by LuAnn McLane
“Thanks for steppin’ in,” Bo said, and gave Dakota a stern look. “You should stay outta bar fights, Princess.”
Dakota shook her head. “Why does everyone call me P-Princess?” She tried to look up at the bouncer, but the rim of the hat tilted forward and shaded her eyes. “Huh? Why? My princess days are done. Over. Now I’m just …” She sighed heavily and continued, “I don’t know what I am.” She twisted to look up at Trace. “What am I?”
“Well,” Trace held back a grin. “You’re drunk—I can tell you that much.”
She gave him a pout. “A teensy bit tipsy is all I am.”
“Right.”
Bo the bouncer chuckled. “You’d better get your girlfriend home, Trace.”
“Good idea,” Trace responded, and didn’t correct Bo on the girlfriend comment, figuring that the big guy would keep a careful eye on Dakota when he wasn’t around if he thought they were together. He turned to Grady and said, “I’m getting her home. Are you giving Sierra a ride?”
Grady nodded. “Actually, I’ve convinced Sierra to hang out here for a while. But yeah, I’ll get her home.”
Trace looked at Sierra. “You okay with that?”
She nodded but appeared a bit flustered. “Yeah, I’ll get my truck tomorrow,” she assured him, and walked over to Dakota. “Cowgirl up,” she said, and then lifted her hand to give Dakota a high five.
“Cowgirl up!” Dakota replied, but pretty much missed hitting Sierra’s hand and stumbled forward with the momentum. Trace slipped his arm around her waist and held her up.
The cowboy hat tumbled to the floor, but when Dakota leaned forward to pick it up, Sierra said, “You go ahead. I’ll get the hat to its rightful owner.”
“Thank you, Sierra. You’re a good friend.” She blinked as if ready to cry and said, “I messed this up, didn’t I? God, I am such a bad cool redneck chick. I suck, don’t I?”
“You don’t suck.”
“Yes, I do,” she complained.
“Okay, you sucked a little,” Sierra admitted, and gave Trace a sympathetic you’ve-got-your-hands-full wince. “Just don’t hurl in Trace’s truck.”
Dakota leaned back heavily against Trace, but tilted her head up to look at him. “I won’t. I have a very strong constitution. Wait, is that the right word?”
“Yes, and I hope you are right. Now let’s get you some fresh air, okay?”
“Yep. Just help me walk just a tiny bit.” She turned and gave a pathetic little finger wave to Sierra and Grady.
“Just lean on me,” Trace said, and held her firmly around the waist. He wished he could simply carry her to his truck, but he didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention to them, and he wasn’t sure how his damned leg would hold out. “We don’t have far to go,” he reassured her as he approached the front door.
“Take care of your lady,” Bo the bouncer said as he opened the front door for them.
“I will,” he answered, and assisted Dakota across the parking lot. When he got to the passenger’s side of his truck, he opened the door, but then said, “Are you feeling okay, or should we sit here for a few minutes while you get some air?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I told you I have a very strong disposition.”
“Constitution.”
“Yeah, that too.” She sighed and looked at the big step up. “It sucks to be short. Help me up, okay?”
“Sure,” Trace said, and spanned his hands around her waist. He made quick work of hefting her onto the seat, but not before his body reacted to having her slide up against him. After closing the door, Trace inhaled a deep gulp of air, trying to get her soft, sultry scent out of his head. He knew he had to maintain control. It wasn’t fair to take advantage of her inebriated state; he had come here to protect her from exactly what was going on in his head that very moment.
God, I want her.
Trace told himself it was simply because it had been so long since he had been with a woman, but deep down he knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t want just any woman. He wanted Dakota Dunn, and he was going to have to fight like hell not to give in to his desire. So when he slid behind the steering wheel, he didn’t even look at her, and kept his attention on the road.
“I know I’m disgusting,” she said in a small voice after about a mile of driving.
Trace reluctantly turned to look at her, but she was gazing forlornly out the passenger’s window. “You’re not disgusting,” he quietly insisted, even though he didn’t want to show kindness or care. He wanted to keep his damned distance.
She sighed and turned his way. The impact of her luminous eyes and her sweet smile hit him with hurricane force. “You’re just being nice.” She sighed again. “I just wanted to fit in for once. But I never do.”
“You don’t have to fit in, Dakota. Just be yourself.”
“That’s the problem,” she said softly, and God help him, but a fat tear slid down her cheek. She sniffed and turned her head back to gaze out the window. “Don’t mind me. I’ve had too much to drink. What was I thinking, doing shots?”
Trace gripped the steering wheel harder. “You were just having fun. No harm done,” he added as he turned up the hill toward the marina.
“I’m sorry for ruining your night. Just drop me off and head back to have some fun of your own,” she said, but when he remained quiet, she turned her attention back to him. Knowing that looking at her would be a mistake, he kept his eyes on the road. “I’m really very sorry. I assured you I wouldn’t be a pain in the ass, and that’s all I’ve been. I promise to stay out of your hair from now on,” she stated firmly, but with a quaver in her voice that he couldn’t ignore, especially when he knew she had mistaken his silence for anger.
“I’ll walk you over to your cabin,” he said curtly after killing the engine.
“I’m fine,” she responded with a lift of her chin, but when she reached for the door handle, Trace leaned over and put a restraining hand on hers.
“Stay put until I can help you down. It’s a big step, and I don’t want you to fall.”
“Okay,” she said, but he could read in her eyes that she was going to yank on the handle as soon as he let go.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said, and slipped his arm around her waist. He opened his door with his other hand and scooted her across the bench seat with him.
“Hey!” she protested, and kicked her feet when he easily hefted her over his shoulder.
“Stop!” he said, and gave her a swat on the butt.
“Why, you!” she sputtered, but he just laughed.
It wasn’t until he had her on her own porch that he realized he hadn’t even given a thought to his leg. He wasn’t too happy that she had left her front door open, but he took advantage of the fact and carried her inside and flicked on a light.
“Put me down!” Dakota insisted with some real heat in her voice. “Right this instant!”
Trace answered with another chuckle. He was glad to get her good and pissed off, so she would kick him out on his ear before he did something stupid like kiss her. “I will when I’m good and ready.”
“You—you—the hell you say!” She squealed and wiggled so hard that he lost his grip and she tumbled onto the sofa. She bounced and flopped onto her back for an instant before coming up to her knees and then her feet on the cushions. Before he had time to say that he was sorry, he realized too late that she planned on launching an attack.
“Dakota!” he pleaded, but she had fire in her eyes and hopped up as if she were on a trampoline, bounced pretty doggone high, and then, holy shit, launched herself at him. He caught her in midair and stumbled backward. He had to twist so that he softened their landing, hopefully onto the sofa. “Whoa!” He fell backward over the armrest that caught him at the back of his knees and then landed on the cushions, with Dakota on top of him. The impact wasn’t too bad until he smacked his head on the opposite armrest with a painful thump.
“Ohmigod!” Dakota gasped, and pushed up from his c
hest. All of her anger evaporated and she somewhat sobered up. “Are you okay?”
“I think I need to dig out my Kevlar bull riding vest and wear it around you.” Trace reached back and rubbed his head. “Well, it’s not as bad as kissing the bull, but it hurt like hell.”
“Kissing the bull?” She frowned down at him. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s when your face hits the back of the bull’s head,” he explained, intending to let her know that he was really okay, but when she angled her head and gently traced the thin red scar that ran from the outside corner of his eye and bisected his cheekbone, his heart thumped hard in his chest.
“Is that how you got this?” Dakota asked softly, and when Trace nodded and tried to turn his head, she wouldn’t allow it. “Ohmigod, and you have a bruise on the other side where that guy clipped you in Dew ey’s!” She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “This is all my fault. I should never have come here and disrupted your world.”
“Maybe I needed my world disrupted.”
Trace’s quiet admission had Dakota opening her eyes wide. When she gazed down at him, Trace lowered his gaze, as if he wished he had kept his thoughts to himself. But when he tried to turn his face again, she held his chin firmly. She looked at him for a heart-stopping moment, and then leaned over and gently brushed her lips to his. Her intention was to immediately pull back, but the mere touch of his mouth sent tingling heat radiating through her body, closely followed by longing—an ache she couldn’t ignore. Instead of pulling back, she opened her mouth in invitation and trailed the tip of her tongue over his full bottom lip.
Trace groaned as if giving in. Or maybe he was letting go of something she didn’t fully understand. Although Dakota knew he was fighting his feelings for her, she didn’t care. All that mattered was the touch of his lips, the taste of his mouth, and the incredible need to heal. She licked and nibbled, coaxing a kiss from him that started off soft and sweet, but when he slid his hands up her back, all bets were off.
Dakota deepened the kiss while moving ever so slightly against him. Her breasts tingled and liquid heat oozed like warm honey through her veins. She drank him in while melting against his body, and kissed him as if there were no tomorrow. Trace cupped her ass, pushing her even closer, letting her know the extent of his desire. She pulled her mouth from his and gasped when he tugged her shirt from her jeans and splayed his big, warm hands on her bare skin. She wanted—needed—to have those hands on her breasts.
While straddling him, she sat up and peeled her tank over her head, and then tossed it over her shoulder. But when she arched her back and reached around to unhook her bra, Trace leaned forward to a sitting position and said, “No—wait.”
12
Hurricane Dakota
“Allow me,” Trace requested, and even though he knew he should put a stop to this madness, he was powerless to do so. Still, he looked into her eyes, searching for hesitation or regret, but all he saw in the amber depths was heat, longing, and need.
And it was the need that pushed him over the edge.
When was the last time someone needed him? God, how he wanted to be valued, to be desired, and to be missed when he was gone. When his bull riding days ended so abruptly, it was as if his personal stock plummeted and he became worthless. And although Trace loved the sport and missed the glory, he wanted to be respected for more than his ability to ride a bucking bull for the required eight seconds.
As if somehow reading his mind, Dakota placed her palms on his cheeks, leaned in, and kissed him softly. “Relax and let this happen. You don’t have to think past right now.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Yes, but more than that, I’ve been feeling. Something I don’t think either one of us has done in a long time. Trace, I won’t regret this, and I won’t be sorry tomorrow no matter where this goes.”
Trace looked at her for a long, heated moment, and when he bestowed upon her one of his rare smiles, it went straight to her heart. Dakota made a vow to herself that she would find a way to make him smile whenever she was in his presence. And when she wasn’t around, she hoped he would think of her and smile.
“Are you going to take my bra off or not?” she asked with what she hoped was a saucy arch of one eyebrow. “Okay, did that look silly? Be honest.”
Trace laughed and answered, “In due time. First, I want to simply look at you.”
“Oh.” The heat in his gaze made her feel sexy and bold, and so she scooted back a little bit. “Well, then,” she offered with the slight lift of one shoulder, “look your fill.”
And so Trace did, beginning with her face. He lingered on her mouth and then continued downward, leaving a trail of heat on her skin that felt almost tangible, like a physical caress. Dakota said a silent thank-you to Victoria’s Secret when Trace took in the soft swell of her breasts, which spilled above the cream-colored satin fabric of her push-up bra. A tiny, demure bow seemed to beckon him, and when he reached out and traced it with his fingertip, Dakota sucked in a breath.
“Touch my skin,” she pleaded softly.
“Gladly.” While looking into her eyes, Trace barely grazed the sensitive skin behind her ear with the back of his hand. He continued a path down her neck and proceeded to the valley between her breasts. Then he cupped her fullness and rubbed the pads of his thumbs over the soft swell directly above her nipples. Dakota’s eyes fluttered shut and she arched her back, needing more.
“Take my bra off,” she whispered, but he continued to tease with his thumbs, and then made her all but melt when he began a moist, hot trail of kisses where his fingers had been. Just when she was ready to reach around and unhook the bra herself, Trace finally did it for her. “Oh!” Her breasts tumbled free and her breath caught in her throat.
“God,” Trace breathed, and tossed the bra to the floor. “You are magnificent.”
“Good word.”
“It fits.” He caressed her skin while swirling circles over her nipples with his thumbs.
Dakota was already so sensitive and aroused that when he leaned up and took her into his hot mouth, she all but came undone. With a breathy sigh, she threaded her fingers through his long, surprisingly silky hair and leaned forward, filling his mouth with her softness. He licked her lightly, flicking his tongue back and forth until she came up to her knees and pulled at his shirt. “I need your skin next to mine.”
Trace didn’t protest when she tugged open the snaps on his western-cut shirt with a decisive yank, exposing his chest. “Oh, my.” She traced a fingertip over a long scar along his ribcage, and then looked at him for explanation.
“A head thrower got me with his horns,” he told her.
“Head thrower?”
“A bull that tries to hit you with his head or horns while you’re on your back.”
“Bastard,” she muttered so vehemently that Trace laughed, but his laughter faded when she leaned down and gently kissed the scar.
When she lifted her head to look at him, Trace tried for humor, something he used to be good at. “I have lots more of those.”
“And I will kiss each and every one. Stupid bastard bulls.”
Trace chuckled softly. “I guess you could say stupid me for trying to ride two thousand pounds of solid muscle with razor-sharp hooves and pointed horns.”
Dakota eased the shirt over his shoulders while shaking her head. “I understand when something is in your blood and can’t be denied. Music is in mine.”
“Yeah, but it’s a lot less dangerous,” he joked again, but the thought of her in danger set his teeth on edge.
“Good thing! I think I’ve already established that I’m a little bit wimpy. So the hooves are razor sharp?” She winced.
Trace pointed to a curved scar on his arm. “I’ve got several on my calves where they always seemed to find me,” he said.
“Then I have my work cut out for me,” Dakota said, and reached for his belt buckle. She wasn’t kidding. Once she had him naked, she
planned on kissing each and every scar where he had been sliced, diced, or trounced upon.
Trace found Dakota’s breathy trail of kisses erotic, and yet she touched a chord much deeper than sexual gratification. She cared. And because she cared, Trace knew he was venturing into dangerous territory, but he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. He wanted this too damned much, and maybe she was right—maybe it was time to start feeling again.
“Not here,” he told her. “I want you in bed.”
“Okay.” Dakota nodded and stood up, but instead of walking, he scooped her up in his arms. “Trace! Your leg!”
“I’m fine,” he told her, and was surprised by only a slight twinge as he carried her into her bedroom. He would probably pay for this tomorrow, but it would be worth it. One small bedside lamp cast a soft glow in the room, and the cool night breeze blew in through open windows, bringing in the scent of earth and water. He let her slide down his body, loving the feel of her bare breasts against his chest.
“Sit down on the edge of the bed,” he requested, and kneeled down to remove what were obviously new boots. His heart thumped when he reached up to unzip her jeans. She raised her hips for him to pull the tight denim downward, and he sucked in a breath when a cream-colored stretch-lace thong emerged at eye level.
Unable not to, he reached over and ran his fingertip beneath the edge of the lace. Dakota gasped and fell back to her elbows. She closed her eyes and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and for the life of him, Trace couldn’t remember ever seeing a more erotic sight. She was beautiful but had a vulnerable edge that tugged at a protective male side that up until now he didn’t even know he possessed. She had somehow managed to find a chink in his armor, and although he didn’t know her full story, he had the impression she carried some baggage too.
Perhaps this was meant to be, Trace thought as he leaned over and kissed her just below her navel. Her belly quivered in response, so he kissed her gently again. But then the jaded side of him reared its ugly head. It had just been too damned long since he had made love. No, had sex, he sternly corrected himself. This was sex. And once he had her out of his system, he could go back to his usual routine. Plain and simple. Cut-and-dried.