Rock Hard Cowboy

by Christina Hovland

The door of his bedroom stood ajar. He kicked it further open with his heel.

  Both of them breathing heavily, they separated, their gazes locking even as he pulled off his socks and boots and she undid the clasp on her jeans so they slipped to the floor. Arms crossed in front of her, she lifted the sweater over her head in one motion. Her pale-pink bra matched the discarded sweater and the edge of lace on her panties.

  Sonofabitch, Kenzie was in his bedroom in nothing but her lingerie, and he was damn well going to take a second to enjoy it.

  Turned out that was all he got because it took only that long for her to go to work on his belt buckle.

  Mackenzie Bennett was a wildcat in the bedroom.

  Who. Knew.

  He dropped his hands, letting her do whatever the hell she wanted with his body. She lifted his sweatshirt and kissed along the middle ridge of his abs. Her hands found their way between his legs, and she ran them along the hard length of him under the denim. He itched to touch her, but this was her show right now. And he was all about letting artists do their work. So, he refrained.

  Licking her way down his stomach, she yanked his belt through the loops in a fast motion that left his head spinning.

  She practically purred as she pulled his jeans over his hips, humming to herself in between the licks and kisses.

  There was no blood left in his brain because it had all traveled south.

  He pulled his shirt off, kicked his jeans aside, and lifted her to the end of the bed. He hadn’t given much thought to the bed when he bought it, but between the bedframe and the memory-foam-topped mattress, the thing was higher than the usual setup. As Kenzie scooted herself back to his pillows, he realized the height might come in handy for a few of the positions her presence inspired, and since she’d picked his bed and not the guest room, he had every intention of trying them all.

  He didn’t climb on after her. Instead, he turned and took five steps toward the dresser, dug around the back of the top drawer and found the box of condoms he’d stored there. He tore into the box, grabbed several—they’d need them—and turned on his heel.

  He stopped cold.

  In the time it’d taken him to grab supplies, she’d lost the lingerie.

  He was a celebrity. He knew better than anyone that celebrities were just people with jobs that made everyone feel like they deserved a piece of their lives.

  But for the first time, he was starstruck.

  His mouth dropped open, he gripped the protection in his hand, and he couldn’t find any words. So instead he just said, “Kenzie.”

  In response, she spread her thighs and ran her hand over herself, doing what he should be doing but putting on a damn good show for him. It was like the first time they saw one another and neither could look away. But this time she was touching herself and he was invited.

  Lucky. Him.

  It had taken him five steps to get to the dresser but it only took three to get back to the bed. Their gazes locked the entire time. He crawled to her and kissed the arch of her foot. He kissed up her ankle, over her right calf, stopping to suck at the sensitive skin behind her knee. He continued up her leg, gentle kisses, slow kisses, to where her fingers rubbed the sensitive nub between her thighs.

  Condoms abandoned on the bedspread, he lifted her hand from herself.

  “Tucker, I’m almost…”

  He wrapped his mouth around her fingers, sucking deep. Mackenzie on his tongue, she stopped talking. A gargled sound came from her throat and she pressed her head into the pillows.

  Still sucking her fingertips, he replaced them with his own hand, sliding a finger inside, then two, and using his palm where she’d been working herself.

  Her body bucked against his hand.

  He released the suction on her fingers and moved his mouth to her center. She was saying something he couldn’t make out, but given her hands pressing his face right where he wanted it, between her thighs, he was sure she was on board with what he had planned with his tongue.

  His erection hard against the bedspread, he made love to her with his mouth. She wrapped her legs around his shoulders. Kenzie didn’t talk in bed, but she made a lot of noises. It was on a loud moan that she came on his tongue, her body tensing before relaxing.

  He kissed her hip, licked at her navel, and wanted to hug whatever life choices had brought him to this moment. Grabbing a condom from the pile, he continued his trek up her body, pausing at her breasts to give them an abundant amount of attention.

  His dick pressed hard against her core, ready for release. He made his way to her neck. Then her jaw. She purred at him.

  He found her lips and kissed her, eyes open, connected.

  He pulled back, raising himself up over her. “Hi.”

  She chuckled. “Well, hey there.”

  “Merry Christmas to me.” He nuzzled his face against her neck, letting his erection tease her opening.

  “Merry Christmas to both of us.” She draped her arm over her forehead, her breast against his pec, her nipple hard against his.

  He lifted off of her. Tore open the condom. She sat up and plucked it from his hand, reaching for his shaft before he could do anything more. Hand covering him, she gave a small squeeze, and then Mackenzie Bennett dropped her mouth to him and sucked.

  Yes, his life choices were pretty damn good.

  Hands in her brilliant red hair, he pinched his eyes shut and rode the wave of her impressive mouth. She slid her tongue over the head of him and he nearly finished right there. Four times. Four times she filled her mouth with him and slid to the tip, then back to the root.

  He was pretty sure he was making the same noises she’d made before.

  A thin pressure slipped over the top of his erection. He opened his eyes as she rolled the condom down the length of him.

  Tucker McKay was built like a tank, with a penis the size of her arm. Okay, that was an exaggeration. But the erection fairies had used all of their fairy dust on this man.

  Kenzie finished rolling on the condom and watched as he gripped himself at the root. It had never been like this with a man before. All consuming. Every nerve wired and alive.

  She lay back into her nest of pillows and spread her legs for him. He pushed up over the top of her.

  That wasn’t exactly where she wanted it to go.

  Her whole body squirmed. “I want you, Tucker.”

  His hands grabbed both of hers and held them over her head. “Say it again.”

  “I want you.” Gah, her voice sounded so rough. So unrefined.

  She cleared her throat.

  His erection pressed against her belly as he kissed the tip of her nose. Her arms still held over her head, his thumb stroked her palm.

  “I like it,” he announced.

  “What?”

  “All of you.” He shifted and pressed the tip of himself at her entrance. She moaned and scooted as he started to fill her.

  His grip on her wrists tightened. He smiled against her mouth. Filled her in one move.

  She gasped, complete and sated.

  Tucker’s mouth had nothing on the rest of him.

  She’d been to one of his concerts, and he didn’t just own the stage, he owned the whole damn stadium. Used every inch of the stage. Made a stadium of fifty thousand screaming fans feel like an intimate concert. An intimate concert with confetti cannons, a fog machine, and laser lights. Still, though, he could make a huge venue seem small when he took the stage.

  It was his eyes, the way they saw everything—saw her for her, not as the woman on the screen—that did her in.

  And that was the moment she was pretty sure she fell in love with a rock ‘n‘ roll cowboy.

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  Christmas Day

  Morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling over Tucker as he bent over his guitar. Not an electric one, like he played on stage. This guitar was acoustic. Like one a cowboy would play. The cowboy he was.

  The
storm had started and stopped in the night, leaving another rich layer of snow outside. Kenzie snuggled deeper into the bed, embracing the comforter and the way the snow muffled even the inside sounds.

  Except the ones Tucker made.

  It was Christmas, and this was her favorite present of all. Time with Tucker, watching him work.

  Kenzie didn’t dare say anything to ruin the moment. She was naked and in Tucker’s bed while he strummed a song she’d never heard before. Eyes shut, his head down, he hummed the melody while his fingertips had their way with the strings. He paused, wrote something on the pad of paper beside him, and went back to his guitar.

  His hair brushed against his ears. His forehead was completely relaxed.

  Tucker was in his zone.

  Then he sang a few bars, faint and barely there. His voice wasn’t smooth. Not like the musicians who seemed to have taken over pop music. Tucker’s sounded scarred, low and husky. That sound that had captured audiences and sold millions of records.

  She could listen to him like this forever and never get tired of it.

  “What’s another word for different?” He lifted his head to her.

  She jolted when his blue eyes met hers. The matter-of-fact way he asked the question implied he’d known she was totally awake for a while.

  “Sorry. What?” she replied.

  “I need another word for different.”

  She let the question settle into her brain. “Distinct?”

  “Thanks.” He nodded and scribbled on his notepad. Hummed a bit more. His fingers continued massaging the strings on the guitar. “What about little?”

  Was she actually helping Tucker write a song? “Small?”

  “Nah, that’s not it. Like little and fragile.” He set the guitar aside. Rubbed a hand over his face.

  “Did you sleep?” She sat up, the comforter sliding to her waist.

  She needed to find her luggage. Get dressed. Make French toast.

  He stared at her, his nostrils flared. “No.”

  “You’ve been at this all night?” Legs tossed over the side of the bed, she stood.

  “Mmm hmm. Spent some time in the studio, but the lyrics come easier here.” He did look beat—the whites of his eyes were red from him being up all night.

  Heading to the attached bathroom for a shower, she paused with her hand on the doorframe and turned back toward him.

  “Delicate.” The word popped out of her mouth before she realized why she said it.

  “Hmmm?” He rose his eyebrows.

  “The word you’re looking for is ‘delicate.’ Like ‘little’ but breakable. That’s ‘delicate.’”

  He grinned a lopsided smile. “You’re good at this. You should write songs. Half the battle is figuring out different words that mean the same thing.”

  “I’m more of a screenplay girl. I wouldn’t know where to start with lyrics.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about your screenplay. I read it. It’s exceptional.” He set his guitar aside, stood, and stretched. He’d tossed on a pair of jeans at some point, but his torso was uncovered. “And I think you should produce your story. Not someone else. You. You’ll do it justice.”

  Wait. He liked it?

  “You don’t think it’s just scribbles?” She’d officially completed two entire sets of scribbles that would each film into about a two-hour flick.

  “It’s never only scribbles, Kenz.” He crossed to her and kissed her in the familiar way they now had after the night they’d spent together…before she’d fallen asleep. “And what you wrote is definitely not scribbles. You’re good at it.”

  The heat of a blush crept up her neck at the compliment. She leaned into him, ready to change the subject. “How’d you know I was awake? Before.”

  His hand slid to her naked bottom, scooting her into the bathroom, right against the counter. “You’d been staring at me for twenty minutes.”

  She smiled against his mouth, planting a kiss at the edge. “You never even looked up.”

  “Some things a guy just knows.” His hands began roaming across her body like she was a new instrument he was ready to play.

  Her skin heated. He gripped her backside and set her on the counter.

  Arms around his neck, she poured herself into the kiss. The fly of his jeans pressed against her already-wet core. She reached for the button between them, flicking it open and sliding her hand into his boxers.

  His head fell back when she gripped him, but his hands stayed at her hips. Pressed there.

  Then someone knocked on the bedroom door. More like, someone pounded on the bedroom door.

  “Hey, asshole,” a male voice said against the wood. “Rise and shine, it’s Christmas.”

  “I’m going to kill my brother,” Tucker said, the heat of the mood dissipated.

  She released him. “Why is he here?”

  “Who the hell knows? He’s family. They come and go whenever they want. I think I need new locks on the doors.” He put himself back together, buttoning his pants.

  The counter was suddenly chilly against her bottom. He helped her down, setting her gently so her feet planted on the cushy bath rug, but his hands lingered on her waist.

  She ran a palm over his abs, around his back, holding him against her. “I’m going to shower.”

  “I’ll grab your bags.” He said the words, but he made no move to leave. Instead, he laid light kisses along her shoulder, over the curve of her neck.

  “Then we’ll head to your parents’. Don’t let me forget the French toast.”

  “And a jar of mayo.” He leaned away and did the lopsided grin thing, making the dimple under his eye pop.

  A quick press of his lips against hers, and he left. Closing the bathroom door behind him. Leaving her totally exposed. And not because she wasn’t wearing any clothes.

  12

  Chapter Twelve

  Kenzie fit right in.

  After the ride to the ranch with his parents, he hadn’t questioned how Kenzie slipped so easily into his family dynamic, but seeing the reality with everyone together was something amazing.

  Something that made his heart feel complete.

  His five-year-old nephew had taken up residence on Kenzie’s lap while she read him some story about a mouse at Christmas.

  His parents had a normal-sized tree filled with all the Christmas ornaments he and his siblings had made over the years in school. At the top, his mother had used a cowboy hat instead of a star. The house was warm—and not just in temperature. It was the kind of house you could take a nap in. Lay down on the sofa and fall asleep. When you woke up? Someone would’ve tucked a blanket over you. One his mother had knitted herself.

  Kenzie ate it up.

  His family ate her up.

  Cord and Brody obviously acted like idiots, but he could tell they were happy. Tucker had finally found his happy. Sierra, Jenny, and Cassidy? They were on cloud nine with Kenzie in the kitchen helping dish up food, Kenzie in the living room telling jokes, Kenzie on the sofa cuddling Jenny’s kids.

  His nephew scrambled off of Kenzie’s lap to head for pancakes in the kitchen. Kenzie opened the bag she’d brought along and took out a little blue box. She handed it to his mother. “I didn’t know what you’d like. So, I figured I’d get you something I’d like.”

  His mother was going to have a stroke. Right there.

  “Merry Christmas,” Kenzie continued.

  Mom fussed over the box, the white ribbon, the little card Kenzie had attached before they’d headed over. Inside the box was a blue pouch. Inside the blue pouch was a diamond tennis bracelet.

  Tucker grinned. His mother started to cry. “Oh my. Oh my.”

  Her fingertips tripped over the latch, trying to get the bracelet around her wrist. Kenzie stepped in and helped her.

  For his father? She handed him a bottle of rum. “I picked it up on one of the sets when we were filming a pirate movie a few years ago. I hope you like it.”

  “Well…�
�� His father looked over the bottle and stood. Cleared his throat. Ambled to the kitchen.

  Kenzie looked to Tucker, her expression panicked.

  Tucker reached for her hand. “That means he likes it. He’s getting cups.”

  Sure enough, his dad returned with a stack of clear plastic cups. They didn’t do dishes on Christmas morning. Instead everything was served on paper and in plastic.

  Dad handed Tucker a cup of rum, and he took a slug. Good stuff.

  Kenzie got a cup too, and she took a big drink.

  Something about that made the whole thing even more real. Kenzie had told him at the beginning that she didn’t drink in public because she couldn’t relax when she was “on.” The fact that she’d taken a sip around his family, meaning she was relaxed enough to do it, meant everything.

  “Tucker?” She unlinked their hands and dug through her bag, handing him a box only slightly bigger than his mother’s.

  He tore off the paper. Inside was a photo of her in a small silver frame. Behind her, in the photo, was him.

  This had been snapped at one of his concerts.

  “That’s when I saw you in Central Park, before we ever knew each other.” She pointed to him in the background of the image.

  He remembered that concert. Things had been going so well for him then. He’d been on top of the world.

  And she’d been there.

  In his father’s words, “Well…” he heard himself say.

  Tucker cleared his throat.

  “That means he likes it,” Sierra chimed in.

  “I do.” Tucker stood and grabbed a box from under the tree. The one Jessica had marked to Kenzie from him. He had no idea what she’d bought. He’d asked her to grab something and ship it ahead of time. At the time, it had made sense. In the now, it seemed like a really stupid idea.

  Kenzie took her time with the paper. Glancing up at him in intervals, her eyes misting. She pulled a pink silk scarf from the tissue.

  She stilled, a frown on her beautiful mouth. Quickly, she rearranged her expression into one of happiness. But he’d caught it. He’d messed up. It was clear as hell he hadn’t bought it for her. He would never have shopped for a lacy scarf.