intimacy with the love-word between them. The night was building up new mugginess, and the fire did nothing to cool their bodies. Abby melted in his arms and spread closer to him the way warm honey might slide down a spoon before it dropped onto his tongue. She fit perfectly, torso to thigh, curve to angle. Every nerve in his body begged for her touch. He pulled the hem of her soft, blue, buttoned blouse from her jeans and burrowed his fingers past the denim waistband to the swell of her bottom.

  Malleable, tantalizing, her skin pebbled with little goose bumps as he kneaded it, bringing heat and more hardness to his body.

  “Slow down, cowboy, or we’ll waste my fire.”

  He let her go, reluctantly. She straightened and handed him a set of saddle bags. “Dig out the marshmallows and the thermos; I’ll find us two sticks. You can’t have a fire without toasting marshmallows.

  “Lord, Abby, you’re going to kill me with sugar overdose. What’s in the thermos?”

  Her slightly evil grin didn’t hide the smoky glaze in her eyes. “Schnapps. The goal is to make you sluggish, so I can keep a step ahead of you. You scare me.”

  “I do not.”

  “Oh,” she said, her smile not dimming a bit, “but you do.”

  “Is it because you’re religious, Abby?” His question was half-serious. “The kids helping at church all the time. Prayers before meals. Don’t get me wrong, I love that about you. But is that why I scare you?”

  “Yes.” She looked down. “No.” Her smile turned shy. “My dad was religious and big on propriety. I have some of that, but I’m not quite as fanatic. My faith is important to me. I’d never have made it through these years without it. But, propriety isn’t my issue with you. I can’t get past the plain old hormones. That’s what scares me.”

  “Hallelujah for hormones.” Relief made him laugh. “I have a plan for dealing with those.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ABBY LICKED THE last bit of marshmallow from her fingers and pretended not to stalk Gray with her eyes as he worked on his upper lip with swipes of his tongue tip. She forced her eyes to the tree line where Bijou and Jackson stood tied to sturdy limbs, their saddles on the ground, their muffled grazing sounds comforting in the dark.

  Gucci should have been one of the horses stomping and snorting, and pain sliced through her at the knowledge her beloved stallion would never be tet
hered in this spot again. But Gray was here, and his presence was the first thing to even approach filling the hole torn in her heart.

  Turning back to the campfire, she closed her eyes. She loved the heat on her face—the ultra-hot flush from the flames. The heat was intensified tonight, in every secret spot of her body. Gray’s presence owned her awareness, along with the cricket songs and the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

  “You look cold.” His voice startled her, banishing the last thoughts of horses and losses.

  A laugh spilled from her lips. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not. I say you’re shivering.” He unfolded his powerful legs, pushed to a stand, and Abby’s stomach moved into a rocking samba of excitement as he strode to stand over her. “I can see you shaking from here.”

  “You need glasses.”

  “No, I need something much different.”

  He knelt in front of her. Her stomach dipped; her breathing accelerated.

  “I think my plan to slow you down has backfired.” She swallowed. “You need to work off some of this sugar high.”

  He placed four fingers between her breasts and pushed with gentle, steady pressure until she lay on her back, her head just off the quilt. Walking his hands up either side of her body, he crept forward until he was suspended over her, balanced on his hands and toes.

  “Good idea.” He lowered his body, and his hot breath, sweet with a lingering scent of the schnapps, swept her face. She sucked it into her lungs like the smoke of a drug.

  His biceps contracted then straightened. A perfect push-up. “One,” he said.

  “Oh, jeez.” Her breath escaped like steam from a valve.

  His arm muscles bunched—down and up again. “Two.”

  The third time, his torso whispered against hers, prickling like static electricity. “Three.”

  Next he brushed her full body, breast to thigh. Blood pounded to her core. “Four.”

  “Who does push-ups anymore?” The words squeaked past her larynx.

  “I do. Five.”

  The campfire’s heat jumped from the pit to Abby’s body, and she fought to keep from pulling him onto her to end the teasing.

  “Six.”

  “Oh. Gray.” She closed her eyes as throbbing settled between her thighs and radiated until it pounded behind her navel.

  She thought she’d been ready for him, but she’d never imagined anything like this. Push-ups. Just—push-ups. She’d never think of them the same way again.

  “Seven.”

  Soft lips touched her forehead. Foreheads weren’t supposed to have this many nerve endings.

  “Eight.”

  She reached around and grabbed hold of his biceps. She arched her back, and when he came down again, her pelvis grazed his with a slick shot of current.

  “Nine.” His lips found her nose, and she whimpered.

  “Ten.” Lip to lip. Wet, lingering, he pressed against her for several seconds before pushing up. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, and when she forced herself to open her eyes his were riveted on her, a dreamy, opaque, cousin-of-blue color like new steel.

  “Eleven.”

  “How many can you do?”

  “As many as you want. Twelve.”

  “How many can you really do?”

  His full weight came to rest atop the length of her. “Tonight? Only twelve.”

  She forced her heavy limbs around him. His lips sealed against hers, and his tongue, thick, hot, and strong, swept deep into the recesses of her mouth. A long, mutual groan sent liquid rushing to the spot where they fit flawlessly in the age-old, hard-to-soft, male and female puzzle.

  Sibilant wind in pine tops formed background music, and everything else outside their entwined bodies disappeared. The sensuous weight of fingers in her hair set her to quivering. The pulsing of warm lips against hers changed pressure from soft to firm and back like they were coaxing music from an instrument. Scrabbling her fingers at Gray’s lower back, she dug against his shirt until it bunched beneath her fingers and led her to skin.

  “Yessss,” she murmured into his mouth.

  “Oh, Abby, sweetheart, you taste so good.”

  He erased every bit of nervousness, and there’d been plenty to erase. Despite her easy answer to his question earlier, she’d thought long and hard about heading down this path with him. Her well-meaning father had indeed drummed the sin of this unmarried act into her head, and Abby had passed the same morals on to Kim. But Abby was not fifteen. She was thirty-seven. Married once. Long past ignorance about safety, and tired of worrying about taboos she knew heaven didn’t care about at her age.

  With her ankles hooked around his thighs, she pushed the last of her guilt away and locked his body to hers. They rocked as one until Gray braced his knees on either side of her hips and with one powerful surge flipped their positions. When she lay draped over his body like cling wrap, he cupped her face between his strong palms.

  He kissed just beneath her jaw, twisted his head, and trailed his lips to the hollow of her throat. Goose bumps played witness to his thrilling skill.

  “I told you you were shivering.” The words singed her skin like falling sparks.

  “I guess you weren’t crazy.” Her eyes closed.

  With determined dexterity, his hand delved between them, and he loosened three buttons of her shirt, then twisted his wrist to find her breast. “So sweet,” he said against her lips.

  He performed pure and simple magic. Through cool satin his clever fingers rolled her sensitive skin between his thumb and forefinger, turning first one nipple then the second into throbbing peaks. After he’d kissed her thoroughly, tugging her bottom lip over and over with painful gentleness, he pushed her torso up, leaving her straddling him as he turned his attention to the remainder of her buttons. The fabric parted, baring her stomach and lacy bra. Before she could lie back down, his abs contracted and he sat, pushing her backward.

  “You are exquisite.”

  “You almost make me believe that.”

  “By the time we’re done, there’ll be no ‘almost,’ Abby, I promise.”

  His lips charted a damp path across her belly. He worked open the button on her jeans, lowered the zipper and spread her fly so he could claim the skin below her navel, too. With moves bordering on reverent he worked back up her body, cupped one breast and bent to kiss her through the fabric of her bra. Right through the satin he worried the pebble of skin, laving until the material was so wet and hot she could no longer tell there was anything between her and his mouth. She grasped his head to her.

  He chuckled, blew on the wet spot, and sent chills like little luge-riders down the mound of her breast into her body.

  If she’d ever thought you had to be naked to make love, the indescribable pleasure of unrelenting wetness against her skin left that belief tattered like a white surrender flag.

  “Are you done fooling around?” She whimpered.

  “Do you want me to be?”

  “No. Yes.”

  “Make up your mind, sweetheart,” he teased. “Shall I come or shall I go?”

  “What you shall do is stop throwing my bad puns back in my face.” She groaned again, then wriggled from beneath him and knelt, grabbed for his T-shirt hem and scrunched the green fabric up his torso. With the grace of a bullfighter, she slicked the shirt off his body and lost her breath in a whoosh. His firm pecs and a perfect fan of dark hair greeted her at eye level.

  “Lord in heaven. Now I remember why you’re so good at push-ups.”

  She burrowed into his chest hair, its softness sending tingling heat down her arms. He peeled her blouse from her shoulders like the skin of an exotic fruit, and once it had joined his shirt, he attempted to pull her close.

  “Unh, unh.” She escaped and sank in front of him, pressing her lips to the dusting of ha
ir beneath his navel. The trail beckoned her to his waistband and was just enough to tickle her upper lip as she worked downward. His button slipped through its buttonhole at the command of her fingers, and she unzipped his Levi’s to match her.

  “I haven’t done this in a very long time.”

  “I have to tell you, love,” emotion rasped the tone of his voice to gravel, “I can’t tell.”

  She outlined him through his denim fly and his shape grew easier to trace with each pass of her finger. His muscles clenched.

  “Abby,” he groaned. “You’re killing me.” He tried to catch her hand, but she resisted, relishing a power she’d never known she could have over a man.

  “Stop fussing,” she murmured. “Turn about is fair play.”

  She gripped the sides of his thighs, and, before she could think about her boldness, kissed him through the fabric. His choked swallow heightened her excitement.

  “Look here, you,” he said, parroting her earlier question. “Are you done fooling around?”

  A joyous chuckle escaped her as she shuddered in pleasure. “I am if you are.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  In three seconds her bra disappeared, her jeans were shimmying down her hips, and her laughter mingling with groans as she fought with his Levi’s. Socks followed and they sank together onto the ground, the thick blanket protecting them from beneath, and the crackling fire warming them from the side.

  His tongue sparred with hers, slippery and breathtaking. She roamed his skin with her hands, shoulder blades to hard glutes, allowing him to pull on her hips until she fit against the hard ridge she’d been tracing moments before.

  “I want you.” Conviction filled her voice.

  “Wait, wait,” he whispered. “I’m not callous, Abby, I have protection.”

  “I knew you would.”

  “Trusting little cowgirl.” He kissed her and fumbled for his pants. A few seconds later she’d helped him hurry, and he was back in her arms.