Rugged Texas Cowboy

by Lora Leigh

  “Tomorrow I leave, Jack,” she reiterated. “Unless you are proposing more than a fly-by-night affair?” She lifted a brow suggestively.

  His frown, if possible, became darker.

  “I didn’t say that.” His response was immediate. A second later a thoughtful glimmer entered his blue gaze as he shifted uncomfortably. “Why, do you want more?”

  She arched her brow. That bit of confusion, of ill ease, would have been endearing if it weren’t her heart he was playing with.

  “I’m merely pointing out we both have lives,” she finally answered coolly. “The sex is incredible, Jack, but I have a life. Sex, no matter how incredible, is not the be-all and end-all. I have to return to my home.”

  “So take a vacation,” he snapped impatiently.

  “Ireland isn’t America.” She rolled her eyes at the demand. “I can’t just vacation whenever the mood hits me. The matter isn’t up for argument. Tomorrow…”

  “I won’t let you leave.”

  Arrogance, pure and simple. There was nothing uncomfortable about that statement.

  “Kidnapping is illegal in America as well,” she pointed out.

  “I didn’t kidnap you. I’m just keeping you.” It was obvious he wasn’t seeing the complications here.

  “You, and whose army?” she mocked.

  “Who needs an army, sweetheart?” He smiled, a sensual wicked curve of his lips that made her want to groan. “I have handcuffs. Velvet-lined and soft as sin. They’ll keep you in place. I promise.”

  Why couldn’t he let her leave? Jack moved slowly across the kitchen, his cock aching like a wound as he stared into her confused, amused expression. She had no idea how very serious he was. Hell, even he was unaware of how serious he was until she mentioned leaving.

  Everything inside him screamed at him to keep her there, in his bed, in his life. He couldn’t imagine not having her there, the sweet heat of her pussy gripping his cock, her kiss making him hot and hard. Her laughter filling the house.

  For so many years this place had been a silent tomb, a place to sleep, but nothing more. In the last two days, it had become that something more. It seemed lighter, brighter; it echoed with life. Just as she had lit something within him during his stay in Ireland. Something he had been unaware of until now.

  But she was entirely too serious about leaving him.

  He backed her into the counter, his arms braced on each side of her as he stared down at her, his eyes narrowed, everything inside him rejecting her announcement.

  Her hands flattened on his chest, delicate fingers trembling against his bare flesh as her gaze lowered.

  “Don’t.” She said that hated word. Dammit, he hated it when she did that.

  “Don’t what?” He lowered his head, nudging her chin up before allowing his lips to whisper across hers. “Don’t tempt you into spending more time with me? What would it hurt, Angel? A week, maybe two?”

  Something flashed in her gaze, a glimmer of pain, a shadow of fear as her lips parted before the soft stroke of his tongue.

  She was soft and heated, her tongue flickering against his as it licked over her lips. Damn. His muscles clenched at the deliberate temptation of the caress. She made him so damned horny, he forgot what patience was. He wanted nothing more than to lift her to the counter and fuck her like an animal in heat. The nearly overwhelming urge to do just that sent a shudder up his spine.

  “Jack.” Her hand lifted, her fingers smoothing over the stubble roughness of his cheek. “If I stay, you’ll break my heart. Is this what you truly want? Let me go now, while I can still retain the memory of what we had, without the pain of losing it forever. Leave me something for the future.”

  Her eyes were like large, bruised violets, dark with emotion, with a feminine plea for mercy.

  A frown pulled at his brows as once again the dream from that morning swept through him, the emotions that had pulled at him then pulling at him now.

  “No.” He shook his head, not clearly understanding why the word came so naturally to his lips.

  “No?” she questioned him roughly. “Jack, you can’t make me stay. Handcuffs and sheriff aside, you can’t force it on me.”

  Her accent thickened with her anger. The smooth, soft lilt of her voice became a thick brogue that had his cock hardening further, every instinct in his body screaming out that he take her, bind her to him, never let her go.

  “Son of a bitch.” He pushed his fingers roughly through his hair as he let her go, turning away from her and the erratic, erotic temptation of her slender body. “Fine. Tomorrow you can leave. But that still leaves tonight, in my fucking bed.” He turned on her swiftly, catching her swift intake of air, the pain that flashed across her face. “And my bed is not in this kitchen, Angel. Get up there.”

  She wasn’t going to cry, Angel promised herself. He was giving her what she asked for, no more, no less. He would let her go and leave her something for the future. But what?

  She moved up the stairs, aware of him stalking slowly behind her, his gaze never leaving her back, heating the air around them. She had never seen him like this, determined, almost savage, the playboy exterior eroded away to show the steel core of the man beneath. A man who aroused her, fascinated her, and threatened every part of her woman’s soul. This was a man who could destroy every dream she had for her life.

  And still she was moving up the stairs, heading for his bedroom, every cell in her body screaming out for him, her pussy drenching with the hunger rising in her body. She entered the doorway, stepping slowly into the room before turning to face him.

  He was stepping out of the sweatpants he had worn downstairs, his cock a rampant impaler standing out from his body, engorged with lust. His expression was one of fierce determination.

  Before Angel could do more than breathe in sharply, he was pulling her to him, his mouth coming down on hers, slanting across it as he sent his tongue pressing firmly between her lips.

  Her head fell back on her shoulders as a weak moan of submission left her lips. She couldn’t fight him. She didn’t want to fight him. She wanted nothing more than to be held in his hard, muscular arms, to feel him, dominant and powerful, overtaking her.

  She heard the material of his shirt ripping from her body. The sound sent a surge of excitement powering through her veins as a rush of heated juices ran from her pussy. God, he made her wild. Too wild. He took too much of her, made her feel too much. It wouldn’t matter when she left; she knew she was leaving her heart behind.

  Her hands moved, unable to keep still, to keep from touching him, holding him. She needed to feel his flesh, to memorize the texture of it, the warmth and power of the muscles beneath the hair-sprinkled, suntanned skin.

  They roamed over his chest, his shoulders, finally sinking into the silken texture of the overly long blond hair. Who would believe that she had fallen in love with a cowboy? A devil-may-care charmer who cared nothing for her heart, only the relief he found in her sexually. It made no sense to her, but she knew that forever her heart would linger in this dry, rough land, always longing for him.

  “God, you feel good.” His voice was as rough as his breathing, as intent as the cry that slipped past her lips.

  His hands smoothed over her breasts, cupping, his fingers rasping her nipples as his mouth followed suit. His tongue licked over one as his hands moved lower. His lips covered the hard tip, his tongue licking with all apparent enjoyment as the fingers of one hand slid between her thighs.

  Heated fingers of lightning crashed inside her as sparks dazzled her vision. The pleasure was so intense she wondered if she would survive it this time.

  “You’re wet, Angel-mine,” he growled, his fingers caressing, sliding through the cream flowing from her vagina as she arched against him.

  “So fix it,” she panted, feeling his lips stroking her nipple as he spoke, causing tiny shards of sensation to travel from the hard tip to her womb, convulsing it with pleasure.

  “Is it fixable?�
� he drawled, his voice sexy and dark as his lips moved to her neck.

  Hell no, it wasn’t.

  “I’m sure you can find a way if you think about it a second.” She arched closer, feeling his cock against her stomach, a hard, hot, living stalk of pleasure.

  A rough laugh vibrated from his throat as he smiled against her neck.

  “There’s no cure,” he warned her. Something she was well aware of. “Only intense therapy. Lots and lots of this…”

  His hands cupped her buttocks as he lifted her against him, his cock sliding between her thighs to notch at the tender opening of her pussy.

  Angel’s eyes opened wide as she gasped, her legs automatically lifting, her knees clasping his hips.

  “There you go, baby.” He nipped at her neck erotically. “Ride your cowboy now.”

  She felt him brace himself, holding her close as he began to work his erection inside her. Sliding in, pulling back, shafting the sensitive channel with burning thrusts, sending him deeper with each stroke, stretching her further as she began to keen in pleasure.

  God, she had never imagined being taken like this. He held her weight confidently, his legs braced apart, his cock spearing inside her, stretching her when she was certain she could take no more, stroking nerve endings still sensitized from the morning’s play.

  She was shuddering, needing him, aching.

  “God no. Don’t you stop…” she demanded fiercely as he slid from her, his soft laugh one of strained control as he moved to the bed, dropping her to it as he followed her down.

  But he wasn’t moving to reclaim the territory he had possessed moments before; instead he spread her thighs wide, lowered his head, and used his tongue to still any protest she would have voiced.

  Shock held her rigid for long moments, but the pleasure was more than she could have imagined denying. Her hands clenched in his hair as a long, low moan passed her lips and she gave in to the pleasure building inside her.

  His tongue was like a whip of burning pleasure. Licking … licking as though he were devouring a favored treat as his tongue slid through the thick, heavy juices of her pussy.

  The sounds of his enjoyment vibrated from his lips to the folds of her cunt, and the cries of her pleasure pierced the air as his lips wrapped around her clit and his tongue probed at the nerve-laden knot.

  He was making her insane. She was going to die of the pleasure.

  Angel writhed beneath him, lost in the dark storm of excessive sensation, reaching, climbing higher with each diabolical stroke of his tongue. She was close. So very close to an orgasm that she knew would steal her soul, and she fought it with every breath.

  Until two hard, broad fingers slid inside her clenching pussy, opening her, fucking her with smooth strokes as his mouth and tongue licked and sucked and threw her headlong over the precipice she had fought so desperately.

  Her hips bucked, arched. The orgasm tore through her, taking her breath, tightening her muscles to near breaking point as it exploded through each nerve ending.

  Wicked, lustful demon that he was, Jack chose that moment to move to his knees, position the thick head of his cock, and push inside the contracting, gripping tissue of her cunt.

  She screamed with her last breath. She bucked against him, seeing stars in front of her vision as his cock surged inside her, beginning a hard, fast rhythm she couldn’t fight, couldn’t deny. There was no time to save herself. No time to pull her defenses around her before he stripped the last of her fragile control.

  She was a creature of pleasure. One long, rapidly exploding, melting orgasm that refused to stop. She dissolved around him, shuddering helplessly, going from one pinnacle to another, only to be driven higher, higher, until the gripping, destructive, final release sent her juices pouring around his cock as it spurted inside her, filling her with the heat and strength of his seed.

  She collapsed. There was barely the energy left to breathe, to remain conscious as she drifted in a sea of bliss unlike anything she had heard or read about. She was only distantly aware of the fact that he had covered her, that her hands were locked around his neck, her fingers buried in his hair. She couldn’t release him. She had a death grip on him—or was it a soul grip, for surely she still lived?

  When he moved to take his weight from her, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her with him as her head fell naturally against his shoulder. “What do you do to me?” he whispered into the darkness as her hand lay on his chest, just stroking him, easing him.

  His hand was buried in her hair, holding tight to the strands as though it would hold her there, hold her to him. As though it would keep her from walking away from him.

  “When ye came to the castle to visit with Joe, you were, are, so cocky.” Her laughter whispered over him, her voice low, pure pleasure riding her voice. “It was all I could do not to be snappish with ye, ya know?”

  He snorted at that. “You were an icicle.”

  “So one might have thought.” Satisfaction filled her voice. “When I was a girl, my temper was terrible. I fought everyone, anyone, I didn’t care. I would scream at the smallest slight, and was always looking for reasons to set my temper free.” She stroked his collar bone to his shoulder. “Da and Mother sent me away,” her voice lowered and he heard the aching loss in her voice. “To boarding school, thinkin’ a stricter atmosphere would quell my temper.” She didn’t say anything for long moments as Jack stared up at the darkened ceiling waiting, aching for the child she had been. “I wasn’t to come home until I could be a good child. Until I could control myself and my temper.” She shrugged. “I wanted to come home. Even though I knew returning meant once again knowin’ all that anger because no matter my antics, my parents’ world was for each other, not for the children they brought to this world.”

  He frowned at the admission. “And you didn’t want to be sent away again,” he said, seeing now why she restrained herself, why she kept so much inside.

  “The time at the school was a good thing. No one was cruel to me, though the counselor I had was a bit stuffy.” She shrugged. “I wanted to be home. I felt like a plant missin’ its roots, because I knew nothing, had no ties to anyone at that school. So I became a good child. And after a year, Da let me return. I haven’t had to leave since.” She paused and he felt her smile against his arm. “Until ye showed me, Jack, that by holding back all my emotions, I was giving myself very little to draw anyone to me. Perhaps … Ah well, perhaps I need to consider how much I allow others to see.”

  So she could draw a husband to her?

  He frowned at the thought but didn’t speak it.

  “I laughed at ye often after ye’d leave a room,” she admitted, humor filling her voice. “And I hadn’t really laughed in a long time, Jack. I thank ye for that.”

  He released her hair to play with it instead, still staring at the ceiling, frowning, trying damned hard not to think.

  “Yer worthy of my torque, Jack Riley,” she whispered then. “It was I who was unworthy of it. Perhaps one day ye’ll give it to the man who would steal the heart of a daughter ye have, and give him the story of its fine history. The power could be in the knowledge of what the torque represents, and not the torque itself. Do ye think?”

  She asked a question.

  She asked him a question. He felt like a weight was pressing against his chest, making it difficult to breathe, to understand what he was feeling and why those words hurt him.

  “I’ll miss ye, Jack Riley,” she told him softly, settling against him. “I’ll miss ye verra much.”

  Silence filled the bedroom and Jack was damned if he could find anything to say, if he could explain even to himself what he was feeling.

  TEN

  There were tears in her eyes. He saw them, even though she was careful to keep from looking him in the eye as she finished dressing in the black jeans and black shirt. She looked like the dark angel she was, flitting about the room to hide the trembling of her lips, her hands.

  Jack sat
on the edge of the bed watching her, the torque clenched in his hand, hidden by the blanket at his side.

  “The cab will be here soon.” She lowered her head again as she faced him. “I’ll miss ye, Jack.”

  The words tore through his chest.

  Fuck. Fuck. What had she done to him? Letting a woman go, no matter how hot and sweet her pussy was, had never hurt.

  He rose to his feet, stepping before her and caught her hands. Slowly he placed her precious torque across them, watching the dull gleam of the gold as she held it.

  Her gaze flew to his.

  “I would have brought it back to you,” he told her then. He had denied it at the time, but he had known he was only buying the damned thing because of her.

  He wanted to please her. To bring a smile, some glimmer of joy to her face. Instead a tear slipped down her cheek as a sad smile crossed her lips.

  She lifted her hands, spreading open the neckband until she clasped it around his neck, allowing the ring to encircle the wolf’s head as it rested at the center of his collarbone.

  The weight of it was odd, the heat from it warming his flesh.

  “It’s yours,” she whispered. “Not only fairly bought, but freely given to ye. Remember me, Jack,” she said, repeating his words from the night before. “Just as I’ll always remember you.”

  He stood still, frowning down at her as she placed a quick, tearful kiss on his lips before rushing from the room.

  He could feel himself fighting for breath, feel the urge to go after her, sling her over his shoulder, and force her to stay. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Force would never work with his proud Irish lass. What would?

  Love?

  Love did not exist. Not for him. Not in this world. He had admitted it to himself years before. No matter how much he had longed to find that perfect woman and make a home somewhere, anywhere, he had been unable to. He couldn’t feel those emotions. Not that intense overriding storm of feelings he heard love was.

  He had given up.

  He had traveled the world more than once, searching for priceless treasure, for that one great adventure, but the search had begun with the search for love, hadn’t it?