The Bachelor Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

  Mmm, she wasn’t sure she believed that, but it was getting hard to think with his fingers distracting her. “Clearly you’re a glutton for punishment, but I’m game if you are.”

  He grinned, and, god, he was just the most beautiful man. “Are you free today?”

  “Well, I think my marathon plans have been canceled.” She wiggled her toes. “Probably gonna spend the day farting around with paperwork and watching Netflix.”

  “Would you like company? Farting around’s my personal favorite.”

  She smiled back at him, feeling shy. How was he so incredibly sweet? Here she was, a hungover wreck, and he was making her feel so much better. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not making me feel like a disaster.”

  “Oh, you’re a disaster. It’s just one I can live with.”

  Layla laughed and flopped back on the bed. “Great.”

  To her surprise, he got up and moved to the other side of the bed, then lay down next to her. He reached over and pulled her against him, and the next thing Layla knew, her head was cradled against his shoulder. His arm was around her back, and she was snuggled against him . . . and it was heavenly. She pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his heart beat. Had she ever snuggled with a guy before? She didn’t think she had, and it was such a lovely experience. Clearly she’d been missing out. “Thank you again,” Layla murmured.

  “You really need to quit thanking me.” His voice sounded deep and timbrey through his chest, and it fascinated her.

  “Most guys wouldn’t be quite so understanding after a date like that.”

  He just snorted, his hand on her back drawing enticing little circles. “You keep making me out to be some kind of saint, and that’s not the case at all. Was I disappointed that things went south? Sure. But most of the date was real enjoyable.”

  “Except for the part where you held my hair back while I puked, right?”

  “Well, see, that part wasn’t great, but it meant I got to wake up next to you this morning, and we get to have some time together now, so I’d say all in all it’s a win for me.”

  She smiled, tracing a finger over his chest. “You gonna try and steal a kiss?”

  “I think you misunderstand me.”

  Layla froze. Oh god, had she totally misinterpreted their banter as light flirting? “I’m sorry—”

  “Stealing a kiss implies that I’m going to be sneaky about it,” he continued blithely on. “And I absolutely plan on kissing you.”

  Layla groaned and buried her face against his shirt. “I don’t know if I find that sweet or if I want to deck you.”

  “You can want both,” he teased. “I get that a lot.”

  “I bet you do.”

  Layla flicked at one of the buttons on his shirt. She knew she should eat the toast and coffee he brought for her, get up and dress, check her email, a dozen things sprang to mind . . . but she was reluctant to leave the bed, especially when he was so deliciously comfortable and warm. “I am disappointed we didn’t get to paint.”

  He patted her back. “I’ll ask my niece Libby if I can borrow her watercolors.”

  She giggled, an action that made her head ache. “What?”

  “Sharing is caring and all that.” His hand strayed up and down her side, as if he was stroking her through the fabric of her dress. “How are you feeling right now?”

  “Right now right now? Lazy and warm.”

  “Hangover not too bad?”

  “It sucks, but it’ll get better. Why?” She opened an eye to peer at him.

  “Was just thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you, that’s all.”

  The breath caught in Layla’s throat. She lifted her head to look him in the eye. This close, she could see long, dark lashes, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes as if he was in a perpetual state of smiling, and the most perfect mouth God ever put on a human being. A dark lock of hair curled over his forehead, making him look boyish and younger than he was, and she reached up to brush it back. “How do you know I don’t have the most beastly morning breath ever?”

  “I can smell your toothpaste.” He grinned and then grabbed her, rolling them both over on the bed until she was pinned underneath him. “Were you hoping I’d come and wake up Sleeping Beauty with a morning kiss?”

  “No, it was more like Sleeping Beauty woke up and her mouth tasted like something died, so she had to fix it.”

  He laughed, then leaned in and lightly kissed her mouth. “Tastes pretty good to me.”

  “Are you sure?” she breathed, pulse quickening. “Maybe you should taste again.”

  “Excellent idea.”

  Jack’s mouth brushed over hers again. He tasted like coffee and sugar, sweet and bitter at the same time. His jaw was bristly from not shaving, but she liked the texture of it, just as much as she liked the soft feel of his lips on hers. His tongue swept into her mouth, and then Layla was lost to everything but Jack and his mouth, Jack and his kiss, Jack and his incredible tongue that dragged against hers in ways that made her ache deep between her thighs.

  She’d never kissed anyone like this before. Okay, she’d kissed a fair amount of men in the past, on dates that turned sour and during relationships that didn’t quite pan out. Most of the men she’d been with had seemed to be terrible kissers, never quite hitting her just right. They would either jackhammer their tongues into her mouth or use teeth or something that ended up making her want to never kiss them again. With Jack, it was different. The way he kissed her made her toes curl and her body sing. It was like his tongue stroked against hers in just the right way, as if he were born with the knowledge of how to touch her. It was unfair that a man should be this incredible all in one package . . . either that or she was the luckiest girl in the world to have him with her right now.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jack gazed down at her, his handsome face momentarily serious. “Been waiting all week to touch you, you know.”

  “Have you?” His words made her ache. She touched his cheek lightly, fascinated by the planes of his face.

  He nodded, then leaned in and dipped over her for a light kiss. “Been thinking about what it’d be like to have you under me, to feel your body against mine. Been having all kinds of dirty thoughts about you, really.”

  “Stuff for your spank bank?” It made her breathless.

  He gave a short nod, leaning in and nipping at her jaw. “Like right now, with your dress all hiked up around your waist,” he murmured, putting a hand on her hip. “Gonna be thinking about that a lot.”

  Layla moaned. Her lips parted and she tried to follow his mouth, hungry for another kiss, but he moved to her neck, and, oh god, that was really, really good. He nipped her there, then sucked so hard she knew she’d have a mark . . . and she didn’t care. The way his mouth felt there sent quivers deep through her belly. “You know what else I like?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I like that you wear your hair up.” He reached up for the ponytail holder that had somehow made it through the night, though only half of her hair remained in it. “Because then I get to imagine me freeing it.” He groaned, burying his face in her hair. “Get to imagine it falling all over the both of us while I kiss you.”

  “Do you think about kissing me a lot?” she asked, breathless.

  “All the damn time.” Jack’s mouth was on her throat again. “When I wake up, I think about kissing you. When you text me, I think about your mouth. When you laugh, I want to put my mouth all over your damn body. I’m utterly crazy about you, Layla.” He moved up to her mouth again and gave her another searing kiss that made her toes curl. “Let me make you come, baby. That’ll take care of your hangover.”

  She sucked in a breath, startled at his bold words . . . and utterly thrilled.

  Okay, and nervous. She’d danced around the whole vir
ginity topic for a while, but what if he figured out that it was true? What if she was a terrible lay and he didn’t want anything to do with her after this? What if—

  Jack lifted a hand, stroking her hair away from her face. “You got quiet, Layla—”

  To Layla’s side, there was a fierce snarl, and then Oscar attacked Jack’s hand.

  “What the fu—” Jack jerked backward, and Oscar barked, yipping and angry and high-pitched.

  “Hands,” Layla breathed, still dazed.

  Jack stared at the dog, then flopped onto his back and laughed. Oscar chased after him, growling, trying to get at Jack’s hand.

  “Right. Sorry, buddy. I forgot about hands.” He rolled off the bed and onto his feet, and then pressed a kiss to Layla’s head, where she still lay sprawled and boneless in the bed. “Forgot you were still here. Maybe you and I should go for a walk to cool down, right, buddy?” He scooped up the dog and grinned at Layla. “Eat your toast and when you’re feeling better, maybe we’ll watch something.”

  “Sure,” she said weakly.

  He turned and left, and then she was alone in her bedroom. Alone, and really turned on. Damn it. He’d offered to make her come and she didn’t say “yes, please.”

  The dog had cockblocked her and now the moment was gone, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was brave enough to ask for him to come back.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jack figured he was pushing Layla too hard. She’d been warm and passionate and so sweet while they’d kissed, but when he’d asked to do more, she’d frozen underneath him. Layla had gone silent, which hadn’t exactly filled him with confidence, and he figured he was moving too quick. He needed to go slower with her, to take his time. She was worth waiting for, even if he wanted her so badly that she invaded his thoughts every hour of the day.

  The distraction with Oscar had been teeth-grittingly bad timing, but in a way, it had also been good. He didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t ready for yet.

  He was just going to have to freaking wait, no matter how badly he wanted her. It was just damn hard, when she woke up with her hair falling out of the messy bun, her eyes dazed, and her dress crumpled around her hips. He’d wanted to jump right on her then and there, and it had taken everything he had to keep it light and flirty.

  After Oscar was good and walked, he fed the dog—one of the rare times the dachshund didn’t mind being set down—and went back upstairs to Layla. She was dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back up in a clip, probably as a silent gesture to tell him to slow the fuck down. She was worth taking his time.

  So he talked about nothing in particular as he helped her down the stairs and settled her on the couch with her foot propped up. She seemed uncomfortable with Jack’s fussing, which of course just made him want to do it more. He got her a drink, her laptop, and a blanket, and the remote for the television, and set Oscar down next to her. Immediately, her cat pushed his way over and dropped into her lap, and Layla sputtered with amusement. “How am I supposed to get anything done like this?”

  “Be glad I don’t do the same,” he teased, though secretly he was envious of the pile-on in her lap. He wanted to be there with his head on her thighs . . . or between them.

  But Layla just blushed and opened her laptop, reaching around her pets, and started typing.

  He wondered if she was trying to get rid of him. Jack glanced over, but Layla was impossible to read. She had an awkward look on her face, but she wore that look often around him. She was focused on her laptop, but maybe that was shyness.

  Jack had never dated many shy girls in the past. His type were the ones that got in your face and flaunted what they had. Layla wasn’t like that, and while he liked that about her, it was also a mite bit frustrating trying to figure her out. Was she mad he’d offered to give her an orgasm? He hadn’t asked for one in return . . . he’d just wanted to taste her. To watch her face as she lost herself in pleasure.

  Jack glanced over at her, then turned on the television. “You want to watch anything in particular?”

  “Just whatever,” she said, typing. Her cheeks were pink, though. Shyness, then. He thought for a moment, turned the TV back off, then moved to the ottoman where she had her feet propped up and lifted her legs.

  Layla frowned at him as she shifted uncomfortably, and the big gray cat on her lap gave him a look that promised death. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m gonna rub your feet and talk to you, if that’s all right.”

  Her cheeks turned even pinker, which was adorable. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  “I know I don’t have to. But your ankle hurts and I feel responsible, so I figure I’m gonna try and make it better. And as a bonus, I get to talk to my favorite woman in town.”

  Her smile quirked and some of her sharp humor returned. “So you have favorite women in other towns?”

  “Shhh. That’s a secret between me and thirty other cities.”

  She snorted and shifted her lap again. The cat growled and moved over two feet, then curled up around Oscar and began to wash his fur with his tongue.

  Jack took her feet in his hands and adjusted his long legs on the ottoman. And began to rub. She closed her laptop, biting her lip. “Something tells me I’m not going to get much done right now.”

  “No?” Not that he was sad about that.

  “Nope. When Sterling wants attention, he pushes things off my desk and makes a nuisance of himself. I suspect this is the human equivalent.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, because she wasn’t wrong. “Maybe I just feel I’m too pretty to be ignored?”

  Layla rolled her eyes. “Too vain, you mean.”

  “I can be both.” He moved his fingers gently over her bad ankle. “Does this hurt?” When she shook her head, he kneaded a little harder. “You probably just tweaked a muscle. Not really sure why you wore such tall shoes in February.”

  “Because Louboutins don’t come in flats. Or if they do, that’s just sad.” She shrugged and managed a small smile. “I have a thing for shoes, and I never get the occasion to wear them. I thought it might be fun.”

  “You can wear them for me,” he said solemnly.

  She smiled.

  “But you have to promise not to leave the house.”

  Layla’s brows drew together. “So where am I supposed to wear them? In the kitchen?”

  Or the bedroom, he thought, but just grinned. “You can wear ’em after I’m done with your foot rub if you like, as long as you keep your feet propped up.”

  She snorted, her hand going to her hip. “So I’m supposed to just sit here and look pretty”—her eyes widened as he began to rub the sole of her foot—“ooh.”

  “Good stuff?”

  He loved the sexy way her lips parted, as if she was losing track of everything around her. “Oh yeah.”

  “Can I ask you something?” He continued to rub, fascinated by the way her eyes closed and she seemed to go boneless against him.

  “Sure.”

  Might as well go for broke. “If I’m too pushy, would you tell me? If I made you uncomfortable?”

  She opened her eyes and gave him a soft look. “Of course. You don’t make me uncomfortable, Jack. I just . . .” She spread her hands. “Feel a little out of my depth. Not in a bad way—”

  “In a virgin way?” he guessed. Might as well get it all out in the open.

  She nodded. “Yeah. I’m not a virgin because I’ve been pining away over someone or because I was hurt in the past. I just . . . really want to trust and like someone before I get intimate with them, and it’s hard for me to trust sometimes.”

  “Because of your mother,” he guessed.

  “Not just my mother, but my father, too. Instead of trying to raise his daughter, he bailed out and moved halfway aro
und the world. Last I heard, he’s in Spain visiting distant relatives. I haven’t had someone stable that I can depend on in my life. I guess in a way I’m looking for that before I can really let myself go.”

  It explained a lot, really. Both of her parents were flakes, so Layla was responsible. She ran a business, she handled money, and she was in a line of work where she was trusted to handle finances for a great many customers. She still had a quirky, fun streak, but it had been tempered by past experiences.

  His poor, lonely Layla. He rubbed her toes. “I understand.”

  “I just worry that I’m not the kind of girl you’re going to stick with, you know?” She bit her lip. “You’re fun and flirty and I’m an accountant that crochets in her spare time.”

  He shook his head, kneading the arch of her foot. “You’re reading me wrong, baby. I’m not looking for someone to party all night with. I’m looking for someone I can talk to that doesn’t bore me to tears. How many times do I have to tell you that I like you before it sinks in?”

  “At least twice more,” she teased.

  “We’re going to have to come up with a set of rules for our next date,” he grumbled as his fingers moved over her foot. “One, no talking to Layla’s mom in advance. Two, remind Layla at least twice that she’s sexy and fun. Three . . .” He paused. “What do you want three to be?”

  “Foot massages,” she said dreamily, wiggling her toes in his grasp. “You’re really good at that.”

  “Three,” he agreed. “Foot massages before every date. Oh, and four—fuck-me pumps remain in the bedroom.”

  “They were not fuck-me pumps!”

  “They absolutely were, because they made me want to fuck the hell out of you.”

  She giggled, but the blush was back in her cheeks. “Well, maybe I need some rules for you, too.”

  “All right, then. Lay ’em on me.”

  Layla tapped her lower lip with a finger, thinking. “No belt buckles bigger than a plate, for starters.”