Hard, cold experience had taught her that.
Yet here she was. In the boondocks. In six-inch heels. With a flat tire.
Oh, she could change a fricking tire. Hell, she could rip out and refurbish a transmission. But the idiots at the wilderness rental car company hadn’t bothered to put a jack in the trunk. She was resourceful…but not that resourceful. Even if she could channel her MacGyveresque tendencies, there was nothing out on this barren plain she could use to lever her car up high enough to do the job.
So here she stood by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, in six-inch heels and without cell phone service—the epitome of a helpless woman. All she needed was slasher music and she could be the star of a horror flick.
A plume of dust blossomed on the horizon and her mood lifted. Oh, thank god. Someone was coming. No one had passed in the two hours since the blowout.
Hopefully, it wasn’t a slasher.
The plume grew. A beat-up pickup topped one rise, and then the next. The truck rolled to a stop in front of her crippled Honda.
Oh. Lovely. Her savior had a gun rack.
Delilah covered her mouth and nose as the cloud of dust caught up with the truck and engulfed her. Angie’s birthday party had better be worth all this trouble.
She plastered a smile on her face and turned to greet the Good Samaritan. At least, she hoped he was a Good Samaritan. She was quite alone on this deserted stretch of road and—
Oh god.
He unfolded himself from the cab of his truck, and her breath wedged in her throat. He was enormous. And, judging from his ratty chambray shirt, shit-kicker boots and Stetson, he was a cowboy.
She hated cowboys. Selfish, misogynistic sons of bitches. Her fake smile threatened to become a very real grimace.
He stepped closer through the lingering cloud of dust, and Delilah’s heart ker-chunked. He was gorgeous. Not only was he tall—which she really liked in a man—he was big. Broad and brawny and muscular. His face was a dream from his heavily lashed brown eyes to the intriguing dent on his chin. She had to remind herself why cowboys and city girls didn’t mix, but even that couldn’t keep her from ogling his forearms. His sleeves were rolled up, just enough to give her a glimpse of defined veins and a sprinkling of dark hair. She loved veiny forearms.
Damn. Why couldn’t he have been something other than a cowboy? Or, if he had to be a cowboy, why couldn’t he have been an old one…with Dunlap syndrome—where his belly done lapped over his belt?
“Howdy.” His voice was deep and smoky.
Delilah couldn’t appreciate the sultry timbre. Of all greetings in the universe, Howdy was her least favorite.
“Having some trouble?” He whipped off his Stetson to wipe his brow and thick black curls tumbled out.
Curls. Not fair. Why couldn’t he be bald?
Delilah cleared her throat. “Flat tire.”
He glanced at her car. A dimple exploded on his cheek.
Fuck.
Dimples were her kryptonite.
“Would you like me to change it for you? You do have a spare?”
Yeah. There it was. Sure he was superhot, gorgeous and sexy as hell. But his patronizing tone squelched any simmering temptation she might have been harboring.
That’s how it was with cowboys, wasn’t it? They saw all women as helpless, idiot creatures stumbling around in six-inch heels, batting their lashes and flashing their boobs and simpering.
Delilah was not a simperer. She was a fuck-you, take-no-prisoners, hard-core lawyer, who could take care of herself just fine.
But she did have a flat. And no jack. She kinda needed his help.
So she batted her lashes. “Um. I think there’s a tire thingy in the…what do you call it? Trunk?” She affected a Southern drawl and thrust out her boobage, just for good measure.
It annoyed her that he bought her act. And it kind of didn’t. The bedazzled look in his eyes was a salve to her ego. After Trevor and all. It was nice to know she could still appeal to a man. Even a redneck cowboy.
He loped over to her car—yes, loped. She tried not to stare at his ass but his jeans were tight. It was a challenge to look elsewhere. He bent to search the trunk—again, a mighty fine ass—and stood, tipping back his Stetson. His profile, against the bird’s-egg-blue backdrop of the sky, stole her breath.
“There’s no jack.”
“No what?”
He sighed and headed for his truck, pulling out an impressively fancy jack. “This,” he said, “is a jack. You use it to lift the carriage up high enough to change the tire.”
It was so sweet the way he made his voice all slow and pedantic. You know, so she could understand. Idiot woman that she was.
“Gosh. You’re smart.” She probably didn’t need to gush quite that much, but hell, she hated condescending men. Especially cowboys. But she might as well have fun with this.
He knelt and fitted the jack and started cranking. His muscles bunched, forearms bulging with each pump.
Delilah sighed, and told herself it was only a pretend sigh, but her gaze was riveted to the sight. “You are such a big, strong man.”
He flashed a grin at her.
Yeah. Of course he did. Men loved to be told how big and strong they were. She completely ignored the dimples erupting all over his bristled cheek. Did he never shave? “How can I ever repay you?”
He stilled. The glint in his eye was horrifying. Crap. Had she gone too far with her helpless female shtick? She was all alone. On a deserted highway. With an enormous Neanderthal cowboy.
When he tipped his head to the side, her trepidation vanished. He looked more like a mischievous boy than a mad rapist-slasher. “How about a kiss?”
Delilah blinked. “A…what?”
“A kiss. Just a little one.”
Her brain fogged over. And it wasn’t horror at the prospect of a strange man demanding a kiss on the side of a deserted road that muddied the waters. It was pure exhilaration at the thought of his mouth devouring hers, those arms wrapping around her, that massive chest, warm and hard as he yanked her close…
Aw hell.
Why was she always attracted to the wrong guys? She wanted a man who liked opera and dreamed of traveling to Italy. Not a guy who listened to Country and Western music, spat chew into a bean can, and whose dream of an exciting evening was a night at the local bar playing pool.
“What do you say, ma’am? One kiss, in exchange for my… services?” When she hesitated, he repeated, “A little one.”
Why she nodded, she had no clue.
Well, she knew why she nodded—because she was incapable of speech.
Why she agreed was the mystery.
Then again, he was superhot. She ached to know how he tasted…and it wasn’t as though they would ever see each other again. Besides, if things got out of hand, she had mace. And she knew how to use it.
At her assent, he sprang into action. It was astounding how quickly he changed that tire. He tossed the flat into the trunk, returned his jack to his truck and wiped his hands.
“All done.”
Her heart skittered as he stepped closer.
“Time for payment.” His voice was a low thrum.
Excitement coursed through her body. She trembled as he cupped her cheek. His palm was rough, calloused. Heat singed her. “O-one k-kiss,” she murmured. “A little one.”
“I remember.” She tasted his breath as he whispered the words.
And then his lips touched hers. Gently. Sweetly. Rubbing back and forth, nibbling, questing. Her pulse thrummed—she felt it…everywhere. He delved deeper, nudging her with his tongue. He tasted delicious. Like peppermint and man.
Without thought, she opened her mouth to him, and he entered her.
She’d never enjoyed French kisses before, but this kiss was different. It was divine. Exquisite. It made her want only one thing…more.
He drew back and she captured his nape with desperate fingers. Held him there.
Mo
re. More. God, please more.
He complied with her unspoken demand, changing his angle and deepening the kiss. His brawny arms wrapped around her and held her tight. His fingers idly explored the curve of her waist. Then his hand skated higher, curving around the swell of her breast.
A feral groan hummed between them. She wasn’t sure if it was his or hers. Hardly cared. Because, just then, his thumb nudged her taut nipple. Her knees went weak, and she collapsed against him.
He lifted his head and stared at her, the lust in his eyes in full flower. A muscle bunched in his cheek. His body pulsated with sexual tension. A look flickered across his face—a look that made her think he was going to kiss her again. An electrifying thrill sizzled through her veins. She shivered.
But then, he released her. Cold seeped in.
“One kiss.” This, he whispered. “Thank you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and turned and walked to his truck with a lopsided gait.
She ached to call him back. Demand he finish what he started, but she knew better.
This was a dangerous man. She had to let him go.
Had to never see him again.
Not ever.
A niggle in the region of her heart annoyed her. She knew what would happen if she opened her mouth and said “Wait,” or “Come back,” or something equally stupid. The end result would be more than an aching heart. It would be utter disaster.
She’d been down that road before.
He paused before he levered into his truck. “I’ll follow you for a ways, to make sure you don’t have any more trouble. But I’m only going a couple more miles up the road.”
His chivalry annoyed her. God damn it. Why couldn’t he be a douche like all the rest of them?
She nodded and fished in her purse for the car keys. It gave her something to do. Something other than stare at him and drool. Something to dull those slicing shards of regret.
Damn. She would remember him for a long, long time. She would remember…and wonder.
Shit.
Landon McCoy glared at the little blue car kicking up dust in front of him as he finished the drive to his brother’s ranch. He hadn’t asked her name.
He should have asked her name.
At least then he’d have something to call her in his dreams when he was fisting his cock tonight, relieving the aching pressure she’d caused.
Or maybe not tonight. Maybe this afternoon.
He was as hard as a rock.
He should have asked for two kisses. If he’d had two kisses, he probably could have bargained for more. Maybe convinced her to tell him her name. Her number. Something other than the thin knowledge she’d rented a car from Skeeter.
Lord, she was a pretty thing, from her jet-black hair to her perfectly pedicured toes. He usually didn’t go for bimbos, but this doll could make him forget his own name. She was tall and curvy in all the right places. Her breasts had been warm, firm, sublime. But as amazing as her body was, her face eclipsed it. She was, in a word, gorgeous. There was an elfin cant to her amber eyes hinting at a playful side. Her skin was flawless and her lips…
His thoughts trailed off as he remembered her lips. Their fullness, the velvety texture, her taste. It had taken everything in him to keep to his promise and stop after that one kiss. But what a magnificent kiss it had been.
And he’d never see her again.
They neared the turn for AC Ranch and a little bubble of acid played in his gut. This was it. Where he’d turn, and she’d keep going straight. Where they would part ways for fucking ever.
But then, to his shock, she didn’t go straight. She turned. To the left.
Holy crap.
He turned as well, his heart thrumming in his throat.
Because he would.
He would see her again.
And soon.
He pulled up behind her in Cody’s driveway and hopped out of his truck. He was going to smile at her and ask if she was lost, but before he could, she leapt out of the Honda and whirled on him, a flare of fear in her eyes.
“Are you following me?” she spat.
Landon blinked. “Following you?” Shit. She thought he was a stalker. “No. This is my brother’s ranch. He got delayed. He asked me to come by and feed the horses.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your brother’s place?” Lord, she could hiss. “What’s his name?”
“Cody. Cody McCoy. He and his wife Ange went to Dallas for the week. For her birthday.”
The woman, his spitfire angel, crossed her arms over her chest. “Why didn’t she mention that when she invited me to come here? For her birthday?”
Ah hell. That’s who she was. “Because it was a surprise. Angie didn’t know.” Landon took off his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair. “You must be Delilah.”
Confusion tangled with the fury on the exquisite planes of her face. Her brow wrinkled. “How do you know my name?”
“Angie asked me to make you feel at home. She and Cody’ll be back tomorrow.” He thrust out a hand. “I’m Landon.” She didn’t take his hand, so he felt compelled to add, “I’m not a stalker.”
Incongruously, she laughed. The sound trickled through him. As pretty as she was when she snarled at him, she was even more captivating when she smiled. “All right, Landon McCoy. I believe you.”
He grinned. Winked. “There are photos of me in the house if you want to confirm who I am.”
Her smile faded. “I said I believe you.”
An awkward silence rose between them. Landon cleared his throat and in an attempt to banish it said, “Can I help you take your things into the house?”
She harrumphed, “I can take care of myself.”
“I have no doubts about that.” He watched as she wrestled her suitcase from the car, then led the way into the house and down the hall, flipping on the lights as he went. “Here’s the guest room. Make yourself at home.”
She tossed her suitcase on the bed.
He tried, very hard, not to think about that bed. Where she’d be sleeping. Tonight. “I-I’ll go tend the horses, and then what do you say to a steak dinner?”
Her eyes rounded. She put a hand to her belly. “I am pretty hungry.”
“Great. Kitchen’s through here if you want something now.” He shot her what he hoped was a friendly smile. “After the day you’ve had, you could probably use a beer. Cody keeps the fridge well stocked.”
She snorted. “Hell. After the day I’ve had, I need to skip the beer and go straight to the whiskey.”
Landon laughed. “He keeps the liquor cabinet well stocked as well.” He showed her the gleaming bar in the great room. “Well, I’m heading out to the barn.” He stilled as the vision of making love to Delilah in the hayloft snarled through his brain. “I should be a couple hours. Y-you’re welcome to join me if you want some company.”
She shot him a sardonic look.
He shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He nodded again and, with one last look, forced his legs to move. Walk away. Though what he really wanted, more than anything, was to put his mouth on her, to taste her again.
But as he made his way to the barn, a smile curled his lips.
Because he hadn’t lost her forever. She was here. He was here.
And he had all night to warm her up.
* * *
When Landon went out to the barn to feed and water the horses, Delilah puttered in the kitchen, whipping up a veggie soufflé and twice-baked potatoes to go with the steak. But she only did it to keep her hands busy. Her mind was in a whirl.
Holy god. He was Landon McCoy. The hot hunk who had changed her tire and kissed her like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted do in his life was Landon McCoy. Cody’s brother. She should have seen the likeness. She should have known.
Delilah had known Cody for years. Since college. She’d introduced him to Angie. When the two had fallen in love, Delilah had been delighted for them—and green with envy. Because C
ody was one of the good ones. Practically the only decent man she’d ever met.
And he had a brother.
Panic rose in her chest.
She could barely resist Landon as it was. She’d be utterly lost if he turned out to be just like Cody.
The last thing she needed right now was another man. And a cowboy to boot.
Still, her heart fluttered when she heard him clomping up the steps to the house. He came into the kitchen all sweaty and covered with dust. She repressed the urge to leap on top of him.
His nose twitched. “Wow. What smells so good?”
“I made a soufflé. And potatoes.”
He studied her for a moment, then murmured, “All that and she can cook too.”
Heat rose on her cheeks and she glanced away. She had to.
“I’m going to hop in the shower, then I’ll start the steaks. How does that sound?”
Oh god. Landon in the shower. Naked. A quiver skittered through her at the thought. She tried valiantly to squelch it. And failed.
When he returned he was wearing a fresh shirt, and his hair was damp and slicked back. And he had shaved. The sharp line of his chin was smooth. Delilah decided it was probably better not to look at him at all, because he made her mouth water.
To cut the tension, she made them both a drink. He sipped his as he grilled the steak. Hers, she tossed back. Then made another.
By the time Landon brought the steaks to the dining room table, she’d had three.
He forked an enormous steak onto each plate, then served them both soufflé and potatoes. They sat across from each other and Landon lifted his glass. “To flat tires.”
Delilah blinked. A laugh bubbled. Of all the things to drink to—“All right. To flat tires.” She took a sip, and then got serious. Tore into her steak. The first bite made her moan. It was perfect. But Landon didn’t notice her orgasmic rapture. He was busy groaning as well.
“Oh lord. This soufflé is amazing. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
Delilah shrugged. “Cookbooks?” She’d always dreamed of attending Cordon Bleu or taking a cooking class in Tuscany, but never had.
“Phenomenal. The potatoes remind me of a dish I had in Northern Italy.”
Delilah stilled. Slowly, she raised her gaze. “Y-you’ve been to Italy?” Cowboys didn’t go to Italy. Did they?
Cowboy Heat Page 17
