Cowboy Strong

by Stacy Finz

  “I’m not doing anything innovative or extraordinary,” she said, getting back on point. “Everything I do is basic. My signature is strawberry shortcake. Enough said, right?”

  “Isn’t Nancy famous for grilled cheese sandwiches? And Keller, a version of an Oreo cookie. It’s all in the execution.”

  She shook her head. “You know what? For a cowboy you’re an awful big know-it-all.”

  “Nah, I’m just smart as hell. And hungry.” He got to his feet before he did something stupid like kiss her again. Because the mood in the room was definitely veering in that direction.

  He stuck his head in the fridge, wishing he could stick the lower half of his body in there too. All of Gina’s leftovers were gone. He’d powered through her baked ziti in less than two days. “You want something?”

  “I gorged on Charlie’s cheesy beef quesadillas. I couldn’t eat another thing.”

  “Quesadillas, huh?” He searched his dairy drawer for cheese, found a package of stale tortillas on the top shelf, and piled his ingredients on the counter.

  “You want me to make them for you?” she asked as he fumbled with a cheese grater.

  “I can do it.” Although hers would be edible. His, not so much.

  She came over and grabbed the butter before he closed the fridge door. “Go sit down. Watching you is painful.”

  Not half as painful as watching her bending over to preheat his oven in that short skirt.

  “You have any steak?”

  He looked at her pointedly. “I own a cattle ranch.” Then he got up and opened his freezer.

  “Holy cow.” She laughed at her own pun, which really wasn’t that funny. “You’ve been holding out on me, Dalton.”

  “It’s fresh, DeRose. Help yourself. But it’s a little late for beef.” Nighttime had never stopped him from grabbing a burger when he was out on the road on assignment. But when he was home, he tried to adhere to somewhat of a normal schedule, which included not eating heavy meals before bedtime.

  “I wanted to test out Charlie’s recipe. With a twist, of course.” She eyed the freezer shelves filled with various cuts wrapped in white butcher paper, each package efficiently labeled. “I’ll take you up on your offer, though. Not tonight. But I can’t wait to play with your meat.” It took her a second, then her face flushed. “Yeah, that sounded…weird.”

  He thought of a dozen double entendres he could fire back, but was afraid it would hurt to talk. Instead, he concealed the lower half of his body underneath the granite ledge of the kitchen island while she finished grating the hunk of cheddar cheese he’d butchered.

  “Not what I would normally use, but it’s all you have.” She gazed around his kitchen. “You have a red onion?”

  “Maybe in the pantry.” He started to get up and thought better of it.

  She didn’t seem to notice and found what she was looking for.

  “I don’t know how old that is.” Hell, he couldn’t even remember buying it.

  “Not old. I brought it for the panzanella salad.” She filled a bowl with apple cider vinegar—another staple he didn’t know he had—sugar and salt, then began slicing the onion. “Nice knife. Mine’s better, though.”

  “What’s that for?” He bobbed his chin at the vinegar mixture.

  “It’s to pickle the onion. Technically, it takes an hour. But I won’t make you wait.” Her lips ticked up in a teasing smile.

  Did the woman know what she was doing to him?

  “Seems like a lot of trouble for a quesadilla.” Something he’d always thought of as kid food. Ellie, Travis, and Grady lived on them.

  “Even simple dishes should be elevated to be the best they can be, according to you, Mr. Cowboy Know-It-All.”

  “Well, this cowboy know-it-all is starved.” Starved for something entirely different than food.

  He continued to watch her work, gliding through his kitchen in that stretchy top that left little to his imagination. Damn, he needed to date more. Have sex more. He wanted to tell himself that his infatuation with Gina was due to his dry spell. But he had a strict policy of never lying to himself.

  Their chemistry was off the charts. Apparently, he had a thing for self-indulged smart-mouthed women whose lives were falling apart. Or maybe he just had a thing for Gina. And that wasn’t going to work.

  Just a taste.

  “Pass me the spatula.”

  He leaned across the counter and swiped the cooking tool from a crock Aubrey had artfully arranged on his island. Instead of tossing it across the kitchen to her, he came up behind her while she heated a skillet over his six-burner range.

  “Here you go,” he said so close to her ear that he could smell her shampoo. Something botanical.

  She turned. “Thank you.”

  Their eyes met and held. And that’s when he knew he was screwed.

  He slid her away from the cooktop, boxed her in against the counter, and covered her mouth with his. She tasted like whipped cream, strawberries, and wine. Starved for more, the kiss became frenzied. She fisted her hands in his shirt, going up on her toes for more.

  He pressed into her, his erection straining against his button fly. She moaned. It was the single best sound he’d ever heard.

  “More?” he asked, making sure he wasn’t reading things wrong.

  She tilted her head back. “God, yes.”

  His hands roamed, first cupping her ass to pull her tighter against him. Then to her stomach, where he inched his way under her shirt. Her skin was warm and soft and he wanted more of it. He dragged her top over her head and tossed it away, leaving her in a black lace push-up bra that reminded him of the pinup girl calendars in Buck’s garage.

  Sucking in a hard breath, he explored, working his hands up her rib cage. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and tugged.

  “What?” he whispered. “You want them off?”

  Her head fell back. “I—uh—please.”

  He lifted her onto the countertop and undid the front clasp of her bra. She let the straps slip down her shoulders while he took his fill of looking at her. Beautiful. Not the sex kitten chef she played on TV. Real flesh-and-blood woman.

  Ravishing woman.

  He slowly pulled her straps the rest of the way down and tossed the bra in the same vicinity as her shirt. His hands reached for her breasts, weighing each one in his hand. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, watching them pebble to hardened buds.

  “Sawyer,” she said in a breathy voice.

  He kissed her again, letting his lips trail down her throat to the valley between her breasts. Then took each perfect globe into his mouth, sucking and laving until she nearly came off the counter.

  He moved over her stomach, kissing and swirling his tongue around her belly button. Her skin tasted like a mixture of salt and perfume.

  “You’re killing me.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  He cocked his head to the side and looked up at her. “Don’t die.” His hands slipped under her skirt, filling his palms with two bare ass cheeks.

  Ah, mystery solved. A thong.

  He dragged the scrap of lace down her legs and kissed the inside of her thighs. “Mmm, you taste good.”

  Her hands were in his hair, her head tilted back, her eyes at half-mast, and her pretty breasts on display.

  Man, she turned him on.

  He went back to kissing her, letting his lips skim higher and higher. She whimpered when he reached the promised land, dipping his tongue in for a taste. Gina pressed against his mouth, begging for more.

  He pulled her closer to the counter’s edge and spread her legs wide.

  “Oh, yes, yes,” she cried as he sucked and simultaneously rubbed her with his finger.

  “Good?” He could feel her muscles tensing.

  “So, so good. Sawyer…please.”
Her hands gripped his head tighter.

  He slipped a finger inside of her while he licked her with the tip of his tongue. She bowed up.

  “Let yourself go, baby.”

  “Oh.” It came out as a moan as she clenched and climaxed.

  But he wasn’t through yet. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom, where he kicked the door closed and laid her in the middle of his king bed.

  It was time to get Gina DeRose out of his system for once and for all.

  * * * *

  Gina lifted her butt off the bed and shimmied out of her skirt, growing impatient. “Hey, why am I the only one naked?”

  “Working on it.” With one fluid motion Sawyer yanked his shirt over his head.

  She watched his muscles bunch with the efficient movement. Still recuperating from his thorough ministrations and an orgasm that was now her gold standard, she stared at his chest. A chest she never tired of looking at. He was even more bronzed than the last time she’d seen him shirtless. Probably from working around the ranch in the hot sun.

  Her eyes moved lower where he flicked open the buttons on his fly and shucked his boots and jeans. Both landed on the floor with a hard thud. He stood over the bed in a pair of black boxer briefs that struggled to contain the hard bulge inside.

  His ass was a true work of beauty, she noted as he walked to the side of the bed. Round and firm. All that time with his legs clamped to a horse’s barrel were apparently better than squats. Perhaps she should learn how to ride.

  He scraped open the drawer on his nightstand, retrieved a box of condoms, and placed them on the table. For a second, she let her thoughts wander to how many women had shared his bed, then shooed petty jealousies away. Neither of them was a virgin, though it had been at least two years for her.

  “What are you thinking about?” He crawled next to her and planted another one of his heart-stopping kisses on her mouth.

  “That you’re a man who knows what he’s doing.”

  He chuckled and kissed his way down to her breasts. “Let’s see how I do.”

  “So far I’d give you a solid B-plus,” she lied, not wanting to feed his already inflated ego.

  “You and I both know that’s bullshit.” He flicked his tongue over her nipple and she nearly screamed with the pleasure of it. “In the kitchen…that was an A-plus performance. I have the scratches on my scalp to prove it.”

  She ran her hands through his dark hair. “You do not. What you have is a head the size of this ranch.”

  “Wait until you see the rest of me.” He lifted up and rolled his shorts down his legs, giving her a nice view of his impressive erection, then winked.

  She climbed on top of him and held his hands over his head while she kissed her way down his chest.

  He broke free with ease and palmed her butt. “You’re welcome to stay on top, but I get to touch.”

  “Touch all you like.” She wrapped her hand around his thickness and squeezed. “Because I plan to touch too.”

  “As you wish.” He rolled her onto her back and nestled himself between her legs.

  She arched up and rubbed against him, trying desperately to soothe the ache in her center. He kissed the side of her neck and nibbled on her earlobe.

  “Sawyer?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I want you.” She tried to roll him under her but he wouldn’t budge.

  Finally, he relented, but not before swiping one of the condoms off the bedside table and suiting up.

  She straddled him, guiding him inside of her. When he was seated all the way in she flinched.

  “You okay?” He gripped her hips.

  “Uh-huh.” But the truth was it hurt a little. “Slow at first, okay?”

  He stroked her back, giving her plenty of time to grow accustomed to him. She loved the way his blue eyes were filled with heat and how he leaned up to spread kisses across her chest.

  As she got more comfortable, she began to move. Slowly at first, trying to find her rhythm. He let her set the pace, his big hands rocking her hips.

  “Good?”

  “Mmm.” She closed her eyes as she increased the tempo, feeling him fill her with his upward thrusts.

  His hands reached for her breasts and she opened her eyes to find him watching her, his arousal so heightened it was written all over his face. No man had ever looked at her like that. With fire and passion dancing deep in his eyes. It made her feel sexy and empowered and…it stirred her.

  She rode him harder, resting her hands on his chest for leverage. He matched her stroke for stroke. He seemed to sense when she was close, because he reached between them and worked her with his fingers. The friction, the fullness—all of it—was enough to send her over the edge.

  She threw her head back and closed her eyes as shards of light exploded behind her lids. Her body convulsed and the orgasm rolled through her, seeming to last forever. She cried out as it shook her to the core.

  He rolled her under him and took the lead, slamming into her over and over again. She wrapped her legs around his waist so he could go deeper. Every muscle in his body strained to hold back. The fact that he’d been able to go this long spoke to his stamina.

  His breathing quickened, his muscles tensed, and with one final thrust he called out her name before collapsing on top of her, slick with sweat. They just laid that way for a few minutes, trying to recover.

  “Holy shit,” she said.

  He lifted up on one elbow and peeked down at her. “Kind of intense.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  He rolled off her and swung his legs off the bed. “Be right back.”

  She watched him cross the room to the master bathroom in all his naked glory, then wondered whether she should get dressed. She didn’t want to. If he didn’t act weird about it, she’d like to stay. Cuddle. Maybe spend the night. But she had no idea where they stood. Whether what they’d just done was the start of something or a one-off.

  He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later and got back in bed. She needed to go too, but was more self-conscious than him. His T-shirt was on the floor, so she hung over the side of the mattress, picked it up, dragged it over her head and got up.

  The house was hot, or it might’ve just been her. In the bathroom, she stripped, got in Sawyer’s giant walk-in shower and used the handheld head to rinse off. The cool water felt good and she tried hard not to overthink what had just happened.

  Live in the moment, she told herself. Don’t start analyzing everything to death. They’d been dancing around their attraction to each other since she’d gotten to the ranch. Until now, they’d dealt with it by throwing barbs and pretending not to like each other. Perhaps they didn’t. Lord knew they didn’t have anything in common.

  But the chemistry? It was off the charts. So, they’d wound up in bed? It didn’t mean anything.

  By the time she found a towel, she’d convinced herself that it was just a hookup. A summer fling between two consenting adults with time on their hands. And if she kept telling herself that, she wouldn’t be devastated when he lost interest. Because he would. They always did.

  At least before everything had gone to hell, she’d had her career. Stardom. Now, she was back to where she started: Sadie DeRose’s disappointment of a daughter.

  She wrapped the soft bath sheet tighter around her and padded into the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of his bed in a pair of boxer shorts. Well, that hadn’t taken long. He was already done with her.

  “I guess we got that out of our systems,” she said, going for a preemptive strike.

  He crooked his finger at her. “C’mere.”

  “Why?” She searched for her clothes on the floor.

  “Because I said so.”

  “Who died and left you boss?”

  He rolled his eyes, spran
g to his feet, and grabbed her around the waist. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” She snatched up her thong, which had landed on the arm of his leather club chair.

  “For rocking my world.” He dipped down and kissed her.

  When she gazed up at him the heat was gone, but his blue eyes were smiling.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Do you have something you want to say to me?” He looked smug.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Bullshit. I blew your mind.”

  She ran her fingers through his lightly furred chest. “If you say so.”

  He shook his head and slipped into his jeans, leaving the top button undone. “We both know I did, but whatever.” Sawyer strolled out of the bedroom.

  She followed him into the kitchen, thinking she should probably leave. It had to be after eleven. “What are doing?”

  He held up the package of tortillas and grinned. “Quesadilla time.”

  Chapter 12

  Gina woke to pounding on her door. In her sleep-induced haze, she glanced at her cell phone on the nightstand. It was seven in the flipping morning. She’d fallen into her own bed about three, after she’d left Sawyer’s.

  Who the hell came calling this early in the morning?

  She pulled the blanket over her head, hoping that if she ignored the knocking whoever it was would go away. But the banging just got closer. It sounded as if someone was tapping on her bedroom window.

  She yanked the covers off, padded across the floor, and pulled the blinds up. A man—a stranger—stood there with a camera lens pointed at her face.

  “Gina DeRose, did you get what you want? How do you feel about Candace Clay filing for divorce?” he shouted, snapping a succession of pictures.

  She flinched, then jerked the blinds closed. Scooping up her phone, she ran to the bathroom and hid in the tub.

  “Please answer, please answer,” she prayed aloud as she hit Sawyer’s number. It made more sense to call Aubrey and Cash. They were just across the creek. And Cash was law enforcement. But Sawyer was press. He’d know how to deal with the bloodsucking leech.

  “Morning,” he answered on the second ring, sounding more chipper than anyone had a right to this early. And after what they’d done all night. “Didn’t you get enough last night?”