Prairie Heat (Cowboys of The Flint Hills #1)

by Tessa Layne

  “Sinclaire, schminclaire. Did you happen to notice how hot he is?” Jamey dropped one side of the tray to fan herself. “Lordy. The only battling you should be doing with him is under the covers. Climb down out of your ivory tower and bury the hatchet, Mads. Before you shrivel up into a dried out old cat lady.”

  “I am far from that.” Indignation roiled in her chest.

  Jamey speared her with stern eyes. “Don’t make me get my Irish whup-ass out.”

  Oh no. She’d been on the receiving end of that look more than once over the last twelve years of their friendship. “Don’t go there. Not tonight, Jamey.” She shook her head vehemently.

  “Can’t talk more, Mr. Hottie is on his way over. But listen to me.” Jamey’s eyes turned serious. “It’s time for you to drop this whole ‘romance is an impediment to my career’ act.”

  “Well played, Maddie, well played.” Blake’s voice in her ear sent shivers rippling down her neck, settling right at her apex. Her thighs clenched automatically in response. Of all the times to be without panties. She could shoot Jamey for forgetting the laundry today.

  She turned on him. “What was that all about back there? Since when do you get to speak about my schedule?”

  His lips quirked, and humor danced in his eyes.

  God, he should not do that.

  Look at her like that.

  Turned her insides to jelly.

  He tsked. “Touchy, are we? I expected more control from a Hansen. Especially one as… tightly wound as you seem.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, irritated at how unsettled she was around him.

  He smiled laconically, and she watched in fascination as he undid his tie with one hand, stashing it in his jacket pocket. He arched his brow. “Oh I think you know.” He unbuttoned his top button.

  She licked her lips, trying to not to ogle the skin he’d just exposed. “Enlighten me.” Damn. Her voice came out all breathy. Excited even. And her heart was suddenly pounding.

  He dipped his head close and his breath warmed the spot under her ear, sending shivers dancing down her spine. “Care to dance?” His voice scraped over her nerve endings like a five o’clock shadow. Her nipples liked the sound.

  A lot.

  She shook her head. “Oh no. I don’t dance.” Especially with hot cowboys.

  His eyes gleamed.

  Damn him, he was toying with her.

  “Why not, Dr. Hansen?” He leaned in closer. So close his lips brushed her ear. So close, she could see a hint of dark curly hair at the top of his unbuttoned shirt. Her pulse leaped at the jolt of electricity that buzzed through her.

  “You’re not… scared, are you?”

  She didn’t miss the note of challenge in his voice. Pressing her lips together more in an effort not to tilt her head and meet his lips with her own, she inhaled deeply.

  Mistake. Big mistake.

  Her brain cells swirled in delight. Smelling him was like breathing damned fizzy water.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she answered loftily, adjusting her glasses.

  He threw his head back in laughter. Rich, dark toffee laughter that warmed her belly as much as any Irish whiskey.

  His hand pressed at the small of her back, propelling her toward the crowded dance floor. “Even I know a whopper when I hear it.” He turned, pulling her into his arms.

  Hard thighs pressed against hers as he expertly maneuvered her around the dance floor. His hand engulfed hers in warmth and strength. It took all her self-discipline not to rake her other hand down his shoulder, relishing the corded muscles that heated her palm. This was a body perfectly chiseled from long days of labor. A Rodin statue come to life.

  His hand splayed across her hip keeping her pressed tight against him. Awareness surged where their bodies touched. Could he tell she had no panties?

  He angled his head closer, his breath sending warm shivers to her achy nipples. “I’ve figured out what makes you tick.”

  She tilted her head back to study him. The light in his eyes scorched her, launching her pulse like rocket fuel. “Highly improbable, but shoot.”

  “You’re afraid of losing control.”

  She kept her face impassive. “Not.” It was a non-issue. She never lost control. Ever.

  “Then why is your pulse hammering like a stampede of bison?”

  Tongues of heat flamed through her. “Because my… ah… pheromones are confused.”

  He made a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat. “Your pheromones?”

  “Yes.” She nodded emphatically.

  A growl rumbled in his chest, and he pinned her with a look that made her squirm.

  “I’m calling bullshit, Madison.”

  “What?” She blinked her eyes at him.

  His lips quirked, but the challenge was unmistakable in his eyes. “You’re a physicist. You don’t know shit about biology.”

  “How do you know?”

  His eyes narrowed as he dipped his head closer. Invading her space. His breath tickled deliciously at her temple. “I think you’re so terrified of losing it, you tell yourself whatever lies necessary to believe you’re in control.” His hand drifted casually down and cupped her ass. He leaned his head back to catch her eyes, and squeezed.

  The jolt went straight to her clit, proving his point. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Refusing to look away just made it worse. Her skin heated and prickled. She was overcome with the urge to grind her hips into his.

  No, no, no, no. She couldn’t give into these sensations. Not in public, not ever…not with him. She’d walk barefoot on hot coals before admitting he did things to her no one else ever had. Not even Marcus all those years ago. Before she’d wised up and put herself on a romance-free diet.

  “Are you challenging me?” Her voice came out too breathy. Like she anticipated whatever was coming next. She really should have slowed down on the wine. This was all it was.

  The wine.

  Not chemistry.

  Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.

  His hand pulled her closer. Close enough there was no question of his arousal. Close enough that she was pressed into him from knee to shoulder and she was eye level with the hollow in his neck. A hollow that smelled like pine, and salt, and delicious pheromones.

  “Oh, no. I’m absolutely confident.” His chest rumbled as he talked, the vibrations setting off sympathetic vibrations where they touched. “I bet you’re glorious when you lose control, Madison.” The way her name rolled off his tongue started a fire in her belly.

  “Wouldn’t you love to find out.”

  “I aim to.”

  The certainty laced with the laughter in his voice triggered something bold inside of her. She couldn’t let him win. He’d leave here and laugh all the way back to Prairie. That was so not happening.

  She inhaled deeply, letting his proximity set her body buzzing. Her nipples puckered to hard points at the thought of what she was about to do.

  Slowly, she lifted her head. Then inching just slightly forward, brought her lips to the hollow of his neck and tasted. Shivers cascaded down her body, and her clit throbbed with wanting.

  He tasted just like he smelled. Of musk, salt, leather and pine. Of a masculinity that egged her on. She flicked her tongue over the hollow before she drew the cord of his muscle between her lips and gently sucked it in.

  His breath rushed out in a hiss as his arms tightened into a vice-like grip. They had practically stopped dancing, not that anyone had noticed.

  Ignoring the tremors in her own body, she risked a glance up. Raw lust glared down at her. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Now who’s afraid of losing control?”

  Spinning on his heel, he wheeled them both around, and quickly threaded them toward the glass doors leading to the courtyard.

  The quiet of the courtyard echoed in stark contrast to the noise of the band and patrons. Her ragged breathing sounded loud to her own ears.

  Hi
s grip not releasing, he navigated randomly placed chairs and tables until they reached a darkened corner, half in shadow from the glow of a lantern. The scent of lilacs dripped in the air. Propping his hand against the wall, he let go, glaring at her.

  The night air did nothing to cool her feverish skin. Lifting her hand, she traced a finger from his delicious hollow, still damp from the ministrations of her tongue, slowly down his shirt.

  He grabbed her hand and held it away from him.

  Hmm.

  So. Turnabout wasn’t fair play. Interesting.

  “What do you want?” he rasped, the edges of his voice grating over her like hot coals.

  What did she want? Him obviously, but that was out of the question. Too dangerous, for starters. She bit her lip, unsure how to answer.

  “Your eyes tell me you want this.”

  Before she could process what was happening, his mouth had claimed hers.

  Fiercely.

  Possessively.

  The tinder they had been dancing through ignited in a rush, instantly blazing to an inferno.

  His tongue did not politely seek entrance. It demanded she open, which she did willingly. How could she not, held in thrall by his sheer magnetism? As soon as his tongue slid against hers, burning coals melted at her apex. Swirls of desire raced up through her, pulling her toward him like he was some kind of black hole and his gravity was stripping her bare.

  She melted into him, letting his weight support her, and pressed her hands up his shirt, tantalized by the hard muscles beneath her palms. Her tongue curled against his, meeting his thrusts with an enthusiasm that surprised her.

  His body radiated heat.

  And strength.

  And raw animal power.

  Her hips rocked against his in an effort to slake the building pressure at her core.

  Quick as a whip, he pivoted and had her pressed up against the wall, his knee between her legs. He released her lips, breathing heavy. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you playing me?”

  She couldn’t hide the smile that quirked the corner of her mouth. “Just staying in control.” Barely, but he didn’t have to know that.

  He stilled, then gently removed her glasses, tucking them safely in his pocket. That simple movement sent a little thrill of anticipation through her. Who was playing who?

  He placed his hands on either side of her head, fingers massaging and searching for the pins that held her thick waves securely in place. Her breath hitched as he lowered his head. He stopped, his lips so close that if she tipped forward she could touch them.

  “Never challenge a Sinclaire where control is concerned. We’ll win every time.”

  He brushed her mouth in the barest of kisses. Her pulse launched like a rocket booster and her breath lodged in the back of her throat. Still moving his lips barely against her, he swept his hand up her side to rest just under her breast, his thumb sweeping her already taut nipple.

  His mouth smiled against hers.

  Realization dawned. He was totally playing with her. No doubt about it. If she was smart, she’d walk away right now. Right back home to her fuzzy pajamas, bunny slippers and geometric equations.

  But she wasn’t.

  She was hungry.

  And tense.

  And prickly, and hot. White hot chemical reaction hot. And dammit if she wasn’t going to meet his challenge head-on. He might be a Sinclaire, but she was a Hansen, and Hansens didn’t back down and cower in corners.

  A slow grin spread across her face. “Bring it on, cowboy.”

  He growled pulling her flush against him, his hands cupping her ass.

  She’d just unleashed the Kraken.

  And she loved it.

  “The first one to make the other moan wins.” His breath was hot in her ear. His tongue ran over the sensitive cartilage, sending pulsing shivers through her nipples to her clit.

  “Wins what? A cookie?” She panted, her hands tracing the hard as rock muscles in his arms.

  He raked his teeth down her neck to her collarbone, biting gently, then soothing it over with his tongue. Every place he touched made her clit throb harder.

  He was good. Really good. Like he had a road map of her personal buttons.

  “The chance to call the shots next time.” He ground his hips into hers, pinning her to the wall.

  She shook her head. “No next time.” She wouldn’t survive a next time. She was barely in control as it was. A next time would reduce her to a puddle of goo. She needed to carry this out to whatever ending they were determined to write, and escape with her dignity.

  His response was another low growl before his lips claimed hers. Something unlocked deep inside as his tongue slid with hers, swirling her to dizzying heights. Was it possible to shatter from a kiss?

  Hands tugged her blouse from her skirt, and calloused fingers caressed the flesh below her breasts in lazy circles, leaving goose pimples in their wake. If he was going for the slow burn, it was working.

  Her arousal overflowed and slicked her thighs, heightening the ache that threatened to overwhelm her. She clenched, in a half-hearted attempt to stave off the building ache. He just made her feel too damned good.

  But she refused to go down without a solid attempt to break him first. Reaching inside his denims, she yanked his shirt loose, feathering her fingers over the ripples that could only be his abs.

  Sweet baby Jesus.

  She had to feel them again.

  Moving her fingers back toward his belly, she pressed harder this time, letting her fingernails get in on the action.

  The quick intake of air through his nose was the only indication that she was having an effect on him. That, and the rock solid erection pressed dangerously close to her pussy.

  She should end this quickly and just ride him right there in the shadows. But truth be told, she wanted this to go on just a bit longer. The curiosity was too tempting. She’d never been with a man that made her… feel.

  Feel what? Wanton? Desired? Like she couldn’t think about anything except stripping her clothes off?

  “Stop thinking, Maddie,” he muttered into her mouth.

  She pulled back. Had she spoken aloud?

  “Your thoughts are racing a mile a minute.”

  Sparks raced up her neck. How could he tell? She hadn’t meant to think. It was just something she did. All the time. She shook her head, squinting slightly to study him. His face was inscrutable.

  “You think I’m the kind of man you can kiss while you work quadratic equations in your head?” He shook his head at her slowly, the corner of his mouth pulling down. “Don’t play me for a fool, Madison.”

  He kissed her again. Hard. Then pulled away, his breathing as ragged as hers. He scrubbed his hand over his face.

  “I should have known better than to tangle with a Hansen.”

  The ache between her legs protested as he spun on his heel and stalked off toward the door. With her glasses.

  She leaned her head back against the brick, fighting waves of humiliation. What in the hell had just happened? Blake Sinclaire had beaten her at her own game. But she hadn’t lost control… had she? Doubt assailed her and an ache twisted in her ribs. She’d lost this evening. She’d definitely lost something.

  CHAPTER 3

  Blake’s mood mirrored the storm clouds building several miles to the west. From the ranch’s vantage point in the heart of the Flint Hills, he and his brothers could see storms long before they arrived. They’d have rain before nightfall. He stalked from the barn to the large front porch and grabbed a beer from the mini fridge plugged underneath the window.

  His mother would roll in her grave to see the front porch looking like a bachelor pad, but the ability to grab a beer without removing one’s boots trumped propriety.

  Another downpour would flood the south acreage completely, making it impossible for the bison to stay close. Not that calving couldn’t happen on the far acreage. It was just inconvenient. And costly.

 
; It also made any controlled burn out of the question. Not that wildfires would be a concern immediately, but the longer the cedars grew, the more costly they were to remove. They were already beginning to take over down by the homestead thanks to years of neglect from Warren.

  The cool liquid slid down his throat, slaking his thirst, but did nothing to slake his temper.

  His thoughts drifted back to Maddie. Damn if she hadn’t crawled right under his skin like a chigger in May. He couldn’t get the blazing hot encounter they’d shared out of his mind. Three weeks of sleepless nights had made him grumpy and restless. His balls tightened again just thinking of her.

  Of the way her tongue glided with his. The way her scent filled him as he breathed her in. He had the hard-on of a lifetime, and no amount of showering and hand time seemed to relieve it.

  He groaned and began to pace, shaking his hands and hoping movement would take the edge off the raw, itchy sensations fraying his nerves like a sheet in a windstorm.

  A shower was the wrong thing to think of. Not when all he wanted to do was soap Maddie’s body, graze his hands over the flare of her hips, slip his fingers into her wetness. Stroke her until she clung to him, her breasts dripping with slippery soap bubbles pressing against his chest.

  He was certain she’d been more than wet the night they kissed. He’d bet a year of beers at the Trading Post that if he’d slipped his fingers up her skirt, he’d have found her naked as the day she was born, and wet.

  So wet.

  “Gah.” He threw the beer bottle into the recycle bin with extra vigor. Damn her for captivating him then holding him at bay. Was he not scientific enough to hold her interest?

  He was the one who held people at arms’ length. Not the other way around. He knew she’d wanted him. Knew it. And she’d drifted somewhere while he was seducing her. Trying to bring her to her knees. He’d be damned if he ever begged for kisses.

  Especially hers.

  He was in serious trouble.

  He was supposed to be thinking about prepping the south pasture for calving, and all he could do was fantasize about getting naked with her. In multiple naughty ways.

  Damn Maddie Hansen and her perfect little mouth for haunting him like this. If he ever saw her again, he’d sure as hell make sure the only thing she was thinking about was him. And when she melted under him, he’d fuck her six ways to Sunday and wouldn’t let up until she’d screamed herself hoarse saying his name, begging for more. Too bad the one thing that haunted him more than her kisses was the look in her eye when he’d thrown the family feud in her face and stomped off.