by Anne Carrole
And why?
Because they thought you better than you are. That you are someone you aren’t.
Despair had a funny way of finding her. Here it was creeping through her veins, heading straight for her heart.
* * *
Chance leaned against the counter, bracing against the pain shooting through him. Pain from his ribs, from his foot, and from his heart. It was real. This guy had come to get her back. He intended to marry her. To offer her more than Chance would, or ever had. A nice guy who would settle down and live the suburban dream. Just the kind of guy who would get Sam Brennan’s stamp of approval.
Hell.
He should limp back to his bedroom, lock the door, and wait for her to pack her things and go.
Instead, he waited. Listened. Heard a car door slam, an engine start. Listened to the crunch of gravel as the car moved out.
Was she going to leave without her things? Without Cowboy?
He heard the sound of another car door slam.
Hope vibrated his heart. But hope for what?
That she’d broken up with Mr. Ben Wilson? Why, since Chance had no intention of taking the guy’s place?
That she was staying? How could he want her to stay when it would be torture not to touch her?
He hadn’t expected to feel so much pain when the man she was going to marry appeared in the flesh, resolute on staking his claim. It felt like she was walking out on him all over again, and this time into another guy’s arms.
As he had waited with Ben, in uncomfortable silence, for Libby to return, he’d convinced himself that her leaving was for the best. He’d be free of her, of the memories, and eventually and finally, free of the ache in his heart. He could close that chapter, write “the end.” Seeing Wilson had been just the anecdote to all the damn feelings that were beginning to resurface.
But now what if she stayed? What would it mean if she had broken up with Ben? What would it mean if she wanted to stay? He would never turn her out, even if it was the best thing for him. If she had decided to stay, he’d let her. But on what terms?
He knew the terms he’d like. Terms that placed her in his bed, but not in his heart. No strings. No regrets.
He’d have to make damn sure that if something physical happened between them, he didn’t end up caring for her. Again. That was his only way through this. Not caring.
He heard the front door open and the clipped sound of heels on the hardwood floor. She stood in the doorway, pizza box in hand, hair tumbling out of her bun, sorrow in her eyes.
His heart skipped a beat.
It seemed the breath had leaked out of her as she stood staring at the expressionless, stone-hard face of the man she loved. She wished she saw something in his eyes—anger, disgust, distrust. Anything but the blank stare that said he felt nothing.
“Did Ben leave?” he asked.
She nodded, taking a deep breath.
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“The relationship is over.”
“You know he bought a ring.” Chance rubbed a hand across his chin.
“He told me.”
“He seemed like a nice enough guy. Didn’t even try to take a swing at me. Better man than me in a similar situation.” Chance crossed his arms. “I’m just curious, did he end it, or did you?”
Temple pulsing, she sucked in air. “When I turned down the job with my father and wanted to start living on my own, Ben asked me to move in with him once he was done with his training. I told him I couldn’t just then and wasn’t sure when…if ever. Then he found out I was here with you, from my father as it turns out, and decided to pay a visit. I guess he wanted to hear it from me in person, which I intended to do once he got back from training. Outside, he accused me of still caring for you. I didn’t deny it. So he left.”
Had she seen a flicker in his eyes or simply wished it?
“You know there’s been too much damage for there to be anything permanent between us—and I’m giving that to you straight. Just because I’ve got money now may change things in your eyes, but I’m the same guy you walked away from before. I haven’t changed. You can have all the mistaken feelings you want. It won’t make any difference.” He pushed off the counter and began to hobble toward her.
“It’s got nothing to do with having money or not having money.” Would he ever accept that she cared for him, about him, because of him, not the size of his bank account? Back then she’d had nothing to bring to the relationship but good intentions. “Maybe I’m the one who changed.”
“In what way?”
He stopped and stood nose to nose with her, so close she could see the fire in his gray eyes. She hadn’t fought for him before. She was going to fight for him now using everything at her disposal.
“You said yesterday no strings, no regrets.” She lifted her chin, even as it wobbled. “I’ll take that deal.”
Chance gave a mental shake, wondering if he’d heard correctly. Maybe it was how desperate she looked, or her admission of feelings for him (not that he believed in her feelings, but at the moment, she surely did), or the fact of her offer, but he could no longer resist the pull she exercised over him every time he saw her, and especially this moment.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, felt her shiver at his touch. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” Her voice was low but firm.
“You’re in a vulnerable spot right now. Don’t you want to take some time? Think about it?” He didn’t want to take advantage, but he wanted her, every inch of her, even if it meant heartache.
“I have thought about it. I’ve thought about nothing else.”
For his own sake, he should send her packing. Let her go. But when had he ever done what he should?
Instead, he bent his head, wrapped his arms around her small waist, and pulled her tight. And then he rode over her lips as desire surged through him and she melded into his arms. Invading her mouth with his tongue, he tasted her sweetness and demanded more.
He hoped she understood exactly what she’d just signed on for.
Chapter 13
It had been such an emotional day from the stress of the job interview, to the scene with Ben, to facing Chance and telling him her real feelings. And then agreeing to the type of relationship he’d proposed even though, for her, this was more than physical attraction.
Being in his arms again, she never wanted to leave. His lips, his strength, his traveling touch, she was reveling in being with him, however tenuous the relationship.
She wanted him. All of him. With every fiber of her trembling being.
“The bedroom,” he whispered as his tongue tickled her ear.
Of course, Chance’s injuries would require a bed for the type of activity they were contemplating.
A short limping walk down the corridor, kissing as they went, and they were tumbling into the half made bed, sheets tangling around them.
She stretched out against his long body as he kissed her lips, her jaw, down her neck. His hand was under her skirt, pulling it up, touching her panties, brushing her stomach.
The desire was too strong, the lure too enticing. She’d wanted to be with him since she first saw him at the Cattleman’s Club, looking too good by half. Now, with his lean body covering hers and an invitation in his storm-cloud eyes, she couldn’t remember a single reason why she shouldn’t. Her head had lost the argument to her heart.
He kissed her neck. “I want you. You want me,” he said in between kisses.
She did. Only she wanted so much more from him.
He certainly wasn’t offering more.
But he was offering enough. And maybe, with some time, she could get him to forgive her, to see her as a woman he could love.
“We were so good together.” His breath puffed along her throat.
The palm of his hand brushed along her arm in slow, hypnotic strokes. Warm, firm, possessive. And God knew she wanted to be possessed by him. His palm slipped to her back and p
ressed, gathering her to him.
“So sweet,” he whispered into her hair.
She was so close she could feel the testosterone-laced heat rolling off his body. His belt buckle scraped against her blouse, and his hard penis pressed against her skirted belly as she stared up at his full lips shadowed by a day’s growth of beard. His hand skimmed across her hips and then corralled her. She wanted to be corralled.
“I’ve thought about you, about us, so many times,” he rasped and snuggled his stubbled chin against her temple, lightly abrading her skin.
“Me too.”
His smile at her confession made her toes dance.
“We were amazing together.”
She nodded, afraid to say more lest her voice betray the depth of her own desire. He’d know soon enough.
His lips, moist and warm, brushed across her forehead, leaving their imprint. “We should be volcanic now.”
His hand began to massage her breast through her blouse while the other hand traveled down her belly, inching her skirt up until it lodged between her legs, rubbing the silky fabric of her undies so it pulled on sensitive areas.
Her nipples hardened and her underwear became moist. The need he was creating clenched deep inside her womb.
“Libby.” He looked at her as if waiting for a sign.
She tilted her chin up in offering and his mouth descended. Clinging to him as his lips caressed hers, her fingers dug into those roped and stalwart arms. He deepened the kiss, consuming her mouth. The yeasty traces of beer snagged memories of passions past, bringing them to the forefront with a primal roar.
As he kissed her, deep, penetrating, his tongue dancing with hers, he pressed her back to the mattress and covered her body with his. Heavy, strong, firm, solid, his weight drove his denim-clad hips and his hard penis into her softness until she opened her legs, pulling them up so he could nestle between them.
His lips caressed her cheek, the line of her jaw, the skin of her throat. When he found her collar bone, he suckled there before venturing up, behind her ear. He knew her so well. Knew what caused the sharp, heated streaks of desire to pulse through her. Knew where to press and where to lick and where to breathe against her heated skin. He remembered.
Like a log assaulting a gated entry, he thrust against her, clothing blunting none of his need. Her body was giving way, weakening, beckoning. And she knew it was just a matter of moments before she’d welcome him.
“I want to strip you naked.” He aimed his chin at her blouse. “Everything.” He rolled off, and she gulped in a breath as she sat up.
Everything was moving wonderfully fast.
“You first.”
He smirked as he rose off the bed and planted his feet on the floor. “Gladly.” His fingers tugged at his buckle.
“Let me,” she said, leaning forward to reach for him. Her fingers grazed against the callused palms of his large hands. Hands that could be as tender or rough as the work demanded.
How many times had she done this for him? Many. Very many. But not enough. And for five long years—never. She felt nervous and giddy, like the schoolgirl she had been when they’d first made love.
She pulled against the large silver rodeo buckle, inscribed with a testament to his prowess with a horse. But she knew eight seconds would be nothing compared to the bucking they would be doing.
The buckle opened and the belt ends flapped against his hips. She undid the button and slid the bulging zipper down. Then she reached her hand into the dark opening. He’d gone commando, like he’d often done before when he knew they’d be making love. Like he’d chided her to do, but she never could. Her fingers slid under the denim fabric.
She felt for the soft-skinned hard rod that leaned left on a bed of coarse hair. His chest rose in a sharp inhale as she wrapped her fingers around the hot, steely pole. It twitched with life and vigor.
He pushed down his jeans, pushing her hand away as well, as he kicked his feet free of the pants.
“Your foot? Your ribs?” she asked.
“All the blood’s rushed somewhere else, darlin’,” he growled as climbed on the bed, rising up on his knees.
Freed and springing to life, the long, thick, engorged member begged for attention.
“Now you,” he commanded before she could give into the urge to touch again. She didn’t have time to move. He’d grasped the ends of her ruffled top and tugged it upward. It glided over her head and went flying to the floor. With a snap of her bra clasp, her breasts were free, the bra sailing in the air.
“God, Libby.” Warm palms caressed while a thumb tortured each nipple. He’d always praised her breasts.
She’d often wondered what had been the initial attraction for him. He’d sought her out in the school hallways, dogged her footsteps, appeared at her locker. No one she had associated with had been friendly with him. But something had drawn him to her. And something beyond the handsome face and cocky attitude had drawn her. Something that spoke to her from those guarded eyes. Something vulnerable and hurt and in need.
Something she’d recognized then. Something she searched for now.
But tonight, this moment, the need she saw in his eyes was an elemental one. A need she could identify with. The same force that was spinning her mind and twirling her insides with each circle of his thumb.
“Now for the skirt and those bikini undies,” he reminded. He knelt on the bed totally naked, in all his glorious, sculpted maleness, daring her to touch and be touched.
He pushed down the skirt, carrying the panties with it and tugging them off her legs. They joined the pile of clothes on the floor. Then she felt his rough hands brushing up her legs, up her hips to her cradle her breasts.
Chance held his breath as he surveyed her. He was naked, in bed, with Libby. Her smile was shy, but her look was eager. She swung her hair back behind her ear and for a moment, he was back in high school, looking at her beautiful body for the first time.
She leaned in, the tips of her breasts grazing the bare flesh of his chest.
He dipped his head. “Now for some real pleasure, honey.”
He kissed, touched, felt everywhere. Her nipples brushed against his skin, her fingers swept through his hair, then down his neck until her nails dug into his shoulders, causing hot molten desire to course through him.
He latched on to her nipple and nipped, suckled, pulled, laved. She moaned so deep and so low, he could feel it in his groin.
“More of that,” she groaned.
He complied while she squirmed and wiggled, one knee coming up, the other leg folding until her hips arched toward him.
He held her waist, keeping her in place as he suckled at first one, then the other breast.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Soon. But not too soon,” he promised. “I’m just getting started.”
His body rubbed against her legs as he inched down to lick and lave along her stomach. Her back arched, her hips begged with impatience. He knew what she wanted, what she needed, what she liked.
Nearing his destination, he licked. She was wet and salty and sweet.
“Please. Come in me.”
“God, how I’ve missed you. Missed this. Missed the taste of you,” he ground out as his heart pumped hard in his chest and his balls tightened with need.
He wanted her to remember what it was like, how good it had been. How it could be. He’d been nothing but a frisky colt back then. Now he was a more experienced stallion.
He licked the nub and then circled his tongue over that sensitive spot. Once, twice, again.
Her breathing became ragged. A moan rumbled through the air.
“Don’t come yet, honey.”
“Hurry.”
He continued, sparing her no quarter as he flicked and teased. He sensed the heat tightening her insides.
“Almost there,” she breathed.
“Not yet.”
Chase stopped. He knew she was close, but he wanted to prolong her pleasure, increas
e it. Instead, he inserted fingers into her and began the rhythmic drilling while his thumb stroked that most sensitive spot.
Another moan, this time more animalistic, emanated from her throat.
“That’s it, darlin’.” He wanted to give her pleasure, intense, mind-blowing pleasure.
“Come inside me. Now.” She practically yelled it.
“First things first, honey,” he said as he reached for the condom package on the table. Within a heartbeat, he gave her what she wanted, long, hard, hot thrusts into her slick essence.
He brushed the silky hair from her neck and whispered in her ear. “Is this what you wanted?”
“God, yes.”
His pulse hammered in his temple while his heart pounded against his ribs as he thrust again and again. His balls tightened and he tried to hold back. But the need was strong and he kept driving into her.
Her breathing ragged, she hung on to his shoulders as if she was afraid some tide would carry her away.
“Let it go, honey,” he growled, hoping she would come before he did.
He reached down between them, found the spot, and rubbed. Her moans sent shots of testosterone right to his balls. He pumped harder and harder, faster and faster.
She let out a deep, guttural groan. The first contraction of her orgasm squeezed him, and he succumbed with a roar, feeling the ferocious pleasure of release that gripped him, flaming his skin, burning his insides as the pulses of her body milked him dry.
He leaned his forehead against her and braced his weight on his elbows. He needed time to recover, time to gather himself together. By the wide eyes that were looking back at him, she did too.
“Like old times,” he said when he could breathe again.
“Better.”
He smiled. “I always thought we did pretty good back then.”
“We did. But this…” She shook her head, her beautiful face flush with afterglow. “This was spectacular.”
* * *
Chance slid the pizza into the hot oven, then closed the door and sat down at the wood table to wait. He’d left Libby curled up asleep, like a contented cat. Like Cowboy after you stroked him a bit. Chance had been too charged up to sleep. And too hungry.