How to Kiss a Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  So how could she match the thrills he experienced every day on broncs and bulls—not to mention the buckle bunnies?

  She met his eyes, and her thoughts skidded to a stop. She could look at him, that’s what she could do. She could make love to Brady, the Brady she knew, and not some version of him out of a Wild West storybook.

  She didn’t take her eyes from his as she pushed him gently to one side. He figured out what she wanted and rolled over, letting her straddle his hips so his erection rose, hard and proud, from the spot where their bodies met. But she didn’t touch it—not before she’d bent over and kissed him, long and thoroughly, and then licked her way down his body.

  She could feel a fluttering excitement between her legs as her body yearned for release. It was going to have to wait a while longer.

  She stroked Brady’s abs, watching his muscles ripple and clench under her touch. He started to sit up then, but she pushed him back with one hand while she wrapped the other around his cock.

  It was bigger than she’d expected—bigger and harder and altogether more tempting than anything she’d seen before. She moved her hand gently up, then down. Then she squeezed, and Brady closed his eyes and threw his head back, his hands reaching out for her, then knotting into fists at his side.

  She had him right where she wanted him. He opened his eyes and gave her that smile. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She shimmied backward on the bed, until she lay between his legs.

  “You’re not going to—you don’t have to…”

  He cut off his words with a moan as she ran her tongue up his shaft. She hoped to hell she knew how to do this. She’d never done it before, and she’d die if he knew that. All she knew was that it gave men pleasure, as much pleasure as the real thing, so why not do it for Brady?

  Evidently her lack of experience didn’t matter. She hadn’t thought he could get harder, or bigger, but that’s the effect her warm mouth had on him. He let her lick and taste and suck for a while before he clutched her shoulders with both hands.

  “What’s wrong? Did I…”

  She was about to ask him if she’d done it wrong, but it was a good thing she didn’t get the words out, because he was gazing at her with such an expression of wonder it almost made her laugh. Apparently, she’d done something right.

  Very right.

  “Dang, girl, where’d you learn to do that? I didn’t expect—I mean, I’m glad, but I thought…”

  “You thought this was going to be plain vanilla, didn’t you?” She gave the head one final swirling lick, making his ab muscles tense. “Well, surprise. You got chocolate.”

  “I got strawberry,” he said. “Strawberry swirl.” He drew out the last word like he was tasting it—or like he was passing out from pure pleasure. But he revived soon enough, when she added a little hand action. “Oh,” he groaned. “There’s a cherry on top.”

  “We haven’t gotten to the cherry yet,” she said.

  “I know.” He grinned, and before she could do more than squeak with surprise, he hauled her up and flipped her over. Now it was his turn to kneel at the foot of the bed and her turn to widen her eyes with surprise as he slipped off her panties and parted her legs with both hands.

  Both hands. That meant he was going to touch her with…ooooh.

  But first, he just looked. How could he make her squirm so much without even touching her? The fluttering was so strong now she thought it must be visible, and she could barely breathe as Brady looked his fill, as if he was memorizing all her secret places.

  By the time he touched her, she’d closed her eyes, so she floated away on a warm river of pleasure as he licked and stroked and licked again. Her body felt more alive than ever before. A shimmering of lust and need gave way to the hum of pure pleasure, and then the lust and need came back stronger than ever. Panic and pleasure followed each other, one after the other, so fast that she couldn’t tell one from the other.

  She felt her body tensing like a taut string as she tried to hang on to sanity just a little bit longer, but the force of her orgasm was too much. Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt that string pull tighter, tighter, tighter—and then it broke and she was spiraling up, up, up, and up, her mind spinning as sensation overwhelmed her. She’d never felt more free, and yet she’d never felt more frightened. She was seriously afraid she wouldn’t be able to come back to the real world.

  She felt herself break into a million glittering pieces, and then she was falling. Limp, sated, spent, she landed safe in Brady’s arms.

  * * *

  Brady gazed in wonder at the woman beside him. He’d been right—she made love with the same wild, reckless spirit she brought to her sport. She might think it was watching videos and asking questions that made her the extraordinary woman she was, but she was wrong. He had no doubt that the secret to her success was the way she gave all of herself to everything she did. She held nothing back, and he’d never seen anything so beautiful as her body responding to his touch. Her cries and moans made his own desire burn even hotter.

  But before he could take what he wanted—what he needed now—he had to help her down from the heights. She lay in his arms limp with exhaustion, her lashes fluttering as she gradually returned to reality. She looked up at him, blinking, and he gave himself a mental high five when he realized she didn’t know where she was.

  “You okay, darlin’?” He pulled her head down on his shoulder and stroked her hair.

  She shook her head as if to clear it, and her brow furrowed. “I think so.” She looked up at him, then quickly looked away, but not before he saw a hot blush steal over her features. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “Sorry?” He gave her a little shake. “What have you got to be sorry for?” Tugging her close, he stroked her hair again. She seemed to like that, so he did it again and kissed the top of her head. “That was the most beautiful thing I ever saw,” he said.

  He actually meant that. He was starting to get nervous.

  “I kind of, um, get carried away,” she said, looking at the walls, the ceiling—everywhere but at Brady. “It’s embarrassing.”

  He shook his head, wishing he could get hold of that accountant and the goddamn salesman she’d been seeing. “Honey, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Not in my world.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “You’re a cowboy.” She gave him a hot look from under her lashes, then sat up and slung a leg over his body, straddling him again. “I guess it’s okay to get carried away.”

  He was more than ready to go, but she’d put him in an awkward position. He had a condom in his wallet, but his wallet was in his jeans pocket and his jeans were somewhere beyond the foot of the bed.

  “Honey, I just need to do one thing,” he said. “We cowboys believe in safety first.”

  “Of course,” she said. “You need your packet.”

  He laughed. “Exactly.”

  The term packet had become part of the cowboy lexicon a few years ago, when some do-gooders had decided those wild rodeo cowboys and cowgirls needed reining in. Notices were posted in the restrooms at every rodeo, advising safe sex and offering free packets at the medical tent. Packets were, of course, condoms—which apparently couldn’t be mentioned by name.

  He’d never seen packets offered at rock concerts or motocross races. Only rodeos. Apparently, cowboys had quite a reputation to live up to.

  He was happy to do his part.

  Bending to retrieve his jeans, he slipped his wallet out of his pocket and the condom out of the wallet. He had himself gloved up and ready before he even turned around.

  Now it was his turn to blush as he met Suze’s very frank, very interested gaze and realized he’d bent over without even thinking about the view from the bed.

  “Nice.” She du
cked her head and smiled shyly. “Very nice. Now how about if you show me how to ride?”

  He laughed. “I don’t think I can show you anything,” he said. “Except maybe a good time.”

  “That’s enough for me.” She turned serious all of a sudden. “Really, Brady. Just so you know? That really is all I’m here for.”

  “What’s all you’re here for?”

  “A good time.” She gave him a sunny smile. “Don’t have to worry that I’ll expect anything more. I know the score, Brady. I know this is just for fun.”

  Huh. So breaking the rules wasn’t a problem. He’d been sure Suze would want to be treated better than that. She wasn’t some one-night-stand buckle bunny, after all. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would give herself away to just anybody.

  That had made him feel special, but now? Not so much.

  He turned away, pretending to adjust the condom so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face. For some reason, it really stung that she didn’t take him seriously. She took everything seriously.

  Everything except him.

  Chapter 7

  Suze thought she’d hit just the right tone to keep Brady from thinking she was one of those women who would follow him around and make doe eyes at him, but for a minute she thought she’d offended him. There was something fake in his smile, and his eyes held shadows she’d never noticed before.

  Maybe she wasn’t supposed to talk about how casual their casual sex was.

  But when he joined her on the bed and looked down at her, she decided everything was okay.

  The rest of the night was everything she’d dreamed of, with Brady taking her up to the heavens twice more before they were done.

  Everything felt right. Everything but the knowledge that crept into her mind whenever she let herself think. This is just for tonight. Just for now.

  But she didn’t mind—or at least, that’s what she told herself. She’d remember this night forever—treasure it and run it through her mind like a home movie whenever she felt blue. It would be her own private porn stash.

  The thought made her giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  What if she told him?

  “Nothing,” she said.

  When it was over, the two of them lay side by side, glistening with sweat, smiling at the ceiling like a couple of fools. Which was probably what they were, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

  * * *

  Suze woke the next morning with a smile on her face. Last night might not have meant anything to Brady, but it had been a rare gift for her. Once, just once, she’d wanted to have a man she really desired. A man who made her feel hot and loose and sexy.

  Brady must have known what it had meant to her, because he was kind as could be. He’d made love almost as if he cared.

  Not made love. Had sex. She needed to remember that was all they’d done.

  Still, he’d made her feel almost beautiful. No wonder women loved him.

  She wondered where Dooley had gone. Normally he was curled by her side, but he must have gotten up early. She hoped he hadn’t pooped on the floor. Up until now, pooping outside was the one thing the dog did right.

  She turned over, ready to step out of bed, and got the shock of her life.

  There he was. Brady Caine, sleeping like some kind of Wild West angel, with her hairy little yapper dog clasped in his arms.

  She’d never noticed what long lashes Brady had. And she’d never seen his face relaxed like this. The tough guy was gone, and she could almost see what he must have looked like as a child. Her heart, which she’d hardened in anticipation of waking alone, softened at the sight. She was kidding herself if she said she wasn’t crazy about him. She had been for a long time.

  But a lot of other girls felt the same way, and it wasn’t like Suze could compete in that arena. Horses she could handle, but love? Not a chance. Winning took practice, and she had no idea what the hell she was doing when it came to relationships—or anything that pertained to humans, for that matter.

  Brady stirred in his sleep and turned over, clutching Dooley tighter. She’d better enjoy the view while she could, because the dog would leap up at any moment, yapping out his morning demands for walkies, breakfast, playtime, now!

  But Dooley only lifted his head and looked at her—or at least, she thought he was looking at her; you never could tell with all that hair—then settled down with a deep, satisfied sigh. Apparently he liked sleeping with Brady almost as much as she did.

  She shuffled off to the bathroom to brush her teeth. It was bad enough she’d had beer breath last night. She didn’t want to blow it in his face in the morning.

  Besides, brushing her teeth and throwing cold water on her face gave her time to think about things. Why was Brady still here? She’d assumed he’d leave right after—after that—and been surprised when he’d held her, stroked her hair. She thought she’d dreamed that she drifted off in his arms, but apparently not.

  She stared at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look like the kind of woman Brady liked, but he’d been more than sexy last night; he’d been tender and kind. And he’d stayed.

  He was experienced enough to know that a man didn’t stay the night unless he wanted to see a woman again. Breakfast was pretty awkward when you had to look across the table at a woman you planned to leave behind like a used towel.

  So maybe he wasn’t going to leave her behind.

  Suddenly, the morning seemed a little brighter, and the night before took on new meaning. She hadn’t dared to hope that Brady saw her as anything more than a little bit of fun. But here he was.

  And here she was, mooning over the possibilities when she should be making breakfast.

  French toast, she decided, with eggs on the side. Over light, scrambled—she’d make whatever he wanted once he woke up.

  She fished out her best coffee, the stuff she saved to savor after special victories. The scent of it brewing should wake him up. Then she set out the eggs, milk, and two kinds of cereal, plus bowls and everything else she’d need to make a great breakfast.

  Humming, she set the table with her best lace place mats and put out butter, maple syrup, and salt and pepper.

  Brady was still sleeping. That meant she had a little time to pretty up. Humming a happy tune, she headed back to the bathroom for a quick shower.

  * * *

  The first thing Brady felt that morning was a kink in his neck. Then he remembered how he’d gotten it, and smiled.

  Suze Carlyle’s body was the best-kept secret in Wyoming. Under her frumpy clothes and tacky old hat, she was as pretty as any rodeo queen—prettier, because you could see her strength in the set of her jaw and the steel in her eyes, and sense the grit that made her a champion. She wasn’t any ordinary beauty. She was truly a strong woman in every way.

  He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

  Where the heck was he? Once in a while he tied one on and woke up in a strange place, but that hadn’t happened for a while.

  He felt something soft under his hand. Soft and silky. Like Suze.

  Oh, shoot.

  He’d spent the night.

  He felt her hair again, and she woke up and licked his hand.

  Wait. What? That was weird.

  He opened his eyes just in time to see Dooley’s furry face coming at him, tongue first.

  “Hey, buddy. Wait a minute. No.” He pushed the dog away and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Shoot. He was still in Suze’s bed—and in deep, deep trouble.

  Fortunately, he could hear the shower running, so he’d be able to make a quick and quiet exit.

  He hadn’t meant to spend the night. He liked Suze, and he respected her. He wouldn’t mind sleeping with her again, but he didn’t want a relationship. For one thing, the woman was wound a little tight. For anot
her, she seemed to have a lot of problems. It wasn’t her fault that her mother died or that her dad was so peculiar. But he wasn’t exactly panting to join the family. He knew his own limitations. Those complications were too much for him.

  Speaking of panting, here came Dooley again. This time, he had one of Brady’s socks in his mouth.

  “Hey, thanks, little buddy.” Brady reached for the sock.

  Dooley dodged away, making a playful little growling sound.

  “Hey. Give that back.” Brady lunged for the sock, and Dooley dashed off to the kitchen. Brady followed, hot on his furry heels.

  The dog ran under the table and growled, shaking the sock as if it were a rat that needed killing.

  But Brady wasn’t watching the dog. He was taking in the sight of the kitchen.

  A dozen eggs sat on the counter beside a fry pan. There was a loaf of bread, a jug of milk, and two boxes of sugary cereal, including Frosted Flakes—his favorite.

  The table was set with lace place mats. Lace.

  This was serious. She’d put out butter and maple syrup too, so they weren’t just having a quick, simple breakfast. He could deal with eating a quick bowl of cereal while standing at the counter. But a whole cooked breakfast, served on lace place mats? No way. That was way too domesticated for him.

  He headed back to the bedroom and hustled into his clothes. Dooley could have the damn sock. He shoved his bare foot into his boot, wincing at the rough feel of the leather against his skin.

  His cell phone buzzed in his jeans pocket. He had an alert.

  Meeting, Lariat Western Wear. Today, 9:00 a.m.

  Today? No, the meeting was tomorrow. Lariat was his biggest and most important sponsor. He wouldn’t forget when the meeting was. Would he?

  He looked at the screen again. Today.

  Shit. He glanced at the top of the screen for the time.

  8:55.

  Double shit.

  He was going to be late.