Texas Sizzle

by Lori Wilde

  “Just curious. I want to avoid the mistakes he made.”

  “Hang around and you’ll do fine. Keith’s biggest flaw was that he didn’t show up when he said he was going to.”

  Damn. Why had she said that? It sounded desperate. Like she was begging Abel to hang around. Poppy notched her chin up. She didn’t need anybody.

  Pattie guided wagon down a dry gully and up the other side. The wagon bumped and swayed beneath them with the uneven terrain, sending Poppy sliding against Abel. He reached over and took her hand.

  Held it.

  She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “It’s okay to admit your ex hurt you,” he murmured.

  “He didn’t. I was just dumb to get involved with him in the first place.”

  “I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Patti said pensively.

  “What do you mean?” Poppy asked.

  “It’s pretty green over there.” Patti pointed at the sky.

  “Swampy-looking,” Poppy concurred.

  “I agree,” Abel added. “Trouble’s brewing.”

  Patti unclipped the two-way radio from her hip and contacted the trail boss. “Slim, that sky has got me worried. Since we have celebrities and inexperienced campers on this wagon train, I think we should pull the plug. If a tornado hits while we’re out here, we’d be sitting ducks.”

  “I’ve had an eye on them.” Slim’s voice crackled over the radio. “But the weather station doesn’t have a tornado watch out.”

  “We’re just an hour outside of Kingsville; it’s better safe than sorry. I want to head back. We can resume the train tomorrow.”

  “Let me contact the event organizers,” Slim said.

  “You can let them know, Patti’s out. I’m turning around before it’s too late. I’ve been through enough ’nadoes to know when one is stewin’, even if the weather service ain’t on their toes. No sense taking chances.”

  Yes, yes, Poppy couldn’t agree more. Who cared if she’d spent money on new clothes for this event? Maybe Abel would take her boot scooting later and she could wear them there. As for the bedroll, they could go camping on the beach.

  The wind had picked up and was slinging dust over them. Patti, Poppy decided, had good instincts when it came to weather, and she was grateful they’d drawn her as their driver.

  “We’ll turn the whole thing around,” Slim said. “You’re right. Better safe than sorry.”

  “On it.” Patti clicked her tongues and tugged on the reins, the horses harnessed to their wagon kicking up fresh dust as they pulled to the right, dragging them back toward Kingsville.

  The clouds had swallowed the sun.

  Patti’s two-way radio crackled again, and she picked it up. “Yes, Slim?”

  “Just heard there is a severe storm warning out for Kleberg County. We’re bugging out official. You’re instincts are spot on as usual, Peppermint Patti.” Slim gave a humorless chuckle.

  Soon all the wagons were turning, following Patti’s lead.

  Abel slipped his arm around Poppy’s waist, leaned in and whispered, “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m right here with you.”

  She was grateful for his soothing words and his comfort. She was more freaked out than she wanted to let on but somehow, he’d sensed it. “Thank you.”

  The sun had disappeared behind a bank of clouds, smothering out the last remaining fingers of daylight. The air felt sluggish and swollen with rain and the wind quickened again, sending fresh eddies of dirt swirling.

  Patti used the reins to urge the horses to go faster and soon they were trotting across the rugged terrain of the King Ranch. Poppy had to hold on to her hat to keep it from flying off.

  “Let me help you tighten the strap.” Abel reached over to tug the strap from around her hat band and showed her how to cinch it underneath her chin.

  He was close enough for her to get a scent of his masculine cologne, felt the warmth of his hand as it brushed against her skin, and she couldn’t stop herself from shivering.

  The wind snarled through the trees, snatching at the canopies of wagons. Distant lightning lit up the sky. The air smelled of sulfur and thunder rumbled a warning.

  Go home, fools.

  Thanks to watchful Patti, they made it back to Kingsville just in the nick of time. Abel unloaded their gear from the wagon, tipped Patti a hundred dollars, and thanked her profusely. Just as they reached his pickup and threw their things inside, the sky let loose and kept pouring the whole entire way back to South Padre.

  It was still torrential when they got to their apartment complex.

  “I didn’t get to see much of cowboy life,” she said.

  “Maybe we’ll get another chance.”

  “I hope sure so.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m making a run for it,” she said and opened the pickup door.

  Laughing, the wind whipping her hair madly about her face, Poppy grabbed for her things from the back seat, and was preparing to dash up the stairs to her apartment when Abel got out and popped up an umbrella.

  “You’re always prepared,” she said, feeling utterly breathless as he sheltered her from the rain.

  “And you never are.” He gave her an indulgent smile.

  “That’s half the adventure, cowboy,” she said. “Never knowing what’s around the next corner.”

  They were standing in the courtyard now, huddled together beneath his umbrella, the lightning moving closer, the thunder growing louder.

  “Um...” Poppy said, “You know, the evening doesn’t have to end.”

  “I think maybe it does.” He leveled those dark eyes at her.

  “You could come up to my place,” she invited.

  He shook his head. “That’s not such a good idea.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling very disappointed. The way he’d been touching her in the wagon had made her skin ultra-sensitive. “Well, okay then. G’night.”

  Then before he could see the hurt in her eyes, Poppy turned and sprinted for her apartment.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tonight, Poppy wasn’t doing naked yoga. Tonight, she was whirling around her living room like a naked dervish, dancing to some wild music he couldn’t hear from across the courtyard. Was it hip-hop? Rock? Pop? Rap? With Poppy, who knew?

  Abel kept his eyes glued to the telescope. Nothing short of an earthquake could compel him to look away. Her pert breasts—just the perfect size—bounced like independent wheel suspension on a luxury car as she leaped and twirled. The woman was an enthusiastic work of art, and he was dating her.

  You’re not dating her.

  Okay, not technically, but Poppy thought they were dating. It felt like they were dating. He wanted to be dating her.

  She spun and kicked. The butterfly on her back flashed past. It appeared to flutter as she moved. Flying free.

  Butterfly.

  It was the perfect symbol for Poppy. Beautiful and light, unfettered and sensual.

  Why was she interested in him? What did he have to offer a woman like her? She could literally have any man she wanted. Who wouldn’t be drawn to her joie de vivre? Who wouldn’t ache to kiss those lips, to run his palms over her skin, to slip his fingers through her hair? She was the most amazing creature, and he couldn’t have her. Not for the long run. It was like Kirsten had said. He and Poppy fit together like peanut butter and sausage. Still, he couldn’t help wishing, hoping.

  Yeah, all that will fall apart when she finds out that you’re just hanging out with her because of Barksdale.

  And he wasn’t even doing his job worth a damn. He had gotten so caught up in being with her, he’d completely forgotten about looking for an opportunity to do what he’d been assigned to do.

  How he wished things were different. That they could be a real couple, really dating. He wondered when he’d started yearning for her so consistently.

  It had come in measures, starting with the pure thrust
of lust when he’d first gotten a peek at her doing naked yoga. His desire had grown steadily with each encounter he’d had with her, rooting deeper and deeper the more he got to know her. She was everything he was not, and he knew that when this was over, he’d forever have an empty feeling because she was no longer part of his life.

  She’s not part of your life. She’s just an assignment.

  He could tell himself that all day long, but it wouldn’t make it true. He wanted her with a savage vengeance.

  The rain pelted against the window, clouding his view, but he could still see her through the streaks of water, dancing and dancing. His need was a living thing—growing, burning, yearning. He had to have her.

  Lightning flashed, bathing the dark courtyard in a split-second illumination of light. Thunder followed with a window-jarring crack.

  He couldn’t deny his need any longer. He’d tried his best. Fallen back on every trick he knew. He had to have her. He didn’t care what it meant for his career.

  That scared the shit out of him, but fear was no longer enough to hold him. The temptation was too great. The spell Poppy had cast over him too intoxicating.

  On and on she danced.

  He could unzip his pants and satisfy himself as best he could, as he’d done on other lonely nights, but he knew it was no longer enough. He craved the feel of her body, the taste of her tongue, the smell of her hair. He was in knots over her and there was no undoing them. He had to have her.

  The rain fell in buckets now, drenching the courtyard. He could barely see her. She was just a beautiful blur. But he imagined that her breath was coming in sexy, heavy pants, timed with the throbbing of the song. The tempo seemed to pound out Poppy, Poppy, Poppy against the back of his brain.

  Compelled, he got up from the stool. He wasn’t thinking. All rationality was gone. He only reacted, following the dictates of his body. He rushed out the door.

  Instantly, he was drenched in the torrential downpour, his shirt plastered to his chest, his hair plastered to his head. He clambered down the steps and sprinted across the courtyard, the tune in his head driving him, driving him. Poppy, Poppy, Poppy.

  Up her stairs he went, two at a time. He was breathing hard, not from the exertion—he was in excellent shape—but from anticipation.

  Saliva filled his mouth. Hunger tore at him. Poppy was the only thing that could sate him. No other woman would do. Not now. Not ever.

  Flashdance. She’d been whirling to Flashdance. The soundtrack from the old movie spilled from her apartment.

  He reached her door. Lifted a fist. Thumped on it.

  Wham, wham, wham.

  “Poppy!” He yelled her name like Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire yelling for Stella. No, more like William Hurt smashing through a window with a chair to get to Kathleen Turner in Body Heat.

  He was that driven, that determined to get to her. That out of his mind for her.

  She’d reduced him to this. Out of control, crazed, ruled by sex and need. Dammit, he was drowning and loving every minute of it. His career was unraveling, and he didn’t care. Poppy was all that mattered. She was both his salvation and his destruction.

  “Poppy!”

  She yanked open the door. At some point on his mad trek over there, she’d wriggled into yoga pants and a T-shirt, but her feet were still bare, her hair a wild tumble about her shoulders. “Wh—”

  He didn’t give her a chance to speak. Just reached up with his palms and captured her face between them. He looked her squarely in the eyes, and then he kissed her. Kissed her with every ounce of passion that had been growing inside him since the first moment he’d seen her. Kissed her until neither one of them could breathe. The cold wind blew water over them. He was getting her soaking wet.

  Apparently, she didn’t care. She reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him over the threshold. He stood there dripping water on her hardwood floor.

  “Poppy, I—”

  “Shh, shh.”

  She didn’t want to talk. That was fine with him. He’d always been a man of action, anyway. He didn’t speak another word, just leaned over to scoop her into his arms and stalked toward her bedroom.

  “At last,” she said. “I wondered how long I was going to have to get naked in front of that window before you came to get me.”

  #

  His lips! She’d been waiting so long to taste those lips.

  Abel held her tightly, as if he’d sooner have his arms chopped off than ever let her go.

  Lightning flared outside the window. Thunder crashed as loud as if it had been in the same room with them. They both startled as the electricity snapped off, amputating the Flashdance beat in mid-thump and bathing them in black silence. The only sound was their raspy breathing and a distant wail of an ambulance siren.

  Her bedroom was completely dark. Oh, this wouldn’t do; she needed to see him.

  “Hang on,” he said as though reading her thoughts. He set her down. “I’m just going to get some of those candles from the living room.”

  He returned a second later with two vanilla-scented candles in his hands. He settled them on the top of her bureau and then turned to draw her into his arms again.

  His hot mouth took possession of hers and she felt herself melting against him as his strong arms pulled her closer. His solid erection pressed hard against her thigh.

  Sensation swamped Poppy’s body. Enveloped her in a snug embrace. Her nose twitched with the earthy smell of him. Her lips tingled, anxious to taste his raw, masculine energy. Goose bumps rippled over her skin at the heat radiating off him. Her fingers splayed over the wet T-shirt clinging to his chest and she felt his thudding heart as she heard her own heartbeat pounding through her eardrums.

  Welcomed. She felt welcomed.

  He pushed her back against the wall, glaring down at her. “Woman, you can’t keep driving me crazy. Naked yoga. Naked dancing.”

  “So,” she murmured in a soft, teasing tone. “You like to watch.”

  “It’s not—”

  She laid a finger against his lips, breaking off his words. “Shh, you don’t have to lie. I’m not mad.”

  “You’re not?”

  Poppy leaned into him, felt the heat rolling off his muscular body. “I find the idea sexy.”

  “You do?” he croaked.

  “It’s so naughty.” She splayed a palm to his chest and pushed him backward until he planted his feet by the end of the bed.

  His eyes flashed fire and he growled low in his throat as he lowered his head to nibble at her throat. She realized she could lose herself in this man. Fully, completely—and that scared her more than anything. If she were smart, she’d ask him to leave.

  But she couldn’t. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to make love to her all night long.

  “Abel,” she whispered.

  His body surrounded hers. His eyes had darkened. His hand was tight around her wrist.

  Her flesh burned from her heart to her stomach, straight down to her sex. Burned and ached and craved.

  His mouth claimed her.

  She might not want to admit she belonged to him, but her body had other plans. Involuntarily, she arched against him, her pelvis grinding against his. His erection was granite. No, harder than granite.

  “Poppy,” he rasped.

  She opened her mouth to tell him to take her, but his tongue darted between her parted teeth and she got nothing out but a soft sound of exhalation. He swallowed her up in one heady gulp. She didn’t even know how it happened but one minute he again had her back pressed up against the wall, the next minute he had his knees shoved between her legs, prying them apart, while he bent his head to suckle her nipple through the cotton material of her T-shirt.

  “You like things wild?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “You like it hot and furious?”

  “I do.”

  “Then that’s the way I’m going to give it to you. Hot and hard and fas
t. You’re going to take every inch of me and when we’re done, then we’re going to do it the way I like. Soft and slow and sweet.”

  Her entire body liquefied at his words. “Oh, Abel.”

  His hands slipped underneath the hem of her shirt, his mouth still nibbling at her nipple.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, threw her head back against the wall, and let out a low moan. He pushed her shirt up around her waist and slid a hot palm down the waistband of her yoga pants. She writhed and twisted against him.

  He pushed his index finger into her. He wasn’t gentle, but neither was he rough. Just firm and determined, letting her know he was in charge and she was at the whim of his bidding.

  It was incredibly erotic. Knowing this man wanted her and knew how to please her. A man she could truly trust. She wriggled against the feel of his finger. She had to have more.

  When he slipped the second finger inside her, she moaned again.

  He raised his head, ran his other hand through her hair, and pinned her to him as his mouth drank from hers again.

  His taste intoxicated her. Bowled her over. His tongue was doing crazy things to her. Things she’d never felt before. Things she’d never believe possible. She was helpless to resist. He owned her and it felt glorious.

  Abel lightly pinched her nipples with one hand, while the other was still embedded into her. Three fingers now, shoving into her. His chest pushed against her, keeping her pressed against the wall. “You like the way my hand feels inside you?”

  Mutely, she nodded.

  “You haven’t felt anything yet,” he said. “Just wait until you have me buried inside you as far as you can take it.”

  She groaned.

  “That’s right, sunshine. By the time I let you come, you’re going to explode.”

  His hand continued to pump against her, while his thumb—his wicked, wicked thumb—strummed the straining nub at her entrance. Each stroke took her higher and higher on an updraft of sensation until her breathing was nothing more than shallow strings of air, barely eking through the passageway of her lungs.

  Nothing had ever felt this intense. His mouth was on hers, then it was gone, nipping at her nipples, then it was back again, leaving her dizzy and delighted.