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

  “Don’t even think about it,” he murmured. “I’ve waited almost two months for this, and I aim to make it last.”

  Instead she slid her flat hand up his bare abdomen and torso, making him crazy when she reached his nipple and rubbed over it. His erection flared and thickened. Wanting equal time with her, he grabbed the hem of her top and whipped it over her head.

  She gasped in surprise, a throaty, sultry sound, and he had to grab her arms so she wouldn’t cover herself.

  “Hawk,” she murmured, but only half objecting.

  He took her in—the full, sensual swells of her breasts, peaking in tight, rosy-spiraled tips. His tongue longed to curve around them and linger there for hours. Unable to resist, he lifted her onto the counter and bent to take one into his mouth, cupping her in his eager hands.

  She moaned on an exhale and raked her fingers through his hair, holding him to her, inflaming him with her passionate response. He loved that this usually steady-as-a-rock woman lit up like a desert sunrise throwing sunbeams when they came together.

  He switched to the other, wishing he’d picked somewhere more romantic than the kitchen counter to do this. Too late. He didn’t plan to let her go for a single second.

  He reveled in her breasts, losing himself for ages in their soft fullness, in the taste and scent of them. He tongued the pebbled tips, licking and biting, eliciting moans of pleasure, taking his time, drawing out the bliss for both of them. He’d been lost for hours it seemed when she squirmed and he realized he’d unconsciously worked her skirt up to her waist and yanked her panties off.

  He moved back up to her mouth and kissed her deeply, sending his fingers to seek her moist folds. Making her squirm and moan even more. He thrust his tongue into her, mimicking what he was doing below, and felt her body clench.

  “That’s right, baby. Show me how you like it,” he roughly whispered in her mouth. “Come to me now.”

  He was relentless, needing her surrender in a primal, visceral way he’d never experienced before. With each stroke she made a desperate groan of pleasure. Her nails dug into his shoulder and back. Then her body bowed, and she cried out his name. His name.

  At the sound of it on her lips, the thrill of possession shuddered through him. He took her over the edge. With a primitive satisfaction he watched and felt her give herself over to him completely, her body coming apart in his arms.

  “Hang on,” he said as the tremors subsided, and from his back pocket plucked out the protection he’d been carrying since the day after the first time.

  Ten impatient seconds later he thrust into her. Pulling her to the edge of the counter, wrapping her legs around his waist. Groaning with ecstasy.

  “Damn, woman,” he moaned, holding her tight, battling not to lose it. He was dizzy with need, throbbing with the knowledge that he was exactly where he wanted to be. He wanted to stay like this forever, never moving. Perfect. So perfect.

  She pushed against him, drawing him in deeper, and he couldn’t help himself. Responding to her needy sounds, he let himself go and pounded into her, holding her tight, sharing the same panting breaths, sharing the same space as they plunged over the precipice into exquisite oblivion.

  “I have something to show you,” Rhiannon said to Hawk a couple of hours later as they were stretched out on her bed upstairs, recovering from making love again.

  She didn’t think she’d ever felt as content in her life as she did right now.

  After the first time in the kitchen, they’d gone out and had a long soak in the trough, then come back inside and made love again. They hadn’t done much talking, just a lot of body tangling and cuddling. Somehow, words hadn’t seemed necessary. Or perhaps, both were worried that words might spoil the peace they’d finally found together in each others’ bodies.

  “Yeah?” he said sleepily. “What is it?”

  She took his hand and tugged him to get out of bed. “I have to show you.”

  He groaned. “I don’t think I can move, darlin’”

  “It’ll just take a minute. Come on, lazybones.”

  Reluctantly, he followed along as she took him out into the hallway. But instead of turning left to the stairs, she turned right, to the door leading into the unfinished area of the second floor, and to her special project. Holding her breath in anticipation of his reaction, she pulled the chain of the single overhead bulb.

  “What the—”

  Obviously shocked, he looked around as it illuminated what should have been an unfinished attic. Big, dirty and empty.

  Instead he saw what she’d been painstakingly working on for the past two months. A bedroom for him. Well, at the moment it was just a skeleton of studs framing out the shape of the room and closet within the gaping space. But eventually it would be his room—or hers if he preferred. So they’d both have their own and he wouldn’t have to sleep on the sofa anymore.

  And they’d be right next door.

  “Who the hell did this?” he demanded.

  “I did.”

  He stabbed his stunned gaze at her, then back at the orderly framing, carefully measured and painstakingly hammered into place.

  “You?” He spotted her secondhand do-it-yourself home-repair book lying open on a sawhorse and his jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shrugged, inordinately proud of her accomplishment. She’d never done anything like this before. Sewing a dress was the most difficult construction she’d tried until now.

  “Framing’s not that difficult. I’m more worried about the electrical. That’s why I decided to tell you now, instead of surprising you with the finished room. I could use your help.”

  He still looked gobsmacked. “But the lumber…How did I not know you were doing this?”

  She smiled and wrapped her arms around his naked body from behind, loving the warmth and the strength it exuded. “I bought one or two studs at a time from my tip money and hammered them up the next day while you were out with the cattle. Everyone at Jake’s heard about it eventually, so every once in a while I’d find a few studs in the Jeep that I didn’t buy. People here are really nice.”

  He turned his gaze on her, his eyes showing awestruck disbelief. “You’re a pretty amazing woman, Rhiannon O’Brannoch.” He looked around at the room. “You put me to shame.”

  “Don’t.” She folded herself into his arms and hugged him tight. “You work harder than any man I know. Hitting a few nails is nothing compared to what you do around here.”

  “Still. I should have thought of this.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” She grinned up at him, trying to tease him into a smile. “You wouldn’t believe how satisfying it’s been to whack those nails as hard as I could. A great tension reliever.”

  It worked. His lips curved up and his eyes sparkled from the moonlight beaming through the newly polished window in the outside wall. “I’m sure it was. But I’ll bet I know an even better way.”

  Then he swung her up into his arms and carried her back to bed.

  Rhiannon didn’t think it was possible to be so happy. The next day she sang through her morning chores, thinking about the previous night and the long, tender kiss Hawk had given her before climbing onto his horse and riding off for the day.

  Nothing had been solved between them, but it felt so good to ignore all that and just bask in the sunshine of infatuation.

  Oh, yes. She was falling for him, all right. Hard. She knew that was asking for a real bit of trouble, but today she couldn’t make herself care. She’d deal with the consequences another day when she wasn’t feeling so fine.

  Suddenly she heard a string of Gaelic curses such as she’d seldom heard, coming from outside. Fitz!

  She rushed to the door and flung it open. She couldn’t believe what she saw. Fitz was out in the meadow behind the corral, lasso in hand, chasing after the Christmas pig!

  She slapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a burst of laughter. Poor Fitz looked mad as a bee in a bonnet. The muddy pi
g easily stayed two lengths ahead of him, darting and turning, evading every toss of the rope and every running dive her uncle made at him. Little hooves trotted gleefully through the large mud puddle under the cottonwood tree that had been created when Rhiannon drained the Jacuzzi trough earlier that morning. Wet, muddy goo splashed everywhere. Including all over Fitz.

  She giggled behind her hand.

  “Don’t just stand there gawpin’, girl,” he shouted at her. “Help me corner d’blasted t’ing!”

  She put her hands to her hips and harrumphed to hide her grin. “Me? You won’t be catching me frolicking in the mud. I’ve better things to do,” she called.

  “Aye, such as figurin’ out how to tell Redhawk you lost his Christmas dinner cuz you didn’t want to get durty.”

  She let out a scandalized huff. “Now that’s just plain blackmail!” Aside from which her cotton shirtwaist dress wasn’t exactly designed for pig chasing. “And it’s weeks till Christmas!”

  “’Tisn’t! It’s tomorrow, it is!”

  That explained why Fitz was fussing with the pig now. Nevertheless, she ran out to help, approaching the meadow so the pig couldn’t see her coming. Maybe she could surprise the beast before it knew she’d joined the fray. Naturally he spotted her, and to her surprise trotted right toward her, ears flapping and a silly smile on his little piggy face. But when she reached out and made a grab for him he veered at the very last second, making her trip on her skirts. And sending her headlong into the mud.

  Fitz snorted, dangling the rope in his hand. “I t’ought you came out to help.”

  She lifted her gooey chin and silently counted to ten. Since her front was covered in clay mud from head to toe, anyway, it didn’t much matter if it got worse. She rolled over to sit up.

  And was greeted by the sight of Redhawk strolling across the meadow toward them from the barn. Brilliant.

  When he reached them, he pursed his lips and looked from her to Fitz and back again. “So. Mud baths are all the rage now, huh?”

  She opened her mouth to retort, but just then the Christmas pig trotted up and plopped down at his feet like a faithful dog, its pugnacious little snout snuffling up at him as though the vexing creature expected a treat for being so clever.

  He reached down and scratched between its ears, took the rope from Fitz and wound it around its fat middle, handing the end back to her uncle.

  With head high Fitz wordlessly stomped off, dripping reddish-brown slime from every body part, the pig prancing along beside him like a show dog. In his pen, Lucky Charm, the stud bull, watched the parade with interest.

  “So,” Redhawk said conversationally, turning back to her. “This fondness for rolling in the mud—that something I should be aware of?” His lips curved up ever so slightly.

  In the wet dirt under the edge of her sodden skirt, which had flared artistically out to one side, Rhiannon drummed her fingers. Fondness, indeed.

  “Perhaps,” she said sweetly.

  There was one person in that meadow who was too clean by half, she decided.

  “Maybe we can talk about it in bed tonight,” he said suggestively.

  She gave him a coy smile. Oh, sooner than that, she thought as he stuck out his hand to help her up. Much sooner.

  “Not too messy for you?” she asked, all innocence.

  “Hell, no,” he answered, curling his fingers around hers with a lascivious grin. “I like getting dirty as much as the next guy.”

  “I’m so glad,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

  And yanked on his hand with all her might.

  Chapter 8

  “H ey!” Hawk yelped as he plummeted to the ground next to Rhiannon. She had a firm grip on his hand, so it was impossible to break his fall with more than his good knee, which plowed into the wet clay along with his free hand. Then she grinned and tugged again, going backward with him, rolling so she ended up on top, straddling his splayed-out body.

  Surprise and shock made him gape up at her like a fool, warm muck oozing wetly through his hair and clothes.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He wasn’t quite sure if he should erupt in anger or laughter.

  She cocked her head. “I thought you said you liked getting dirty.”

  “I had something a bit different in mind.”

  She grabbed hold of his other hand and lifted them both above his head, pressing them into the soft mud. “Did you now?”

  His body stirred. Memories of last night spun through him, egged on by their position and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

  “Yeah, I did,” he said, definitely deciding on laughter. He abruptly bent his knees up and slid her bottom right where he wanted her. Then he spun them again so she was the one lying in the muck.

  “Oh!” Laughing with him, she shoved him off and started to scamper away on hands and knees. “No!” she screeched when he grabbed her ankle and started dragging her back, and giggled, “Don’t you dare!”

  Grinning, he hauled her back. He was covered in mud, so why not go with it? To his delight, for every inch he pulled her, her skirt rode further and further up her thighs. Laughing and screaming in protest, she vainly tried to prevent it from bunching at her waist, and batted at his hands as he turned her and grabbed for the row of buttons on the front of her dress.

  He had a sudden powerful urge to see her with nothing on but mud.

  Figuring turnabout was fair play, he captured her wrists and held them above her head. Then one by one he undid her buttons as she continued to wriggle and giggle.

  “Stop!” she cried, but her laughing eyes were telling him something else altogether.

  Her flaming hair was caked in thick, red-brown strands, and her face was splotched with dark patches, but she’d never looked so beautiful. He dipped his head for a kiss, thankful her lips were still pink and fresh. She pulled to get her wrists free, but he wasn’t willing to give up his dominance just yet. Holding her firmly, he slid his other hand inside her dress and ran it over her breasts.

  She arched under him, responsive as always. He deepened the kiss.

  “Hawk,” she whispered when he pulled up for air. “Anyone can see us.”

  The only one around was the bull. The pig pen was on the other side of the barn, and Fitz with it, but she was right. Another minute and he’d be undressing her completely.

  Reluctantly, he struggled to get his rampaging desire under control. It wasn’t easy. Her buttons were undone to her waist, her pretty bare thighs were cradling him between them, and a small square packet was tucked in his jeans pocket.

  Aw, hell.

  He let her wrists go and took a deep breath. But she didn’t move. She gazed up at him, arms reposing above her head, the picture of willingness and submission, as though she awaited his next command. He knew it was an illusion. She was anything but a submissive woman. But the sensation made him feel powerful. Like at least this small part of his life he could control.

  Needing to explore that feeling, he gathered a small glob of silky mud in his fingers and began to spread it over the swells of her breasts like war paint. After a gasp of surprise, her shallow breaths pushed her chest rhythmically up and down under his fingers. As the cool clay covered her flesh, she broke out in goose bumps and her nipples hardened under the thin fabric of her bra. Swiftly he pulled the two scraps aside, exposing both beautiful breasts to him.

  Her breathing quickened, but still she didn’t move.

  Gathering up more, he smoothed it over her ivory skin.

  Her eyes drifted closed. “That feels so good.”

  He swallowed. “Darlin’, you’re probably right. This is not something I should be doing out here.”

  Her lips curved up. “Mmm. Probably not.” She didn’t lower her arms, though. Her eyes opened innocently. “Don’t suppose we have any chocolate syrup in the pantry?”

  He groaned and covered her body with his, pasting them together from laced fingers to the tips of their boots like a sticky sandwich. “Buy some,�
�� he ordered roughly. “Next time you’re in town. I don’t care what it costs.”

  Her sultry laughter rumbled through his chest. “I will.” She tightened her fingers in his, seeking his mouth for a kiss.

  He knew he had to stop. Fitz was wandering around. It was the middle of the day, for Pete’s sake. But all he could think about was being inside her again. It was all he’d been thinking about all morning. And why he’d come all the way back from the far canyon pasture for lunch. Now that he’d finally gotten her where he wanted her, he was having a difficult time letting her up. He wanted to spend the rest of the day like this. The rest of the week. Hell, the rest of his life.

  “Marry me,” he said without thinking. “Marry me so we can stop this stupid fighting about who gets the ranch. So we can just work together and be together. Like this. Like we both want.”

  Under him, her body stilled.

  His heart sank. Damn and hellfire. How could he have been so dumb as to bring that up again? He must really thrive on rejection.

  “Hawk—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “I know. Forget I said that. Let’s just go back to the part about the chocolate syrup.”

  Unfortunately the mood had evaporated.

  “Hawk—”

  But not his want of her. He cut her off with a bruising kiss. Part desperation, part wanting to show her how wrong she was. Yeah, maybe he was all about the ranch, and maybe he didn’t love her. But he could. He was falling for her; with every day that passed he found it tougher to imagine his life without her in it. And he wanted her like no woman before.

  Wasn’t that enough? To build on?

  She kissed him back like she wanted him, too. At least that was something.

  “I’ll share,” she whispered when their lips parted. “I’ll share everything with you. The work. My body. Irish Heaven, if I get it. You’ll always have a home here, Redhawk. Nothing will change that. Ever.”

  And just like that, white-hot fury seared through him. More empty promises. Did everyone think he was an idiot?