More Than a Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 3)

by Sarah Mayberry

Sierra was silent for a beat, her expression troubled. “Have you spoken to Gideon about any of this?”

  “Not yet. He’s in no fit state to handle the stress.” He sounded angry, which made sense, because he was fucking furious.

  “I’m really sorry, Garret. You must be feeling pretty gutted.”

  That was one way of putting it.

  “I just hope I can find a way through, that’s all. A lot of people depend on Tate Transport for their paycheck.”

  They were both silent for a moment.

  “So apart from unearthing graft and corruption at the family firm, what else happened today?” Sierra asked brightly.

  He smiled, appreciating her attempt to lift the mood. “Sorry for dumping all this on you. I seem to be making a habit of spilling my guts at this kitchen counter.”

  “That’s why they make these surfaces food-friendly,” she said, rapping her knuckles against the marble. “So you can wash off all the guts.” She swept her hair over her shoulder. “And I don’t mind listening.”

  Her green eyes met his. Her cheeks were a little flushed from the wine, and she had a smear of pizza sauce on her chin.

  All of it looked pretty good to him. Too good.

  He returned his focus to his food and wine.

  “Got any big plans for the weekend?” he asked, switching the topic to something nice and safe and neutral.

  “I don’t, but I’m betting Jed will have some chores lined up for me.”

  “Think you’re going to miss doing ranch work?” he asked, curious.

  She was lean and strong from working the land, her face and arms lightly tanned. He bet she had callouses on her hands, and that she was used to waking early and doing whatever it took to ensure the ranch remained viable. Covering for Jack must be a big change for her.

  “Probably. But like Jed said this morning, it’s only six weeks, and no one is going anywhere.”

  Her glass was empty and he picked up the wine bottle. “Gotta get our money’s worth.”

  “Oh, for sure. God forbid that we waste a single drop of this crazy wine,” she said, holding her glass while he poured for her. “What about you? You got big plans for the weekend?”

  “Work. Figure it’s going to be that way for a while,” he said with a shrug.

  “You’ve got to have downtime or you’ll go crazy,” she said. “Casey’s band is playing in Bozeman Saturday night. You should go check him out. The Whiskey Shots are pretty amazing.”

  “I’ve heard good things. I’ll keep it in mind.” He hesitated, then asked the question that was suddenly burning in his mind. “Will you be there?”

  He knew he shouldn’t have asked, that the question veered into territory he’d told himself he was going to avoid, but she was easily the most appealing, funny, smart, accomplished, sexy woman he’d met in years and suddenly that seemed far more important than anything else.

  Sierra took her time answering, shifting her glass on the countertop, and he could feel his pulse thrumming in his throat as he waited for her response.

  “Probably not,” she finally said, and he could feel how carefully she was weighing her words. “I mean, I probably shouldn’t.”

  Her gaze lifted to his, and he saw the conflict in her. Like him, she felt the pull of the mutual attraction between them, but like him, she was also knew it was a dumb idea to give in to it.

  Thank god one of them was thinking straight.

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That makes sense. It’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Any other time, I’d be up for it,” she said, and he had a sudden flash of what Sierra being up for something might look like.

  This was a woman who hadn’t hesitated to get between two raging men armed with nothing but a garden hose. If she chose to do something, she wouldn’t hold anything back.

  He could feel himself growing hard at the thought, and he reached for his wine, swallowing it in one long gulp.

  “Good to know,” he said. “I’d better get back to that work.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Don’t worry about all this. My turn to do the dishes.”

  “Thanks, Sierra.”

  He left her in the kitchen, walking away while he still could.

  It wasn’t until he was in the study, the door closed, his laptop open, that he felt a sense of relief. Up until that moment, all he’d felt was regret.

  Because he wanted to know what Sierra Carmody tasted like. He wanted to run his hands along her lean, smooth thighs. He wanted to see if she was as brave and bold in bed as she was out of it.

  But that would be a mistake, and he didn’t have room for mistakes in his life right now.

  So, yeah, thank god sanity had prevailed.

  Chapter Nine

  The second Garret disappeared down the hall, Sierra scooped up her phone and got the hell out of the kitchen. She strode through the house at a pace just short of a run and didn’t stop until she was safely in her room, the door closed between her and temptation.

  That had been so, so close.

  And she’d been so, so tempted.

  One moment they’d been talking innocuously about Casey’s band, the next they’d been neck-deep in dangerous waters. All it had taken was four words.

  Will you be there?

  Such innocent words but, coupled with the heat in his gaze and what had happened by the pool, they’d taken on a whole new meaning. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if she’d said yes, she and Garret Tate would be tearing each other’s clothes off right now.

  Just as well she’d said no.

  Actually, technically you said “probably not.” So don’t pat yourself on the back too hard.

  If Garret was a different kind of man, he’d have picked up on the ambivalence in her response. He would have recognized how torn and tempted she was and charmed and cajoled her into changing her mind—and she was afraid she would have been very susceptible to his charm because barely an hour ago she’d returned from a long hike to find him rising out of the pool like a mythical god and her panties had all but spontaneously combusted.

  One minute she’d been thinking about how hungry she was and what to have for dinner and the next she’d been frozen in her tracks as she watched him stride to where he’d left his towel, a very different kind of hunger consuming her.

  She only had to close her eyes and there he was again, filling her mind’s eye.

  Tight, wet boxer-briefs . . . Muscular thighs and broad shoulders . . . The ripple and bulge of his strong arms as he reached for his towel . . .

  He’d moved with an unconscious animal grace, his wet skin combining with the warm glow of the house lights to give the impression he’d been gilded, and she’d honestly never seen anything more beautiful or desirable in her life.

  Then he’d shaken his head playfully, sending droplets flying like tiny diamonds and setting off a chain reaction of muscular ripples across his chest and torso, and she’d forgotten her own name, how to breathe, what year it was, and everything else that wasn’t Garret Tate.

  She’d been literally transfixed by his male perfection, unable to look away.

  As though he’d sensed her heated regard, he’d looked over his shoulder and their gazes had locked. Twenty feet had separated them but she’d felt the flare of need in him, just as he’d recognized the desire in her. For long seconds that recognition had burned bright between them, filled with heated possibility.

  If that dog hadn’t barked . . . But it had, and reality had slammed her hard enough to send her racing up the stairs as quickly as humanly possible.

  Which made this latest retreat the second time she’d run from her own desire this evening. Not exactly the greatest stats, given this was only her first week on the job.

  He’s just a man. It’s just sex. Just because you think it might be good with him, it’s not worth compromising the job over. It just isn’t. And let’s not even get into how Jack would feel if he learned you’d crossed the line while covering for h
im.

  The voice in her head was absolutely right, and the rational part of her brain was utterly convinced by it. But that didn’t account for the way her heart was still racing even though she’d been pacing her room for nearly five minutes now. It definitely didn’t account for the fact that her panties were wet with need for Garret Tate.

  Despite all of the good and rational and smart reasons for keeping her distance, she wanted him. God, she wanted him. And it wasn’t just because he had the body of a mythical hero. That was definitely a huge part of it, but he was also nice. It was a much-maligned word in today’s cynical world, but that was exactly what he was—a nice, good person. He was also thoughtful, and clever, and conscientious. He was literally working himself into the ground to support his parents while simultaneously dealing with deeply heavy crap of his father’s making.

  If they’d met and gotten to know each other under different circumstances, if he wasn’t her boss . . . But what was the point of playing what-ifs? This was the hand she’d been dealt, and all she could do was play it as well as she knew how.

  “Which means keeping it in your pants,” she told herself.

  She dropped onto the bed, exhausted after the battle of wills with herself. How many more of these self-talks was she going to have to have before she could trust herself to be around Garret? Ten? Twenty?

  As many as it takes for as long as it takes.

  Well, that was a cheery thought.

  It was only nine, but an early night wouldn’t hurt her. She’d scheduled the maintenance on the Bell for tomorrow and she needed to be at the airport by seven. She went to brush her teeth before stripping down to her panties and pulling on a tank top and pajama pants. Then she climbed into bed and opened up the e-book she’d been reading on her phone, intending to read for twenty minutes or so until she felt dozy enough to fall asleep.

  Twenty minutes turned into an hour, which turned into two, and she was still too wired to sleep. So much for having an early night. Then an alert popped up to let her know her battery was running low and she decided the universe was telling her to put the device down and try falling asleep the old-fashioned way.

  First, however, she needed to put her phone on the charger. She got out of bed to grab the cable from her bag, only to swear softly when she remembered she’d taken it down to the kitchen earlier, intending to charge her phone down there, and then had taken it off again when she’d opted to go for a hike.

  Which meant her charger was still in the kitchen.

  She was a genius, pure and simple.

  Annoyed with herself, she slipped out of her bedroom and made her way downstairs. The house was silent and dark and she guessed Garret was either long in bed or still holed up in the study. Either option was good for her—this was going to be a covert op, in and out as quickly as possible.

  Moonlight streamed in the kitchen window, turning the world monochrome as she crossed to where her cable snaked from an outlet near the oven. She pulled it free, wrapping the cord around the plug, then pivoted to make the return journey—only to find Garret standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of unfastened jeans.

  His hair was rumpled, his beautiful chest bare. At this range she could take in the important little details she hadn’t been close enough to see earlier—the dark hair that covered his pecs, the arrowing trail that disappeared beneath the elastic of his boxer-briefs, visible in the open V of his unfastened jeans.

  She swallowed, her hand clenching around the charger. “I thought you were in bed.”

  “I was. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me either.” She swallowed again, then closed her eyes and very consciously reminded herself why this was a bad idea: he was her boss, and she was filling in for Jack, and this was her first professional pilot gig.

  Then she opened her eyes and he was still standing there in all his perfection, and her heart was still banging like crazy in her chest, and she still wanted him.

  He wanted her too—she could see it in the way he was watching her, the still readiness of his body. As if he was just waiting for her to say the word, and anything she wanted was hers.

  “This is a really bad idea,” she heard herself say.

  “I’ll go,” he said, turning away.

  “Don’t.”

  The single word echoed in the space. He stilled. Then he turned to face her. She could hear herself breathing, the sound harsh and fast.

  Dear god, she was panting and he hadn’t even laid a finger on her.

  “Tell me what you want,” Garret said.

  “I want—” Sierra took a deep breath. “I want you to fuck me.”

  He flinched, as though her words had hit him with the visceral force of an electric shock. Then he was moving, closing the short distance between them even as she moved toward him.

  They met in the middle, his arms coming around her, his head lowering toward hers as she lifted her face. Then his lips were on hers, warm and soft, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, and the world fell away.

  He tasted like mint and red wine and his mouth moved over hers with a questing assurance, his hands gliding up her back until he was holding her head in both hands, taking control of the kiss.

  She made a small, needy sound, overwhelmed by how good his body felt pressed against her own, how amazing he tasted, how good he smelled, her hands gripping his hard biceps as though her life depended on it. He made an approving sound, and then her back was against the wall, his body pressing into hers even more urgently.

  He was so hard, she could feel his erection against her mons. Her inner muscles tightened as she imagined what he was going to feel like inside her.

  So good.

  She arched her back, rubbing herself against him provocatively. He lifted his head, breaking their kiss.

  “You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath her ear before trailing more kisses down her neck.

  She shifted her grip to his shoulders and then his back as he blazed a sensual path toward her breasts. His body was hard as granite beneath her hands, every muscle straining toward her.

  He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inner curve of her breast, his tongue hot and wet through the fabric of her top, and it felt so good she almost couldn’t bear it. Pushing him away, she grabbed the hem of her tank top and whipped it over her head.

  “Oh, fuck,” Garret breathed, his tone reverential, then his hands were on her breasts, his thumbs gliding over her nipples.

  “Do that again,” she demanded, his touch reverberating through her like a plucked violin string, sending jolts of pleasure to her already-aching pussy.

  He did better than that and lowered his head. She gasped as one of her nipples was drawn into the shocking wet heat of his mouth. His tongue flicked against her, then he sucked hard, dragging a helpless moan from her throat. Her legs were shaking as he transferred his focus to her other breast, and she wove her fingers into his hair to hold him in place, greedily wanting to ensure her own pleasure.

  She could feel how incredibly wet she was, and she squeezed her thighs together to try to relieve the growing ache of desire. Hazy images formed behind her closed eyelids. She needed . . . more. She needed him inside her. She need him to touch her. She needed—

  As if in answer to her unspoken prayers, he slipped a hand beneath the waistband of her pajamas. She arched her hips forward, silently encouraging his touch, and his fingers skimmed over her mons before delving between her thighs to trace the seam of her pussy.

  “Oh, god,” she moaned, widening her stance to accommodate him.

  He did it again, this time delving deeper and teasing her aching entrance with a brief, shallow dip of his finger.

  It felt insanely good—his hands, his mouth, his body, all of it. Need spiraling inside her, she reached for the front of his jeans and slid her hand into his boxer-briefs, her fingers closing around the straining shaft of his erection.

  He was very hard and thick and
her thumb found a small bead of moisture when she ran it over the head of his cock. He shuddered as she used her thumb to tease his plump head, rubbing his pre-cum into his sensitive flesh before gliding her hand down his shaft in a firm stroke.

  And then suddenly he was gone.

  “Wha—?” she protested, blinking at the abrupt loss of sensation.

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he said.

  She complied, then followed his urging as he grabbed her ass and boosted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Then he was moving through the dark house, somehow kissing her and finding his way at the same time.

  She had a vague sense of passing through a doorway, then he dropped her onto his bed, the mattress yielding beneath her. His hands went straight to the waistband of her pajama pants and she lifted her hips as he yanked them off, taking her panties with them. She made equally short work of his jeans, and then he was climbing onto the bed, naked and hard and ready.

  She spread her legs as he settled over her, savoring the first press of his entirely naked body against her own.

  “Sierra,” he said, her name a guttural groan.

  He reached between his legs to grip himself, dragging the head of his cock along her pussy, the blunt pressure intense and crazy-making. She pressed her hips forward and up when he did it a second time, hands gripping his smooth, muscular ass as she urged him inside her.

  “Wait a second.”

  He leaned across to open the bedside drawer. She was about to protest when her lust-hazed brain comprehended he was retrieving protection. Seconds later he was tearing a small foil pack open and smoothing a condom over his erection.

  He took himself in hand again, taking up where he’d left off with a slow, torturous glide along her needy, slick pussy. This time when he got to her entrance he slid inside, giving her the merest taste of his deliciously hard cock before retreating. She made an impatient noise, her hands curling into the hard muscles of his backside as she tried to drag him back. He ignored her, giving her a little of what she so desperately wanted again, and then again.

  “Stop fucking around and fuck me,” she growled, wrapping her legs around his hips and locking her ankles behind him.