Do Me Right (6 page)

"Hello." He emphasized the greeting with a hard thrust.

Her eyes widened and she raised up on her elbows, watching as he began to move in and out. "Do I pass inspection?" he asked, a little unnerved by the way she fixed her gaze on him. Like most men, he was somewhat preoccupied by this particular anatomical feature, particularly at moments like this. But it was after all a penis--not a body part that would ever win awards for beauty.

"Oh, yes. I think you'll do just fine." She lay back again and slid her hands under her ass, lifting herself to a more acute angle, one that made her tighten around him more, so that his vision lost focus and his breath came in gasps.

"You like that?" she asked, as she squeezed him tighter still, then released.

His reply was a muffled grunt. He lowered his head and focused on the task at hand, aware of her soft inner thighs brushing against him, her sweet musky scent surrounding him.

He came hard, bucking against her, reaching out to grasp her hips, sinking his fingers into her soft flesh as he spent himself in her. He sank onto her, head on her chest, arms surrounding her in a hug. Some dimly heard portion of his brain told him he must be crushing her, but he paid no heed. He wanted her close to him in this moment. As close as she could be.

He didn't know how long they lay together like that before she prodded his shoulder. "Roll over," she ordered.

He complied, sliding out of her. Eyes still shut, he stripped off the condom, then realized he had no idea where to put it. "There's a trash can in the bathroom," she said.

He nodded. "Bathroom." He wasn't sure he had the strength to roll over now, much less propel himself upright and to the bathroom.

She took the condom from him and he opened his eyes in time to see her walking toward the bathroom, hips swaying, that gorgeous fall of black hair swinging in time to her movements. He closed his eyes again, smiling. Did he know how to pick them or what?

She heard the squeak of door hinges and opened her eyes to see Kyle walking toward her. He had the fingers of his good hand looped through two mugs of coffee, a plate of toast balanced precariously on top. "Mornin', sleepy-head," he drawled.

The drawl and the smile that accompanied it sent a tickle of arousal through her middle. Or maybe it was the sight of him dressed only in jeans, the top button undone, bare feet peeking out from the hem. Since when had bare toes been sexy to her? Not to mention those killer abs and heart-stopping chest. How did a cowboy get to be so damned good-looking?

She sat up, tucking the sheet up under her arms.

"Ready for a little breakfast?" He set his burden on the nightstand and handed her a mug of steaming coffee. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, an unexpected, sweet gesture.

She wrapped both hands around the mug and drank deeply. She'd never had a man bring her breakfast before. Sexy and macho she could handle. Sweet made her uneasy. "What's with all this?" she asked, gesturing at the toast.

He pulled a napkin from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to her, along with a piece of toast. "I woke up and was hungry. Figured you might be, too. After all, we worked up quite an appetite last night." His grin reduced her insides to mush.

She nibbled toast, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Despite their rather strenuous night and the early hour, he radiated vitality and sex appeal. She debated shoving aside the food and attacking him.

"What are you staring at?" He brushed crumbs from his hands.

She shifted her eyes away from him, pretending great interest in the remaining toast. "What makes you think I was staring?"

"I saw you." He crooked his arm and flexed his muscles. "You were staring at me."

Busted.
She chewed the last of the toast and swallowed. "I was just wondering if you spend all day in a gym."

He grinned, obviously pleased. Score one for the male ego. "Nah. I work out sometimes, but mostly it's just the work I do. It takes a lot of muscle to throw a calf around."

She arranged herself more comfortably, folding her legs. "What exactly is it you do in the rodeo? I mean, what does calf roping involve?"

It was his turn to stare. "You live in Texas and you don't know what goes on at a rodeo?"

"Hey, it's not my scene."

"I thought everybody had been to the rodeo at least once."

She shrugged. "I went when I was a kid. One of those things where the Lions Club or some group like that gets free tickets to take a bunch of underprivileged kids."

She waited for him to ask if she was underprivileged and how, but thankfully, he didn't. He set aside the plate and scooted over closer to her. "Okay, well here's how it works. The roper--that's me--is mounted and waits until the calf is released from the chute. When the calf reaches a certain point in the arena, the barrier on the box I'm in drops, and I take off after the calf. The idea, really, is for me and the calf to hit that barrier at the exact same time. Too soon and I get a ten-second penalty, too late and I'm eating up time on the clock."

"So far, the calf's doing all the work," she teased.

"You just listen. I'm getting to my part. As soon as I get my lasso around the calf, my horse stops, then I dismount, run to the calf, throw it over on its side--that's called
flanking
--and tie three of its legs together with the pigging string. That's a short loop of rope I've had clenched in my teeth all this time. And while I'm doing this, my horse is keeping the rope taut. When I've got the calf tied, I throw my hands up to signal to the judges that I'm done, then I get back on the horse and ride forward a little to put some slack in the rope. The calf has to stay tied for at least six seconds after that or no score. The cowboy with the fastest time wins."

"How long does all this take?"

"The record is a little over seven seconds. Between eight and nine seconds is considered really good."

She leaned back against the pillows, trying to imagine the action he'd described. "Okay, I'm a little impressed. But the next question is--why? It doesn't sound like much fun for you or the calf."

"On the ranch you have to tie the calves for branding and cutting them. That's castrating them, for you city girls."

She punched his shoulder. "I know what it is. So how long have you been doing this?"

"Ten years. I used to be in the top ten or fifteen, but lately I've been slipping. Younger guys, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen--they're faster."

He frowned, tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. How was it wrinkles could look so awful on a woman and so sexy on a man like Kyle? "How old are you?" she asked.

"Twenty-nine and holding." He put his arm around her and pulled her close. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight." They were both creeping up on thirty and what did they have to show for themselves? It was a scary thought.

As if reading her mind, he said, "My sister, Kristen, keeps telling me I need to decide what I'm going to do with the rest of my life."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, enjoying the warm, solid feel of him. "What do you want to do?"

He sighed. "I don't know. But it's not staying home on the ranch like she wants."

The dissatisfaction in his voice surprised her. She raised her head to look into his eyes. "Didn't you tell me your family had been ranching forever? And isn't that what cowboys do?"

His eyes met hers, his expression troubled. "I'll let you in on a secret. I was raised in the saddle, but that don't mean I want to spend the rest of my life there."

"I don't understand. Didn't you just tell me you've spent ten years on the rodeo circuit?"

He drew up his legs and rested his wrists on his knees. "It's complicated. Or maybe it's just real simple. I started rodeoing because I was good at it and I liked it well enough and most of all because it got me off the ranch. I got to travel, make some money." He shrugged. "When you think about it, except for the traveling, which can get to be a drag, there's not a hell of a lot of real work involved. You show up and compete, then head on down the road to the next show."

"Are you admitting you're lazy?" Running her hand up his arm, feeling the hard ridges of muscle, she didn't really believe that.

He grinned. "Not lazy. Just unmotivated. Ranching's hard, dirty work and it's about as exciting as watching the grass grow. Not to mention the rotten hours and the lack of outside entertainment."

"I'm sure I'd hate it."

He shook his head. "Kristen and her husband love it, but she doesn't understand it's not what I want to do."

"So what do you want to do?"

He turned toward her. "Right now, I want to make love to a certain gorgeous woman." He pulled back the sheet and bent to nibble along her collarbone.

She recognized a change of subject, but decided not to push it. It wasn't any of her business anyway. She put both arms around him and arched her body to his. "You ready to do a different kind of riding, cowboy?" she purred.

"Maybe you should be the one to ride this time, while I take it easy."

"I'll show you
easy.
" She bit his shoulder hard enough to get his attention. "Come on, cowboy, show me your stuff."

Laughing, they rolled across the bed in each other's arms. Theresa deliberately put the seriousness of the moment before aside. Right now, she and Kyle were just passing time with each other, enjoying a pleasant interlude before they had to get on with the rest of their lives.

Dr. Hank Gunderson examined the injured wrist. "Is it giving you any pain?" he asked.

"Nah." Kyle shifted on the table. "Itches like hell sometimes, though."

Dr. Gunderson clipped the gauze into place. "X-rays show it's healing fine. Of course, you can't expect to mend quite as quickly as you did a few years ago, when you broke your collarbone-- Wasn't that it?"

He groaned, remembering. "That calf kicked me into next month." He frowned at his unwrapped arm. After only a little over a week in the cast, it seemed smaller and weaker. "How soon can I lose the cast? It's getting to be a pain." Not to mention it was seriously cramping his style with a certain gorgeous brunette. He couldn't wait to put
both
arms all the way around her without that chunk of fiberglass in the way.

"If you promise to be careful, you can probably get by with taping it and wearing an air cast. You can take that off when you shower, but you'll want to leave it on most of the time."

"Great."

Dr. Gunderson turned to a supply cabinet and took out a package of elastic gauze and a white cardboard box. "So what have you been doing with yourself now that you're off the circuit for a while?"

"Not much." He held out his arm and Dr. Gunderson wrapped it with tape. "Kicking around, trying to stay out of trouble."

Dr. Gunderson slipped on the air cast and showed him how to adjust the Velcro straps. "Unless you have problems, I don't need to see you again for another five weeks. You should be fully healed by then. But I'll want you to keep the wrist taped when you compete and work with the Justin Healers on some therapy."

He nodded. The Justin Healers were the medics of the rodeo, many of them former rodeo riders themselves. "Thanks, Doc."

He was settling his bill when someone behind him said, "Kyle Cameron, is that you?"

He turned and saw a lanky man in jeans and a T-shirt standing next to a small boy whose arm was in a sling. Recognition clicked in his brain. "Brady Robbins, you old son of a gun!"

He hugged his friend. Back in his late teens and early twenties, he and Brady had been running buddies, traveling the rodeo circuit together, splitting expenses and competing against each other in calf roping. But Brady had left the circuit years ago to take a job at the family hardware store.

"Who is this?" Kyle stepped back and grinned at the kid. As if he didn't recognize the spitting image of Brady, right down to the cowlick sticking up at the back of his head.

"This is my boy, Derrick." Brady put his arm around the kid, who stood up a little straighter and grinned, showing one tooth missing. "He had a little mishap at a mutton bustin'."

Mutton bustin' was a popular event at rodeos. Any child could enter and attempt to catch and ride one of the sheep turned loose in the arena. "You going to be a rodeo cowboy like your dad?" Kyle asked.

The boy hooked the thumb of his good hand into his belt loop and puffed out his chest. "I'm gonna be even
better'n
my dad."

They laughed. Brady nodded at the cast on Kyle's arm. "What happened to you?"

"I was in a rodeo over in Stephenville and an ornery calf got the better of me."

Brady shook his head. "So you're still ridin' the circuit?"

"Yeah. Guess I'm not smart enough to quit. What about you? You still in the hardware business?"

He shook his head. "They built a big new Wal-Mart down the road, put us out of business. Now I'm working construction, building homes in one of those new subdivisions west of here."

"It must suit you. You look good." He'd put on a little weight, but just enough to make him look more solid. Settled.

Brady grinned. "I can't believe you're still rodeoin'. So I guess this means you aren't married."

He shook his head. "I haven't let a woman lasso me yet."

A nurse appeared in the waiting-room doorway. "Derrick Robbins?"

"Looks like we got to go." Brady stuck out his hand. "Good to see you, man. Good luck with the wrist."

"Good to see you, too."

Kyle rode an otherwise empty elevator down to street level, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of his old buddy Brady as a dad with a kid old enough to be in school. Not that he didn't know a lot of men his age with families, but none of those men had ever been like him, living the free and easy life, competing for big money, their days and nights revolving around those few minutes in the arena and celebrating or commiserating at the beer halls afterward. That kind of life seemed a long way from where Brady was now.

If he'd thought Brady would envy his freedom, he hadn't seen any sign of it. If anything, his old pard had looked a little sorry for Kyle.
Almost thirty and still playing a kid's game,
he imagined Brady saying to his wife.
Who does he think he's fooling?

He studied his reflection in the polished metal doors of the elevator. Except for the cast, he looked the same as he always had. A few more lines around his eyes maybe, but he was as lean and muscular as ever, his hair just as thick. He hadn't really changed on the outside.

He exited the elevator and headed for his truck. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't grown up and changed on the inside. He was getting tired of his life--of the travel, of trying to keep up with young hotshots barely out of their teens, of not knowing where he'd be or what he'd be doing next year or even next month.

He didn't want to settle down on the ranch and take up the kind of life Kristen wanted for him, but he couldn't see keeping on the way he had been, either. There had to be a compromise somewhere, something he could do that would be satisfying and productive without being boring.

He started up the truck and waited for traffic to clear before he turned out into the street. At least he had tonight to look forward to. Theresa was anything but boring, and she didn't badger a man with questions. Maybe because she didn't want him poking too deep into her own affairs.

He remembered her remark about attending the rodeo as part of some charity group of underprivileged kids. He'd about bit his tongue off to keep from asking about that. After all, they'd made a bargain. They weren't going to concern themselves with the past or future. All they would focus on was right now and enjoying themselves with each other. Things didn't get complicated that way. Heaven knows, he wasn't a man who liked complications.