Though she was surprised she could traverse this path in the dark after all these years, she was proud of herself when the headlights flashed over the rock formation that marked the first landmark on the path to their secret spot. The truck hopped and jostled over the uneven terrain, but even as James braced his hands on the dash to keep from bumping his head, she watched his face transform from self-recrimination to hopeful uncertainty to sheer anticipation.
She slowed down as they approached the curtain of branches that would lead them to their destination. Just beyond the trees that would hide them from the world, she eased the truck to a stop and shut off the ignition, though she left the battery going so that the lights cast thick beams of white over the little meadow where they’d first made love.
“It’s changed,” she said, peering through the windshield.
He reached around the back and pulled out an old, tattered blanket—one, she suspected, he’d stored there since before she left town. “Not that much.”
He was out and opening her door before she could wonder how many times he’d brought other women out here.
Luckily, he allayed her fears by adding, “Sometimes when I’m out riding fences, I drop on by, see if the creek has dried up or if the blackberry bush is still giving up fruit.”
She took his hand and slid down beside him. “Is it?”
His grin was unstoppable. She hadn’t said as much, but he knew she forgave him, just as he had obviously forgiven her. What they’d felt back then didn’t matter anymore—not when what they felt now was so much better.
“They’re not as sweet, but maybe that’s because I wasn’t sharing them with you.”
Allie locked her arms around his neck and pulled herself up high enough to kiss him. The pressing of lips was at first soft and sensuous, brimming with the absolution they both had so desperately needed, but no longer had to give. But in the span of a heartbeat, he buoyed his hands beneath her bottom and tugged her hard against him, changing the mood instantly to one of hot desire and wanton desperation. She let him lift her high, wrapping her legs tight around his waist in her final act of surrender.
He was what she wanted—what she’d always wanted.
He broke away, his eyes wide. “You’re not wearing panties.”
She grinned wickedly. “Remember the last time we came out here and I wasn’t wearing any panties?”
He growled, even as he slipped his hands fully under her skirt and carried her into the wash of light. The feel of his palms, rough and scarred, sparked each and every nerve ending in her body. Her sex throbbed for him. Her nipples ached. Her legs shook as he set her down long enough to throw the blanket haphazardly over the ground before he lifted her again and placed her down on the frayed wool as if she were a china doll rather than a living, breathing, writhing woman.
She unhooked her top, lowering the material as he knelt between her legs.
“You’re so beautiful,” he crooned. He lifted her skirt. “All of you.”
He ran his hands down her thighs. She snagged her bottom lip in her teeth as he eased her knees farther apart, then leaned down and kissed her mouth with exquisite gentleness.
“I love you, Allie. I always have.”
“I never stopped loving you,” she replied. “Not for a minute.”
“I was a fool.”
“But you’re not now,” she added.
“No, ma’am, I’m not now. I’m the luckiest man in the world. And to show you my appreciation, I’m going to make love to you all night long.”
She speared her hands into his hair and ran her thumbs over his brows, nearly drowning in the depths of his Caribbean-blue eyes. That was all she needed of that part of the world—the color. And now she could experience the hypnotic sapphire experience right here in Lost Gun.
“I was hoping for more than just all night,” she admitted.
He grinned even as he retrieved a condom from his wallet, tore out of his shirt and discarded his belt. “How about a lifetime?”
She unbuttoned his jeans and slowly, torturously, worked the zipper down over his rigid erection. “I think that’s a good place to start.”
Seconds later, they were nearly naked. Minutes later, she was lost in the throes of pure and unadulterated pleasure. By the end of the hour, she had him trapped underneath her while she milked his body for the orgasm she so desperately needed and the closeness she’d never dreamed they’d share again, not for more than a weekend.
And yet, now she felt certain they’d be together until the end of time.
When she collapsed, spent against his chest, her dress tangled around her waist, he chased away the last of her chills by running his hand rhythmically up and down her spine. By the texture and level of pressure, she knew that his touch would always bring her an intense and unstoppable sense of safety. The bull had crushed his career with its cruel and uncaring hooves—but he hadn’t stopped Hook’s ability to love her one iota.
“We’re going to have to walk back to the ranch house if we let that battery run much longer,” she said.
He chuckled, the movement reminding her that he was still inside her, still hard, still needful and still hers to love.
“I’m not quite ready for you to get up just yet,” he said.
She swiveled her hips, eliciting a torturous groan from deep in the back of his throat. “You’re the one holding out this time.”
Per usual, she’d taken a while to reach her apex, but no matter how she’d tried, he’d resisted toppling over with her. Not that she minded. She’d always been on the receiving end of his patient and determined attention. Maybe it was time to return the favor—even if it took all night. And tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. And the next....
“I just don’t want this to end,” he confessed, grasping her hips and guiding her undulations slightly to the left. He moaned when they reached the right spot, an angle that allowed him slightly deeper access.
“This night or us?” she asked. Her body, though spent, tingled to life again.
She tucked her knees under her and arched her back until he dug his fingers into her flesh and croaked out a torturous, “Both.”
“Then both, cowboy, is what you’re going to get.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of Blazing Midsummer Nights by Leslie Kelly!
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1
SOMEONE ONCE SAID that the course of true love never did run smooth. As Mimi Burdette watched two of her good friends sway together in a romantic dance, however, she had to disagree. Because the true love between this couple had been obvious to everyone who knew them, almost from the moment they’d met.
“They look like a prince and princess,” murmured Anna, her neighbor, friend, landlady and tonight’s hostess.
“Considering the setting, maybe a fairy king and queen.”
She wasn’t kidding. The woods surrounding the backyard of the old plantation house just outside of Athens had been turned into a mythical f
orest. As dusk fell and a thousand twinkle lights began to gleam in the night, everyone at the engagement party slowed to appreciate the beauty all around them.
A trio of musicians softly strummed their instruments, the lyrical notes riding a warm, summer breeze. The Spanish moss hanging from the live oaks gleamed silver under the evening dew and the firefly-soft lighting. Magnolias the size of dinner plates dotted the trees, looking like a thousand full moons, filling the air with their evocative scent. Lanterns hung from the lowest branches of the graceful pines, and the arches of a dozen arbors were draped with writhing, sweet-smelling jasmine and heavily laden grapevines.
Okay, the vines and fruit were fake. But what an effect!
“You really outdid yourself,” Mimi said to Anna, who stood watching the proceedings, wearing a smile.
The older woman, dressed as always in colorful, flowing robes, merely shrugged. “Setting the stage for romance is easy when the people involved are meant for each other like Duke and Lyssa.” She chuckled. “Of course, it didn’t hurt that I’m helping with the costumes and props for the downtown theater group’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
With her filmy, billowing clothes, and her long ash-gray hair, loose and wavy and entwined with flowers, Anna looked more like a hippie than a retiree. So maybe it wasn’t so surprising that she could take a normal backyard, ringed by normal Georgia woods, and turn it into something out of a storybook.
“Anyway, it was just a few lights, some fabric—easy.”
“Maybe for you, but other than advertising, the creative wiring was left out of my genetic code. To me, this looks like pure sorcery and magic.”
The soon-to-be bride and groom deserved a magical wedding. They were wonderful people, and she already missed having them as neighbors. They’d already moved into their new house, but until a week ago, had lived right across the hall from her own first-floor apartment in this grand old estate home.
Anna and her husband, Ralph—dubbed Obi-Wan because of his love for all things Star Wars and his sage, all-knowing demeanor—had bought the place decades ago and raised their family here. Once the kids were gone, they’d divided the three-story mansion into six small apartments, figuring the rental income would keep them nicely provided for in their retirement.
With the unit across from Mimi’s vacant, and another unrented one on the second floor, the big house was feeling empty. Plus, Anna and Obi-Wan’s volatile marriage was on the rocks again. Obi-Wan’s one fault was his jealous streak. He was always accusing other men of being after his wife. His latest accusation had angered Anna enough that she had moved into one of the vacant units to teach him a lesson.
In this economy, three rentals not bringing in any money was not a good thing. She had to wonder where Anna had come up with the funds to throw this engagement party for her former tenants. Mimi had offered to help pay—she could certainly afford it and would have loved to help—but Anna’s pride wouldn’t allow her to accept. The most she would allow was the use of Mimi’s nice discount on much of the food.
Sometimes it really paid to be the daughter of the owner of a chain of grocery stores. Not to mention being the head of marketing for said grocery store chain, with an express ticket to the executive offices of her family’s business.
Some people wondered why she lived here, in a small apartment in an old house, when she could afford to buy her own home, or sponge off her parents at their estate. But Mimi loved this place, loved the history of it. More importantly, she loved the sense of community she found here, where she was free to be herself and didn’t have to wear the socialite hat, or the business executive one. She could just be Mimi.
“Oh,” Anna said, snapping her fingers as she remembered something. “You’re going to have new neighbors. My daughter, Helen, and her little boy are moving from Atlanta next weekend, taking the vacant unit on two. And I rented the apartment across from yours today.”
“Really? That’s wonderful,” Mimi said, surprised.
“I invited the new tenant to come tonight, but he didn’t want to intrude—he moved in this afternoon.”
“You must be so glad,” she said, relieved to know one financial burden had been lifted from her landlords’ shoulders. She doubted they’d take rent money from their daughter, who had gone through a bad divorce last year.
“One B is a real hottie,” Anna said, her eyebrows waggling.
“There are more important things than hotness.”
Definitely more important. She’d been involved with superhot guys in the past and had the psychological burn scars to prove it. The last supersexy, relied-only-on-his-looks guy she’d dated had ended up “borrowing” her credit card and buying a matching pair of his-and-her motorcycles.
That had been bad. Worse? Mimi hadn’t been the her.
No way was she stepping close to the flames again. Now when she looked at a man, she was more interested in steadiness, self-confidence and brains. If those things came in nice-looking packages, okay, but looks alone just didn’t cut it.
Fortunately, it was possible to have all of the above. She only had to look across the crowded party at her own golden-haired escort to see that.
Dimitri was perfect. He was everything she’d been telling herself she needed, and was nothing like the men who’d hurt her in the past. He’d also been hand-picked for her by her own father, who was notoriously hard to please. Normally, that would be a bad thing; she didn’t like doing what was expected of her, and knew her father to be a bully. But considering her bad luck with romance, and her efforts to improve her relationship with her dad—who stood firmly in the path of her going where she wanted to go professionally, i.e., right into his office once he retired—it seemed like a smart move.
The icing on the cake? Dimitri was also very handsome.
But handsome doesn’t always equal hot. And enjoying being with someone definitely doesn’t always lead to physical heat.
She sighed deeply, wishing that little voice in her head would shut up, even while acknowledging the words were true.
But it didn’t matter—handsome was enough. Handsome was movie-star good looks, good manners, holding the door. Handsome was every hair in place, jaw smoothly shaven and a nice suit. Handsome was self-confidence borne of being admired by everyone who knew him, and inspiring fantasies of Prince Charming in just about every woman who saw him. Handsome was a good-night kiss with enough tongue to be provocative but not enough to be impolite.
Handsome was Dimitri.
Hot was…something else.
Hot was sexy, rugged and edgy. Hot was unpredictable. Hot smelled sweaty and male, not doused with expensive cologne. Hot had thick muscles that gave proof of utter strength and could make any woman feel feminine by contrast. Hot had an edge of danger, wasn’t always courteous, didn’t treat a lover like a fragile object. Hot had a deep voice, knowing eyes and a stubbled jaw that every woman wanted roughing up her inner thighs. Hot would ensnare a woman…mind, body and soul.
She fanned herself, acknowledging the truth. Handsome she had. Hot she hadn’t seen in a very long time.
More importantly: handsome she should have. Hot she should stay away from.
She shook off the mental images. Enough with the hot fantasies. Handsome reality was bringing her a glass of wine, drawing the appreciative stares of every person with a uterus.
He was hers if she wanted him. And you want him. Damn it, you’d be crazy not to want him!
But she was beginning to wonder. Heck, she hadn’t even been the one to invite him here tonight. Anna had bumped into him at the store and extended the invitation. Mimi had no idea why he’d accepted, considering he didn’t know anybody here except her. Since he’d said yes, he’d naturally expected Mimi to be his date, which should make any woman extremely happy.
“Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants, if you’re not about looks, care to explain your date over there?”
“You invited him,” she pointed out.
“Only because yo
u’ve gone out with him a few times.”
“I know, my family swears he’s perfect for me. And he is very good-looking,” she admitted. Then, speaking more to herself, she voiced the concern that had been niggling at her. “But there’s also something called chemistry.”
“Hate to break it to ya, but you two ain’t got it.”
She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to an expert like me.”
And to Mimi. She’d already figured out that good looks didn’t always inspire sparks, and dating someone wasn’t the same as wanting to go to bed with him. If it were, she and Dimitri would probably be sleeping together, or perhaps even engaged, which was what her father was pushing for. Pushing hard.
Dimitri was a new executive with Burdette Quality Foods, the family business. He was also her Dad’s right-hand man. Cultured, handsome, well-educated. The perfect guy in every way.
But perfect for her?
Anna shook her head and tsked. “Honey, it’s obvious you’re experiencing a small sexual dry spell.”
“Small? Try Sahara-sized,” she admitted, wondering, not for the first time, if there was something wrong with her.
“So, sex camel, what are you looking for, a Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp oasis?”
Dimitri would probably be considered every bit as handsome as those men. Still, there was no fire. When he kissed her, she always thought, well, that’s nice. But she never had the urge to rip off his pressed shirt, shove him against a wall and thrust her tongue down his throat. And they’d never done anything more than kiss. He hadn’t pushed, and she hadn’t wanted him to. Because, for a sex camel, nice sex wasn’t an oasis, it was just the last few drops of water from a nearly empty canteen.
If she really wanted an oasis, she needed hot.
Forget it. Heat burns. A lukewarm canteen is good enough.
“I honestly don’t know,” she finally admitted. “He’s everything I should want.”
Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume VIII: The Cowboy Who Never Grew UpHooked Page 18