Harlequin Desire February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: The King Next DoorMarriage With BenefitsA Real Cowboy (Kings of California)

by Maureen Child

  “J.R., would you shut up?” Thalia rolled over to him and slid her arm around his waist, pulling him into her. Okay, so she’d immediately broken her no-touching rule. This wasn’t any different than the way they’d been touching earlier, on the couch. So it was practically the same. Except for the fact that they were alone, in bed. There was that. “You’ve done nothing but take care of me. You beat that jerk up for me. You drove off into a blizzard for me. You have risked your life for me more times in the last few days than anyone else has in years. Decades. So you’re going to let me return the favor, okay? I’m going to take care of you.”

  His eyes glittered. It would be so easy to push him over the edge, to take what they both wanted. But she didn’t want him to think she was trying to trap him into something—into a stupid movie role. She swallowed, forcing her desire back and trying to dredge up some reason—any reason would do—that she was not seducing him. “Do you know how bad it would look if you froze to death because of me? I want to make sure you’re warm.”

  Because he wasn’t. He radiated chill through her jammies. She didn’t know if she could warm him up or if he would freeze her out first.

  He exhaled, then his opposite hand reached up and rested on her forearm. She fought the urge to throw her leg over his—to warm him up a little faster. It had nothing with wanting to melt into him, or wanting him to pull her in closer. Nothing at all.

  Damn, he was cold. “It’s just...” His voice was low, and close to her ear. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend this was pillow talk. “You being here makes things hard on me.”

  She leaned back enough to meet his eyes. The raw honesty she saw there came close to breaking her heart. “I’m not trying to make things hard.” Then she realized what she’d said and her cheeks flushed hot. Which wasn’t a bad thing, but the temperature under the blankets edged up again.

  “I know.” He moved his hand up and brushed freezing fingertips down her cheek. She shivered, but she didn’t know if that was from the cold or the touch. “But you...”

  Suddenly, she was the shy one, afraid of what he was going to say. Because she didn’t know and couldn’t guess. “Get some sleep,” she said, but she couldn’t help herself. She pressed his hand against her cheek and then turned her face to kiss his palm. So she’d said she wasn’t going to seduce him. No more than she already had, apparently.

  No, he’d been as good as his word. She had to do the same. Never mind that she was actually in bed with the former James Robert Bradley. Never mind that she’d lusted after him for a span of years that veered toward decades. Never mind that, as soon as this blizzard was a memory, she wouldn’t see him again. Never freaking mind that this would be her one and only chance to make a long-held wish come true.

  She’d loved an act, for that’s all James Robert Bradley had been. That realization made her feel silly. The man in her arms wasn’t some creation. He was real.

  She forced herself to roll over and face the fire. After a few seconds, J.R. rolled with her, sliding one arm under her neck and the other around her waist. He pulled her back into the hard planes of his chest. This—this feeling of his body along hers, this close contact—this was what she wanted, but it wasn’t, too. It wasn’t enough.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered in her ear. Then, moments later, his grip loosened and his chest rose and fell.

  Get some sleep, she told herself. As if that were possible.

  Ten

  Thalia did manage to drift off. After a while, J.R. stopped sucking all her body heat away from her and started to return the favor. She fell asleep feeling warm and secure in his arms. No matter what happened after this, she’d always have this sweet memory of lying in his arms. Even if that was as good as it got, it was still pretty damn good.

  Lost in a dreamless fog, though, something changed. Heat coursed through her body—the kind of heat no fire, no amount of blankets, could match. She knew she was dreaming—she had to be, right? When she shifted, the pressure against her breast grew, focusing her desire.

  Her eyes snapped open. Nope, not dreaming—J.R.’s hand covered her right breast and his other hand had drifted down to her hip bone. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he’d pulled her into an even deeper embrace, and she could feel the hard length of him pressing against her backside.

  He let out a little moan, his hot breath hitting her on the side of the neck and racing its way under the covers and down her back. She thought he was awake but then his hands jerked against her body, and she realized he was completely, totally, asleep. While palming her breast.

  She’d think this whole situation funny, except he was turning her on. It’d been, what? A year since her last attempt at dating someone who worked in the entertainment industry? And like most of her relationships, this one had failed when Thalia had been unable—and, honestly, unwilling—to get the wannabe screenwriter’s script in front of Levinson’s eyes. She hated the feeling that even intimate relationships in Hollywood were predicated on favors.

  J.R. shuddered, pouring more steamy breath onto her skin while digging his fingers into her body. He wasn’t pawing her, but it was close, and the primal feeling of it—that even in sleep, he couldn’t keep his hands off her—made her feel wanted in a basic, feminine kind of way.

  And she wanted him back. She’d thought she’d lusted after James Robert the famous actor, but that juvenile emotion seemed pitiful compared to how much she wanted J.R., the real-life cowboy.

  Moving slowly, so as not to disturb him, she covered his hand with hers, pressing it against her breast. His fingers were calloused, and she let hers drift over their roughness. Not the hands of a guy who had biweekly maintenance manicures, but the hands of a man who worked for a living.

  The hands of a man who knew how to use them.

  The thought of those hands moving over other bare parts of her body sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with cold. She was on thin ice, that she knew. He’d expressly stated he wasn’t here for her in the physical sense. His every move had shown he was here for her in the emotional sense, which was almost as big a turn-on as the thought of his body moving against hers. This was no teenaged crush, and it wasn’t sheer lust. This was something different. Something special.

  Except for the obvious fact that he was still out like a light and she was burning with desire. That was something of a problem.

  Well, part of him was burning with desire, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of it. With each shudder, each jolt, the hard length of him pressed against her with a more demanding need.

  When he jerked again, the stubble of his beard scraped against the back of her neck, and Thalia couldn’t bite back the low moan. Sex in Hollywood was a matter of power and negotiation, true, but it was also a competition—who had the better body, who had the better wax job, who had the money to pay for all that upkeep. The feeling of his facial hair on her bare skin was so raw, so real, that she couldn’t help but grind her hips back into him. When was the last time she’d been this turned on?

  What she wouldn’t give to have fewer layers of flannel between them. What the hell, she thought. She wanted him. Actually, by this point, it had gone beyond mere “want” and had skipped straight on over into “need.” She didn’t just need the release of a good, old-fashioned orgasm. She needed to feel desirable. She needed to feel wanted. She needed him.

  She lifted her free hand back and rested it on his hip, pulling him against her as she shimmied against him. Another moan escaped her lips.

  This time, it wasn’t quiet enough. J.R. stilled behind her, and she felt tension roll off him.

  All the lines she’d crossed before were small, nearly invisible ones. But when she slipped her other hand down between their bodies and felt for herself how rock hard he was, she knew she was crossing the big, blinking line. She couldn’t stop hersel
f. The thing was, she had no idea if he would stop her or not.

  She didn’t want him to stop her. “I want you, J.R. So much.” To emphasize that, she formed his fingers around her breast while she traced his generous length again.

  His breaths came so quick and fast that in seconds, he was panting. She tilted her head over her shoulder and managed to catch his cheek with her lips. When she did, he shuddered. She felt his body envelop hers as his lips moved against her neck. The stubble scraped over her skin, and she had to bite back another moan as he said, “I don’t have anything.”

  “I’m on the Pill. Clean bill of health.” She let go of his hand long enough to pull her shirt up, and when he placed all those calluses back on her bare nipple, she sucked in air. “You’ve taken care of me, J.R. Let me take care of you. All of you,” she added as she rubbed against him.

  For a painful, erotic second, he didn’t say anything. Then he lowered his head and kissed the spot below her ear.

  The relief that coursed through Thalia’s body was immediate and intense, which only amplified the desire racing roughshod over her body.

  They didn’t speak another word. They didn’t have to. She slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his pants and wrapped her fingers around the whole of him. The groan she was rewarded with spoke louder than any sweet talk could have.

  When he returned the favor, sliding his hand below her waistband and rubbing those calloused hands over her most sensitive spot, she had to fight to keep what little control she had. He must have sensed how close she already was, because he used his chin to shove the shoulder of her top away and then took a nip at the bare flesh he’d exposed while stroking her harder and harder.

  Wait, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to wait for him—but he didn’t give her a choice. One set of calluses slid deeper into the folds of her body, rubbing with exquisite precision, while the other pulled and tugged at her nipple. The release crashed over her so hard, so fast, that she almost fell off the bed when her back arched.

  He held on to her, pulling her back into him. “Whoa,” was all he said, as if she were a young filly trying to buck him off, but she heard the satisfaction in his voice.

  Yeah, whoa. Not since the fumbling days of her first serious boyfriend had a man taken the time to put her first. And just when she thought J.R. couldn’t turn her on any more than she already was, too.

  He held her as the last of the orgasm shuddered through her body, kissing her neck the whole time. If she were with some manscaped guy in Hollywood, he’d already be looking for affirmation that only he gave her that kind of climax, that he was the best she’d ever been with.

  Not J.R. Instead, he made a low sound, deep in the back of his throat that sounded like pure happiness. Well, she could make him happier. She stretched back, trying to get a hold of him again.

  “Whoa,” he said again as he grabbed her hand. Then he was pulling her bottoms down, then his bottoms down, and finally, finally, no flannel stood between them.

  She twisted so she could get the one thing she’d been missing—a kiss. “J.R.,” she whispered, then his mouth covered hers. Their tongues tangled as his beard abraded her lips.

  Primal—that was the word. Something basic in her responded, sending heat rushing down between her legs and making her angle her backside for him. She threw her top leg over his, opening for him.

  He lifted her off the bed, then he was against her, then he was sliding all of that length into her. He’d revved up her engine so much her body offered no resistance to what felt like an impressive size. With two concentrated thrusts, he was buried deep inside her.

  When he paused, she cried out in protest. “J.R., please.”

  “I want to feel you for a minute.” But he shifted, lowering her upper body back down onto the bed and sliding his hand down her belly again.

  Man, how she loved the feel of those rough calluses sliding over her. “Smooth,” he murmured as he skimmed over the area she felt compelled to keep waxed even when she wasn’t seeing anyone.

  Before she could offer a comment, though, his fingers delved deeper, and suddenly he was thrusting and rubbing and tweaking her nipple and Thalia had no words. None. All she could do was hold on to his thigh, his arm, and lean back for quick, hot kisses as he drove into her again and again.

  He licked at her neck and shoulder, rubbing his beard over her exposed skin. The rough sensation left scorch marks of heat on her skin. She lifted her hand behind his head and laced her fingers into his hair, holding his face against her neck.

  He nipped her there, which drew a ragged gasp from her. Taking that as the sign of approval it was, he bit with more pressure.

  Thalia came—hard. Her body tightened around him, against him, as the pleasure of being consumed ran roughshod over her body. He stopped thrusting as she rode it out, instead focusing on touching all of her spots with just the right amount of pressure. Oh, so good was all the conscious thought Thalia was capable of thinking. As the climax ebbed, she melted back into his body, grinning like a fool and wondering if she’d be the same again.

  J.R. took his cue and ran with it. He rolled toward her, putting his hands on her hips and thrusting deeper, longer and harder. He wasn’t holding back—no, he was giving her everything he had, and maybe a little something extra. She had to brace herself against the edge of the bed so she didn’t fall off, but she didn’t care. There was something so heated, so fierce about this act between them. She had no idea how she’d ever be happy with any of the metrosexuals back in L.A. ever again. Nothing and no one could compare to her cowboy.

  With a groan that started deep in his chest and rumbled into a low roar, he thrust one final time and held. A smaller, delicious orgasm peaked in Thalia just from knowing she’d satisfied him as much as he’d satisfied her.

  Wow. Even in all her fantasies of a wild night with James Robert Bradley, she didn’t think that she’d gotten even close to the hottest spooning sex she’d ever had. What made it even better was that it wasn’t the one-night stand she’d envisioned, where he barely remembered her name.

  He fell back panting, but before she could do much of anything, he was running his fingertips over her shoulder, the part where he’d bit her. “I marked you,” he said in a kind of surprised tone of voice. “I’m sorry.”

  She rolled over, throwing her arms around him. He fell onto his back, but he held her close. “Don’t be.” How could she tell him he’d marked her long before they had ever met?

  What happened next? She’d had dates that ended in bed—and then ended, dates she thought had potential to be more than a one-night stand, but weren’t. Would he treat her like she was a dime a dozen when they left this bed? Would things be weird down in the kitchen in the morning—weirder if Hoss and Minnie figured out what had happened?

  Swallowing down her anxiety, she said, “Now what?” in a carefully moderated tone.

  “Well,” he replied with a hearty yawn, “I’m going back to sleep.” Thalia’s heart sank a little at that pronouncement. Maybe she’d deluded herself into thinking he cared about her. Then he tightened his arms around her and said, “I want to make sure I’m holding you, all the same.” He yawned again. Yeah, maybe the sex had been...demanding. “’Night, Thalia. Again.”

  Oh. Oh. Thalia relaxed in the warmth of his embrace. “’Night, J.R.”

  She knew, without a doubt, that he knew who she was.

  Someone real.

  Eleven

  When J.R. opened his eyes, he could see it was lighter out. The tip of his nose was still cold, which meant Hoss hadn’t gotten the generators going yet. Still no power. He had no idea what time it was. He’d headed upstairs probably around seven, but had been awake a lot throughout the night. It could be seven in the morning, could be ten. All he knew was he hadn’t slept this late since, well, the last blizzard.


  He’d been alone and cold then. Now? Excepting the tip of his nose, he was warm and happy. It felt a little unreal. The smell of femininity and sex that seemed infused into the covers around him was definitely unusual.

  Sighing with contentment, he stretched as much as he could without disturbing Thalia. Thalia. She had his arm pinned under her head, but she’d rolled onto her back. Her mouth was open, and her hair was a wild mess. She looked exactly like a woman who’d been satisfied in bed. He didn’t think she’d ever looked prettier.

  He’d like to stay right here in this bed, too, but he was getting that twitchy feeling he always got when he slept much past six in the morning. Life on the ranch was early to bed, early to rise. By his second summer of getting up at 3:30 a.m. to work cattle before the heat hit, he’d gotten used to it. Which was fine, except on days like this. Sleeping in wasn’t his style.

  Part of him wanted to wake her with a kiss and a whole lot more, but the other part of him—the rational part—knew he couldn’t delay the start to the day any longer. He had to get out to the barn, get the gas for the generator and see to his horses. If the wind had compacted the snow enough, he’d try to get out to the pastures on the snowmobile and check on the cattle. He loved that sort of thing, doing real work with his hands. It was night and day from what his life had been in Hollywood, where he worked and worked and never felt like he did anything. Nothing of value, anyway.

  So this morning would have to wait. Until this evening. He just had to make it twelve hours. He could do that, right?

  Yeah, right, he thought as he brushed a strand of hair off Thalia’s cheek. Her eyelids fluttered as she turned her face toward him. “Hmmm,” she all but purred. “Time to get up?”