One Hot Cowboy Wedding

by Carolyn Brown

  “Mind if I use them at the café?”

  Dexter smiled. “I’d be right honored. You two run on now. Honeymoon ain’t much as it is.”

  ***

  Jasmine was propped up on pillows watching the cooking channel when Ace waltzed into the room wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. She raised an eyebrow, but it did absolutely nothing for her racing pulse.

  Dammit! She’d gone a year without sex so why were those pheromone things flooding her body now? And why in the hell did they decide to multiply and attack with Ace? He was so sexy standing there with water droplets still clinging to his broad back and his curls kinked up to his scalp. She needed to fan her face at the naughty thoughts racing through her mind, but she couldn’t figure out a way to do it without him realizing just how hot he made her.

  “I forgot my sleepin’ clothes. I’m not used to having a woman in the house and sure enough not in my bedroom,” he said.

  He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of boxer shorts and a white gauze muscle shirt. He slipped the boxers up under the towel but she caught a glimpse of his butt cheeks when the towel dropped before he got the boxers up around his waist. He turned around as he put on the shirt and then stretched out on his side of the king-sized bed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’re not used to a woman in your bedroom? Come on, Ace, I’m your best gal pal and you expect me to believe that?”

  “Jasmine, I swear on my granny’s grave, there’s not ever been a woman in this bedroom. I saved it in case someone got past the barbed wire tat and into my heart. This has been my sanctuary and it’s never been open to women. Now what are you watching?”

  She was stunned. So the playboy had a severely romantic side and he’d left one door closed to the women in his life. Knowing that she was the first one in there put a little extra kick in her heartbeat.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Oh, sorry. I’m watching the cooking channel. Paula Deen is making gooey cake tonight. I’m going to make it for dessert on the day I make Dexter’s meatloaf at the café.”

  Ace didn’t care what she was watching; he just wanted to hear her voice. It was clear and sweet, like a soprano singer’s. You’d think with a voice like that and a body like she had, plus that beautiful face, she’d be the next big thing in Nashville, but she could not sing. He’d caught her singing along with Miranda Lambert’s “Gunpowder and Lead” one afternoon when she didn’t know he was in the café. And that clear, sweet voice was all over the musical scale.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked when he just stood there staring at her.

  “Food,” he lied. There was no way in hell he’d tell her that she couldn’t sing. “You said you were making meatloaf and cake. Whenever you make it, let me know. I love Dexter’s meatloaf and I never met a cake I didn’t like.”

  She looked over at him at the same time he looked at her. Their eyes locked and in one swift movement she was in his arms and his lips were on hers. Sweet at first, then teasing and finally deepening into something that erased every sane thought from Jasmine’s head. It was more than the wedding kiss, more than the kiss in the living room of his parents’ house the night before. It made all the kisses she’d ever had combined pale in comparison. She leaned into it and pressed her body against his, wanting more and more.

  It set her ears to ringing and created liquid spasms down deep in her gut that threatened to explode like a volcano. The heat was unbearable, and yet she was drawn to it like a starving woman to a box of chocolates.

  Stop! Right now! You are not a real bride. This is Ace and he’s not a real husband and you’re about to ruin your friendship.

  She shut out the inner voice and ran her hands over his chest, teasing his nipples into peaks as the blistering hot kisses kept fueling that liquid heat in her gut.

  His hands moved under her shirt and up her back. They were rough as sandpaper and felt like firebrands as they massaged her skin, moving around to cup a naked breast already begging to be touched. “You feel like you are made out of silk.”

  “You feel like you are made out of leather.” She tangled her hands into his damp hair and pulled his face back down to hers.

  “So we’re leather and lace.” He covered her mouth with his.

  She’d always figured if she kissed Ace it would feel like she’d just kissed her brother. Well, it damn sure did not feel like he was kin to her. His tongue made love to her, and she closed every single bit of space between them. Her body was plastered to his, and the heat continued to ripple through her body like ocean waves lapping up on the sand. She could think of nothing except release, and there was only one way to get that. She ran her fingertips across the tight muscles on his chest and was headed for pay dirt down below his belly button when that little voice named conscience set up a howl. She ignored it and kept right on inching downward.

  Ace gasped when her cool hands encircled his more-than-ready erection. His lips found hers in another string of steamy kisses that kept shooting jolts of desire through his body. He couldn’t think about a friendship going into a train wreck; he had to have Jazzy.

  “God Almighty, that is…” he mumbled into her ear.

  His warm breath was like throwing gasoline on a raging bonfire. “I know,” she whispered between kisses.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Are you?” She nibbled on his neck right below his earlobe.

  “I’m dying,” he admitted.

  “Me too. I want you, Ace Riley.”

  He rolled over on top of her and peeled her nightshirt up over her head taking only seconds away from the fiery kissing session to throw the shirt at the nearest chair. Boxer shorts and underpants were quick to join the shirt, and his hands were touching places that she didn’t know could be so damned erotic.

  “One more time, Jazzy. Are you sure?”

  She didn’t trust her voice because she was panting so hard so she nodded and felt a moment of pure joy when he began a series of long, slow teasing thrusts that brought her to the edge of a climax without letting her take the long tumble at least four times. Finally when she couldn’t stand another moment of the heat, she growled his name and with one final thrust, they both found release.

  “God!” he mumbled. He couldn’t move a muscle. There was nothing left in him but loose connected bones and muscles with no power.

  “I know,” she said. He felt so right lying on top of her.

  “What just happened?” he asked.

  She was searching for an answer when someone pounded on the door and they both froze.

  Blake yelled through the door. “Hey, sorry to bother you guys, but Ace left his phone on the kitchen table and Momma has called a dozen times. Thought he’d best call her back.”

  Ace groaned and rolled to the side and then off the bed, opened the door a slit, and stuck out his hand. “You could have called her back for me,” he growled.

  “I did after it rang for the tenth time, but she said she had to talk to you.” Blake blushed. “Sorry, man.”

  “Next time throw the damn thing out in the yard,” Ace said.

  Jasmine slowed her breathing to something that faintly resembled normal. At least she wasn’t panting in the background when Ace returned his mother’s call. But she’d wanted more of the afterglow. More than just a few seconds for him to hold her. Much more than a few words. After that earth-shattering sex she’d wanted the golden lights and the sweet nothings for at least half an hour before they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Ace leaned on the chest of drawers with his back to Jasmine and waited for his mother to pick up the phone. His boxers looked like someone put the ridgepole for a pup tent inside them, and looking at Jasmine lying on the bed with her bee stung lips sure didn’t make it go away. He finally turned around and stared at the blank wall.

  “Momma, what is so urgent?” he asked.

  Jasmine listened to the one-sided conversation with one ear and tried to t
une the other one in to the cooking show on television. Paula Deen was talking about frying chicken using her own special mixture for the coating.

  Ace said, “Yes, all six of them. Yes, they can wear their Western tuxes that they wear to the cattle sale dance every year. And while I’ve got you on the phone, Jazzy’s momma needs your invitation list by Friday with addresses. She will send you her mother’s email address and you can send them directly to her. That’ll save Jazzy playing middleman since she’s so busy.” He turned his head around and put his hand over the phone. “Give me your mother’s phone number. We’ll let them take care of it all between them.”

  “What was that?” Dolly asked.

  “I’m getting the phone number for you. Her name is Kelly King and she’s already planning things. Just call her and you two can hash things out between you about what you each need to do. Here it is.” He held the phone out toward the bed.

  Jasmine rattled it off.

  “Got that?” Ace asked.

  “I do and tell Jasmine thank you. Hope you two weren’t asleep already,” Dolly said.

  “We were watching the cooking channel,” Ace said. “Good night, Momma.”

  Jasmine blushed. “We were not watching the cooking channel.”

  “Yeah, we were right before our bedroom got fired up hotter’n Miz Paula Deen’s oven.” Ace hopped back into bed. “Now where were we?”

  Our bedroom. He said our bedroom, Jasmine thought.

  “Ace, I… we can’t do this anymore. We’ve been friends because…” she stammered.

  “We are married, Jazzy. We can do this and it’s even legal.”

  “And when it’s over next summer, a beautiful friendship that I value very much will be completely ruined. We’ve got to think this through,” she said.

  He plopped down on the bed and fell back on his pillow. “Thank God for a king-sized bed. This isn’t going to be easy, Jazzy.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Good night, Ace.”

  She rolled over with her back to him and shut her eyes. Her breathing returned to normal, but the pheromones kept moaning and groaning for another hour.

  Chapter 9

  Ace slept on his side with one hand up under his pillow. His light brown lashes rested on his cheekbones and he needed a haircut. The cowboy could charm the stripes off a skunk when he was awake; asleep, he made Jasmine wish she could snuggle up to his back and wake him with steamy hot kisses.

  She sighed, crawled out of bed, and headed to the bathroom, making a mental note to bring her terry bathrobe from her apartment that evening. So many things she’d taken for granted, like running from bathroom to bedroom with nothing but a towel tucked around her, or sleeping in the nude.

  After a quick shower, she dried her hair, pulled it up into a ponytail, and twisted it into a sloppy bun that she secured with a big clamp. She peeked out the door and the coast was clear so she hurried back down to the bedroom, opened her duffel bag, and found clean clothes for the day. When she was dressed she picked up her purse and slipped out into the hallway where Blake bypassed her on his way to the bathroom. He mumbled something that sounded like “have a nice day.” She smiled at him and kept going. When she got to her truck she found the recipe for Dexter’s meatloaf tucked under the windshield wiper.

  There are three seasons in Texas. Winter and spring, which means warm; fall, which means hot; and summer, which means scorching hot. June falls in the summer months, and before Jasmine made it the café to open the door that morning, she’d broken a sweat. How on earth people ate heavy food like sausage gravy and biscuits and steak and eggs in that kind of heat was a mystery to Jasmine. She usually skipped breakfast except for two to eight cups of coffee, depending on how busy things were in the kitchen. That morning was barely a one-cup morning. Evidently no one wanted to heat up their own kitchens and everyone made an excuse to leave the house so they could have breakfast at the café.

  Gemma ran in for breakfast at about nine that morning. She plopped down at the small kitchen table and ordered a stack of pancakes and side order of bacon. There was finally a lull so Jasmine poured two cups of coffee and stretched six pieces of bacon on the grill. She picked up the pitcher of pancake batter and poured four out on the other end of the grill. When they had bubbles on the top she flipped them over, turned the bacon, and reached for a plate. In less than five minutes she set the order in front of Gemma and took a short break.

  “Missed you yesterday.” Jasmine pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “Had to clean house and do some grocery shopping. Dewar sucks at both.” Gemma poured blended melted butter and hot syrup on the pancakes and let out a little moan when she put the first bite in her mouth.

  Jasmine sipped her coffee. “Why do you buy food? You and Dewar eat in here most of the time.”

  “If I could get you to stay open twenty-four hours like one of those truck stops on the highway, we wouldn’t have to buy anything but beer and pretzels,” Gemma said.

  “Where is Dewar this morning anyway?” Jasmine looked around to be sure he wasn’t already in the café.

  “My dear brother, bless his heart, is hauling hay. It’s June in Texas. All ranchers are either cutting hay, hauling hay, plowing, or planting the next crop of alfalfa to make more hay. Your husband included. Whoever put out that urban myth about brides and weddings being perfect in June never did live in Texas. I’m getting married in the wintertime when the hay is in the barn or lined up in the fields.”

  “It’s either hay or deer hunting,” Jasmine said.

  “Well, shit! I forgot about deer hunting. Maybe my sexy cowboy will fall right out of the sky from a planet that only makes steamin’ hot cowboys, and on his planet the cowboys do not go deer hunting and cattle and horses live on fairy dust,” Gemma said.

  “A planet that grows fairy dust, the men don’t hunt deer, and you expect your cowboy to be straight?” Jasmine giggled. “Oh, Momma has narrowed the wedding invitations down to a short list and she’s looking at dresses. And you really are a bridesmaid. I talked her out of apricot organza dresses so you can thank me for that,” Jasmine said.

  Gemma clapped her hands. “Hot damn! I’d wear baby pink to be a part of a big wedding party. Are all of Ace’s brothers serving as groomsmen? Even Creed? I think he’s plumb hunky but he’s got a girlfriend so I can’t ask him out. When is this big foo-rah happening? Nothing makes a man hornier than bridesmaids at a wedding. It’s even better than Mardi Gras, I swear!”

  Jasmine was glad someone was looking forward to the wedding.

  “Second weekend in July in Sherman. Momma will reserve half a hotel for all the out-of-town guests and since you are in the wedding party, you will have to be at the rehearsal and the dinner afterwards. And yes, all of Ace’s brothers are groomsmen and I think Rye is the best man. So I have to come up with seven bridesmaids. I’ve got six if you can convince Colleen to come home for the weekend. She wouldn’t have to be here for the rehearsal, and they don’t run the carnival then, do they?”

  “Oh, she’ll be here, trust me. They were playing out around Austin last week and coming east so it shouldn’t be that big of a drive for her. Can I ask her when I talk to her later today or do you want to?” Gemma asked.

  “Please do it for me,” Jasmine said.

  “Who are the bridesmaids? Me and Colleen, Austin, Pearl, and Liz?”

  “And Bridget and Lucy. That makes seven. I’d forgotten Lucy. How could I do that? She keeps me in help.”

  “Lord, honey, it’s a wonder you remember your name as much as you’ve got on your plate. I can’t imagine being married already and getting used to a man in your bed and planning your wedding at the same time. That’s enough to set a woman to drinking.”

  And a man in your bed that makes you hot as hell and you know better than to have sex with him again. Bring on the Jack Daniel’s! Jasmine thought.

  A rush of hot air brought in four cowboys with jingling spurs on their boot heels and sweat running down their
necks.

  Jasmine stood up. “Time to go back to work. That bunch looks like they could eat a whole hog. They damn sure don’t look like their horses and cows live on fairy dust.”

  Gemma shot her a look then giggled. “Even with all that sweat they do look yummy though, don’t they?”

  “I’m not answering that,” Jasmine said.

  Bridget put up three orders, picked up three large plastic tea glasses, filled them with ice and sweet tea, and carried them to the table.

  Jasmine pulled three steaks from the refrigerator. Slapping three rib eyes on the grill brought back an image of Cole, with his condescending attitude, in her dining room the day before. Her full mouth clamped down into a firm line.

  “Who pissed you off this mornin’?” Ace asked.

  She whipped around to find him sitting on the bottom step of the staircase leading up to her apartment. “Where did you come from?”

  “Snuck in the back door. A husband has that right, don’t he? A best friend does, so I kinda figured a husband should.”

  “What are you doin’ in town?” she asked.

  “Came after a good-mornin’ kiss from my new bride. Might sweeten up her attitude. What happened to make you look like you could chew up a full grown steer and spit out hamburger meat?” he teased.

  “Cole ordered steak and eggs yesterday. The noise of the steaks hitting the grill reminded me. Why in the hell did your grandpa put that in his will anyway, and why is he makin’ you stay married a whole year?”

  Ace chuckled. “Want me to go to Dallas and whip his ass for makin’ you mad? If I leave now I can wipe up the streets of Dallas with his sorry old ass and be home in time for supper. Would that make you feel better?”

  Jasmine’s face broke into a brilliant smile. “No, but picturing you doing that is funny. And you didn’t answer me about the will.”