All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

  She wiggled on the bed, sliding her arms out of her coat and then pushing it aside. Next went her shirt, and then she had her jeans unbuttoned and lifted her hips, hauling them down her thighs without getting out of bed. He’d noticed that the bra she was wearing was a bold, racy red, but when he saw the matching lace panties, he realized she’d worn them just for him.

  Eli groaned at the realization. “I love you, you damn tease.”

  Cass paused, her eyes going wide. Then she giggled. “I love you, too.” She winked at him as she dropped her jeans to the floor. “Hurry up and get naked.”

  “Give me a minute,” he told her. He’d taken off his shirt and flannel undershirt and kicked off his boots, and had been focused on pulling off his jeans. The sight of those panties had completely derailed him, though. “Here I was thinking Christmas was over for the year.” Eli leaned over Cass and slid his hand over the gentle curve of her belly. “Seems like I get to keep on celebratin’ every time I’m with you.”

  “Seems that way,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes shining with love. “Merry Christmas again. Want to unwrap your present?”

  “Do I ever.” He put one callused finger underneath the silky band and gently tugged it downward. He wanted to pause and admire the sight of her dark curls peeping into view as he pulled the panties away, but he was growing impatient to touch her, to put his mouth on her.

  To put his mouth everywhere.

  Carefully, he guided the slinky material down her legs and then tossed the scrap of lace aside. Now his lovely Cass was bare from the waist down, and he could love her like he wanted to. He put a hand under one thigh and hauled it over his shoulder, kissing the inside of her thigh. She gasped, her eyes lighting up with realization. “Oh, Eli.” Her voice was breathless with need. “You don’t have to—”

  “Hush, woman,” he murmured, and bent his head to take a long, slow taste. He ran his tongue over the seam of her sex, and she was wet with need and delicious. Cass’s moan of arousal was heady and made his cock ache with need, but he wanted this to be about her. This part had to be about her, because everything after she came was about him, and he wanted to make sure she was well pleasured first. So he licked and explored her with his mouth, kissing and tasting sensitive flesh, teasing and learning the spots she liked. Every time they’d made love before, they’d never gotten to this. They’d been too eager, or she’d been too shy. Even now, the soft little cries she made were muffled by a pillow she’d grabbed, and she hid her face from him. She didn’t need to be shy about this, because he thought she was beautiful everywhere. He’d just have to make love to her between her thighs and show her that, though.

  He found her clit with his tongue, and the moment he lapped that small bead, she came off the bed, arching and crying out. She clutched at his head, twining her fingers in the short strands of his hair to anchor him there. “Eli,” she panted. “Oh god, Eli. Your tongue . . .”

  He wanted to grin with the fierce pleasure of her response. He wanted to laugh at the wild little cries she was making. He wanted to sink into her, so deep that he’d lose his mind. Instead, he just kept tonguing her, determined to drive her over the edge.

  She pushed her hips against his face, trying to find a rhythm as he lapped and sucked at her sensitive flesh. A soft keening noise broke from her throat, and he could feel her thighs tensing around him as he worked her.

  “Don’t stop,” she breathed, her entire body quivering.

  Stop? Never. Not until she came for him.

  So he continued, doubling down on his efforts. He’d heard that consistency was the trick to make a woman orgasm hard, so he pushed onward, despite her urgent cries and shuddering responses. He didn’t speed up his pace but kept leisurely dragging his tongue over the sweet spot that made her cry out, and when her voice rose with a low cry, he knew he’d been successful. Cass shivered against him, her thighs tight against his ears as she came, her hips undulating with the force of her orgasm.

  Eli gave her sex one last lick, and then lifted his head. He was breathing hard, but she was dazed from his efforts, and he loved the soft, flushed look on her damp skin. Somewhere along the way she’d lost the pillow she’d been clutching and had taken to tearing at the bedsheets. They lay in a rumpled mess on both sides of her head, her hair spilling every which way. It was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. “You’re beautiful.”

  She moaned, reaching for him, and he went into her arms and gave her another kiss, his tongue lazily dragging along hers in a mimic of the loving he’d just given her. When her sated kisses began to have a hungry edge once more, he left the cradle of her hips to head to the bathroom and quickly shucked his jeans, then put on a condom. Then, sheathed, he returned to his sprawled, lovely woman and moved over her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms going around his neck.

  “I love you,” she whispered again as he sank into her. “I love you so much, Eli Pickett.”

  “I love you, Cassandra Horn.” He began to pump into her, and as her sighs of response grew to excitement, he realized that he’d been wrong all along. He’d thought that home was a place. When he was in foster care, he’d never felt like he had a home. In the army, he’d felt rootless. Even the ranch was not quite “home” despite the fact he’d been there for ten years.

  But with his body sunk deep into Cass’s and her arms around his neck, Eli finally understood what he’d been searching for. Home was a person.

  And he’d found her.

  EPILOGUE

  Five years later

  “It’s gonna be a project,” Eli declared as they studied the small, run-down ranch they were considering purchasing.

  “It’s going to be perfect,” Cass told him. She shifted the toddler on her hip and pointed at the house. Ahead of them, oblivious to the conversation between their humans, Joy and Frannie frolicked in the long grass. Just the sight of the grass itself was a sign that the ranch hadn’t been taken care of in years. No cowboy worth his salt would let it get this high without putting cattle to it or haying it for winter.

  “It’s a dump,” he told her. “The house is a mess. The barn’s falling in on itself.”

  “Oh please.” Cass grinned up at him. Her curls were tied back into a wild ponytail that fluttered over one shoulder, and she was just as breathtaking today as the day he’d met her. The tiny faded scar over her left brow was the only sign of that day, and it didn’t mar her beauty in the slightest. “It’s not a dump. The roof only needs a few shingles. The exterior needs a coat of paint. The interior just needs a few cosmetic things. Those are easy. The house has good bones, though, and the land is fantastic. The barn needs repairs, but it’s spacious and you’ve got more than enough acreage to run a hundred cattle. And you said a hundred was the number you wanted to go with.”

  That was his Cass, always such an optimist. She saw the good in things even when he didn’t. “I did, didn’t I?”

  She nodded, beaming up at him. “I love it.”

  Only his Cass could see the beauty in the run-down ranch they were thinking about buying. He’d objected to spending their nest egg—well, mostly hers, because the amount he had saved would be going toward purchasing the cattle themselves—on the ranch, but she’d insisted. It was a bargain and a sign that they needed to jump on their dream of running their own small ranch. It didn’t matter to her that the house was a huge step down from the one they’d been living in over on Price Ranch, or that they’d be sinking a lot of their savings into it. All Cass saw was the potential.

  It was one of the things he loved most about her.

  It definitely wasn’t her cooking. After five years running the house over at Price Ranch, Cass still tended to get distracted midmeal and her results were . . . iffy at best. He and the boys ate sandwiches a lot of nights, but no one ever complained. They loved Cass as much as he did.

  She beamed up at him as she juggled thei
r small, squirming son in her arms. “Well,” she told him impatiently. “Shall we go check it out?”

  Frannie barked, followed by a higher-pitched bark from dainty Joy.

  Cass laughed again. “That’s a sign for us to hurry up.”

  “Well then,” Eli said, and hauled little Travis out of her arms and into his. “Come along then, Mrs. Pickett, and let’s check out this ranch.”

  She slid her hand into the crook of his arm and leaned against him, and they headed toward the house.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Jessica Clare’s novel

  DIRTY MONEY

  Available now from InterMix

  A familiar tweed suit passes by the print room while I’m standing over the copier. I immediately abandon my task and race after him. “Oh! Jack! I didn’t realize you were in the office! Wait up!” I hate that I have to scramble after him—in heels, no less—but the bastard’s not slowing down an iota. I hobble after him on the marble floors of Three Jacks Real Estate’s swanky office, hoping I don’t fall on my ass and make a fool of myself in front of the others. When Jack doesn’t stop, I have to speed up just to catch him. “Jack!”

  He finally stops, right at the front doors of the office, and frowns at me like I’m an annoying puppy. “What is it, Ivy? I’m on my way out the door, as you can see.” He gestures at the large glass double doors like I’m an idiot. “Let’s make this fast.”

  “Of course!” I put on my fake, cheeriest Realtor smile. “I was just going to say that my day is clear, and I know LaDonna had that big house on Forsyth that was scheduled to have a showing. I’ve made flyers—well, actually, they’re on the copier right now—and I can go handle things, maybe pass out a few cards—”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Is LaDonna out?”

  “Um, she’s having an emergency appendectomy, remember?” I bite my lip as he continues to look blank. “It was emailed out to everyone?”

  “Mmmhmmm?” The look on his face tells me he didn’t read it, or doesn’t care.

  “So I thought I’d pitch in and help with her listing for today? It’s a really great house and I’ve researched the neighborhood, and I can chat with some prospective buyers and—”

  His lips purse and he holds up a finger. “The house is on Forsyth?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the Twin Oaks development?”

  I nod. It’s the hottest area in the suburbs at the moment, and there’s a waiting list for properties. This one’s a little pricey but I also know it’ll fly off the market within days. It’s such a big opportunity.

  “How much is the list price?”

  There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it. I have to. I’m this far in. “It’s listed as one point one million.”

  Jack pulls out his phone and starts to type. “Street address?”

  I give it to him.

  “Great. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Oh,” I say, fighting the crushing disappointment I’m feeling. “But I can do it, really. I’ve done comps and I’ve got flyers ready and—”

  “Now, Ivy. You said it’s a million-dollar house, right? It’s been a lean month for the company and we need to make sure we land all the commissions we can.” His tone goes condescending. “And I just don’t know that you’re the right person to take on such a big task.”

  “I can absolutely do it, Jack—”

  “Now, if I wanted an ice cream cone, you’d be the first one I’d call.” He winks at me, the jerk. Winks. Like it’s a funny joke. “But for a million-dollar listing? Let’s make sure someone with a lot more experience handles it, all right? Oh, and I’ll take those flyers, too.” He gives me an I’m-the-man-around-here look. “And can you grab me a coffee while you’re in the copy room? Super. I’ll wait right here.” He winks. “Make it snappy. I’ve got an open house to handle.”

  “Right. Sure.” I force a smile to my face and turn on my heel, heading back toward the copy room to retrieve the flyers I’ve been working on all morning.

  It’s not fair. It’s so not fair. Every time something decent even comes close to landing in my lap, one of my bosses is there to snatch it away again. I’m stewing as I snatch the stack of copies from the machine and tuck them under my arm, then head to the coffeemaker. Get him a coffee while I’m at it? Like I’m his freaking secretary? But he’s also the boss, so I’m stuck. I eye the two coffeepots on the burner. One’s nothing but dregs, and the other’s a fresh pot. I grab a paper cup, tip the dregs into the cup, and then march back out the door to hand Jack the flyers about the house I know I could sell today, if I was given the chance.

  He gives me another wink as he turns to go. “Thanks for the tip, Ivy. Good work.”

  I watch him leave, my fists clenched. I’m stewing with helpless frustration. Thwarted yet again. Thanks for the tip. Like it was a freaking tip? That was my hours of hard work. That was my opportunity that he snatched away. And if I keep thinking about it, I’m going to puke with anger. So I take a deep breath, smooth a hand down the front of my suit, and calmly walk back to my desk in the back of the office, tucked near the bathrooms. A client is strolling out of the men’s room and I keep a poised smile on my face. I’m composed until I sit down and put my hands on my keyboard. Calm. Rational.

  The moment the client disappears? I bury my face in my hands.

  “Uh-oh,” Farah says from her desk across the way. “What happened? You were on cloud nine ten minutes ago! Did something happen to LaDonna?”

  I take a deep breath and lift my head to look over at my friend. “Jack happened.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Dumb Jack, Jack Jack, or Winky Jack?”

  “Winky Jack,” I say miserably. “He stole that open house from me and said he’d handle it. What could I do?”

  “Tell him no?” Farah raises one dark brow at me. “Tell him to do his own work instead of stealing yours?”

  “He’s the boss,” I tell Farah with a sigh. “I like being employed.”

  “I don’t see how,” she says drily, pulling out a stack of folders on her desk and flipping through them. “They don’t leave you enough clients to make a living.”

  “Oh, they do,” I say glumly, and cross my arms, staring at my laptop. The screen still has a dozen comp listings pulled up from this morning’s work, all gone to waste. “They leave me all the clients with bad credit and no money. You need to buy a house with nothing down and a spending limit of fifty grand? Go talk to Ivy.”

  She snorts.

  That’s all she can do, because we both know I’m not wrong. Farah’s been with Three Jacks for ten years—no clue why she stays. Me, I’ve been here for one, and a lot of the time I feel lucky to have that one. They hired me, fresh off the streets after I got my Realtor license, and I didn’t have a lick of experience to my name. I was working at an ice cream shop prior to Three Jacks . . . something that the bosses like to remind me about all the time.

  Three Jacks is a boys’ club. I knew it was when I got hired. It’s run by Jack Farrington (Dumb Jack), who’s older than the hills and has a silver spoon in his mouth; Jack Jackson, who’s a snake oil salesman if there ever was one; and Jack Richards (Winky Jack), who thinks women aren’t born with two brain cells to rub together and he’ll have to rescue us from ourselves. They’re nice enough, as far as bosses go, I suppose. After all, they did give me a job. I make half of a percent on any house I sell. That means on a regular 3 percent agency commission, they get the other 2.5 percent and I get what’s left after expenses. If I sell a house that’s a hundred grand? I get $500 and the company walks away with the other $2,500.

  Jack (Dumb Jack) told me that I could “promote” my commission amount once I’ve earned two million in sales for the company. Given that the only clients I get handed to me are dirt poor or can’t land a mortgage? It’s been an exercise in frustration, but I’
m determined not to give up.

  Ivy Smithfield is going to get a better life for herself and her sister, even if she has to climb uphill both ways, I vow. I may not have the experience or the pedigree, but I’ve got determination.

  With that mental pep talk, I feel a little better. I’m going to do this. So I’m still $700K away from getting that pay increase? It’s doable. I just need to hustle and hustle hard. I’ve got this. I do.

  “I’ll just have to find some new leads,” I announce to Farah. “It’s a minor setback, but it’s not a deal-breaker.”

  “Whatever,” Farah says, giving me side-eye. “You know it’s okay to be pissed, right?”

  “I’m not pissed,” I reply, pulling up local housing forums to scan them for potential clients, just like I do every day. My mama always said “Fake it until you make it,” and I’m getting to be a real pro at faking it. Sometimes I even almost believe myself. “Minor setback. I’ll just have to work on some other leads.”

  “Mmhmm.” She curls her lip. “Least they put you on the flyer. Dumb Jack told me I was too ‘Mexican’ looking.”

  I glance over at her. “I thought you were Persian?”

  “I am.”

  I wince. Well, he’s called Dumb Jack for a reason. “Ouch. Besides, you know they only put me on the flyer because they had to have a girl on there.”

  “Oh, I know. Said they didn’t want to appear sexist.” She puts her fingers in the air and makes a set of quotes. “Appear. I mean, they are sexist, they just don’t want to look it.”

  I smile wanly at her. They may be sexist, but they’re also the bosses and I can’t do much about it. To make things worse, Winky Jack also handles the human resources for the company, so it’s not like I can go complain about his buddies. Or himself.