A Bride for the Texas Cowboy

by Sinclair Jayne

  “August.” She swayed toward him and triumph surged, but then he heard the slide of the glass door to the house, and Cat rose fluidly and walked silently away, and she was gone as if she’d been a dream.

  August watched the quick steps and how she gave Axel a wide berth, not even looking at him. All panels of the glass doors that formed a wall slid silently shut behind her.

  August closed his eyes and sank lower into the bubbles. His brother had the worst timing. Always.

  Chapter Ten

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” August tried to keep the accusation out of his voice as Catalina swung open the rolling, barn-style door and entered the winery, but he was pissed and tired due to sleeping on a sofa that had been advertised as a comfortable queen futon, but he hadn’t been able to pull it out one-handed last night and so he’d scrunched his six-foot-plus battered frame into something not nearly long enough.

  He should be sleeping with her. Making love to her. He was losing his touch. Or, and he really didn’t want to contemplate this, he’d finally hit the wall with Cat.

  He felt like he’d been in a bar fight and then squished into a box for the night—physically battered. And his emotions didn’t feel any better.

  He’d woken up alone to very little coffee left in the pot, an empty house and the sun already climbing. Cat hesitated in the doorway, and the light behind her created a halo that turned her hair to spun gold.

  “Why would I?” She walked into the winery, peeling off her work gloves. She jammed the gloves into the back pocket of her faded green Carhartt pants. Her tank was thin, stretchy cotton and flesh-colored and her western-style shirt was unbuttoned and knotted at her waist. Was she wearing a bra?

  “You were sleeping. In my room.” She stopped in front of him, her usual pouty mouth tight and pursed. “Last time I saw you, you were relaxing in the hot tub jawing with Axel, and I’ve had enough of his glowering suspicions, so I finished my tasting notes and went to bed. Alone. And that’s how I intended to wake up. Alone.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “You are not funny.” She gulped in a breath and squared off to face him, her slim body radiating tension. Yeah, that was his Cat, always ready to call him on his BS or whatever she thought he was throwing at her, and his cock jerked, reminding he was alive.

  Finally. Something in his body felt familiar. He hated feeling tired. Hurt. Worried. Not at all how he normally rolled. He had so much energy and no way to expend it. He couldn’t go for his normal run or bike or swim. And sex? The way Cat was looking at him, she’d probably lop off his balls and hang them from her rearview mirror if he even thought about it.

  Damn, but he had his work cut out for him.

  “I can be very funny, Kitty Cat, and I’m always up for fun.” He grinned lazily and let his eyes drift down her body, already showing a sheen of perspiration along her delicate collarbone and neck despite the early morning. He deliberately needled her, reminding her of how much fun they’d had losing themselves in each other’s bodies.

  And we will again.

  He needed the reminder because his body still hurt. And guilt for his employees’ injuries made him feel ten pounds heavier.

  That accident with the bus had really knocked him, his crew and Verflucht back. But ironically, the accident had offered him another chance.

  “You said this job comes with a place to live,” Cat reminded him.

  “And a husband.”

  “August, be serious.”

  “I am.” He rose from where he’d been butt-planted on a wine barrel and, steeling himself for the pain, limped toward her. “We were good together, Cat.”

  He saw the pulse kick up in her neck. She crossed her arms defensively, but the action only pushed the small swell of her breasts up to the scoop of her tank, offering a peek of her creamy sweetness.

  Damn if that didn’t make his mouth water.

  The air between them stilled, heated, and he could feel his entire body react to her proximity.

  “Better than good. Awesome. We rocked. And it’s all still there.” She closed the distance between them, one step at a time with each word. “You feel it too.” He let his voice go husky.

  She flushed and her pulse fluttered in her neck like a wild thing trying to beat free.

  “It’s always been like this between us, Cat. Fire. Magic. Fun.”

  Her pale gray-green gaze darkened as she pinned him. Desire and despair warred, and for a moment he feared she’d run.

  She’d been the most important woman in his life. How had he hurt her so badly when all he’d wanted to do was protect her? He’d let her go so she could find a man who could give her all the things she wanted because he didn’t think he could.

  And now he was going to find a way. He was going to be that man—the one who stayed, the one who communicated better. His gut felt full of hot rocks at that thought, but he was going to man up and do better. Cat was going to have her man and her home and her career and the family she always wanted because he wasn’t giving up. Not ever.

  “We’re perfect together. We were best friends and incredible lovers. We have history, similar goals.”

  God, he sounded like an idiot trying to sell a time-share to someone who already owned one. What would work with Cat? He’d never had to make much effort with a woman. He’d started making serious bank by the time he was twenty-one and when combined with his looks and cultivated swagger that came with beginning to build an empire, women had come to him. They’d wanted him—not the real him, but his business and party persona. And the lifestyle he could provide.

  Cat was the only one who’d known or wanted the real man. She’d loved him when he’d had nothing.

  And he needed that again. He needed her.

  “We don’t have similar goals anymore, August. I’m not sure we ever did.”

  Panic flared, but he shoved it down. Cat would try to sound strong. Her voice. Her direct stare. She was honed in fire and hardships and yet so delicately made. He’d always loved that—how she fit with his body, her skin petal soft and creamy, her muscles underneath sleek and toned. When she was in his arms, he’d always felt even more masculine, protective because she was small.

  But fierce.

  He’d always enjoyed riling her up to see her eyes flash fire and turn a darker green, to feel the pulse in her long, slim neck beat like mad into the palm of his hand when he cupped the side of her jaw, to watch her small breasts rise and fall faster when she was agitated or aroused.

  Dick move, he knew, but it had been irresistible since he’d been a young teen trying to get Cat, three years older, to see him as a man.

  “Cat.” He touched her now. He knew he was taking unfair advantage, that they had real issues, but he had to touch her. He needed the connection and the comfort of her skin, of her warmth. He cupped her jaw. “We’re different people now.”

  “Exactly,” she said. Her eyes flashed with relief, which he needed to shut down now. He was not letting her go a third time. No way. He was not dumb enough to throw away his last chance.

  Three was going to be his charm. He was keeping her, and it was time to let her know. He was tired of feeling like he might lose her. Tired of feeling that Verflucht would fail, that Axel would never see him as an equal, a vital part of the ranch, as a brother he wanted to be a part of his life.

  “We can make us work, Cat. Stronger than before.”

  She tried to deny it with a quick shake of her head, but his hand spanned her tilted jaw, and his thumb stroked back and forth, a seductive rhythm that built until August heard a soft, low moan. Him or her? He didn’t know anymore. Time and space tunneled until he could only see Cat in front of him, bathed in the sun streaming into the doorway of the winery, while he was still in shadow.

  Symbolic as hell.

  “Yes. I need you,” he breathed, bending his head down, giving her plenty of time to pull away, but not really. She’d never been able to resist him, and he took advantage of that
. “I want you.” He feathered his lips along hers.

  “August…”

  Maybe it was meant as a protest, but it splattered messy as a dropped egg.

  “Baby, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us.” His voice was urgent.

  “But—” Her fingers gripped his upper biceps, maybe to push him away, maybe to pull him more fully against her.

  He barely kept a leash on his desire. He wanted to persuade Cat to give him another chance.

  “We can solve anything together.”

  “That’s just it,” she said, her eyes searching his as she leaned back a little. “We never stay together. You always need to leave. You always have something else that grabs your attention.”

  “No. This is permanent,” he vowed, relieved to know what was really causing her hesitation and fears. “We are permanent. Verflucht is permanent.” Axel hadn’t even understood that. “That’s why I wanted to plant the biggest vineyard in the Hill Country someday. Roots. Planted deep. This land has been in the Wolf family for generations, and, Catalina, I am staying. I’m home,” he said. “You’re home. All I need is a chance. The last one you’ll ever need to give me,” he vowed.

  He felt the intensity of her unusual and beautiful, searching gaze deep in his soul, if he had one. He saw questions. Worries. And he hated that. But knew he deserved it.

  “Let me prove it to you, Cat. Give me time. Don’t just take my word. Let me prove it to you. Give me a chance. One more. I won’t need another. I know it.”

  Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and then she was standing on tiptoes, angling her face toward his. Triumph and relief swept through him until the first touch of her lips on his, and then there was fire and the familiar, consuming rising tide of lust.

  *

  Catalina didn’t think. She could only feel. And she dove into the kiss like she was drowning and August was the air. She pressed into him and held on as he took a step back and another until he came up against the wine barrel. One-armed, he palmed her ass and lifted her, set her down on the head of the wine barrel and stepped into her, spreading her thighs with a push.

  Dimly, she heard a voice warning her she was in too deep, but she only wanted in deeper. Hands in his hair, hands on his thin blue cotton tee. She tugged his shirt up so she could touch his skin. Damn. He still wore the medical brace on his ribs and a sling.

  Damn, she needed him—heat and flesh. Then her exploring hands brushed against his firm pec and her fingers tweaked his taut nipple. He hissed in a breath and moaned in her mouth, so she pinched him again, letting her short nails graze his nipples while her mouth worked along his jaw, cut like he was a model for a military recruitment poster. Except he’d always worn his hair longer. Shaggy. Waves and loose curls she’d loved to lose her hands and face and mouth in.

  August was still as hot and hard and as ripped as she remembered. He’d never been a hands-off, behind-the-desk owner—he often worked on his projects with a crew—but he also hit the gym and trails daily because he’d had a lot of energy to burn.

  And she’d loved when he’d burned it with her.

  Insatiable.

  Skilled.

  And beyond generous. He’d ruined her for any man who’d come after.

  Eager and hungry, Catalina scooted forward and balanced on the chime of the wine barrel, feeling the beveled edge of the staves and the metal hoop dig hard into her ass.

  She could feel his erection strain against his jeans. She wanted his clothes off but couldn’t take the time to deal with buttons or zippers or stiff fabric. And she barely resisted the urge to rip off his sling.

  Injured, she tried to remind herself, only she kept forgetting because he didn’t feel that way and she had four years of hunger and lust and loneliness to make up for.

  You’re going to regret this.

  Her brain tried again to kick in, but she shut it down. She knew she’d later regret losing her mind, but at this precise moment, she didn’t care.

  “Christ, I need six hands to do what I want to do to you,” he groaned as he took her mouth over and over in drugging kisses that spread out along her jaw and down her sensitive neck and along her collarbone. Her head fell back and she closed her eyes so she could concentrate on how August made her feel. And how his body felt in her frantic, grasping hands.

  It had been so long.

  His breath was ragged. His heart slammed against hers. And she could feel the hot, hard length of him dig into her tender, most feminine part.

  “Get your jeans off,” he ordered.

  The command thrilled her. He’d always been bossy. Intense. And after years of being told by her mother that she wasn’t pretty or feminine and had nothing of interest to offer men, she’d been amazed by August’s worship of her body. Sure, it was strong and functional and healthy, but physically she had nothing of note to brag about. She wasn’t the woman men noticed when they walked in a room.

  “Stay with me, Cat. Be in the moment with me now.” He held her chin again, his blue gaze sizzled away the memories and somehow the hurt dissipated.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  He ducked out of his sling.

  “What are you doing?” She grabbed his injured right arm and pressed it into his body.

  “Need both hands, baby—and all day, but don’t think we have that, so I definitely want both hands.”

  His face was set in intense lines. His eyes glittered. Red slashed his high cheekbones, and his mouth was cut in sensual lines.

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” She realized her thighs were gripping his hips like she was about to ride a bull. “Ummmmm. Oops.”

  “Not touching you would hurt more.” He leaned in and took her mouth again, this time softer, slower, more sensual, nibbling on her lip and soothing her pouting bottom lip that felt swollen with his tongue. She sighed and slid her hands down his body absorbing the way he felt and then she cupped his oh-so-delectable ass.

  “I missed you,” she admitted.

  She ached for him. And then his hand was there, unbuttoning her jeans, easing down her zipper, and then his fingers deftly slid under the lacy fabric of her panties.

  It was one habit she hadn’t changed after August. She’d kept all the pretty and racy collection of panties he’d bought for her, and even though money was usually tight, she’d picked out a few new pairs that always made her feel feminine even when she was dirty and sweaty and exhausted after a long day in the vineyard or in the cellar.

  “Black and lace,” he murmured against her mouth. The low tone and vibration zapped straight to her core, which wept for him. “My second favorite.” His voice was pure sin.

  “What’s your first?” She couldn’t help her curiosity.

  “You bare against my lips.”

  She couldn’t breathe, and if it were possible, her temperature shot up to triple digits—hotter than a Texas July midday.

  “You’re so wet for me,” he breathed, and one finger teased around her clit so that she cried out and clutched on to him, trying to hold herself up. Her body trembled against his, and she panted when one finger curled deep inside her and stroked the one spot that always made her come undone.

  “August,” she wailed and thrashed, trying and failing to somehow control herself in the storm of his sensual exploration. She was close. So close.

  She felt herself climbing the peak. Pinpricks of light splashed across her vision, and she felt the first convulsion, and then August swore against her bare breasts where he’d nuzzled her shirt up.

  What? What had she done wrong? She hadn’t even realized he practically had her naked.

  And then she heard it. A Gator engine. A truck. Voices.

  Within seconds she was upright, her jeans zipped and buttoned, her tank back down, and August lifted her off the wine barrel and held her upright for a second when her trembling legs threatened to give out.

  He bent and retrieved her long-sleeve, plaid shirt and fed one of her arms in it.

 
“What the hell?” he demanded. “Who’s coming up here now?”

  Catalina blinked at him. Her body didn’t seem to get the message that the orgasm—so close—was no longer happening. She gulped in air, but everything seemed flavored with August and sex, and her nipples were still pebbled and aching, and she had a wet spot on her shirt.

  August reached over and buttoned a button. Since when did he get so prudish?

  “Mine,” he said as if answering her. Briefly his mouth closed around her nipple, and she squeaked in shock. “If it’s my brother, I am going to run him over with the Jeep. He’s acting like I’m sixteen again.”

  “It’s the vineyard and cellar crew,” she said, still a little breathless and flushed.

  “Again?” Two stripes of pink slashed high across his cheekbones. “Unbelievable.”

  Cat couldn’t seem to drag her eyes north away from the promise of his oh-so-aroused state. She could almost feel his hard, silky heat in her hand before she’d slide him into her mouth.

  “Ummmm. Yeah. You did hire me to work,” she said, trying to calm her hectic breathing. “I called a meeting to make a plan for the week and getting set up for the Bluebonnet Festival.” She needed to start acting like a professional.

  “Without me?”

  Now he sounded beyond pissed.

  “You said I was the winemaker.” She notched her chin and tried to glare at him, but it was difficult when her body still thrummed and she could feel the imprint of his finger deep inside her. “I’m not fully up to speed and need to get there fast. I want to get an ad out for more crew with harvest coming up in a few months. And we are going to want to order more varietals and different clones in order to keep up with the growth and planting schedule that was initially laid out.”

  Approval glowed in his eyes.

  The first of the skeleton vineyard and cellar crew entered the winery, and Cat drew herself up to her full—although quite petite—height. She moved away from the wine barrel, hoping that there was no telltale evidence of what had happened or almost happened there. She’d need to move the wine barrel to the back and not use it for a desk or she’d never be able to concentrate again.