The Cowboy and the Cougar (3 page)

She’d never made love to a hot stud in a jacuzzi, had never made love in a jacuzzi, period. In fact, she’d never made love to a hot stud, come to think of it, at least not as hot as the cowboy next to her.

Boy, had it been a day. She didn’t want to think unpleasant thoughts. She wanted her escape to last a little longer.

She touched his firm lower lip with the pad of her thumb. "I’m up for the jacuzzi, cowboy."

* * * *

Darkness enveloped the room when Holly awoke. Her cowboy was behind her, holding her spoon-style. His large, warm hand cupped her breast. Her sore nipple hardened beneath his palm. A hard thigh was wedged between hers. The soft hair covering his flesh tickled her smooth skin. His breath, slow and steady, blew against her neck and disturbed a few stray hairs.

The night had been amazing—wonderful!—a hedonistic frolic and a total escape. She wouldn’t soon forget the encounter in the jacuzzi. How they’d kissed each other until their lips were red and swollen. How he’d sucked on her nipples until they were nearly raw, all the while fussing over how beautiful they were. How she’d ridden him, and the jetting had swished over them as they coupled again, and then again.

A night of wonderful memories to savor was exactly what she had needed.

But now? She sighed as she disentangled herself from Cowboy as gently as she could. She didn’t want to wake him.

She walked to the window and opened the drapes. The sun peeked over the horizon. Soon dawn would brighten a new day.

She sighed again.

Time to face the music.

Chapter Three

Six months later

Late again.

Holly ran into the classroom, dragging her portfolio behind her. She’d stopped at the art store for more charcoal after work and she’d hit major traffic.

She laughed it off. This was art class at the community college, not a pressing appointment. It was okay to be late. Problem was, she didn’t want to be. She wanted to breathe in every bit of knowledge this class and this professor had to offer. She was done taking life for granted. She’d wanted to learn to draw for forty years and now she was.

She’d always had a flare for sketching—or so others always said. In college she’d taken the well-traveled road and majored in economics and political science, then she’d gone on to law school, which, frankly, had been the three most boring years of her life. She did the time, got the grades, landed the partnership-track job.

Five months ago, she’d thrown it all out with the garbage.

She hated practicing law. She liked to draw. She loved to draw. She was good at it. It made her happy. She smiled. What was better than doing what made her happy?

Of course, she had to pay the bills, so she’d hung out a shingle and opened up her own law practice. Writing wills and trusts wasn’t exactly a rocket science challenge, but it kept her in food and shelter until she could learn how to make her art pay.

Damn it all if she wasn’t happier than she’d ever been.

She hastily took an empty seat and spread out her paper and charcoal. Tonight was model night. Male, if she recalled correctly. Last week they’d sketched a gorgeous blonde woman with a body so perfectly proportioned she resembled Barbie.

Well, her legs weren’t quite that long.

Drawing the human body fascinated Holly. She’d learned as much about anatomy as she had about technique in this class. She used her knowledge not only in her artwork, but also at the gym, where she was hard at work on another artistic endeavor—reshaping her own physique.

"Good evening."

Holly looked up to see Professor Fleming in front of the class. Professor Fleming was an amazing artist and his praise meant the world to Holly. He liked her work and thought she had potential. Had she started down this path twenty years ago, who knows where she could have gone?

Determined not to berate herself, she looked back up at Professor Fleming.

"Tonight, as you know, we’ll be working with a male model. He’s waiting outside." He cleared his throat. "I have a special surprise for you all. For the first time, we’ll be working with nudes."

Childish chuckles echoed from the back of the room. At forty, Holly was easily the oldest person in this class. Most of the students were straight out of high school.

"Get your jollies out now," Professor Fleming said, "so you don’t embarrass our model when he comes in."

Even Holly had to stifle a giggle. Jollies?

When the room quieted, Professor Fleming walked to the door of the classroom. Holly leaned down to grab her bottle of water out of her backpack, then cursed under her breath when she brushed against her charcoal pencils and they tumbled to the floor. She gathered them quickly and decided to leave her water where it was. She could live with a parched throat for an hour. Better that than accidentally spilling water on her art work.

She sighed and looked up just as an emerald silk robe fell from a glorious male body. She glanced at the long, perfectly sculpted legs, a back carved of hard muscle, a firm, tight ass. Staring at this for an hour wouldn’t be a hardship.

He turned toward the class.

Holly’s blood ran cold. Before her was a chest she’d caressed, sinewy arms she’d gripped.

A cock she’d sucked.

Her gaze traveled down the beautiful legs, then back up, over the torso dusted with dark hair, the golden shoulders that had tantalized her fingertips to his face of raw male beauty. Cheeks she had cupped, lips she had kissed, sucked on. She wanted to look at his eyes—those eyes that had burned into her soul that night.

That wonderful, terrible, fateful night.

But she couldn’t. He might recognize her.

What the hell was a cowboy doing working as a nude model?

Of course, she hadn’t asked what he did for a living, because she hadn’t wanted to know.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. He wouldn’t remember a one-night stand with a needy older woman anyway. He’d no doubt been glad she was gone when he awoke.

She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to his dark eyes.

He was staring straight at her. Daggers shot from his eyes and speared into her.

He wasn’t happy.

Holly’s skin prickled. Did he remember her? She couldn’t think about that now. She had to draw him.

God, she could draw that body from memory—every line, curve, mass of muscle. She closed her eyes and inhaled, then opened them and began to sketch. This was class, after all, and she wanted to learn to create art more than anything in the world. She wouldn’t let an awkward situation keep her from her goal.

That gorgeous chiseled face... Her pencil stopped moving. He was staring at her again. Damn, those lips were lethal weapons. Her nipples tightened against her bra as she remembered him kissing them, sucking them.

Time to get a grip, Holly
. This was art class, and when would she have the chance to draw such a perfect specimen of masculine beauty again?

She sat back and attempted to steady her breathing.
In and out, in and out. Slow down, pulse. He’s just a model.

* * * *

Holly stared at her sketch. It was Cowboy, all right. Problem was, he was entwined around a curvy female who bore a distinct resemblance to Holly herself. How had this happened? She’d been in the zone, hadn’t thought about what she was doing, and before she knew what was happening, her hands had gone off on their own and drawn Cowboy, naked, making love to her.

She couldn’t turn this in to Professor Fleming.

Quickly she gathered her papers together and shoved them in her portfolio. If she left now, a few minutes before class was actually over, she could escape before Cowboy left the room. She’d draw another sketch—one that wasn’t x-rated—at home and bring it to class next week.

Yeah, that would work.

She stood up quickly and quietly and walked out of the room. A sweltering heat swept over her. Cowboy was watching her. She could feel it.

She stopped in the ladies’ room and splashed some cold water on her face. It didn’t work. She was still hot and bothered, but at least she looked a little better—not pale and wan as when she’d first looked in the mirror. The frigid water had added rosiness to her cheeks. She stood at the counter, grasping the Formica, breathing in and out.

Calm down, Holly. It’s over.

After one final deep breath, she hurried to her car and drove the short distance to her downtown loft. Her arms full with her portfolio, briefcase and the small bag of groceries she’d picked up before class, she keyed in the code with her nose and slipped through the door. The elevator was closing so she ran and slid through just in time. She hit the number three with her elbow and collapsed against the elevator wall for the short ride up.

When the door opened, she tightened her grip on all her belongings and headed toward the door to her loft. Dropping the groceries to the floor, she fumbled one-handed in her purse for her key.

Sheesh, it was hot in the hallway. Beads of sweat trickled from her hairline, down her forehead and into her eyes. She blinked at the sting. Why was it so damn hot?

With an exasperated sigh, she threw down her portfolio and began emptying her purse.

"Need some help, sugar?"

Chapter Four

That deep, whiskey-smooth voice…

She turned, and there they were—those piercing dark eyes. He looked incredible, almost as delicious as he looked naked. His western shirt was forest green, silky and unbuttoned at the top. A few black strands of chest hair peeked out. His jeans fit as snugly as she remembered and he wore scuffed brown leather boots. She could see him on horseback, riding the range, the wind tearing through that gorgeous sable hair.

She looked away and huffed. "What are you, some kind of stalker?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "Can’t say I’ve done anything like this before."

"How’d you get in here?"

"Some doormen can be bribed."

She rolled her eyes. "I don’t have a doorman."

He gave a lazy half-smile. "Okay, you got me. Some horny women can be bribed."

Horny women?

"Sheila."

Her man-hungry neighbor had been known to be free with the passcode. Now Holly’d have to call management and get it changed again.

"That her name?"

"Did she have bleached blonde hair and a voice hoarse from smoking?"

"That’d be the one." He fingered his stubbled jaw line. Holly tried not to gape.

"Damn her anyway." Holly continued her relentless search for her keys.

Cowboy gently pried the purse from her grasp and pulled out her keys. "This what you’re lookin’ for?"

She grabbed her purse. "Yes. Thank you, Cowboy."

He miraculously picked the right key and fit it into her lock.

"It’s Jack," he said. "Jack Sherwood. No more cowboy." He opened the door, picked up her portfolio and bag of groceries and waited for her to walk in. Her nerves rattled as she entered. He followed her in and set the portfolio and groceries on her kitchen counter.

"Well, thank you for your help," she said. "I can manage now."

"Oh no," he said. "Not so fast. You haven’t told me your name yet, sugar."

"Sugar’s fine."

"The hell it is." He walked to the door, shut it and leaned back against it. "You left me that morning without even waking me to say good-bye. I thought we had a good time. I wanted to see you again. Why’d you pull a stunt like that?"

Holly’s heart raced. He’d wanted to see her again? This had to be some kind of sick joke. "It was a one-night stand, Cowboy."

"Jack."

She sighed. "Do you understand what a one-night stand is? One night of mind blowing sex? I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept."

"That’s not what I’m about."

"Well, that’s what I was about that particular night," Holly said. "I’m sorry if I upset you. Really I am. I was in a bad place that night and all I wanted was..." She let her words trail off as she closed her eyes and sighed again.

"You ever gonna tell me your name?"

"I think it’s better to leave it—" She opened her eyes. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

Jack had grabbed her purse from the counter and fished out her wallet. He opened it and pulled out a credit card. "Holly. Holly S. Taylor. What’s the S stand for?"

"None of your goddamn business."

"Susan?"

"No."

"Sheila?" He gave a short laugh.

"Hell no."

He smiled a heart-stopping smile. "Sugar?"

Holly couldn’t help but return his grin. "It’s Simone, if you must know. It’s my mother’s name. She’s French."

"Very pretty." He replaced the credit card and handed the wallet to her. Her skin tingled when his fingers grazed hers.

"Listen," he said. "You’re never gonna convince me the sex wasn’t amazing that night. I know you felt it."

She shuddered. His voice was like hot silk. "I n-never said it wasn’t amazing."

"Truth is, Holly—" He emphasized her name. "—nobody’s gotten under my skin like that in…well, ever." He advanced toward her like a wolf stalking its prey. She backed away, not paying attention to her whereabouts, until she found herself trapped against her own refrigerator. A fairy magnet dug into her back.

"When I saw you sitting in that class today, all fresh and beautiful, I was both ecstatic and angry at the same time. You know what I mean?"

"N-no."

He placed his palms on the refrigerator, on either side of shoulders, trapping her. His scent drifted around her—cedar wood, spice and male musk. She could inhale it forever and never tire of it.

"I think you do." He looked above her head for a moment, as if composing himself, then gazed back into her eyes. "When I woke up that morning and you were gone, I turned that suite inside out searching for something—anything—that would lead me to you."

"I’m sorry—"

"I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind." He pressed his lips to her forehead and she ignited. Blazes trailed over her skin from one little kiss.

"I dream about your nipples, you know that?"

She gulped. Moisture trickled between her legs.

"I dream about suckin’ them raw like I did that night. I dream of you suckin’ my cock with those sweet lips of yours. Then I dream about fuckin’ you hard and fast, then makin’ slow sweet love to you."

Holly writhed under his steady and scalding gaze. Her nipples puckered against her bra. Want—pure, raw want—screamed through her.

His mouth closed over hers. The kiss was gentle at first, tiny licks around the corners of her lips, his tongue like smooth cream. Then he probed with slightly more force and her lips parted. Again, he was gentle, even as he sank into her mouth and kissed her with a slow hunger. It was sweet and sexy at the same time. Nothing like the frenzied passion of their first kiss, but incredible all the same. A soft groan left his throat and vibrated into her mouth, giving her chills.

Holly was vaguely aware of Jack fumbling with the buttons of her blouse and pushing her bra upward. Her ample breasts fell gently against her chest.

His lips left her mouth and she sucked in a much needed breath. He trailed moist kisses over her cheek, her neck, down her chest, across the swollen flesh of her breast, until he caught a nipple between his teeth.

She couldn’t stop her shriek.

He looked up. "Too much?" His word hummed against the wrinkled flesh of her areola.

"God, no, but—"

He took the nipple again and tugged. Lightning flashed to her core and she jerked backward, the magnet digging farther into her flesh.

He let her nipple go with a soft pop. He stood, touching his forehead to hers, his hands cupping her breasts and his fingers gently kneading the tight buds. "Let me back in your bed, Holly." His voice was husky, primal. "
Please
."

Oh, she wanted to. The thought of another night of unbridled passion with Cowboy—no, Jack, what a perfect name for him—sent ripples through her.

But another one-nighter wasn’t possible. That wasn’t who she was. Jack didn’t want her for the long haul, and who could blame him?

She pushed him away and ducked under his arms.

"Sugar?"

"I’m sorry," she said, standing next to the door. "I really need you to go now."

"Holly—"

"Please, Jack."

He walked toward her and smiled. "That’s the first time you’ve called me by my name. I like that."

Why was he so damn sweet? How was she supposed to get rid of him when he made her skin tingle and her heart race?

There was one way.

"I’m forty, you know."

His eyebrows arched. "No, I didn’t know. You don’t look a day over thirty."

"So you can see the problem."

"What the hell problem are you talking about?"

"Well, clearly I’m a lot older than you are."

He shook his head, his eyes wide. "You really think I give a rat’s ass about your age?"

A prickle of defensiveness speared into Holly. "How old are you anyway? Thirty-two? Thirty-three?"

There went the lazy half-smile again. The one that made her heart go pitter-pat. "Twenty-nine, actually."

"Dear God." Holly’s body thudded against the wooden door.

"What?"

"What do you mean ‘what?’?" That’s a difference of over ten years!"

He let out a chuckle, then said in an exaggerated drawl, "I done figured that out. Even a cowpoke like me knows how to cipher, ma’am."

"Stop making fun of me."

"Why not, Holly? You’re bein’ silly."

"Silly? You’re young. You’re...well, I’ll just say it. You’re freaking hot. You can have anyone you want."

"Right now, I want you."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, I’m pretty sure I’ll still want you. And the next day."

"And after that?"

"Christ, Holly. You want a fuckin’ commitment here? It’s not going to happen, at least not yet. I’m attracted to you. I’m hot for you. I’m so damn hard right now I think I could cut through diamonds. I’d like to get to know you—inside and outside the bedroom. If that isn’t enough for you, well, maybe I
should
go."

Now he was talking sense. As much as she desired him, wanted him, nothing could ever come of it, for reasons she wasn’t ready to tell him or anyone else.

"That’s right. Go."

"Look—" He gripped her shoulders, and his touch sparked a shiver between her legs. "I spoke quickly. I don’t want to go. If you don’t want to go to bed, I can accept that. But can we talk? Have a drink? Or a cup of coffee? We don’t have to stay here if you’re not comfortable. We can go to a bar or a coffee shop."

Her body was on fire, and she was tempted to spend the evening with this handsome stranger—for that’s what he still was, a stranger. However, it couldn’t lead to anything good, and she’d just be heartbroken when it ended.

Holly had already experienced enough heartbreak for this lifetime.

"I’m sorry, Jack. Just go. Please."

"Aw, damn, sugar. Why won’t you let us get to know each other?"

"Because..." Her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat. His dark beauty left her breathless. He was a sweetheart and he deserved the best—better than she could give, anyway. She gulped in some courage. "Because I have nothing to offer you, that’s why."

"I disagree."

"You don’t know me."

"I’d like to change that."

She opened the door and looked at the floor. "I’m sorry."

Tears stung the inside of her eyelids as he walked away toward the elevator.

He didn’t look back.