by Liz Talley
A smile curved Cal’s lips. “You need sexual healing.”
“Not if you’re going to start singing that song or making doctor jokes about delivering the medicine,” she joked, feeling herself go over the edge of reason. But she’d enjoy the fall...and according to Cal, there’d never be a splat. This wasn’t a bad decision. It was inevitable. They’d been moving toward this. Why stop?
Cal reached out and took her hand, bringing her to him. She let him. “Your answer is...?”
Maggie lifted onto her toes and looped her arms around his neck. “Take me home, unpack the truck because we can’t risk any high school kids showing up to plunder the supplies and then screw my brains out.”
Cal dropped a kiss on her lips. “But I like your brains, boss lady.”
Maggie pulled his head back down to hers and bit his lower lip. “The brains can stay as long as the screwing takes place.”
“Can I negotiate a bonus for a job well done?”
Maggie slid her hand down his stomach and clasped the hardness jutting against her belly. “I see a real possibility of a bonus.”
Cal closed his eyes before pulling the keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go. Now.”
Laughter and sweet anticipation rose in her. “In a hurry, are you? I thought I’d finish my salad.”
“The hell you will,” he said, pushing her toward the truck, making her laugh. “You said I should have asked you out to dinner. Well, that was it. Let’s move on to the after-date stuff.”
“You call eating a salad on a tailgate taking me on a date?” she teased, but she followed.
“No, that was a second date. I’m counting the ham-and-turkey sandwich as the first one,” he said, climbing into the truck, looking back at her to order, “Hurry up, boss.”
7
THE SUN HAD slipped from the western sky, leaving streaks of lavender on the horizon. Crickets came out to play and the lonely hoot of a barn owl accompanied the creak of the back screen door as Cal stepped into the kitchen for the date Maggie had insisted on. The aroma of something saucy hit him along with the sight of Maggie wearing an apron and a pair of short denim cutoffs. She looked good standing there with the sweet curve of her ass nearly showing and a wooden spoon in hand. She sang a Beyoncé song about who runs the world at the top of her lungs.
Hours before, he’d driven back to the Triple J like a bat out of hell, intent on getting Maggie into bed. But on arrival, he had to address some issues with the paint crew and pay the roofers who’d put a new roof on in only a day’s time. Maggie had given him a smile full of promise before disappearing into the house, leaving him to unload the supplies. He’d discovered Charlie had fixed the pen and left, miracle of miracles. Then after looking over some fencing that needed to be replaced and calling an electrician to come out and check the wiring in the barn, he’d finally managed to answer the emails that had stacked up and make a call to Dr. Tubby McCoy, the PBR physician, to discuss the exam he’d undergo in Mobile. A call to his agent imparted the news Hugo Boss wanted him to do a public appearance at some fashion thing in Paris. Probably wouldn’t make that with the world championship on the line, but he’d never been to France or feted by a designer. Could be fun. And he’d ordered a bucking barrel to be installed in the barn so he could start practicing. Once he got comfortable there, he’d see about going to local rodeos and getting some actual rides. August was bearing down on him...but until then, he had Maggie.
She whirled at the sound of the door shutting. “Oh, you scared me.”
He smiled, loving that she’d left her dark brown hair to curl softly over her shoulders. The white T-shirt clung tightly to her curves and with her feet in flip-flops, she looked far removed from the woman who’d walked into the Barbwire diner last week. Gone was the cool professional, and in her place was a warm, willing woman with a smoking body. His gaze slid over the flare of her hips, the tight rack and those porn-star lips that drove him crazy. “You’re a terrible singer.”
Her face was flushed, maybe from the heat of the stove or the anticipation thrumming between them like a hive full of honeybees. “I know. I think a wolf howled during the first verse.”
“Not wolf. Coyote maybe.” Cal walked over and pulled her into his arms, loving how she fit him. He dipped his head and found she tasted like red sauce. “Mmm, you taste—”
“—like garlic?” she interrupted.
“Maybe a little, but if—” he took the spoon and scooped a taste out of the pot “—I have some, too, it won’t matter.”
“I should have fixed something else,” she said with a sigh, wiping her hands on the apron. “It’s our first real date and I go with Italian. But I make a good marinara sauce. Wanted to impress you.”
“Been a long time since someone cared to impress me with cooking skills.”
“Your mother doesn’t cook for you when you’re home?”
“Ruth sucks in the kitchen. She spent too many days cleaning up after other people to want to clean the kitchen nightly.”
“Your mother was a housekeeper, too?”
“At the Coyote Creek Motel.” When he was younger he’d been ashamed of having a mother who was a maid, of living such a scrubby existence, but now he understood how his mother’s work ethic and determination had molded him. His mother had gone from maid to manager. And then she’d met Gary Whitehorse, a wealthy cattleman and businessman, whom she married. Needless to say, his mother hadn’t cleaned a toilet in seventeen years.
“Something else we have in common—hardworking single mothers who had to make other people’s beds,” she said, adding a splash of red wine to the sauce and stirring. He reached past her and grabbed the glass of wine sitting on the counter beside her and took a sip.
She wrinkled her cute nose. “I hate drinking from the same glass after other people.”
He swallowed the wine, noting the spicy hint of black pepper paired with currant and jam. Yeah, he loved wine, not that anyone would believe a dumb bull rider had discerning tastes. “Really? ’Cause you’re about to get all up in this.” He waved his hands around his face.
“You really know how to romance a girl, don’t you?” She snorted, pulling on oven mitts and lifting the large pot of pasta off the back burner. She rushed toward the sink and poured the pot into a stainless-steel strainer. “Thank goodness the AC got repaired. Now I know why they’re always grilling in the South. Kitchen gets too hot.”
“And you’re making it hotter,” he said, snuggling up to her back, his pelvis fitting against her soft derriere. He scraped back her hair and kissed the damp nape of her neck. She smelled like wildflowers.
His kiss gave her a little shiver. “Keep doing that and we won’t make it to dinner.”
Cal nibbled his way to the soft slope of her shoulder. “Promise?”
Maggie used a kitchen towel to smack him. “Go sit down and pour yourself a glass of wine. I’ve spent too much time making this for it to scorch. We’ve been horny this long. An hour more won’t hurt.”
He stepped back. “Kinky foreplay? I’m in.”
Maggie rolled her eyes and set about chopping up ingredients for what he could only assume was a salad. He’d given her only half an hour in Walmart before they left McKinney and she’d bought enough food for an army. Finding a clean wineglass, he poured some wine and parked himself at the table where he could enjoy the rare sight of a woman making dinner for him. Too often his dates were over hot wings and cold beer at a bar and grill before marathon sex in a sterile hotel room. But it was pleasing to watch Maggie hum as she diced red onion and shredded the block of parmesan. It felt domestic.
He’d rarely given thought to settling down because he’d never felt old enough to want a mortgage or a lawn to mow or kids to splash in a swimming pool. He figured he had too much of his daddy in him. Life on the road suited him.
But he didn’t have too many years more to be on the circuit. And he didn’t have any backup plans.
Maybe that’s what these weird feelin
gs were about. He’d spent years riding bulls, eyeing the prize, but very few thinking about a future beyond the gold buckle. Some of his friends had turned to broadcasting. Others had retired into working as trainers, bull fighters or merely walking off into the sunset never to be heard of again. A handful of former bull riders ran their own ranches. Yet, outside of the one modeling gig, he’d never made a buck that hadn’t come from riding the shit out of a pissed-off bull. So what would he do once he hung up his spurs?
He swallowed the doubts.
Jesus, all of this indecisiveness had to be the result of the surgery. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and the years of abuse on his body had toughened him. But fatigue had set in, wearing him down. He no longer felt invincible and that had been a left hook to his confidence.
“Here we are,” Maggie said, setting the salad on the lazy Susan. He grabbed her and pulled her into his lap for a kiss. She willingly gave it, making his blood sing and his thoughts about-face from the weirdness he’d been experiencing. After several seconds she pried his fingers from her waist and rose. “Soon.”
“You like torture, don’t you?”
“Don’t you find a little buildup more satisfying in the end?”
“No, I find coming satisfying in the end.”
Maggie laughed. “Well, there’s that.”
Five minutes later, she lit two slender candles and switched off the kitchen light. Setting her recently filled wineglass on the table, she finally sat down across from him, where flickering candlelight danced across her soft face. The plate of penne pasta covered with a thick red sauce she’d set in front of him sent up a spicy aroma. Crusty Italian bread sat on either side of the plate, framing her offering. “This is nice, Maggie.”
“You’re going to need sustenance.”
Cal drove his fork into the steaming pasta. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone all night, but I like your confidence in me.”
She tucked her napkin in her lap like a lady. “Before we go upstairs and—”
“—get freaky?” he joked, taking a bite. Damn, she knew her way around a kitchen.
“You know I’m not into whips and chains, right?” she asked.
“But you do own thigh-high, black leather boots?”
Maggie made a face. “I hope you don’t have great expectations of—”
“Missionary only, huh?”
That made her laugh, but he could see in her demeanor she was nervous. Patience, he reminded himself. Patience. “So tell me about working for Bud.”
“You do like foreplay,” she teased, taking a bite of pasta and nodding at the taste. “Long story short, about two weeks before I was to graduate college, Bud had a stroke that cost him the use of the left side of his body. It also left him unable to speak well. He asked me to become his personal assistant because he needed someone he trusted to navigate the corporate world for him. Let’s just say his family relationships are difficult. Lots of hurt and ugliness from his children. Anyway, I went to work for Bud. Never regretted it.”
“But now?”
“After I sell this place, I’m thinking about starting a consulting firm. I’m good at working with people and helping them make good decisions that benefit the company. Somebody somewhere needs someone like me.”
I need you.
What an odd thought to pop into his mind. After all, he didn’t need anyone like Maggie in his life. His world was exactly what he wanted. As long as he drew a good bull and got a high score at the end of eight seconds, he was gravy. Didn’t need anything else.
“Cool,” was all he could manage because his thoughts had scared him. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. First he’d started doubting his physical ability to compete again in the arena and now an inchworm of dissatisfaction had crawled into his personal life.
Bullshit.
He didn’t want to think. He wanted to feel. Specifically, he wanted to feel Maggie shattering in his arms as he drove into her.
This was about sex. Hot, healing, good-for-them-both sex. Nothing more.
So keep that in mind, partner.
Ten minutes later, they slipped onto the porch to finish off the last of the wine. The night was inky and hot, the stars hiding behind clouds that had rolled in. The full moon lurked behind the thin clouds, too, but managed to throw a glow on the land around the sad little porch. Anticipation hadn’t faded, but they both seemed to sidestep around it.
Cal didn’t want to push to get the sexy started...as if the only reason he’d showered, shaved and showed up had been to get in her pants. That would be too...honest? And it would be a lie. Thing was he liked Maggie. He liked the way she bossed him around, the way she tried to act big city but still blushed when he said something off-color. He liked her laugh and her quick sarcasm. Not to mention, she cooked a damn fine supper. So it felt disingenuous to toss her over his shoulder and run up the stairs to find the nearest bedroom.
“I feel nervous,” she said, setting her glass on the rickety rail and rubbing her shoulders as if there was a chill. Which there wasn’t.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I want you, but once we go where we’re heading, there’s no turning back. We can’t undo knowing what each other looks like in our underwear.”
“Um, out of our underwear,” he said with a laugh, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. He dropped a kiss against her neck. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I want you. God, I want you. But I told you I don’t walk into any pasture unless the gate is open.”
“I know,” she said, falling quiet, but clasping his arms and leaning back into him. He sent a message to the part below his belt to hold off on saluting her body’s perfection a few minutes longer.
In the shadows to their left, something moved. His body froze, alarm slamming into him. But then he saw the shape was feline.
“Guess county animal control missed one,” Maggie whispered.
He kissed the side of her neck and made her shiver. “Well, one good barn cat is a necessity. It’ll keep the rats out of the barn. Snakes, too.”
“In that case it can stay.” The cat crept into the yard, failing to see them embracing on the porch. Carefully, it made its way toward the barn, belly to the ground.
“So, Maggie,” Cal said, squeezing her tight.
“Hmm?”
“Is your gate open or not?”
She stilled for a moment, and then she turned in his arms. Reaching up, she set her hands on his shoulders. Her gaze met his and in her eyes he could see the desire. “Yeah. I took bolt cutters to it.”
“In my experience it’s the most effective way to get a gate open,” he said, lowering his head and capturing her lips with his. She tasted like tangy marinara and wine. Her lips were soft and her body sank into his. Opening her mouth, she gave him exactly what he asked for—full access. After a few seconds, he pulled back and studied her in the faint light.
“Hey,” she said, lifting her finger to trace the small scar on his chin. “Thank you.”
“For...”
“Being a gentleman.”
Cal grinned. “I ain’t no gentleman.”
“Yeah, you are. You understood what I needed—to decide this for myself. You didn’t use my desire against me.”
But he’d wanted to. God help him, but if she’d turned him down, he might have resorted to seduction. Wasn’t proud of it, but he wanted her so badly. Yet his inclination to give her space had paid off and now he didn’t have to step back or press forward. No, he got to hold an armful of sexy, warm woman who tasted like Italian and looked like a swimsuit model. Who said patience didn’t pay off?
“I can’t say I’m as good as you paint me. In fact, I’m sorta bad. You want to find out how bad I can be?” he asked, trailing a hand down her side, brushing the curve of her breast before grabbing her ass and hauling her against his hardness.
“Ooh,” she said, smiling up at him. “I might be interested.”
&nb
sp; This time she kissed him, going from sweet to hot as hell in a second flat. No longer could he hold back the desire. Her tongue moving against his unleashed all he’d held back.
“Let’s go inside. Five weeks starts now,” he said.
* * *
MAGGIE OPENED THE door to the room she’d been sleeping in for almost a week. The room was small and nothing to brag about, but the bed had a new mattress and clean sheets. And that’s all they needed.
She started to turn around and wave her hands with a ta-da motion, but Cal was too quick. He swept her against him, his lips almost punishing. Backing her against the mattress, they fell onto the bed.
“I wanna go slow, but I’m not sure I can. You’re all I’ve been thinking about for a week. Those kick-ass legs, the tight ass and your pretty pair of lips...and every space in between,” he said, nipping his way down the column of her throat as he tugged up the hem of her T-shirt.
“If you go slow, I’ll kill you.” She held his head against her, loving the scratch of his beard on her skin. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding against the hardness that hit exactly where she needed it.
Somehow her T-shirt skimmed her face and went flying behind them, and all the while, Cal never missed a beat in the almost frenzied lovemaking. His hands and mouth were everywhere at once. When he got to the complicated bra clasp, she reached back to unhook the lacy fluff she’d bought on clearance at Barneys last fall. But he obviously had mad skills and the bra popped loose and went sailing overhead before she could help him.
“Oh, sweet...um.” He nestled his face between her breasts, inhaling before sucking the left one into his mouth. The sensation made her arch against him. He moved to her other breast, nipping, suckling, making her ache for more.
“Oh, oh,” she cried, holding him to her. She wiggled her hips again, rocking against his erection, driving herself toward total loss of control. If there were a launch button, his fingers hovered above it.