Best of Cowboys Bundle

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Barbara White Daille, Judy Christenberry, Christine Wenger, Shirley Rogers, Crystal Green, Nina Bruhns, Candance Schuler, Carole Mortimer

  “You know how I feel about what Carlota said.” He stroked her soft strands. “We cause everything that happens to us. There’s no such thing as a universe that has everything all planned out.”

  A smile struggled to her lips. “I keep wondering the same thing, Jack, but…”

  “You want to believe.”

  The song of crickets and rustling leaves filled the quiet.

  “The thing is,” she said softly, “the prediction’s not the only thing telling me you’re the one. My heart’s saying it, too.”

  Oh, hell. She hadn’t just taken the plunge, had she? Was this just an inch away from something much scarier than kissing and enjoying each other’s company?

  “See,” she said. “Look at you, now. You’re scared to death, and I can’t help second-guessing if all this is right, prediction or not.”

  “That’s because I am…scared.”

  Phew, he’d said it.

  “Jack.” She nestled her body closer to his, framing his face in her hands. “We’re all scared in some way or another.”

  But not like him. God help anyone who was as much of a coward as Jackson North was.

  He braced himself, knowing now was the time to come clean, to stop fooling both of them into thinking they would get somewhere.

  “Felicia,” he said, “I’m not looking to have a family.”

  Even though she drew away, he forced himself to continue.

  “Never again.”

  Chapter Eleven

  F elicia pretended she hadn’t heard what he’d said.

  No family? Never again…?

  She just wasn’t understanding him correctly, right? Because if Jack was meant to be with her—to give her a child, for heaven’s sake—he would eventually crave kids as much as she did. He would yearn to rock them to sleep at night, would take great joy in seeing their first steps, their first smiles.

  But that wasn’t what was coming out of his mouth.

  “Felicia?” he asked, holding her hands, rubbing his thumbs over her skin.

  “You don’t want a family,” she repeated, still in a daze. “That’s not part of the plan.”

  “What plan…? Felicia.”

  When she met his gaze, her vision was a little fuzzy, as if the world had turned into an out-of-focus movie that required adjustment.

  “Listen to me.” He seemed so intense, so mired in his own beliefs. “Don’t get me wrong. I want you. God, I want you with every screaming molecule of my body. And I don’t care if you wouldn’t be able to give me children. You’re pretty damned wonderful the way you are.”

  She was so numb she couldn’t even enjoy his compliment. “That’s all I’d ever be to you? A lover?”

  Never a wife.

  Never the mother of his children.

  He kept hold of her, his resolution seeming to grow while hers only waned.

  “I know,” he said. “What I offer isn’t good enough for you. But it’s all I can give. I’m not suited to be a father.”

  “Look at you and Bobby. You’re so good with him….”

  “That’s different.” The past settled between them, thick and heavy with dead wishes. “Bobby belongs to Rip. I’m not responsible for him. I already got a chance with my own family, and I failed.”

  His words were edged by a self-hatred so profound that Felicia couldn’t even answer.

  So what was he going to do? she thought. Did he intend to drift from ranch to ranch for the rest of his life, always catching the wind to a place where he could forget Leroy and Lucas?

  The idea of him leaving, being an eternal slave to guilt, drilled into her. She gripped his hands, afraid to let go.

  “I don’t understand you,” she said. “Is your remorse really that comfortable, Jack? Or are you afraid to abandon it?”

  He glanced down at their linked fingers and she knew she’d hit upon the truth.

  How could she compete with it?

  She couldn’t. Of all the men in the world, her last cowboy had turned out to be a figment of her imagination.

  Did this mean she needed to find another willing partner who would finally make her whole? Another candidate who could bring her hopes to fruition? What was she going to—?

  No.

  With sudden clarity, Felicia realized that her own needs were buried beneath the love that had grown for this man.

  Maybe fate had been working on an entirely different scheme when it had sent him her way?

  Gently, she used her index finger to tip his chin up, guiding his gaze back to hers.

  “For the rest of my life,” she whispered, “I’m going to love you no matter what, Jack North.”

  He seemed confused and elated—struck as helpless as a lone tree under a sky jumping with lightning.

  “I’m…” He shook his head.

  Liberated by her confession, Felicia moved her fingers to his jaw, cupping it. “You’re not sure how to respond. I’m not exactly surprised about that. But it needed to be said. And I’ll do it again, too. I love you, Jack, more than anything.”

  More than even her dreams.

  For a second, it looked as if he might have something to tell her, too, but he shut his mouth against the words.

  She waited him out, mentally encouraging him, stroking his whisker-bristled cheek and taking in the weathered beauty of him. Underneath the gruff exterior hid a heart so big that it had room for all sorts of affection.

  All she had to do was convince him to let her in.

  As the night serenaded them, she saw a battle play over his normally stoic features. The obvious need to touch her, the subtle hint of an emotion that lifted her sky high.

  Could it have anything to do with love? Maybe, just maybe?

  Finally, he spoke. “I’m not much for promises, Felicia.”

  “I’m not asking for any.” Not tonight, at least.

  Then again, she thought, hope did spring eternal.

  He chuffed softly, giving her a knowing glance from beneath a lowered brow.

  “What?” She stepped up her plan for more progress, burying her fingers in his hair, toying with it.

  “You.”

  She could tell she was getting to him, his eyelids going heavy with that bedroom look guys fell into when they wanted to lay a kiss on a girl.

  “What about me?” she asked, drawing her other hand behind his neck, caressing an uneven hairline that could’ve used a good trim.

  He slid a hand under the hem of her long skirt and over her knee, rubbing. Felicia just about melted, her blood heating and flowing to lava in her veins.

  Jack’s voice dropped lower. “You’re killing me, Felicia.”

  “You said you wanted me, right?”

  He muttered a curse.

  Inhaling, cheering herself on, she smoothed one hand down his chest, over the thud of his wildly beating heart. She inched closer, so near she could feel the hush of her words singing over his cheek as she released them.

  “I need you, too, Jack, prediction or not.”

  His grip tightened on her knee as she moved closer still, nestling her lips under his jaw. She pressed tender kisses on his warm, roughened skin, tasting, breathing in the soap and leather and musk of him.

  In response, he leaned into her, his other hand sweeping over her hair as he murmured her name.

  He said it over and over again, reminding her of a parched man praying for water. While she kissed her way to his cheek, his chin, his lips, she absorbed every Felicia, his urgent whispers filling places that had long gone dry.

  With her heartbeat fluttering, she shaped her mouth to his, pulling at his lips in slow time, deepening the contact into a head-spinning request for something more.

  Between breaths, he talked against her lips. “Every time you do that, it gets harder for me to stop.”

  “Good.”

  They paused against each other, heat pouring down her body, coming to rest in her belly where it flexed and moaned to life.

  Her need for him hurt
, sharp and insistent, a dull ache of pleasure. She could feel herself priming for him, even as her memories reminded her of that first time, when she’d felt ripped apart.

  “Hey.” He framed her face with his hands. “Change your mind already?”

  “Never.” She was ready for her future, ready for him to be a part of her life whether he resisted it or not.

  Uh-huh. She was ready. Right?

  As if to prove it, she melded herself against him, chest to chest.

  Forget pain. There’s just him. Jack.

  Giving in, he repaid her with a languid, demanding kiss, his tongue teasing hers with long, wet strokes. As they devoured each other, he shifted Felicia over the pickup’s vinyl seat so she lay beneath him, her feet braced against the driver’s door, the bulge in his jeans hard against the center of her.

  Ah, there. This was what she’d fantasized about. Sultry kisses, the lulling weight of his body on hers. Moonlight, heavy breathing and vision so dizzy she couldn’t see straight.

  Even now, as he worked off his shirt then tore it away from his body, she felt like this was all a dream—hazy with so much pure yearning that the fringes of it blurred into another version of reality.

  Faintly, she was aware of him tossing his shirt away, aware of it landing on the floorboard with a thump.

  Desire roared through her at the sight of him, lean yet muscled through the arms, chest and stomach. Well-earned signs of his hard work—a cowboy through and through, if she said so herself.

  Reverently, she touched his chest. Sparse, coarse hair. Skin misted with summer dampness.

  At her caress, his gaze went soft. Leaning down, he brushed a kiss over her lips.

  “I can’t seem to help myself with you,” he whispered.

  And neither could she. Felicia didn’t usually spend her affection unwisely, without discretion. But now, it felt right, knowing he would be inside her soon.

  Where he belonged.

  Hesitantly, she latched her fingers into the rim of his jeans, running her knuckles over his belly, making him groan.

  “Now,” she said. “I want you now.”

  Her body applauded the command, thundering in ovation.

  As he slipped one arm under her head to make her more comfortable in the cramped space, he nudged her with his erection, sliding against her. She was so ready for him.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Now that we’re here, I aim to take my time with you.”

  She smiled, quietly jubilant, their pulses beating in counter tempo against each other’s bodies.

  When he palmed a breast, she couldn’t help arching against him, closing her eyes and pressing her face against an arm she’d lifted over her head.

  At this moment, with his thumb gliding circles around her nipple and bringing it to a sensitive peak, she was complete. Utterly feminine and full of life, able to give as much back to the world as it had given to her.

  He bent his head, licked her nipple through the thin cotton of her blouse and silk of her bra, tracing the nub of it with his tongue while using his other fingers to shape her other breast. With expert care, he kneaded it, causing her to shift restlessly beneath him.

  She could feel the wetness of his mouth even through the material, could feel him sucking and taking her gently between his teeth and pulling, just enough to send her into a searing frenzy.

  As he unbuttoned her blouse, she wrapped her legs around him, wiggling ever so slightly, encouraging him.

  He made a strangled sound then coaxed a hand inside her top, dipping his fingers into the cup of her bra and massaging until she thought she was going to churn into butter.

  “You’re so damned perfect,” he murmured into her ear.

  Every one of her nerve endings was on fire, prickling her skin with a light sheen of sweat. She wanted to thank him for how he was making her feel—like the woman she’d always known she could be—but the words caught in her throat.

  He tugged down her bra until one breast was bared to him. With exquisite, maddening ease, he peeled open the other side of her top. Then her bra.

  All his, every inch of her.

  He pulled back a little, enough to lavish her with his gaze. Slowly, he settled his hands on her waist then floated them up, up, one thumb dipping into her belly button and making her buck. Both thumbs dragging up the center of her stomach while his fingers combed her ribs, tickling her. Palms claiming her stimulated breasts once again, as if he couldn’t get enough of them.

  Then, he traveled back down, the same worshipful gleam in his dark eyes—a look that stole her heartbeat clean away.

  He mapped her hips, thumbs roaming her belly, sending more life into her with every lethargic motion.

  Oh….

  Waves were rolling over her, starting between her thighs and washing upward, downward…all over. Warmth, a moon’s reflection caught in the ripples of a tide, cleansing her.

  He went lower still.

  As he pushed up her skirt, the night air bathed her bare thighs. Then he spread her legs and ran his fingers down the inner flesh of them.

  Felicia wanted to scream, wanted to cry with all the loveliness of this straining expectation. But instead, she exhaled on a shaking sigh as he traced the most tender part of her.

  “Jack.” She reached down, trying to take off her underwear, but she fumbled in her attempts.

  “Here.”

  The silk breezed against her as he worked them off. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, open and unguarded. Excited by the air smoothing over places that were usually left private.

  He’d left the underwear above her knees and was now divesting her of those flat shoes. Then he kissed his way from her ankle to the undies, maneuvering her legs and yanking the silk downward so that it was eventually gone, too.

  “An expert?” she asked breathlessly.

  With modesty, he shrugged, then slowly parted her legs again.

  She gasped, her skin flaming in what was surely a body-encompassing blush while her skirt fell around her hips.

  Almost casually, he bent one of her legs so he could wrap an arm around it, leaning against it. “You might remember my telling you that I’ve got a real liking for sweets.”

  He sketched a thumb between the wet folds of her, and Felicia winced, her hips imitating every stroke.

  “Pies,” he said, “ice cream…you.”

  He found a spot that made her even crazier, pressing against it, massaging until she dug her fingernails into her own thighs.

  Repositioning himself, he moved down, cheek scratching against her leg. Felicia was beside herself with anticipation of what was to come.

  Then it happened. The crush of his mouth against her, the pressure of his tongue licking, driving her to insanity. She rocked against him, making catlike sounds she didn’t even know she was capable of.

  A flood built against the walls of her body, trying to find release, crashing and breaking over and over again, dragging her out into an expanse of endless nothing only to push her under, where she couldn’t get any air.

  Jack must have noticed because he shucked off his jeans then slid on a condom. She panted, reached for him. Finally, he came back, his length prodding her as he braced himself on both arms, looking down on her.

  “Felicia?”

  She realized what he was asking. Even in her daze, she knew the ramifications of what they were about to do.

  But she loved him more than she had thought it possible to love anyone, wanted him to be happy, wanted him to love her right back.

  At any sacrifice.

  “Jack.”

  The tone of her voice invited him in.

  With a moan, he eased inside, so lovingly, so gently, she wondered if he really did feel more than he would admit for her.

  She bit her lip, waited for the discomfort, the screeching of her body for it to stop.

  There was a momentary tightness, leading only to fulfillment, the ever smoother feel of the man she loved stretching her body to fit him.

>   All thought was swept away with his first thrust. She echoed him, their rhythm starting out at a low flame, then flaring, speeding into an inferno that licked at her, sizzling and taking her over until she cried out from the burn of it.

  As sweat dripped from his body to hers, their skin rubbing together in slick time, it felt as if steam were taking her over, hissing through her veins as fire turned to water, as she was tossed and turned and scorched from the inside out.

  Then…then…

  An explosion. A roar of heat so lethal that she didn’t know if she existed anymore.

  She cried out, consumed.

  Melted into simmering water.

  As Jack worked to his own climax, she held on, watched him as he clutched in what seemed like blissful agony, then spilled himself into the condom.

  “Jack,” she whispered, never wanting to let him go.

  And she didn’t—at least not for the beautiful afterglow, where he held on, too.

  Returning all her affection and hope.

  Telling her that they’d always be together.

  Days later, after many nights spent in Felicia’s arms, Jackson found himself knocked for a loop.

  Half of him wondered what the hell he’d done in the pickup that night, giving in to his raging libido when he should have been listening to his conscience instead.

  But the other half of him—the lower half, he would wager—was real damned glad he’d made love with Felicia.

  Yet where did this leave him? Wanting more, that was what, even though he didn’t have the faintest idea these days of just how much to give.

  Not that he had a lot worth parceling out. He’d been straight with her about his decision never to have another family. And, although he wasn’t sure she truly believed that he wasn’t her last cowboy, he was relieved that he wasn’t expected to be the baby maker/family man anymore.

  At least, that was what he kept repeating to himself over and over again.

  Now, as he sat in an old gazebo on Oakvale property, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at Felicia every few seconds.

  Hair flowing freely down her back, a homemade crocheted red shawl covering her bared shoulders, a pink sundress making her look demure and flushed.