by Law, Kim
“It’s a dangerous sport,” Harper murmured.
“Definitely not for the faint of heart.” A leg could easily be crushed by that move.
The rider repositioned himself, gave his okay, and the gate opened. And within three seconds the bull was riderless. The crowd groaned, and Nick looked back over at Harper. Their flight to get his truck the day before had been uneventful. They’d surpassed the weather and mundane topics they’d stuck to the first time, but he wouldn’t say they’d breached the line of personal either—other than that brief moment on the farm earlier in the week.
But personal or not, they had talked for the full length of the ride. And whether she recognized it or not, they were becoming friends. They’d had a good time the day before. Her showing up at his side tonight only reiterated the budding friendship.
“Jewel turned you loose for a while?” Friends or not, though, what he couldn’t figure out was why he’d tossed out the idea that he could use someone to share secrets with.
“She’s got it under control.”
“She doing okay?”
“Puking her guts up every few minutes.” Harper shot him an annoyed look. “I swear she purposely waited until Bobby was out of town to start that.”
He chuckled. “Probably not exactly her plan.”
“I know.” She turned her gaze back to the arena, but Nick kept an eye on her for a moment longer. A tiny flicker of sadness had flashed across her face right before she’d looked away. She was good at hiding it, but it was there. All the time.
And that was why he wanted to be her friend.
They both continued watching the action in the arena, their eyes on the bullfighter now entertaining the crowd, but Nick spent the time thinking about Harper. He liked her. A lot. He would give his left nut to sleep with her. But she wasn’t like the women he usually went for.
Instead of curvy and soft, she was tough and strong—which blew the top off of hot. She marched entirely to her own drum. But he also suspected that sleeping with him wasn’t what she needed at the moment. Him poking at her, trying to have a few nights of fun, might only soothe his needs. And he wasn’t into that.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to him. He’d seen her attraction at his place. Where she’d also given him a peek at how much she’d loved her husband.
An arm circled him from behind, and he looked down, taking in the pink nails and long, narrow fingers now laying flat against his chest, and he knew in an instant who it was. Betsy breathed out a flirty laugh behind him as her body pressed into his back, her softness and heat grazing him to midthigh. He smiled in welcome, turning so she could slip in between Harper and him, and Harper glanced their way. Her brows inched up when Betsy snuggled in tight, but she didn’t say anything.
“I missed you this week,” Betsy singsonged. She lifted to her toes. “And Jeb wasn’t half the man you are,” she whispered hotly in his ear. “Please tell me I’ll be in your bed tonight.”
Harper’s brows rose even more with that, and she very carefully didn’t look at them.
“I . . .” Nick started. He swallowed. He hadn’t given Betsy the first thought, neither during the week nor tonight. And honestly, if he weren’t at least thinking about a woman once in a while, should he be sleeping with her? “Bets.” He untwined her body from his, and nodded toward Harper. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Harper Stone.”
Harper shifted on her feet, looking as uncomfortable as he felt, and said hello to Betsy. Then her hazel gaze flicked quickly to his before once again shifting away, and that brief glance left him furrowing his brow. What had that look been about? He’d swear it was determination.
But determination to do what?
Betsy turned back to him, and Nick took her hands in his before she could reattach herself. “I’ll holler at you later, okay?”
A bad-girl smile immediately covered her face. “I’m going to hold you to that, champ.” She lifted to her toes again, this time whispering details far more comprehensive as to her wishes for that evening, and he almost blushed.
His gaze shot to Harper, and by the stiffness of her posture, he knew she’d overheard.
Betsy walked away then, and he took the moment to track her movements. Her skirt, barely covering her round bottom, was ultrashort, leaving her legs bare and mouthwatering, and her top left a two-inch gap of skin showing at her trim waist. She was looking seriously banging tonight. And he found that it did nothing for him.
Damn.
When he finally turned back to Harper, intending to shrug an apology her way for Betsy’s blatant proposition, he was caught off guard by her proximity. He had only a second to register details. She was within inches of him, her body heat now tickled at his, and the soft scent of baby powder drifted up to his nose.
Then she burrowed one hand under the back of his hat . . . and pulled his mouth down to hers.
He stood rooted in shock before groaning when Harper’s tongue slipped between his lips.
The lady knew how to kiss. Her lips were soft and warm. Plush. And she attacked the act as if there would be only one chance to get it right. She lifted her other hand to hold his head in place, knocking his hat to the ground as she deepened her exploration, and he finally registered that he was standing there letting her lead. Letting her do everything!
His hands sought out her hips, intending to take control, and he tugged her closer. And damned if her tight body didn’t immediately mold to his. He grew rock hard in an instant. She tasted like funnel cake, and he decided it was his favorite treat in the world. But then she pulled back as abruptly as she’d started the kiss. She blinked, looked at his mouth. And then took a step back.
After she walked away—without saying another word—Nick spent a full fifteen seconds simply focusing on breathing. What in the hell had that been about?
Because damn, he had not seen it coming. But his next question was the more important one. When would he get to experience it again?
Later that evening, the sounds of retching hit Harper’s ears for the sixth time in as many hours, and she grimaced in commiseration with her sister. The poor thing. Harper rose from where she’d been watching the local news in her hotel room, and passed through the open connecting doors. She reached Jewel’s bathroom and put a hand to the door.
“Can I do anything to help?” She’d asked this same lame question the five previous times she’d been in this situation today, but she didn’t know what else she could do.
“No.” Jewel’s voice barely whispered out . “I’m sorry it’s happening again.”
Harper dropped her forehead to the door. “It’s not your fault, hon.” Harper had not been the most sympathetic sister when it came to this part of Jewel’s pregnancy—she could freely admit that. But she just didn’t have it in her.
“Can you get me a soda?” Jewel’s weak voice croaked out. “Caffeine free.”
“Sure thing.”
Harper hurried back to her own room and grabbed the room key and a handful of change, then zipped a hoodie on over her T-shirt and slipped out into the night. They were staying in an old-but-charming two-story motel with a basket of flowers and a single rocking chair gracing each room’s porch, and earlier, Harper had spotted vending machines tucked beneath the set of whitewashed concrete stairs. As she headed in that direction, she thought back over the day. For her first weekend helping her sister, it had gone well. There had been the vomiting, yes. And Harper’s guilty desire to be anywhere but here. But she’d also easily gotten a handle on the tasks at hand and had been an asset to Jewel. Plus, she’d enjoyed the atmosphere.
It wasn’t as if she’d never been to a rodeo before. One couldn’t very well call themselves a Montanan and not have attended rodeos over the years. She’d just never been a part of the back end of things.
And though her favorite event in past years had been barrel racing—her best friend in high school had been captain of the girls’ barrel racing team—these days, she found her
preference leaning more toward bull riding. And it had absolutely everything to do with one tall, sexy cowboy. Whom she’d had her lips on earlier that day.
She pulled Jewel’s soda from the dispenser and fed in enough money for a second, then paused long enough to press the tips of her fingers to her lips. Christ Almighty, Nick Wilde was hot.
But seriously, what in the world had gotten into her?
She somehow doubted he’d let her pretend the kiss hadn’t happened. And really, she wasn’t sure she wanted to pretend it away. Because she might want to do it again.
She hadn’t seen him since she’d walked away. Between helping with the stock and providing needed sympathy to her sister, she’d been too busy. But now that the evening was over and she could let herself think, she couldn’t help but scold herself for allowing jealousy to rear its head.
One minute she’d been standing there trying to avoid watching “Bets” wiggling herself all over Nick, and the next minute she’d wanted to be the one Nick wiggled with.
She pressed the button for a drink for herself and scanned the parking lot as the bottle tumbled to the dispenser. The small, paved area was loaded with pickups of all sizes, but it was the brown metallic four-door parked ten spots away that held her interest. Nick was staying in the same hotel as them.
Was Betsy in his room tonight?
The question made her want to bang her head against the machine.
Only, her next question was even more embarrassing than the first. Was he thinking about her while sleeping with Betsy? It was a humiliating thought, but she owned it. She wanted Nick thinking of her—picturing her—whether he hooked up with the cute strawberry-blonde tonight or not. Which was why she’d kissed him. And wrong on so many levels.
She wasn’t the jealous type. Never had been. And even if she were, there was no reason to be jealous of Betsy. Nick and Harper were nothing to each other. They wouldn’t be anything.
Yet . . .
Was Betsy in his room tonight?
The stupid question wouldn’t stop running through her head.
She checked the money left in her hand and made a last-minute decision to buy a bag of popcorn from the adjacent machine. There was a microwave in her room, and something told her this would be a long night with little sleep. Might as well be prepared.
After returning to her sister’s room, she discovered Jewel tucked under the covers in bed, a cool cloth on her forehead, and no color in her face. Harper opened the drink and handed it over before digging out a sleeve of saltines from a plastic grocery bag. She’d made a dash to a local convenience store earlier in the evening for the crackers, and had logged a mental note not to travel with Jewel again without them.
“How are you feeling?” she asked softly. She sat on the edge of the bed, and handed over a cracker when a feeble hand reached out for one.
“Awful.”
Harper didn’t point out that Jewel probably looked even worse than she felt. “You think it’s over this time?”
Tears suddenly streamed from the corners of Jewel’s eyes.
“Oh, honey,” Harper cooed. She scooted down on the bed and hugged her sister tight. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.” Jewel sniffed. “I want Bobby.”
“Of course you do.”
Harper stroked her hand up and down Jewel’s back, her fingers sliding over the cool nylon of the nightgown, and considered calling her brother-in-law. He’d come home if she asked him to. The man would do anything for his wife. But Harper just as quickly vetoed the idea. The notion of calling him was driven more from her own mental self-preservation than true need. Jewel might miss her husband and prefer him by her side at the moment, but she’d also be fine without him. Bobby was pursuing a dream that both he and Jewel were fully behind, and now was the time to do it. Before the baby arrived.
Therefore, Harper would stay put, she’d take care of her sister, and she’d do as she had for months. Ignore her own thoughts of grief.
Cracker crumbs scattered on the sheets, but instead of sweeping them off the bed, Harper lifted the covers and slid in underneath, where she held her sister even tighter. “You talked to him tonight, right? Did you tell him how bad your morning sickness is?”
Jewel snorted into Harper’s chest. “You mean my all-day sickness?” She shook her head. “No.” The barely whispered word made her sound so pitiful.
“Why not?”
“What good would it do? He’d want to be here for me.”
“I know, but talking about it with him might help. That way it might feel like he’s here.”
“So you now think that talking helps?” Jewel looked up from her position tucked in tight against Harper, a knowing look in her eye, and unease swept through Harper. She’d declared for months that talking didn’t help anything. Jewel had offered that very opportunity on numerous occasions. Their mother, too. Even their other two sisters and father had been willing to jump in with both feet.
Harper had turned each of them away.
She’d talked to no one. Because what could she possibly say?
“It’s not the same,” she mumbled. She tucked Jewel’s face back to her chest.
“No, it isn’t. I’m simply puking my guts up. And you—”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
They both grew quiet, the only sounds in the room Jewel’s soft breathing. Harper kept her gaze focused on the far wall, hot anger beginning to swirl in her belly. She not only didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t want to think about it. Therefore, she allowed the only topic she’d found capable of taking her mind off of all things Thomas. Nick Wilde.
She replayed the moment her lips had connected with his. How soft his hair had been under her fingers. And the utter shock that had flashed through his eyes as he’d recognized what was about to happen.
She’d caught him off guard, and she’d liked that. It had given her a chance to feel less out of control than she’d been while standing there with inane jealousy rushing through her. She didn’t like being out of control. But good Lord, that kiss. His mouth could be as addictive as his smile. As could his body—if the brief encounter she’d had with it was anything to go by.
One touch, and she could pinpoint its main attributes. Enticing. Habit-forming. And hard.
It had taken Nick several seconds to jump into the action himself, giving her a brief taste of all he might have to offer once he had, but uncertainty had eventually stopped her. One week ago she couldn’t have imagined sleeping with a man other than her husband. As much as she hated the situation she now found herself in, she still loved Thomas. She always would. And though she didn’t intend to go through the rest of her life in a nunlike state, it hadn’t even been two years yet.
However, when she was around Nick . . .
She closed her eyes tight. She didn’t just want to sleep with Nick. She’d developed a visceral desperation to do so. She’d thought about him for the remainder of the afternoon. Imagining his hands on her body. Her hands on his.
She’d sculpted every inch of him in her mind, and she would place bets as to what he’d feel like pushing inside her, his body swollen and hard with desire. He would make her forget. At least for a moment. And she would thoroughly enjoy the reprieve.
“I’m fine now.”
Harper opened her eyes at her sister’s words. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Jewel pushed at her. “And anyway, you’re making me hot. I swear your body temperature just rose ten degrees. Go back to your own room.”
Jewel flung the covers off and scooted to the middle of her bed, leaving Harper alone and suddenly lighthearted. Jewel was hot? Because she’d been thinking about Nick? Harper almost laughed.
That was likely exactly what had caused her external body temperature to rise. Because she’d definitely heated up on the inside from thinking about him.
After climbing from the bed, she tucked the top down on the pack of crackers and screwed the lid back onto Jewel
’s drink. She then turned out the lights and whispered good night. They’d considered staying in the same room, but Harper preferred her privacy. There were still too many nights when she didn’t sleep well, and the last thing she wanted was to keep Jewel awake. Or have Jewel badgering her to talk. And now with Nick playing havoc with her mind, Harper was even more grateful for her own space.
She closed both doors between the two rooms, then leaned back against them and shut her eyes. And again pictured Nick naked. What was it with that man? What was it with her?
Grabbing her own soda, she rubbed the cool condensation against her neck and turned on the TV. If only it would be so simple to sleep with him. She could bask in an overload of feelings and wear herself out enough to sleep like the dead. And orgasms. Oh geez . . . orgasms. It had been so long, she’d almost forgotten what one felt like.
She’d bet Nick was the type to see that she got off before him, though. Maybe more than once.
Her pulse pounded in her neck. She freaking missed orgasms.
But the problem with all those feelings, and all that sleeping like the dead was . . . what feelings would she experience afterward?
Satisfaction? Guilt?
Disgust?
She shook her head and unscrewed the cap on her drink. It would be best to keep Nick at a distance until she had some answers. Until she could ensure she’d wake up the next morning with no regrets.
Taking a long gulp, and with a firm decision made, she kicked off her boots and shrugged out of her hoodie. Then she flipped through the channels and set her mind to not giving a certain cowboy any additional thought. Instead, she’d find a gory, hopefully B-rated movie to watch, and indulge in some buttery goodness.
With her plan in mind, she put the popcorn in the microwave, and located a bad but exactly-what-she-wanted ’80s horror flick. When the popping stopped, she turned out all the lights and settled in against the headboard to watch. And just as a skewer was jabbed through the eye of the movie’s first victim, a knock sounded softly at her door.