Cowboy Heat (20 page)

“Now, sweetheart,” he whispered, “come now.”

He toggled my clit and I exploded, crying out, shuddering and jerking, chanting his name. When I finally fell still, he kissed my shoulder and pulled away. Gentle hands rolled me. He thrust his arms beneath my back and knees and rose with me in his arms, carrying me into the water.

Once there, he let my feet drop and gripped me under my arms.

I didn’t need instruction. His cock was insistent, poking at my belly. I wrapped my legs around his waist and eased down on him, resting my cheek on his shoulder while he filled me again.

Grit floated away from my chest as I rubbed my breasts against him. “I’m going to have a rash.”

“Sorry. I have ointment I’ll rub into them.”

“I don’t mind. My nipples are on fire,” I murmured, smoothing my cheek on his hot skin.

“Can barely think, much less talk. Have a one-track mind when it comes to you.” He loosened his arms around me, enough that I could lean away and look into his face. “Ride me.”

I stared, finally deciphering that hard, impassive expression of his. He held himself still because he waited for me to make up my mind that he was what I wanted—because once I committed, he wasn’t going to turn me loose.

I gripped his shoulders and lifted myself, bringing my face close. “A girl likes to know she rates a kiss, Zane.”

His eyes closed. “Sorry.”

“Had your mind on more important things,” I drawled. “I get that.”

His lids lifted a fraction, and he returned my stare. “Belonging to me won’t mean I won’t listen.” He bent his head, and his lips met mine. The kiss was chaste, a gentle rub. He pulled away.

I cupped his ears and pulled on them. “That wasn’t nearly what I needed.” Slanting my head, I gave him a real kiss, sucking on his lips until he gasped, then thrusting my tongue inside to sweep along his tongue. I liked his taste. Liked the way he pulled on my tongue and then bit my lips. When he broke the kiss, I slowly blinked open my eyes to find him watching me again.

Hands squeezed my buttocks and pulled me down his cock. I grinned because he was forcing me again. And then I moaned because I adored the way he filled me—impatient to thrust deep. I didn’t mind he was in a hurry to feel my walls squeeze around him. I was every bit as greedy. With the water churning around us and sunlight dipping beyond the edge of the canyon, I surrendered.

SKIN DEEP

Randi Alexander

L
ayne Starwood stepped into the aptly named Wrong Turn Bar. If she hadn’t been given detailed directions, she never would have found it. And if it hadn’t been for her ex-fiancé, Mitchell, the jackass, she’d be here with her girlfriends enjoying her Cowboy Country Bachelorette Party.

Outside, thunder cracked and rain poured from the sky. She hoped the storm would pass before nightfall. She’d just walked a quarter mile from the motel on the hottest, muggiest afternoon Colorado had ever experienced, just so she could get sloppy drunk and wouldn’t have to drive back.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. To her right, the stage and dance floor took up half the building. Empty booths lined the other three walls. The Wrong Turn boasted a big, square bar of heavy wood but only three stools were occupied. On the left side corner, facing her, a cowboy sat with his head tipped down over a beer. Kitty-corner on the other end, an older couple squinted, probably trying to see who she was.

The bartender looked up from the cash register, his military haircut graying at the temples. “Welcome.”

She stepped forward. “Thanks.” A row of five empty bar stools stood with their backs to her. She pulled out the middle one and looked to her left. Bad choice. She was directly in the cowboy’s line of sight, and he was definitely staring. She got that a lot: curvy with long, red hair and green eyes, guys made a point of ogling.

Too late to move somewhere else, though. She didn’t want to offend the man. She sat and slung her purse strap over the back of the chair while sending a shallow smile to the cowboy.

He touched a finger on the brim of his black hat.

As her vision acclimated to the light, she barely caught herself from blanching.

Part of his face was mottled, as though from burns. A puckered scar ran from the side of his nose down through his lip, as though his skin had been ripped in half then sewn back together. The hand wrapped around his beer was missing half an index finger.

Layne looked away quickly. The poor guy probably got stared at far too often. She smothered a wry chuckle. The two of them were the perfect pair for people to eyeball.

The bartender tossed a cardboard coaster down in front of her, cleverly getting it to spin a few times. “What’ll it be, ma’am?”

If she’d been here with her girlfriends, they’d be ordering cosmos and margaritas until the bartender wished they’d go somewhere else. But, that’d been the draw of the place. For six country music-loving girls from inner city Denver, finding this bar only a few hours’ drive away, and the cute little motel within walking distance, had sounded like the perfect party.

The bartender cleared his throat.

“Sorry. Um…” After her walk, something cold sounded good.
She gestured toward the cowboy. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

Cowboy looked up and a corner of his damaged mouth curved. His lips were full and manly despite the scar. He downed the last inch of his beer.

“Actually…” Impetuous was always fun. “Let me buy a round for the whole bar.”

“The
whole
bar?” The bartender laughed. “You got it.” He walked away and stuck a glass under the tap.

“Thank you, miss.” The cowboy’s voice was heavy and quiet.

“You’re welcome.” She turned then smiled at him. She was going to be here a few hours, and the cowboy looked about as lonely as she felt. May as well make a friend. “I’m not accustomed to your fine country manners, so please call me Layne.”

“Layne.” He dipped his head. “I’m Kyle.”

The bartender brought them glasses of beer and walked away with Kyle’s empty.

She took a sip and let the cool bubbles float over her tongue and down her throat. She liked beer. Mitchell, the jackass, had asked her not to drink it at his company functions or when they were out with friends. He’d said wine and cocktails were much more upscale. “Go to hell,” she murmured. Picking up her glass, she drained half of it.

“Pardon?” Cowboy tipped his hat back on his head, shedding light on his face. His eyes were a startling robin’s egg blue.

Lovely actually.

She shook her head. “Just toasting my ex.” Oh hell, why had she brought that up?

The bartender knocked twice on the bar in front of her. “Elsie and Garth thank you for the beer.”

How cute. Elsie and Garth. “They’re very welcome.” She sighed, relaxing into the cozy feel of the homey place.

The bartender walked the few steps to the back and pressed buttons on the cash register.

Layne glanced at Kyle. “So, y’all from around here?” She’d tried for a country accent, but had gone way too far south. Like all the way to Texas.

“I am.” The cowboy nodded once. “I have a few cows on a couple acres west of here.”

“Ha!” Turning, the bartender grinned at Kyle.

Kyle ignored him. “You?”

“From Denver.” Where her girlfriends and family were all spending too much time worrying about her since Marshall, the jackass, broke their engagement two weeks ago. Three weeks before the wedding.

She’d spent a week canceling arrangements and a week feeling sorry for herself. This morning, she’d packed her bag and gotten the hell out of town. She’d never canceled her motel reservation for some reason. She looked toward the cowboy. “I’m running away from home.”

He lifted his dark brows. “Good for you.”

She laughed, the first real laugh she’d had in months—since things had started going bad between her and the jackass. “I’m about as far from Denver as I could get without running into another big city.”

“Yep.” He tugged his hat back down over his forehead. “Not many folks can even find this place.”

The bartender walked away, whistling a country song about friends in low places.

She looked toward the stage. “I came to hear the band.” It was theoretically true. Her girlfriend was a fan of Lone Trail. Layne had never gotten the chance to hear them because the jackass didn’t like country music, and had found ways to monopolize her time to the point that she rarely saw her friends anymore.

The cowboy looked at the wall clock. “You’ve got about a four-hour wait.”

That was her plan. Get lumpy drunk, hear the band, meander back to her room before dark, and sleep it off.

Her phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse. Her mother. “Hi.”

“Are you almost there? There are storms rolling out of the Rockies.”

“Yes, I’m close. A couple hours away, but the roads are clear here. Must have missed the rain.” As she glanced out the small window at the deluge, she caught Kyle’s stare, and he looked away. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

“Kiss that new baby for me.”

“I will. Bye, Mom.” She ended the call and sighed. “You’re probably wondering why—”

“Nope.” Kyle held up a hand. “None of my business.” He shifted in his seat.

Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was his quiet strength, but she wanted to talk to him. “I needed to get away. Everyone’s been smothering me since…since we broke off the engagement.” He’d broken it off, but she probably should have done it a year ago.

“So you
are
running away from home. Literally.” He smiled, showing straight white teeth.

“I literally am.” Since she was getting to ready to settle in for a good, long pity party, she probably needed to take care of business first. “’Scuse me.” Grabbing her purse, she wandered to the ladies’ room. There she washed her hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She’d taken three weeks off her job at the brewery; one for the pre-wedding week and two for the honeymoon. What was she going to do with herself for twenty-one days?

When she got back to the bar, another beer sat next to her quarter-full one. “Where did this come from?”

He shrugged one shoulder and tipped his head down. “No idea.”

“Thank you, Kyle.” She sat one bar stool closer to him and shifted her beers in front of her. “Are you here for the band, too?”

Giving her a sidelong glance, he lifted a brow. “Four hours early? No.” He took a drink of brew. “I was in town doing some banking. Thought I’d stop for one on the way home.”

She downed the rest of her first beer and sat the glass on the bar rail. “That must be your big-ass truck out there.” She leaned to her right to look at the elderly couple. “Elsie and Garth don’t look like they need a fifth-wheel hitch with dualies.”

“You know your trucks.” Kyle tapped the blunt end of his half finger against his beer glass.

“I do. Always wanted one, but…” The jackass wasn’t interested in camping or horses or anything to do with the outdoors. She’d given up too many of her pleasures and dreams for him.

“Well…” The cowboy set down his empty glass and stood.

Her stomach dropped. She didn’t want him to leave. “I suppose you have a wife and kids waiting for you.”

Beneath his tan, the cowboy’s face went white.

The bartender walked toward them. “Leavin’, Kyle?”

“No.” His lips flattened. “Pour me one more, would ya, Ben?” He walked off toward the bathrooms.

Ben stared after him until the bathroom door squeaked shut. “Huh.”

She leaned closer. “I think I said something wrong. I asked about his wife and kids.”

With a sorrowful look, Ben let out his breath. “He’s a widower. No kids, either.”

Her heart thudded. What a stupid thing for her to say. “I’m so sorry.”

Ben shrugged. “You couldn’t have known. It was a couple years ago.”

“He looks so young.” Close to her age, she’d bet.

“Right around thirty.” He gestured to Kyle’s beer glass. “Ever since, he comes in for a beer once a week and we talk. Must be a special occasion today.” The bartender winked at her. “I’ve never seen him have more than two.”

The bathroom door squeaked.

Ben walked away and grabbed a clean glass.

Kyle slid onto his bar stool and laced his fingers together in front of him on the bar. “Suppose he told you, huh?”

“He did.” She swallowed the ache that snuck up her throat. “I’m really sorry. It was insensitive of me to—”

“No. Actually, it was a compliment.” He locked his blue gaze with hers. “Most women think I’m too ugly to be married.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Ben set down the fresh beer, glanced at Layne with a grimace, then left with Kyle’s empty.

She didn’t know whether to cry or slap him. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, you’re doing a good job.” Her voice quavered just a little. Hell, she thought she was hosting the only pity party today, but there was Kyle, throwing one of his own.

He scrubbed a palm down his face.

“I’ll take my beer and go sit with Elsie and Garth.” She grabbed her purse off the back of her stool. “Leave you to your own company.”