The Cowboy Rode a Harley

by Susan Arden

  “Yes, I’d appreciate that.”

  “Say around five. I’ll ring you. Of course, if you’ve any questions or concerns, please give me a call. You have my number?”

  “Not right in front of me. May I take it?” Gillian fumbled for paper and pen to write down the counselor’s direct line. Her fingers shook. Haden. Her eyes swam with tears. She went back inside and sat down at the kitchen table. If her brother didn’t get it together, what would become of him? She traced the edge of the table. The sound of her cellphone ringing once again made her jump. Her caller ID displayed Lori.

  She gripped the table, inhaling deeply, and answered. “Hey, what’s up?” she asked her friend.

  “How’d it go in Hollywood?”

  “Good. Everything moves fast. No problems, as far as I can tell.”

  “Details?” Lori asked with a laugh.

  Gillian focused on the wooden grain of the kitchen table. Lately, she’d gotten a vibe from Lori that, even engaged, she was still out for a good time. And that meant any available man became a prime candidate. Gillian had refused to discuss Stephen, other than saying nothing happened and nothing would. End of discussion. Still, there was something out of sync, and Gillian hoped their relationship would repair itself once Lori was married

  “They’ll be here in about ten days, to stay for a few days. No big deal. I seriously doubt this will air. But we’ll see.”

  “I thought there was a part where you returned to Burbank for filming.”

  “You listen well, don’t you? Yes. There is, in a few weeks. They film the dance number in their studio in front of a live audience.”

  “Who did you find to be your dance partner?” Lori asked.

  “My dance partner?” she nearly choked.

  Lori snorted. “You’re not taking an inflatable dummy, are you?”

  “I’m considering Stephen McLemore.” There, she said it.

  “Er, you might want to reconsider the inflatable dummy suggestion. He’s one hot muchacho, but he absolutely stinks at dancing. I saw him, night before last.”

  Icy, green fingers trailed up Gillian’s spine and felt as though they were about to strangle her. She kept her voice even when she spoke. “Really. Where did you see him?”

  “Don’t get all serious. It’s not like you guys are dating. You’d have said something. Right?”

  “I’m just wondering. That’s all.”

  “Well, hell, Gillian. At your dance studio. I signed up for dance lessons for the wedding.”

  “You and Luke?” she asked, breathing out in relief.

  “So far I haven’t gotten engaged to anyone else in the last three days. Yes. Luke and me.”

  Gillian’s chest untightened. “How’d you like the lessons? Did Luke enjoy them?”

  “He had a baby to deliver so I went stag. That’s how come I know so much about stud-muffin McLemore. Dude looks better than ever. Lickable. I’d forgotten what a broil he’s got going on. I’ll admit this only to you: I tried to see if there was any chance of hooking up with him. He’s too much a panty-melter to pass up. Crud. Luke’s calling on the other line. Hon, I’ve got to run.”

  “Wait. Lori. Did you end up leaving with Stephen?”

  Her friend’s brittle laugh sent cold, sharp shards stabbing up her spine. “No. He’s definitely got something going on. Didn’t pay attention to anyone under sixty. Danced with the elderly and his sister. Why on earth would you choose him when you’ve got dance partners who can keep up? Track down that guy from the university. Chad or Chester. You know who I mean.”

  “Because, it’s not all about who can make you look good. I like the way I express myself with Stephen. It’s easy to be real. Less fake glamour. That was never me. This way, I’ll find out if I’ve got a chance while being myself, and being judged on my merits. Stephen gets that about me. He’s not just some stud. We’re friends, you know.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I guess if anyone could be friends with the likes of a McLemore, it would be you. But heck, when you’re famous, you’ll have enough fame and glory not to care. I hope this all works out. Hugs, Gill.”

  For all of Lori’s ego-driven nonsense, she made a point which Gillian couldn’t ignore. The dance had to be professionally staged and captivating. Her friend didn’t know that many talented dancers, capable of executing perfect moves, still gave performances that lacked luster. In her opinion, the main reason was an absence of intensity. Passion.

  It didn’t matter if she would forego the opportunity to dance with a professional partner. Stephen gave her a taste of what it was like to move in a lover’s arms. A night and day difference. His body charged hers with the ability to transcend dance steps, entering a realm of artistry she’d never experienced. Yet, she couldn’t pretend; they both needed to practice. The routine had to be elegant, a seamless dance sequence that held onlookers enraptured.

  She drummed her fingers. A long time ago, she’d viewed danced partners in a ballroom competition she’d entered and lost. She didn’t recall her dance number; it had been early on in her ballroom dancing career. But, to this day, she recalled her opponent. The woman had worn a simple, red gown, striking against milky-white skin. Her partner was dressed all in black, never cracking a smile. The way he commanded his partner had been powerful. There was an interplay of raw sensuality between the dancers. For minutes, they had held everyone’s attention with a series of precise and uncompromisingly artistic moves.

  Of course there were a couple of riveting lifts, flowing in and out of turns. But the memory that haunted Gillian was the dark, sensual desire it had touched upon. Until she’d connected with Stephen, that world had been beyond her reach.

  With Stephen’s strength, and from what her body already knew, he’d master her. Excitement tore through her. Her arousal heightened her desire to dance with him, and then make love with him. A shiver passed through her body, leaving her throbbing. Just as those dancers had moved, as though one body—lovers sharing a glimpse into their lives beyond the dance floor—so would she and Stephen share their bond in a dance that left others breathless.

  There was only one place to work on this plan, and she swung her bag over her shoulder, grabbing her keys off the counter. If she had to mark out each step, she’d do so on her studio floor.

  * * *

  After hours of dancing solo with her imaginary partner, it was time. She dialed Stephen’s number. “Can you meet me at my studio? I’ve something to show you.”

  “Just tell me when.” he said..

  “As soon as you’re able. I’ve got our dance routine basically worked out, but I need your advice.”

  “Baby, I’ll get cleaned up and be on my way.”

  She hung up, her fingers tingling from his voice. Her whole body ached each time she heard him speak. The man had her moaning, and he’d not spoken more than a couple of sentences. She marched herself back to the center of the room, starting the The Gotan Project CD, featuring a less-famous tango interpretation she believed would suit their routine. It was edgy, and allowed them ample opportunity to move across the dance floor without the song overshadowing their routine. Her hands wanted to lift of their own volition when she envisioned her gorgeous partner who’d be here soon.

  The sound of the studio door opening made Gillian’s heartbeat stutter. Stephen entered, carrying a box tied with a red ribbon, and a panty-melting grin spread over his face. The sight of him had a wrecking-ball force that knocked the breath from her body.

  “I can hardly wait to show you our dance,” she said, her pulse now racing. His gaze pinned her in place, undressed her, and she stood motionless, hypnotized by the way his body moved.

  “You called,” he drawled, coming to her. “I picked this out for you.”

  The box separated them. “Shall I open it now?” she asked.

  “I was hoping,” he whispered, his eyes warm as he stared down at her.

  She tentatively untied the ribbon. He traced the side of her neck, letting his hand fall down h
er back to rest on her hip. The fingers of his hand stroked the curve of her bottom. She opened the box, lifting the tissue paper. Nestled inside was a set of lingerie. Lace and satin corset and garters, done in black, with tiny crisscrossing laces. “I’ve never owned anything like this before.”

  “And you’ll wear it. Just for me.” His guttural command harnessed her arousal, already inflamed, and turned up the heat.

  “And how will you be dressed?”

  “Nothing fancy. Just my birthday suit.”

  “Lickable. Down to the last drop,” she whispered, and backed away before they’d both be down to bare skin. “But now, we’ve got to practice.”

  “One kiss. And then I promise. Down to business.”

  There was never a single kiss with Stephen. His mouth devoured hers, asserting possession. This was the fire she wanted to claim for her own. Consuming and devastating, eradicating her worry about what was to come. He was her tango, and when he released her mouth slowly, she pulled him back for one more taste. At last they broke apart, and he held her at arms’ length, allowing her time to descend back to earth.

  She whispered, “I can’t tell you how impressed I am with your dancing. What we did this morning.”

  “I hope that after-dance routine also met with your approval.”

  Her face heated from his expression. This time, she forced herself to step away from him. Any attempt to harness their explosive sexuality would require complete self-control. He easily led her to another sphere, beyond Annona. She wanted to tell him what he meant to her. Her chest tightened, glancing at him.

  “You know it did. Always. What we have is very special.” It wasn’t coming out as she wanted. Maybe by showing him, he might understand. “Dance with me.”

  “With pleasure.” He took her into his arms.

  She glanced down and noticed he was wearing black boots. “You’re wearing dance shoes. Low-downs. Cory?”

  “No. I found a place. Tight fitting, but much easier than cowboy boots to move around in.”

  “I like them on you.” She pressed the remote for the iPod playlist. “Okay, first I thought we’d engage in a sort of stand-off. I’m trying to escape you, but you take charge of the situation. I imagined the dance to be a sort of push from the female dancer in wanting to assert herself, and the male dancer exerting his force. The bending should go both ways. I hope that makes sense. There are unconventional sounds in the song. I didn’t want the traditional squeeze-box and regular beat.”

  The music was playing as she explained. He nodded. She demonstrated the steps while in his arms. He followed along, better than she’d anticipated. She showed him where she intended her ochos and his response. They practiced the pivots, returning again and again to the beginning of the dance. Her breathing quickened. His hands on her body incited her already-burning arousal.

  In his arms, she felt as though she had more energy. The whole routine blazed by, and they started it again. His touch kept her moving. His expression and the pressure of his hands, the feel of his body, had her at one time wanting to fight him. She realized this was what it was like to dance enthralled, as though she was under his spell, in what became an act of seduction.

  Stephen possessed some innate knowledge of when to pull her back to him, capture her, and then let her go. This ability wasn’t something she—or anyone--could teach. Her heartbeat cantered from the things he did. Their bodies connected, searing flashes of heat spreading over her skin. My God, he was going to make her tear off his clothes in the next few seconds.

  “Stephen, do you feel it? When we dance?” Her body trembled uncontrollably in his arms.

  “A live-wire energy. It’s remarkable. You’re a gifted dancer and teacher. I think you’ll put Annona on the map. Big time. Shall we run through our routine again?” He kissed her cheek. A peck.

  She’d meant the need to forget the dance. For all the exhilaration dancing with him provided, it also made her want to stop dancing and start making love. Yet, it was Stephen who’d kept this practice session tightly-focused and on-track, proving he was more than in her corner. She inhaled, struggling with the realization that he took their practice seriously.

  “I think we’ve done tremendous work tonight. I’ve never had a partner like you. You make the tango come alive.” She handed him a bottle of water, holding back from taking him in her back room, and showing just how alive.

  “And now?” he asked, lifting her chin. “Ready to leave?”

  Chapter 16

  “More than you know.” She smiled, stroking his arm. “Do me a favor.”

  Christ, he wanted to keep her. A pang of guilt struck him. She needed to know he believed in her without wanting anything in return. “Name it, darlin’. Just promise me you’ll take your chance with as much gusto. You have a winning ticket if you do.”

  “I appreciate your ability to remain on task. For as much as I want to stop dancing and kiss you, you’re the one pushing through. Keep pushing.”

  “That’s almost too easy, and I promise I will, with the utmost pleasure.” He took her hand and led her to the middle of the studio. The act of commanding her came naturally to him and fed his hunger. Bracketing his hands on either side of her hips, he squeezed forcefully. “Then, one last run through. There’s a spot just after the intro that needs work.”

  She laughed, pressing her body against him. “No complaints. I asked for this.”

  Taking Gillian into his arms…well, that had been the easy part, he mused. It was refraining from acting upon his desires that required work. Her body bumping into his crotch, and her soft skin under his fingers, called out to a part of him he had locked away, deep in his soul. All he could do was continue striving to be the bigger man in supporting her dream. At some moments the ache almost overpowered him. His emotions churned; he wanted to carry her off to his home, make her stay with him.

  His pride refused to give ground and kept him silent. This hunger for her didn’t seem able to be satisfied. His craving got stronger the more he was around her. The more he pretended her leaving would be hunky-dory, the deeper this sham cut into him.

  He’d promised he would do what he could for her, as though she was only a friend, or, at best, his old friend’s little sister. He kept telling himself those things, but there was no way he could pretend this was a casual relationship. In a few weeks she’d be off to L.A., and he’d better prepare himself. Casual or not.

  Well, to hell with himself. Too late to undo the crazy-train he’d managed to not only ride, but more and more seemed to conduct. He’d keep his promise to Gillian, no matter the cost. Each second they were together the toll became heavier, and a vague panic began to swim in his blood. Soon she’d be gone.

  They’d practiced most evenings, and tonight they planned to rehearse the lifts. The three lifts she’d explained were not technically difficult. Regardless of how many times she explained the techniques, though, and even with her assertion that he’d be fine, he still had the awful feeling of taking a kick to his stomach each time he spun her in the air. They’d recorded their practice sessions, watching and dissecting them in his bedroom. He could hardly keep his mind on the computer screen with her next to him.

  There was only one lift that continued to plague him. Even while doing his ranch work, he continued to think of his hands on Gillian. He mentally returned to the dance again and again, running over the feel of her against him, and each movement required to position her body above his head. Each time he brought her over and around his shoulder into a body twist, his chest tightened until she was settled safely back on the studio floor, and then into a split at his feet.

  She’d agreed with him that tonight they had to do it in real time, to the music. It was his idea to practice the move in his pool. Just in case. Tomorrow the producers would be here to scope out her studio, and they wanted to see her routine. They’d have more practice time, but there was still a chance the routine could get scrubbed or modified.

  Seeing her come
out of the house in an aqua bikini had him blinking. The tiny pieces of fabric did little to curb his imagination; if anything, it only keyed his fantasy up. He dove into the pool to hide the erection he suddenly sported.

  “Going somewhere?” she asked, laughing.

  “I think if we begin in the deep end, then work our way to shallow, it would help me get my bearings. I’ve thought about a way to hold on to your waist as you arch forward.”

  She sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water. “Sounds good. Show me.” She hoisted herself into the water. He clenched his jaw, unwilling to be undone by Gillian in his pool. He swore, as each day disappeared, he’d not let her see how much she meant to him. It wouldn’t be fair to her, and he wasn’t going back on his word to let her go when the time came. No matter what his heart, mind, and body desired.

  Gillian swam over to him. She came out of the water, droplets glistening on her skin, and her glittery-green eyes enticed him to look closer. His gaze dropped to her breasts, taut nipples darting her bikini top.

  He needed a distraction and asked, “Heard anything about the film crew?”

  “Day after tomorrow. Luckily, nothing has changed.”

  “I think you might want to work on your expression. I’ve watched videos of tango dancers. They look serious. Meditative.” Her gaze caught and held him.

  “You mean I should look like I’m not enjoying myself. But I do, immensely.”

  “I know. I’ve seen your eyes. You know there are angles they’ll shoot. Something dramatic. Less inviting. More austere.” She raised her hands, changing her face from utterly intoxicating to sultry, waiting for him to take his position. This was madness in the making. He’d just told her to look drab. She couldn’t, even if she tried.

  He wanted her in his pool. Writhing in the water. “Let’s get started.” He let her move away, then hooked her back to him with more force than he’d intended.

  She spun, moving slower in the water. The drag of the water permitted them more time during the points when there gazes were locked. Stephen began the lift, bringing her up into the air, her slick, soft body rubbing over his skin.