“Like you said, the more the better if we’re trying to convince your mom I live here. I threw in everything but the kitchen sink.” She pointed to one of her bags. “I even brought Florence.”
“You have a pet?”
“A plant. A pothos.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Exactly. Most bachelors don’t have house plants. Most single women have at least one. Florence is mine and having her in the living room will be another signal to your mother that I’ve moved in.”
“She’s in that bag?”
“Don’t worry. I protected her so she wouldn’t get smooshed.”
“Better let me take her into the living room, though.” He started forward.
“She’s fine. She’s tough.” Her heart stuttered as he kept coming.
“I’m sure she is. But I’m also sure she’d be happier when she can breathe.”
That makes two of us. Until this moment, she’d been distracted by the changes he’d made to his surroundings. While she’d processed those, the sensual pull of his body hadn’t been an issue. The scent of his aftershave hadn’t reached her from across the room.
But now he was close, very close. Crouching down to lift Florence out of the bag, she was eye-level with the fly of his jeans. Her core clenched, dampening her panties. Hands shaking, she freed the plant from its nest and stood on unsteady legs. “Don’t give her any water. She doesn’t need it.”
“Ever?” He took the pot from her, his hands brushing hers during the exchange.
That brief touch set off a tingle that traveled to very erotic locations. “Oh, no, she needs it. Just not right now.”
“How about you?” His voice was as smooth as a shot of top-shelf whiskey. “Anything you need right now?”
She couldn’t help it. Had to look at him. Big mistake. His knowing glance said he was onto her. Time to regain the upper hand. “I’m hungry, cowboy, very hungry.”
His eyes darkened. “I can fix that.”
“I’m hungry for food.”
“Oh.” He gave her a sexy grin. “I can fix that, too. I’ll holler when dinner’s ready.” He left, taking Florence with him.
She stood in the middle of his bedroom, confused as hell. Three months ago he would have maneuvered her into bed. She would have gone willingly. Despite what she’d said, she wasn’t that hungry.
But times had changed. He’d taken her at her word and walked out of the room smiling, the rat. She wanted him to come back and seduce her. But she’d be damned if she’d say so.
Chapter Nine
Florence was a pretty little thing — large, lush leaves, mostly dark green but with some variation in the color on a few of them. He was no expert, but Florence looked young, like she’d barely started her life with Val.
Yet Val had named her and brought her along today. Adorable quirks like that had been part of the reason he’d fallen head over heels back in June. Since he’d never fully recovered from that fall, he’d probably go down in flames sometime in the next five days. Until then, he’d live for the moment.
He put the ceramic blue pot in the middle of the coffee table after checking to make sure there was no drainage hole that would leak water on the handmade coffee table Ed had given him. Florence lived in a smaller plastic flowerpot inside the ceramic one, so no danger of leakage.
Hanging his hat on a hook by the door, he headed for the kitchen and washed up. He’d agonized over what to serve Val for dinner. Steak might say he was trying too hard. Hamburgers might say he wasn’t trying hard enough.
He’d gone with spaghetti and his homemade sauce. Or rather, his mom’s recipe for homemade sauce. He’d made the sauce yesterday and the salad right before leaving for the barn.
A foolproof dinner.
Except his attention wasn’t on the task. Instead he wandered to the kitchen door, captured by the rhythmic click as she hung up her clothes, the scrape of wood as she opened dresser drawers, the swish of the shower curtain when she put her shampoo and conditioner on the shelf inside.
He was new at this, too. He’d never moved in with a girlfriend or invited one to move in with him. Val was the first woman he’d asked to share his space. While she’d shrunk from the concept, he’d welcomed it with open arms.
A gurgling sound made him spin toward the stove, where bubbling sauce dotted the stovetop with red splotches and the rolling boil of the pasta guaranteed it would be overcooked. Hell.
While he was in the middle of cleaning spaghetti sauce off the stovetop, she walked into the kitchen. “Oh, my goodness, what happened?”
“A spaceship landed in front of the house and I had to go welcome them to the planet.”
“Well, of course you did!” She laughed. “Are they staying for dinner?”
“I asked, but they’re allergic to tomato sauce, so they headed over to the Apple Barrel for pie and coffee.” He wiped up the final bit of red glop and rinsed the dishcloth under the faucet. “All settled in?”
“Sure am. Spaghetti?”
“That was the idea. I overcooked the noodles while I was chatting with the aliens, so I’ll need to make another batch. Won’t take long.”
“Don’t bother. I don’t care if the spaghetti’s mushy.”
“I do.” He dumped out the noodles and ran fresh water in the pot. She didn’t want mushy speeches and she wouldn’t get mushy noodles, either.
“Have it your way, then. What are we drinking?”
“Ed insisted I serve champagne.” He turned the burner on high and took the package of noodles out of the cupboard. “It’s chilling in the fridge. You’re welcome to open it if you—”
“No, sir, I’m leaving that to you. I need more practice on the cheap kind before I tackle a bottle from Ed’s stash.”
“I’ll do it after I get the noodles going. Glasses are in the—”
“Top cupboard on the end. I remember.” She crossed to the cabinet and opened the door. “Wow, I don’t remember you having honest-to-goodness champagne glasses before.”
“Just got ’em from Ed. She called them an engagement present.”
“Hold on.” She turned, a crystal flute in each hand. “You’re making me nervous. Please tell me Ed understands that—”
“She was kidding.” He added the noodles to the boiling water, turned down the heat and checked the time. He’d used the last ones in the box, so he couldn’t afford to screw it up again.
“I hope she was kidding.”
“I can guarantee it. She wasn’t happy with the way I handled things in June.” Fetching the bottle of champagne from the fridge, he peeled off the foil.
“I wondered about that.” She set the flutes on the kitchen counter. “I thought about contacting her to see if we were still friends. But I was afraid she might blame me for what happened so I chickened out.”
“Put your mind at rest. She totally blames me.” He started untwisting the wire on the neck of the bottle.
“Wait.” She stepped closer. “I want to watch how you do this. The last time Nell and I shared a bottle, we made a mess.”
“Sometimes that’s the point.” He loosened the cage but left it in place.
“To make it go everywhere? What a waste of good champagne.”
“I probably wouldn’t do it with Ed’s, but if you’re opening grocery store champagne, it’s fun to let the cork shoot out. There’s even a technique called sabering where you knock the neck off the bottle and it erupts like Old Faithful.”
“That sounds like a guy thing.”
“It could be a girl thing, too.”
“I suppose, but I’ll bet women would rather drink it than let it shoot out the neck of the bottle.” She smirked at him.
Oh. “I… um… hadn’t thought of it that way.” His cock stirred.
“How could you not? It’s clearly a male fantasy, the perfect stand-in for—”
“Never mind.” He tightened his grip on the cork and clenched his jaw.
“You look flu
stered.”
“It’s just that this is the critical part, and the cork is trying to push its way out of the bottle.”
“Do tell.”
“Val, cut it out or it really will go everywhere.”
She started laughing. “You’re not in control of it?”
“So far I am, but—”
“Poor baby. I’ll shut up. Please proceed with taking the wire off.”
“If you don’t want an explosion, you leave the wire on. It helps hold the cork in check.”
“Aha. That’s where Nell and I went wrong. We thought if we wanted what was inside that bottle, we had to strip off everything.”
His jeans began to pinch. “You do realize you’re torturing me.”
“Sorry. Torture for you, but fun for me.”
“I can tell. Are you watching?”
“Like a hawk.”
“Are you right-handed?”
“You don’t know?”
“I think you are, but I haven’t paid that much attention to whether you’re—”
“See how little we know about each other?”
“Val.”
“I’m right-handed.”
“Good. So am I. Use your right hand to hold the cork and the neck of the bottle.”
“Come to think of it, that’s how I—”
“Don’t you dare say it.”
She grinned. “Okay, go on.”
He cleared his throat. “Grip the bottom with your left. Twist the bottle one way and the cork the other. Like this.” The cork eased out with a soft sigh. “No eruption.”
“Now I’m kind of sad that the poor bottle didn’t get to—”
“That does it.” He rammed the cork back in and put the champagne in the fridge. Flipping the knobs on the stove, he turned off the burners and grabbed her hand. “I’m taking you to bed.”
Chapter Ten
Val got the giggles as Teague, a man on a mission, pulled her through the living room and down the hall. “What about the spaghetti? Won’t that batch be ruined, too?”
“To hell with the spaghetti.” He lengthened his stride. “We’ll worry about it after we attend to a few things.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Damned straight.” He barreled through the doorway and pulled her close. “You messed with the wrong guy, lady.”
She gazed into eyes glittering with frustrated passion. “What about the champagne?”
“It’ll keep. This won’t.” His mouth came down on hers, his tongue demanding entrance as he began working her out of her clothes.
She followed his lead, unbuckling his belt, unfastening the button of his jeans. They’d perfected this routine three months ago and they hadn’t lost a step. Breathing hard, they tumbled to his king-sized bed and rolled into position.
Teague threaded his fingers through hers, pressed her hands to the mattress and leaned down to delve into her mouth once again. Lowering his lightly furred chest, he brushed lazily over her taut nipples, creating a friction designed to drive her insane. The thrust of his tongue grew more suggestive as he mimicked the very action she yearned for. Moisture dampened her thighs.
She was writhing against the comforter by the time he lifted his head to gaze down at her. “You’re a terrible tease, Valerie Jenson.”
She gulped for air. “It takes one to know one.”
“I should make you wait for it.”
“Betcha can’t.” She dragged in a breath. “Not when you know how good it will feel.” Her skin flushed in anticipation. “Not when you remember what it’s like when the cork comes out of the bottle.”
“I can hold out a while longer.” He sounded mellow, but the intensity in his eyes gave the lie to that boast. “You took the edge off, remember?”
“Not much, judging from your reaction in the kitchen.” She ran her tongue slowly over her lips.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I held it together.”
“Barely.”
“I’m in control of my urges.” He tightened his grip on her hands. “And in control of you.”
“That’s what you think.” She stroked his muscled calf with her foot, rubbing slowly back and forth.
“Doesn’t bother me.”
“Then why are you breathing faster?”
“You just think I am.” He pressed down gently with his chest. “See? Perfectly calm.”
“Your heart’s beating really fast.” She arched her back, pushing against him, craving contact. “You’re ready to explode.”
He swallowed. “Am not.”
“You should get the condom you tucked under the pillow before it’s too late.”
“Found that, did you?”
“I know all your tricks.”
“So you think.”
“Let me put it on for you. Remember that sensation when you sink into my—”
“You win.” Releasing her right hand, he reached under the pillow and pulled out the foil package. “I’d better do this, though.”
“Let me do it.” She plucked the condom from his fingers. “It’s not like it’s hard.”
His smile was strained. “I beg to differ.”
“Now who’s talking dirty?” She ripped open the package.
“You started it.”
“Good thing I did. I thought we’d never get in here.” She tossed the wrapper aside.
“You’re the one who wanted food. I was being civilized.”
“Forget that noise.”
“I… ahhh.” He closed his eyes as she rolled the condom on. “Your hands on me… feel… way too good.”
“Still in complete control?” She circled his girth with her fingers and squeezed gently. “See, I do use my right hand.”
“Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.”
“It’s cork popping time?”
“Not if I can help it.” He pried her fingers loose. “I have a lot to accomplish before that happens.” Braced on one arm, he guided his cock to her entrance.
Her heart thundered. “Like what?”
“Like turning you inside out.” He pushed deep.
She moaned, reveling in the pleasure of their perfect connection.
“I take it you like that?”
“You know I do.”
“Then let’s get this done.” Dipping his head, he nibbled on her earlobe, his breath warm as he eased out and drove in again. His voice dropped to a sexy murmur. “And I promise it won’t be the least bit civilized.” He nipped her ear.
Her yelp of surprise was cut short as he slipped his hands under her hips, lifting her as he rose to his knees.
Feet in the air, hands clutching the comforter, she abandoned herself to an erotic position in which he had all the control and she had none. Turned out that cowboy knew what he was doing. In no time, she was yelling his name as her first climax arrived, followed quickly by another.
He maintained the tight connection, his cock buried securely in her quivering channel as he lowered her, gasping and limp, back to the mattress. He moved over her and placed a kiss on her damp forehead. “Did I do it?”
She took a ragged breath. “Do what?”
“Turn you inside out.” He touched his lips to her eyelids.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re sure?”
“Very sure.” She let out a happy sigh. “I’m so inside out I don’t want to move. Ever.”
“Then don’t. Pretend I’m not here.” He pumped slowly, gliding easily on the liquid path he’d created.
“That’s lovely.” She opened her eyes and gazed into his. “But is it enough?”
“Enough?”
“To push the cork out of the bottle.”
Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I could come now, but I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I’d rather bring you along with me.”
“Dream on. We never made it to three before.”
He continued his easy pace. “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t happe
n.”
“I don’t have the energy.”
“That’s fine. Just lie still.” He shifted his position slightly.
“That’s my plan. I… what did you just do?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, you did. You changed your angle.” A ripple of awareness traveled through her core.
“Not much.”
“That was sneaky.”
He grinned. “Don’t you dare move.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” She cupped his glutes and rose to meet his next stroke. “Mm. Not bad.”
“Maybe even good?”
“Maybe. You can go faster if you want.”
“If you insist.” He stepped it up. In seconds his breathing changed and his eyes darkened.
Clearly he was getting close. His arousal fueled hers and she dug her fingers into his flexing muscles, urging him to go deeper.
With a groan, he opened the throttle. His rapid thrusts brought her to the brink and hurled her over. The rush of his orgasm blended with hers, inspiring a jubilant woo-hoo!
His answering shout of yeah, baby! made her laugh, which added a whole new dimension to the sensations dancing through her quivering body. What a party. And it was just beginning.
Chapter Eleven
So far, so good. Teague had made energetic and highly emotional love to Val without uttering a single endearment. Maybe he was getting the hang of this.
He didn’t linger in bed, though. Taking care of the condom provided the perfect excuse to get the hell out of there before he said something he shouldn’t.
When he walked back into the bedroom, she had her back to him as she smoothed the wrinkles out of the comforter. She’d put on a red cotton sleep shirt that reached to mid-thigh. “Hi, there.”
“If you’re straightening up, we must be done.”
“For now.” Giving the comforter one more swipe with her palm, she turned to face him.
The slogan on the front of her shirt made him smile. You can’t scare me. I teach 4th grade. “I see you brought nightwear.”
“I thought I should since you don’t always remember to close the curtains and your mother will be within walking distance of this house.”
Marriage-Minded Cowboy Page 5