by Susan Fox
“I noticed.” She gazed boldly at him across the few yards that separated them. “Next time, I think those jeans need to come off.” She eased the hen from her lap, stood, and brushed her hands on the thighs of her pants. She was wearing her new jeans, the ones that showed off her figure, along with a pink and blue checked shirt he hadn’t seen before. A fitted, Western-cut one that showed off her curves.
She came through the gate, latched it, and stood in front of him. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” He leaned down and she tilted her head to meet him.
Too bad he had one arm in a sling and was holding a coffee mug, so he couldn’t hug her. Still, they shared a leisurely, thorough morning kiss that had an immediate effect south of his belt. He couldn’t wait to get those jeans off and feel her bare skin against his. Pity there was a day’s work to put in first.
“Mmm, you taste like coffee,” she said.
He offered his mug and she took it and sipped. “Excellent coffee, too,” she said.
“I like my coffee, so I buy the good stuff.” He eyed her with amusement as she slugged back some more. “Feel free to finish that. I can make more.”
Her eyes widened over the rim of the mug, then she said slowly, “This is how much I trust you. If you were Pete, I’d rush into a frantic apology.” Deliberately, she took another swallow of coffee. “But with you, I’ll hog your coffee and know you won’t get mad.”
Pleased that she understood that, he said, “And if I do get upset about something, I’ll tell you. We’ll talk about it. I’ll never hurt you, threaten you, or bully you.”
Slowly, she nodded. “I really do believe you.”
In the interest of being totally honest, he said, “I might wheedle, beg, and try to persuade you. . . .”
Humor glinted in her eyes as he went on, dead serious himself. “But you can always say no. I never want you to feel pressured to give in. I need you to believe that because I don’t want to have to always pussyfoot around you.” He peered deep into her eyes. “Okay?”
She held his gaze and gave a firm nod. “Okay.” The glint came back as she said, “Be warned, I might try some wheedling myself.”
He grinned. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Promise me a kiss, and I’ll do just about anything you want.”
She chuckled. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Then she handed the mug back, almost empty now, and opened the gate. “Nice as it is to hang out and share—or hog—coffee, Madeleine will be here soon.”
“Ah yes, the delightful Madeleine.”
She bumped her elbow against his good arm. “She likes you. She flirts with you.”
“I don’t flirt back.” He shifted the mug to his other hand so he could slide his fingers through hers. He swung their clasped hands up. “Speaking of which, how d’you want to, uh, play this? You and me? You’ve said you don’t like people gossiping about you.” It had irked him when they were in town and she wouldn’t hold his hand. He was so damned proud to be with her, he’d be happy to tell the world.
“I don’t. Ryland Riding is my business. I want to be professional.”
He guessed he could see her point, but decided to tease her. “So no PDAs? I can’t do this?” He raised their clasped hands and kissed the back of hers. “Or this?” He bent to press another kiss to the top of her head, enjoying the silky tickle of her curls against his skin.
“Mmm, that’s so nice. But no, I don’t think so. After all, you’ll be gone in a week or two. I don’t want people thinking I had some quickie fling with, um . . .”
“Your stable hand?” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He was just her stable hand, a rodeo cowboy lending a hand—literally, because he only had one good one—to the owner of this impressive operation. It was a blow to his ego; pretty much the opposite of having buckle bunnies chase after him.
“My old friend,” she corrected. “Maybe I’m too sensitive about what people think, but I’ve spent years being totally private. I had so many secrets to hide.”
“So we’re a secret to hide?” Trying to put ego aside, he guessed he could see that hooking up with a rodeo cowboy she hadn’t seen in seven years, who vanished after a couple of weeks, wasn’t exactly going to enhance her professional reputation.
“I don’t know. This is new to me. Let’s just see how things go.”
“Sure.” He tried to make it sound casual, easy. “How about dinner tonight? Not in public, so we can do DAs without worrying about the P part?”
“Sounds great. Let me think what I’ve got in the fridge and freezer.”
“Leftover salsa, guacamole, and sour cream, right? I have a big package of tortilla chips and a bit of cheddar cheese. If you have some more cheese, we could make nachos. If you don’t mind eating nachos again so soon.”
“Not at all. I have years of deprivation to make up for.” The gleam in her eyes made him think she might be thinking of more than nachos.
“Then it’s a plan.” He raised her hand and kissed the back again. “I’m gonna grab a bite to eat then I’ll get Star of Egypt ready for Madeleine. But first . . .” He kissed her.
Her return kiss tasted not only of coffee, but of hunger and promise.
Whistling, he headed off to get on with the day, already looking forward to tonight. It couldn’t come fast enough.
And that of course meant that the day moved particularly slowly. Ben did steal a moment every now and then when no one else was around to put an arm around Sally’s shoulders or waist, and to drop a kiss on the top of her head, her freckled nose, or her full lips. Those near-innocent touches fired him up as much as the most explicit foreplay would have.
When their work was finally done, they put together a heaping plate of nachos and ate them hungrily. As they finished, Ben, who wore shorts, realized the temperature had dropped a few degrees and gray clouds were rolling in. “Rain’s coming. Maybe even a thunderstorm.”
They blew out the citronella candles and went inside to do the dishes. On the radio, Willie Nelson had Georgia on his mind. Ben had Sally on his. As they moved around in the kitchen, he bumped his hip against hers and let his bare forearm slide against hers. When he gave her firm butt a squeeze as she stood at the sink washing dishes, she said, “You’re getting awfully touchy-feely, cowboy.”
“Is that an objection?”
“No. It’s nice.” She shut off the water and turned to him. “Lets me know you’re attracted to me. And it makes me . . . aware of you.”
“Makes me horny,” he admitted. “All day, I’ve been thinking about what you said, about my jeans coming off.”
Green glints of mischief sparkled in her eyes. “But you’re not wearing jeans.”
“Shorts are even easier to take off. In case you’re interested.” Frustrated by the sling, wanting to hug her properly, he undid the collar and cuff. “Don’t say anything,” he warned. “My shoulder’s feeling better every day. And it’ll feel a hell of a lot better if I can do this.” He put his arms around her and snuggled her body up close to his.
“Oh well, if it helps your shoulder then,” she teased, looping her arms around his neck. “Anything else that would help?”
“You could kiss it and make it feel better.”
Her lashes swept down, paused, then came back up and the green in her eyes was deeper. “You’re talking about your shoulder?”
His cock throbbed with need and he groaned. “The thought of your lips pretty much anywhere on my body is enough to drive me crazy.”
She tugged gently on his neck, urging his head down. “Let’s start with lips on lips.”
“Anything you say, ma’am.”
His mouth was still getting to know hers, an exploration he couldn’t imagine ever tiring of. They kissed teasingly, with nips and darts of the tongue that hinted at passion waiting to explode. He banked down his need, refusing to get carried away and move too fast for her. He couldn’t conceal his erection, but he needed her to know he could use restraint.
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nbsp; Chapter Twenty
Ben sure did get to her, Sally thought as she lost herself in the kiss. He was so sweet, so patient, and so damned sexy. How far did she want things to go with him?
All the way.
Could she? Or would fear paralyze her? She wasn’t afraid of Ben, but her body had such scary memories of sex.
If she stopped now, she’d be letting Pete ruin things. No way would she give him that kind of power, not with Ben here to support her. She eased back in the circle of his arms. “If I’m going to kiss your shoulder, that shirt’s going to have to come off.”
“Help yourself. See how considerate I was, wearing a buttoned shirt rather than a tee?”
“Hah. You wear buttoned shirts because it hurts to lift your left arm over your head.”
“You got me.”
“Good thing you’re a right-handed roper.” She undid the top button, below the couple he’d left undone. Her fingers brushed his skin, so warm and firm. The pads of her fingers tingled, itching with the desire to touch more of him. All of him.
“Sweetheart, right now roping is the last thing on my mind.”
She undid a couple more buttons and studied the powerful chest she was uncovering. Amazing musculature, marred by fading, purplish green bruises radiating out from his left shoulder. Resting her face against his skin, she breathed him in, that tangy, outdoorsy scent. Felt the rise and fall of his chest; heard the rapid thud of his heart.
He brushed a hand through her curls but didn’t take hold of her head, didn’t try to control her movement.
She pressed a kiss to his chest, then another, the bruised part and the unbruised alike. Then she undid the rest of the buttons and pushed back the sides of his shirt. Lord, but he was fine—except for a long scar on one side near his waist. “Ben! Ouch. What happened?”
“Got nicked by a horn.”
“More than nicked.” She ran a gentle finger along the ridge of scar tissue. “You did some bull riding?”
“Not since I was a teenager and realized it wasn’t for me. No, I was nearby when a bull went crazy in the arena. Turned on the rider; sent the bullfighters flying. Me and a couple other cowboys jumped the fence and went in to help.”
A hero. Rodeo was like that, in terms of both the danger and the support. “I’m glad you lived to tell the tale.” She stretched up to press a kiss to his lips. “Want to take your shirt off?”
“You’re in charge, Sally. Do what you want, and stop when you need to.”
The idea was reassuring and a little intoxicating. Her fingers brushed across his pecs lightly, experimentally. “You’re too good to me.”
“There’s no such thing as being too good to you.”
Realization had been coming to her in pieces, last night and today, and now it crystallized. She stared into his eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”
“How d’you mean?”
How to phrase it? “Pete took control away from me. You’re giving it back.”
“Yeah. Is that okay?”
“It’s good, but . . .” She admitted the truth. “I’m not sure what to do with it.”
“Follow your instincts.”
“I stopped trusting them. For years. But with you . . .” She’d give it a try. With trembling hands, she slid his shirt off his shoulders.
It dropped to the floor and she retrieved it and hung it over a chair. With her back to Ben, she said, “Maybe we should go upstairs.” Her voice came out breathy and high.
“If you want.”
She turned and had to stare in wonder at his naked torso. Pete, a man who’d done a lot of physical labor, had been muscular, too. At first she’d found him sexy, but then his size had become one of the weapons he used against her. Ben’s body was beautiful even with the bruising and scar. His musculature was lean, athletic, and graceful. Powerful, but she trusted that he wouldn’t use his strength against her.
She splayed her hands, fingers spread, on his pecs. Not pressing, not caressing, just resting there, appreciating him. “Yes, Ben. I want.”
As they walked up the stairs, she heard a heavy drumming on the roof. “It’s pouring.”
“The horses will be okay, won’t they?”
“They will. It’ll be Moon Song’s first real rain.” It had sprinkled a couple of times since he was born, but nothing like this. “I hope he has fun with it.” She could picture the colt’s puzzlement at this strange deluge from the sky, then she bet he’d frolic and play.
“Do you want to go out and watch?”
Yes, but no. “I’d rather be with you.”
“Now that’s a mighty fine compliment.”
“It is,” she agreed.
Tonight, with the clouds and rain outside the window, her bedroom was dark. She turned on a reading lamp by the bed. Quietly, she said, “This isn’t the room I shared with him. Or the bed.” It was important to her that Ben know this. “I changed everything after he died.”
He didn’t respond, and her words echoed in her brain. What a lie. She had changed her bedroom, but she hadn’t changed everything. Not her habit of privacy nor her wariness of men. But now, thanks to Ben, she was stepping out of the emotional prison Pete had trapped her in.
“Lie down,” she invited Ben.
When he lay on his back toward the center of the double bed, she sat on the edge and leaned sideways to stroke his chest. The denim of her jeans confined her and chafed, so she stripped them off. Tugging down her tee to cover her panties, she climbed onto the bed and curled on her side beside him, propping herself up with one arm.
His upper body—the unbruised part—was golden brown in the lamplight, tempting her to explore. She pressed her fingers into his firm muscles, taking it easy with the injured shoulder. She brushed her fingers through a scattering of wiry hair, tested the firmness of his pecs, teased his nipples with a fingertip. “What feels good?” she asked softly. For her, every touch made her hunger more for him.
“All of it. Feeling your fingers on me.”
Lips would be even better. She leaned over him, bracing herself with a hand on the other side of his body, and bent to taste his skin. Tentatively at first, she kissed and licked his chest. At his sounds of pleasure, she grew bolder. When she sucked his nipple, she felt a corresponding tug in her breast, an aching desire to be touched. The same need throbbed between her legs.
Outside, thunder rolled with a long, deep grumble. A few seconds later, lightning cracked, sending a strobe of light into the bedroom. For a moment, she felt disoriented, like she and Ben were in a movie.
His voice drew her back. “What do you want, Sally? Do you want me to touch you?”
She wasn’t used to asking for what she wanted. She wasn’t used to anyone caring. Straightening, she said hesitantly, “Would you touch my breasts?”
A grin split his face. “That would be my pleasure.”
As thunder and lightning sang a dramatic duet outside, Ben helped her peel off her tee and bra. That left her in only her panties, but she didn’t feel self-conscious as she leaned over so he could fondle her breasts. Her horseshoe pendant dangled as he teased her nipples until they were hard buds. Arousal spilled from them, pulsing through her with anticipation and need.
She found the confidence to say, “I think it’s time your shorts came off.”
With unsteady fingers, she fumbled with the button. His erection strained at the fabric and her mouth was dry when she slowly pulled down the zipper. “Just so I know,” she said nervously. “Did you bring a condom tonight?”
“In my pocket. But we won’t use it unless you’re sure.”
The assurance gave her a boost of courage, enabling her to tug at the waist of his shorts as he raised his hips. Being careful to leave his underwear in place, and not yet daring to glance at his groin, she tugged his shorts down and off. Kneeling on the bed, she sucked in a breath and gazed up his body.
He wore tight-fitting black boxer briefs, short-legged and low on his hips. The soft, thin fabric showc
ased the bulge of his balls and the thrust of a barely confined erection.
She ached to rub against him. And he’d told her to do what she wanted. Straddling his hips, she lowered herself, quivering with anticipation. When his rigid length pressed between her legs through the layers of both their underwear, she moaned at how delicious it felt.
He raised his hands to cup her breasts. “So beautiful, Sally, and man, do you feel good.”
She did. She felt sensual, sexy, and hungry for more. He rubbed her nipples gently, sending darts of arousal through her. The crotch of her panties was soaked; her sex pulsed with need. Outside, the thunderstorm raged passionately. Inside, the lamp bathed the bed in warm light and Ben gazed up at her with passion too, but with more than that. With tenderness, appreciation, affection.
And she knew. She was ready. Ready to have intercourse with this amazing man. She wanted to feel him inside her, banishing all the pain of the past and creating pleasure together. “I want you, Ben. All of you. Now.”
His chestnut eyes gleamed. “Then take me, sweetheart. Take everything you want.”
She scrambled off him, found his discarded shorts, and pulled the condom package from his pocket. With eager, trembling fingers she pulled off his boxer briefs. His erection sprang free, bold and beautiful. Hers. To be used for her pleasure, not to hurt or control her. Somehow, she managed to open the condom package and sheath him. Then she yanked off her panties.
When she started to lie down on the bed, Ben said, “Why don’t you take top? That’ll give you more control.”
Top? Pete had never wanted to have sex that way.
“Go on, sexy cowgirl,” Ben invited. “Take me for a ride.”
When she straddled him again, she realized he was right. This way, she wasn’t afraid of being threatened or overpowered. She reached between their bodies, curled her fingers around his firm, hot shaft, and carefully eased the tip inside her. Her body clenched for a moment, then pleasure rippled through her and she relaxed, opening to let him slide in slowly, inevitably.
When they were fully joined, she began to lift up and down, getting used to him. To the wonderful feel of him. Exhilarated, she bent to kiss him. “Oh, Ben, this feels perfect.”