The Cowboy on Her Trail

by Janis Reams Hudson

  With an answering moan Justin wrapped his arms around her and rolled until Blaire lay on her back and Justin lay nestled right where he’d longed to be for weeks and weeks, in the cradle of her thighs.

  “Let me,” he whispered against her mouth. He reached between them for the snap on her jeans. But he didn’t free it. He raised his head, breaking their kiss, and waited until she looked at him with eyes of liquid golden brown. “Let me,” he asked again.

  Blaire didn’t give him a verbal answer. Instead she used one hand to pull his head down again until their lips met. With the other she helped him unsnap and unzip her jeans.

  It was answer enough for Justin. Within seconds he had her jeans opened and his hand cupping the heat of her, nothing separating him from the core of her but a thin layer of silk.

  At his touch Blaire’s hips rose. With a gasp she thrust herself hard into his hand. Oh, she had missed this. Missed the way he touched her, the way he could drive her to the brink so easily. Their one night together had not been nearly enough.

  Their last time together, they had liked each other, certainly. But mostly they’d been driven by hot blood and hormones.

  This time, she knew him a little better, and what she knew made her want him more, made her care about him more. Was she in love with him?

  He removed his hand from between her legs.

  Blaire moaned in protest, forgetting entirely her emotional dilemma in favor of the more pressing physical one: whether or not to lay back and beg for his touch, or reverse their positions, straddle his hips as she had done earlier, and take what she wanted from him.

  Justin didn’t give her time to make a decision, had her mind been capable of such a feat just then. He pulled the bottom edge of her sweater up and over her head, forcing her arms upward in the process. And he left her that way, with her arms stretched over her head, trapped in the sleeves of her sweater.

  She began to struggle to free her arms. She wanted them wrapped around him, wanted her hands on him, not all tangled up in a sweater.

  Justin stilled her with his hands on her arms. It wasn’t his gentle touch that caused her to cease her struggles as much as it was the look in his eyes. A smile lurked there, a devilish one, along with heat and a promise of more pleasurable things to come.

  “Be still,” he whispered, “and let me.”

  Blaire’s heart raced. “Let you what?”

  He leaned down and flicked his tongue along the upper edge of her bra. “Do anything I want.”

  Blaire sucked in a sharp breath. Flames of anticipation teased her from nipple to loins and back again. “I guess,” she managed, her lungs suddenly struggling for air, “that would depend on what you want.”

  He smiled slowly. “For starters…” With the fingers of one hand he flipped open the catch on her front-closure bra. He dipped his head and took one nipple gently between his teeth.

  Blaire sucked in another sharp breath. Her breast seemed to swell to meet his mouth.

  His teeth teased and nipped almost, but not quite, to the point of pain. His lips and tongue joined in and drove her so wild that she cried out and arched her back clear off the bed.

  Her reaction drove Justin closer to the edge of control than he wanted to be. He didn’t want to rush this. He knew she wanted him, but when her brain kicked into gear again she was going to come up with all sorts of reasons why they shouldn’t do this.

  When she did, he was going to have to come up with answering reasons why they should. Why they should love each other. Why they should get married. Why they should raise their baby together.

  Baby. The two of them had already made a baby together. The breast beneath his lips would nourish that child through infancy. Was it his imagination, or was it already fuller than it had been, in anticipation of the new life it must feed? Women’s breasts became more sensitive during pregnancy, didn’t they? He thought he’d read that somewhere.

  He raised his head and looked at Blaire. “Am I hurting you?”

  Blaire blinked. “What?”

  He cupped her breast in his palm. “Your breast. I was wondering if you’re more sensitive here, if maybe I was being too rough.”

  Blaire’s heart turned over in her chest. “No.” Her vision blurred. “You weren’t hurting me. Except by stopping.”

  He grinned. “Liked it, did you?”

  Blaire studied the ceiling and shrugged. “It was all right.”

  “That’s all?” He leaned down and swiped his tongue across her nipple again.

  Blaire could not hold back another sharp breath.

  Justin chuckled. “That’s what I thought.” He kissed his way down her breastbone and into the vee of her unzipped jeans. He pressed his lips against her yellow panties and blew hot air through them and onto her skin.

  “Hear that, kid? Your mom’s a big fibber.”

  In that instant when he spoke to their child snuggled safely in her womb, Blaire felt a connection snap into place in the vicinity of her heart. Until right then, she was the only person alive to ever speak to the baby, to acknowledge that it was a real person. Now there were two of them.

  Blaire knew she was suddenly in serious trouble. She might have been able to resist, had Justin not spoken to the baby, but he had. She was a goner. If she’d had doubts before—and she had—they were gone. Whisked away by a few simple words spoken by a man she wanted to trust but didn’t know how.

  Yet her inability to trust didn’t seem to matter to her heart. She had just fallen totally, completely in love with the father of her child.

  Chapter Nine

  Justin looked up and saw not laughter in her eyes, but some other deeper emotion. It filled her eyes and glowed from her face and made something inside him go all soft and tender, even while another part of him hardened.

  He couldn’t take his gaze from hers. Clothes that should have required effort to remove seemed to fall away with ease, then they lay together, flesh on flesh, muscle to muscle, chest to breast, hip to hip. Breath to breath.

  Blaire raised her knees to make more room for him, to grip his hips and hold him close to her.

  Wordlessly Justin accepted the invitation. He joined his hands with hers, and then his body, entering her slowly, one hot, slick inch at a time.

  Blaire felt him stretch her, fill her. It was as if she was being completed, made whole when she hadn’t realized any part of her had been missing. She welcomed him inside, urged him to go deeper. Slowly at first, until slow was no longer sufficient to ease the terrible wanting that consumed her. Then faster, harder. She met him thrust for thrust, knowing that in the end he would hold her and they would fly off the edge of the earth together.

  And they did.

  The first thing Blaire became aware of minutes later was the heat and pressure of Justin’s glorious weight covering her as if shielding her from the cold, cold wind howling outside their door.

  Justin was also aware of his weight and feared he might be crushing Blaire or the baby or both. As the strength returned to his limbs he pushed himself up on his arms and started to shift his weight off her.

  Blaire made a tiny sound of protest in the back of her throat. It was about all she was capable of at the moment. She wanted to raise her arms and hold him there, but her arms were too limp. But she did manage to press her knees against his hips.

  “No,” she whispered. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

  Justin eased his weight onto his elbows. “How is it,” he asked, cupping her face in his hands, “that you and I are so damn good together?”

  “Luck?” she answered.

  He shook his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “Fate.”

  “You believe in fate?”

  “I believe some things are meant to be,” he said quietly. “Don’t you?”

  Blaire found that she could no longer meet his gaze. “I believe the conversation is turning a little more serious than I’d like.”

  Justin gave her a quick smile. “Coward.”

&nb
sp; “That’s me.”

  “It is not,” he objected. “But I’ll let you off the hook anyway.”

  They got dressed and spent the rest of the day watching old movies on television. Blaire might have felt awkward—she expected to, after their lovemaking—but Justin proved so easy to be with that awkwardness was impossible. Throughout their movie-watching they argued about the on-screen action, debated the merits of different characters, cracked jokes about all of it, then eventually they got hungry again. The snow was deeper than it had been by a couple of inches.

  “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll bring our dinner back to the room?” Justin suggested.

  “Because the food would freeze before you got back with it. I vote we bundle up and walk.” Blaire peeked out between the edges of the drapes. “The parking lot’s pretty full, and I bet it’s slicker than glass.”

  “Meaning you think I’ll run into something if we drive?”

  “Well, no offense, but…”

  He laughed. “None taken. Under these conditions, walking would be safer. But it’s damn cold out there. I don’t see any reason for you to freeze your tush off. They can wrap the food so it won’t get cold in the few minutes it’ll take me to get back with it.”

  Blaire crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “If you think I’m going to sit here all snug and warm and play the little woman while the big, bad man forges his way out into the wilderness in a blizzard to bring me something to eat, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “Aw, come on.” He gave her a look that said she was being unreasonable.

  Blaire objected to that look. She objected to his making decisions for her. She objected to his assuming she would simply go along with him, stay when he said stay, come when he said come.

  And she thought she loved him?

  “It’s freezing out there,” he protested with a wave of his hand toward the door. “Why do you want to go out in that?”

  “I don’t, particularly, but I’m hungry, and I want out of this room for a while. If that means wading through snow in a blizzard, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  With a scowl on his face, Justin pulled her coat from its hanger and held it. “I suppose if I try to help you on with your coat I’ll hear all about how you’ve been putting on your own coat all your life and don’t need help now.”

  “See there?” She beamed at him. “We’re getting to know each other real well.”

  He tossed her coat to her and grabbed his own. “Have you always been this stubborn?”

  “Yes.” She slipped her arms into her coat. “But if you want to offer to bring me food and run my errands in a few months when I’m big and fat I probably won’t be.”

  The thought of her big and fat, because of his child, made him pause with his coat half on. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I can’t picture it.”

  “Picture what? Me fat?”

  “That, and agreeable,” he said.

  “Oh, you.” She snatched a pillow from the bed and threw it at him.

  With a laugh, Justin ducked and threw his arm up. The pillow bounced harmlessly back to the bed.

  When they stepped from their cozy motel room into the blizzard, the wind was so sharp and cold it sucked the tears right out of their eyes. Out in the parking lot they sank past their ankles in snow. For Justin, in his boots, it was no problem as long as it wasn’t too slick. But Blaire had on sneakers. Cotton socks were all that protected her ankles. She walked as fast as she could to lessen the duration of her exposure.

  The world they traipsed through was nothing more than a swirling whiteness lined on either side with glowing street lights and the occasional set of headlights creeping past at a slow pace.

  The restaurant, when they stepped inside after traipsing the fifty yards from their room, was a sharp contrast of light, loud voices, and heat that seemed excessive.

  Justin and Blaire took their time ordering, and eating, neither in a hurry to return and lock themselves away in their motel room again too soon.

  But they couldn’t dawdle forever, so eventually they made their way back.

  “Is the wind dying down?” she asked when they were about halfway back to the motel. “Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?”

  “No,” Justin said, sticking his nose into the air. “I think you’re right.”

  “Here’s hoping it’s not just a temporary lull,” she said, huddling down farther into her coat.

  “Dare I say you could have stayed in the room?”

  “Depends on how lucky you’re feeling,” she told him, grateful they didn’t have far to go but not willing to admit it.

  “Oh,” was all he said. But he smiled when he said it.

  The room they had so eagerly left no more than an hour earlier now looked welcoming to them.

  They had left the lamp and television on, a habit Justin had developed long ago. He felt that if anyone was up to no good and snooping around, hearing the television would probably send them off to find a quieter, darker room to break into.

  Now Justin opened the door and ushered Blaire inside. “Home at last,” he said.

  Blaire smirked. “I wouldn’t go that far, but at least now I can take my shoes off.”

  “Your feet must be frozen.”

  “If you say so.” She hung up her coat, then toed off her sneakers. “I can’t feel them enough to tell.”

  Instantly concerned—as if he hadn’t been worried enough about her all evening—Justin hung his coat beside hers. As soon as he’d tugged off his boots—not an easy task without a bootjack—he made her sit on the bed. He drew the chair up and sat before her.

  “Give me your feet.”

  Blaire blinked. “What?”

  “Your feet.” He patted his thighs. “Put ’em here. I’ll warm them.”

  “Now there’s an offer I’ll take you up on.” Blaire sat on the edge of the bed and placed one foot on Justin’s thigh. “If I give you both feet I’ll fall over backward.”

  “And your point is?”

  Blaire laughed. “Okay. Since I ate like a pig, stretching out sounds inviting.” She leaned back and braced herself on both elbows and gave him her stockinged feet.

  Justin pressed the bottoms of her feet against his abdomen and rubbed the tops with both his hands.

  It took only a few seconds before Blaire felt the heat seep through her socks and into her icy skin.

  She moaned in relief. “Oh, that feels good.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” He rubbed vigorously until his hands felt hot. Then slowly he pulled off one sock and held her bare foot in his hands.

  It was so damned small, Justin thought, and pale compared to his hands. Just like the entire woman. Dainty and white, while he was…not. He was a big man, dark skinned, not particularly graceful except when on horseback. Not that men should be graceful, but she was, and her grace simply emphasized what a big, clumsy clod he was.

  Hell, maybe she was right. Maybe they had no business getting married. What did he know about raising a child? Guiding another human being from infancy to adulthood and have them turn out to be not only a productive member of society, but a genuinely good person. Because that’s what he wanted for this child of theirs, that he or she be, above all else, a genuinely good person.

  For that matter, what did Blaire know of raising children? Surely no more than he did, except women seemed to be born with some secret well of knowledge about children. Sort of like men being born understanding car engines and electrical wiring. It was genetic.

  And that was bull.

  Besides, marriage was first and foremost about a man and a woman and their commitment to each other. Children, even ones who were already on the way, came after the making of that commitment. At least, that was the way Justin thought things should go. For it to work and last, the marriage and commitment had to be genuine for their own sakes, not merely for the sake of the child.

  Didn’t they?

  God help him, how was a man supposed to
know what to do? Why didn’t Blaire seem to be struggling with this subject? She seemed to know exactly how she wanted things to go, and her plans didn’t include him.

  Maybe she knew better than he did, but Justin wasn’t ready to accept that. Never mind that he wasn’t sure how to do what needed to be done. He knew what was right. He knew what needed to be.

  He would have to rethink his strategy. He had to find a way around her reluctance.

  First, he would warm her feet. Then he would decide what came next.

  He removed her other sock.

  Blaire closed her eyes in relief and pleasure. His warm, strong hand enveloped her cold foot and sent heat seeping through her toes and up her leg.

  Who knew, she wondered as the heat rose farther and farther up her leg, that a foot could be an erogenous zone?

  She opened her eyes to see if he realized what he was doing to her and knew instantly that his mind was a million miles away. And then he blinked, and his gaze focused on her like a laser targeting its mark. A deep shiver wracked her. She felt his hot gaze over every inch of her.

  With their gazes locked, he pulled his shirttail from the waist of his jeans and tucked her feet underneath, pressing her bare soles directly against his bare abdomen.

  It was impossible to say who sucked in the deeper breath, as they both gasped at the contact. And not merely because her feet were cool and his flesh was hot.

  Justin rubbed the tops of her feet, then stroked them with his fingertips. Then he stroked up to her ankles, and up beneath the hem of her jeans until he couldn’t reach any farther.

  “Are your legs cold?” he asked, his voice low and rough, their gazes still locked.

  “Do I get to rub them against your skin if they are?”

  A slow smile curved his lips. “Is that what you want to do?”

  “My legs,” she offered, reaching for the zipper of her jeans, “are freezing.”

  “Well, then.” Justin reached up and helped her tug down her jeans. “We can’t have you being cold.”