The Cowboy Way

by Linda Lael Miller

  Her stomach tightened painfully. The memories from ten years ago were way too close to surfacing. Such familiar words. Familiar regret.

  Only so much we can do. If you weren’t an adult we could send child services in. But you’re eighteen. Your mother is telling a different story. You could always call the police in...

  She shook it off. Forcing the memory back into dark, dusty, unused corners of her mind.

  She didn’t need this. Not any of it.

  “Right,” Sadie said. “That...sucks. That sucks.”

  “I’m sorry for her.”

  Anger built up in her, more familiar now than she would like it to be, and all connected to Eli Freaking Garrett.

  “If you were sorry, if you were paying attention, you would do something instead of just apologizing to me.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “That’s all people like you do in situations like this. Talk about how it’s sad and unfortunate and regrettable—that’s when you’re not acting like you just don’t see it at all.” She ignored the guilt that lodged in her chest because that had been the first thing she’d done. Her first instinct. To think she was paranoid, and that it could be other things.

  And sure, it still could be. But in the interest of her own comfort she’d been completely dismissive, and she knew the kind of pain that caused. Knew that that attitude could be utterly devastating to the people being shoved into the shadows for the convenience of others.

  “The thing is, Sadie, I haven’t seen anything. Except that I know the guy is a dick. On the job site and off. But being a dick isn’t a crime. Now, when he has committed crimes? It’s been handled. But he hasn’t recently, and I swear to you I have nothing but supposition about how he treats her.”

  “But can’t you investigate—”

  “No,” he said. “I can’t. Because as much as I would like to sometimes, adults have a right to privacy. If there has not been a crime, then there’s nothing I can do. I can’t assume someone has committed a crime and go in after them. There are lines, and I can’t cross them.”

  “Whatever. You’re a chronic do-gooder. You’re all up in your family’s life. You feel like you’re all up in mine, because here you are in my house again, and you’re talking to me about boundaries?”

  “I’m sorry, but the girl who runs from everything is going to talk to me about getting involved in people’s lives? When was the last time you were involved in anyone’s life besides your own, Sadie? When was the last time you took the time to help someone with their problems?”

  “I did it for a living, jackass.”

  “And that helps you sleep at night, doesn’t it? It helps you feel like you talk to people and like you’ve done something, but you never have to stay around, day in and day out and see the same people. See the same struggle. Know that all the help you’ve offered has meant nothing in the end.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, crossing her arms under her breasts.

  Eli turned away from her and stalked toward the entryway and she followed him, her heart raging. “Hey, you just impugned my character, now stick around and explain it,” she said.

  “People don’t change, Sadie. If I’ve seen one thing in my life, it’s that. But to realize it you have to stick around. You got to sit in an office and listen to people talk, for money, but I won’t even go too deep into that because, yeah, I take care of this community for money and I don’t think a paycheck negates caring. But the thing is, I’m here. Year in, year out. I arrest the same kids over and over again. The same street people, the same addicts. The same abusers. And I wish to God they would get it. That something would reach them, but nine times out of ten, it just doesn’t.”

  “I try, Eli. Even if I don’t stay for twenty years, it doesn’t mean I don’t try,” she said, the ball of fury growing hotter, bigger.

  “You get to feel superior,” he said, “and that’s damn convenient. Because you get to judge me for what you think is me refusing to make a difference, and the view from your high horse tells you that you have made one. But it’s only because you’re all wrapped up in this fuzzy, fake reality blanket you knitted for yourself. You get to say that it’s real, that what you do is real, and you get to look around this place that hasn’t changed and say that what I do isn’t. But it’s because you’ve never bothered to look behind you.”

  “That is...” she said, searching for words. But it was hard when they were all mired in anger. “That is completely unfair.”

  “Is it? You’re standing here telling me I don’t care when, honestly, the thing is, I do. But caring doesn’t do a damn thing. You have to act. I act according to the law. I keep things in order, using real rules and guidelines. I don’t deal in the subjective, because I can’t afford to make irrational mistakes.”

  “I see. So emotions are irrational.”

  “Hell yes,” he said. “Emotions are damned irrational.”

  He took a step toward her, the tight space of the entryway growing smaller. “You know what else is irrational?” he asked.

  “What?” She shouldn’t ask what. Because she shouldn’t want to know. Because the answer was going to lead to something stupid, and she knew that better than she knew just about anything at this point.

  “Attraction,” he said, his voice getting deeper.

  Oh, no. That was definitely the wrong topic.

  Everything slowed down, except her pulse, which sped up, beating hard in her neck, her wrists and, noticeably, at the apex of her thighs.

  “Sure,” she said. “Attraction is...you know, not logical, because it originates in your pants and not your brain. Which is not strictly true, actually. Your brain definitely plays a part in attraction...” Which begged the question why her brain and body were conspiring against her.

  “It’s a nuisance,” he said.

  “Get off my lawn, sexy feelings,” she said, shaking her fist and trying to laugh.

  But before she could finish the fake giggle, it was cut off by Eli’s mouth over hers, by the fierce strength of his body propelling them both backward until they hit the wall. She dropped her lemonade, hearing it hit the floor, hearing it splash upward and spill the ice. It would be sticky and slippery and she just didn’t care right now.

  He pushed his pelvis against hers, the hard ridge of his erection evident against her softness. She rolled her hips against him and he groaned, the sound reverberating through her.

  She didn’t know why anger and lust were all tied into one thing with this man. She didn’t know why she couldn’t control her emotions or her body around him. She didn’t know why she wanted him even when he drove her crazy.

  Even when she didn’t like him. At least, she was pretty sure she didn’t like him.

  It was hard to parse the finer feelings just at the moment.

  He growled, a kind of deep, low sound. A sound that spoke of both satisfaction and hunger as he moved his hands to her waist to hold her, slid them down to her hips and held her tight.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself more firmly against his body, and she found herself backed more tightly against the wall, the kiss intensifying.

  She bit his lip and he returned it, his teeth leaving behind a stinging impression that burned all the way down. She was past thinking. She was past anger. She was past caring whether or not they could ever go out to dinner together without fighting.

  Because what did that matter when there was this? Nothing else mattered. Not the construction workers outside, not her pride, not anything. Not in comparison with the heat that was burning between them, white-hot and insistent. Perfect.

  This was sexual need in its purest form. Undiluted. A straight shot of alcohol that buzzed right through the brain and turned everything on the periphery gauzy. Consequences didn’t matter. Eli mattered. While the rest of the world faded, he remained. Sharp and present, perfect. Necessary.

  She released her hold on him and ran her hands down his chest, over th
e thin black T-shirt that seemed to be his out-of-work uniform. She could feel the muscles underneath, the hard ridges, defined peaks and valleys.

  And she couldn’t stop herself from dragging her fingertips all the way down to the edge of his shirt and pushing her hands beneath the hem. She hissed when her fingers made contact with hot skin and rough hair.

  This might kill her. He might kill her.

  She didn’t know if she had the fortitude for this. Because it was definitely like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

  This wasn’t a pleasant tightening in her stomach and a bit of slickness between her thighs. It was all-over need. Warmth that bloomed low and spread to all of her extremities, that infiltrated her veins and heated her blood, making it flow hotter, faster, went straight to her heart and sent it into overdrive. Left her shaking and weak and needy in a way that should terrify her.

  Scratch that, it did terrify her. But the arousal drowned out the fear. Mayhem was crashing around her, but it didn’t matter because lust was a giant hand holding her head down beneath the waves. Where she was insulated, and at the same time in terrible danger.

  But that only made it better. More exciting. More desperate.

  She moved her fingertips up over his stomach, over abs that could be played like a washboard in a country band and toward that broad, perfect chest.

  “Oh, just take your shirt off,” she muttered against his lips, pushing upward while he tugged the end and hauled it over his head.

  Her heart stuttered for a second before racing ahead again as she took in the overwhelming hotness that was Eli Garrett. She’d thought of him as Officer Hottie on first sight, but she’d had no. Freaking. Idea.

  Tanned and toned with just a smattering of body hair over his chest and down the center of his abs. Like the path on a map, leading to buried treasure. And she could tell, based on the feeling of his hardness against her, that he was packing some serious treasure.

  He pushed the straps on her dress down, exposing the thin, peach-colored bra she was wearing. He swore, harsh, breathless, and moved to cup her, sliding his thumbs over her nipples. She leaned her head back, banging it on the wall. And she didn’t even care.

  He lowered his head, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to her cleavage, the desperation in his actions spurring her on, bringing her closer to orgasm with each touch of his lips, his tongue, his teeth on her tender flesh.

  Kissing, touching, had never brought her so close. He hadn’t even put his hands between her legs—where she was wet and aching for him—and she was still right on the edge, ready to go over with the slightest touch. Another flick of his thumb over her cloth-covered nipple, another calculated slide of his tongue against hers.

  He didn’t do either. He lifted his head and looked at her, dark eyes meeting hers. His brows were locked together, his lips pressed into a line. He looked like a man trying with everything he had to cling to his control. A man who was losing. The moment jarred her, gave her body just enough of a reprieve that she didn’t feel so close to the end.

  She moved her hands behind her back, shaking, and unclasped her bra, throwing it onto the ground.

  A flame burned hot and dark in his eyes and she could see the moment that all that control snapped. As sexy as it was to see Eli Garrett in full command, seeing him unleashed was even better.

  He moved back to her, lowering his head and sliding his tongue around the center of her nipple before sucking it in deep as he moved his hands around her back, slipping them beneath her dress and cupping her butt.

  He inched one hand lower, his finger dipping between her thighs. She gritted her teeth in a futile attempt to hold back a hoarse moan as his fingers slipped under her panties, over her wetness, and one pushed deep inside her.

  She moved her hands to his back, nails digging in deep as she arched into his touch. Between his hands and his mouth, she was going to lose her ever-loving mind before this was over.

  You already have. Might as well enjoy the ride.

  That was the truth. But it was hard to regret losing her mind when it had led to the discovery of this.

  He shifted his attentions to her other breast while he withdrew his finger, then slipped two fingers across her slick folds, over her clit.

  She dug her nails into his skin, and she was pretty sure she might be drawing blood, and she didn’t even care.

  He slipped his fingers back, teasing her entrance with partial penetration before he pushed both inside of her. A ragged curse word escaped her lips as her orgasm crashed through her, as she held tight to him and rode out the storm.

  When the waves stopped moving through her, he withdrew, shoving his pants and underwear down his thighs, revealing his body to her.

  “Damn,” she said, the word tinged with awe.

  He smiled for a second, before the expression was replaced with one of total intensity and concentration. Then he bent and grabbed his jeans, fumbling through the pockets for his wallet, and then fumbling through the wallet for a plastic packet that was a more welcome sight than water in the desert.

  “I will never mock your sense of responsibility again.”

  He opened the condom and rolled it onto his beautiful, considerable length, then he closed the distance between them. “Sadie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up.” He bent his head and kissed her, pushing his hand back between her legs and tugging her panties to the side before gripping her thigh with his other hand and tugging her up against him, the thick, blunt head of his cock testing her.

  Then he thrust in fully, a raw sound escaping his lips, the sudden, intense invasion leaving her breathless, leaving her on the verge of begging for more. On the verge of coming again, even though she’d just had an orgasm strong enough to render her whole two-year man hiatus forgotten.

  She held tight to his shoulders and lifted her other leg up over his hips, her ankles locked behind him as he pushed her back hard against the wall, his hands holding her hips tight as he withdrew and thrust deep inside her.

  “Yes,” she breathed against his ear, biting his neck gently, then licking it as he pounded into her. Driving her back toward orgasm so much faster than she would have imagined possible.

  He captured her mouth again as he thrust in deep and she felt the first ripple of a new climax starting to move through her.

  Then he put one hand on her breast again, squeezing gently and flicking his thumb across the tightened bud at the center, and she was consumed by it. Pleasure tore through her, and on its heels was a rough, feral growl from Eli as he lowered his head and gave himself up to his own climax, his erection pulsing inside her as he came.

  He collapsed against her and her legs slipped down his lean hips, her feet making contact with the floor, her shaky knees making it impossible to stand straight.

  She pressed her shoulder blades against the wall, suddenly very aware that her sundress was tugged down beneath her breasts and pushed partway up her hips, her undies askew. And her lemonade had spilled all over the floor, the ice cubes melting on the hardwood.

  So many bad choices made in such a short period of time. And it was hard to regret them when her body was still buzzing, her breath was still MIA and she just felt so thoroughly satisfied that for the first time in her life she didn’t feel on the verge of running somewhere else and never returning.

  But all of that lasted only a moment.

  “Fuck,” he said, straightening and pushing off from the wall, walking back and forth for a second, looking down at the condom, which he was still wearing, a crease appearing between his brows.

  “The bathroom upstairs,” she said. “You can use it without walking by open windows.”

  He bent gingerly and grabbed his jeans, picking them up and climbing the stairs, and in spite of encroaching regret, she paused to admire his muscular calves, thighs and butt as he made his way to the bathroom.

  She was high. On pleasure. On him. And with every step he took away from her, she sank a bit l
ower. Until her stomach was in her feet.

  She wasn’t needy after sex. It was not her thing. But she needed something more than this. Something more than a curse and his naked back as he left her.

  The bastard. He was post-orgasmically uptight, which was a commitment to crabbiness that seemed almost impossible to maintain.

  But Eli was incredible that way.

  And in other ways.

  The man was built. He’d just proved that the size of the boat had a lot to do with how the motion of the ocean felt, that was for sure.

  Under normal circumstances she would feel...triumphant. He was, without a doubt, the single hottest guy she’d ever been with. Not that there had been a lot, but she’d never been too worried about it. It was all casual.

  The trade-off with Eli seemed to be that nothing about it felt casual. Amazing, cataclysmic sex, with a side of angst.

  Gah, and no thank you.

  She preferred no angst to multiple orgasms.

  Lie, lie, you lie. That was the best sex of all time. It’d be worth waxing both your eyebrows off in their entirety to experience that again.

  Meh. Why did her internal voice have to know her so well? She heard footsteps on the stairs again about the time she realized she was still standing there half-dressed. She scrambled to get her dress pulled into place, kicking her bra into the corner.

  Then she reached beneath her skirt and adjusted her panties and straightened, hoping she looked a little less epically tumbled.

  Sadly, she didn’t feel less epically tumbled. She was hypersensitive and tingly, and her mouth felt like she’d gotten it too close to a flame.

  She turned, and all those feelings got worse. He was walking toward her, down the staircase, jeans low on his hips, very low, no underwear band visible because his underwear was still on the floor and not on his fine body. His chest was bare, his ab muscles rippling with each step.

  His mouth was grim. And it still looked kissable. His lips looked extra kissable when they were grim, which was some sort of sick joke her hormones were playing. Because everything in her took it as a challenge. To soften his mouth. To make him relax. To make him groan.