by Cindi Myers
She shut the door and locked it. "What is this?"
"First off, you have to promise not to laugh."
She shook her head. "I don't think I can promise that."
He set down the boom box, then stripped off the cast and dropped it on the floor beside the stereo. He took hold of her arm and steered her to the sofa. "You just sit there and play along, okay? I'm doing this for you."
"Doing what for me? And why do you think I need you to do anything?" But she sat in the center of the sofa, arms folded across her chest.
"I know you've been down about everything that's going on at work and all. I thought this might distract you." He looked around the room. "Now first, we need a little stage setting." He moved a lamp and tilted it to serve as a makeshift spotlight. Then he pulled the coffee table out a little. He started toward the boom box, then stopped and turned back to her. "Oh, I almost forgot this." He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and handed them to her.
She stared at the money. "What in the world...?"
He grinned. "Just wait and you'll see." He punched Play on the boom box, and music with a punchy beat filled the room. A woman began to sing about wanting a cowboy.
Theresa winced as Kyle climbed up onto the coffee table. "Careful," she said.
"Oh, I'll be fine." He struck a pose, hands on his hips, and grinned down at her.
He looked so pleased with himself, she didn't have the heart to tell him she'd been more concerned about the finish on the table than his personal safety. "You're not going to do what I think you're going to do, are you?" she asked, fighting the urge to giggle.
"Hey, I might be on to a second career here." He swiveled his hips in time to the music.
She couldn't help it now. She collapsed against the cushions, laughing.
He pretended to glare at her, though the laughter in his eyes diluted the fierceness of the gaze. "This isn't easy, you know. Give me some credit. How many men do you know who'd make a fool of themselves this way for a woman?"
His words changed her laughter to a deeper emotion. He really meant that, didn't he? He wanted her to be happy, even if it meant doing ridiculous things to make her smile. An invisible hand squeezed her heart and she blinked back tears. "I won't laugh anymore, I promise," she said. The trick would be avoiding bursting into tears.
He swiveled and turned and began to get a rhythm. He really wasn't that bad. A little stiff, maybe, but she had to admit he looked good in that outfit. Very masculine. Virile.
His eyes locked with hers, the laughter gone now, replaced by definite heat. He unfastened the top button of his shirt and she began to feel warm, mesmerized by the section of chest revealed with each undone button. Oh, wow. He might really be on to something here. She sat back and tried to relax, fighting a losing battle against the tension coiling within her.
He slipped off the vest. "Hold this." She scarcely had time to put up her hands before he tossed it to her.
She clutched the vest to her nose and inhaled. It smelled like Kyle--dusty leather and outdoors and an underlying sweetness.
"You're supposed to be watching me."
"Yes, sir." She laid the vest aside and focused her attention on him once more. Continuing to sway in time to the music, he slowly pulled his shirttail out of his pants. She caught a glimpse of his stomach and her insides quivered.
He turned his back to her and lowered the shirt over his shoulders. The sight of those tan, muscular shoulders did something to her. He was so strong, yet he could be so gentle.
He let the shirt drop and turned back around, revealing his naked chest. The woman in the song was moaning about riding her cowboy, and Theresa licked her lips. There were definitely a few things she'd like to do with the man in front of her.
"You like what you see?" he asked.
She nodded. "I have to admit, this is kind of sexy."
"You ain't seen nothing yet, darlin'."
With something less than grace, he pulled off first one boot, then the other, sending them thudding to the carpet. The sight of the muscles in his chest and arms flexing stopped her laughter, though.
He began to sway again, putting his hands behind his head, swiveling his hips, then thrusting his pelvis. It would have been comical in another context, but the heat in his eyes, the intent behind the movement, made every gesture incredibly seductive. "Oh, yeah," she murmured.
He loosened the tie at the side of his chaps, then reached for his belt buckle. "You want this off?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yes."
"Then you need to show me the love, honey. You don't think those guys up there on stage are taking it all off for their own enjoyment, do you?"
She grinned. "Then come here and I'll show you."
He danced to the edge of the table. She reached up and tucked a dollar bill into the waistband of his jeans, sliding her fingers down as far as she could, feeling his stomach contract, the wiry hairs that formed a V toward his crotch brushing against the back of her hand.
She rose, intending to steal a kiss, but he backed away. "Uh, uh, uh." He wagged a finger at her. "They have rules about touching the help, you know."
"I thought that was only in topless bars."
"Maybe so." He shrugged. "That's the only kind I've been in."
She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. "Keep dancing. You have a lot more to take off."
He unhooked the belt buckle and drew the belt oh-so-slowly from the belt loops. Next he undid the top button of his jeans. She was wet with anticipation as she waited for him to lower the zipper. But instead he trailed his fingers up and down that metallic line. His erection was clearly evident now. "It turns me on having you look at me that way," he said.
"Look at you what way?" She tore her gaze from him, but her eyes were drawn back to him by a pull at least as strong as gravity.
"Like you might just self-combust if I don't make love to you."
She squirmed. "I think you're exaggerating."
"You do?" He lowered the zipper a scant inch. "You look pretty hot to me." Another inch. "You make me hot."
She swallowed hard, not saying anything.
"You've got more dollars there." He nodded to the wad of money in her lap. "Aren't you going to use them?"
"But what will they buy me?" She leaned forward and tucked a bill in the opening of the zipper, dragging her nails across his erection.
He hissed in a breath and grasped her wrist. "Remember what I said about touching."
She tried for an innocent look. "It was an accident."
He shoved her back. "Sit down and watch."
She did as he asked, enjoying the sharp edge of desire that had ahold of her. Her eyes tracked his hand as he lowered the zipper the rest of the way. His black briefs bulged in the opening, the head of his penis clearly outlined. She chewed her thumb, stifling a groan.
"Think I should take 'em off the rest of the way?" he asked.
"I don't know. Should you?" She traced the neckline of her halter, her nails scraping across her exposed cleavage. Her nipples were hard pearls pressed against the fabric of the top.
Their eyes met and she had trouble breathing. In that one look, she could read everything he wanted to do to her. Everything he would do.
He whirled around, putting his back to her, and lowered the jeans, keeping the briefs and chaps in place.
The sight of his ass framed by the leather straps of the chaps made her squeeze her thighs together against the rush of longing. Her hands itched to squeeze his cheeks, to feel her naked breasts against the hard plane of his back.
He turned to face her again and she choked back a moan. If the view from the back had been enticing, the scene from the front made her want to shout out a big thank you that she was a woman. "You ought to be on a calendar somewhere," she said.
"Why settle for a picture when you can have the real thing?" In one move, he ripped off the briefs. The seams parted and he tossed the resulting rag over his shoulder. He was naked now, excep
t for the chaps and the hat and the bandanna around his neck. Naked and beautiful and sexy as hell.
He shimmied and his erection quivered, beckoning her. He put his hands behind his head and struck a pose. "What do you think? You think I've got what it takes?"
"I don't know about that, but I'm ready to take what you've got." She stood and slipped another bill beneath the strap of the chaps. This time he didn't try to stop her when she cupped him in her hand, his balls velvet-smooth and hot in her palm. She traced one finger around his asshole, then pressed the skin over his scrotum firmly but not too hard. He groaned and steadied himself with his hands on her shoulders.
"Are you feeling better now?" he asked, a little breathless.
She nodded. "Much better." She leaned closer as she spoke, her mouth almost but not quite touching the head of his penis, her warm breath caressing him.
"I'll bet we can make us both feel even better," he said, arching forward slightly, bumping against her mouth.
She took the hint and encircled him with her tongue. His hands on her shoulders tightened and he rocked farther forward.
He was hot and hard and smelled of herbal soap and sex, and tasted clean and faintly salty. She took as much of him as she could into her mouth, feeling the head bump against the roof of her mouth and the weight of his torso bear down on her shoulders as he tried to steady himself.
She showed no mercy, stroking and sucking, his arousal feeding her own desire.
After a moment, he pulled away, stumbling back. His eyes were glazed and he was breathing hard. "Slow down," he said.
She smiled. "Did you have something else in mind?"
He gave her a greedy look. "I have a lot in mind." He jumped down off the table and pulled her close. Before she could speak, he covered her mouth with his, his kiss demanding, insatiable.
She twined her hands in his hair and arched against him, reveling in the feel of his skin, anxious to be naked herself.
He slipped his hand into the waistband of her jeans, brushing her pubic hair with his fingers. "So watching me turned you on?" he asked.
"What do you think?" She nibbled his earlobe and smoothed her hands down his back.
He pushed his hand lower. "I think it did. You're wet."
She drew back enough to look him in the eye. "You're a lousy dancer, did you know that?"
"I'm a lousy stripper. There are some dances I do very well." He unsnapped her jeans and lowered the zipper.
"Oh, yeah. What did you call it? The horizontal mambo?"
"That's one of them. I'm not bad at the perpendicular polka, either." He moved his hands to her hips and shoved jeans and underwear together toward the floor. "And then there's my personal favorite--the pokey pokey."
"The pokey pokey?" She laughed, even as he slid two fingers into her, turning the laughter into a moan. "What's that?"
"It's first cousin to the hokey pokey, but you don't use your feet." He began to sing softly. "You put one finger in, you put one finger out. You put one finger in and you shake it all about." He demonstrated, kissing his way down the side of her face as he did so. "It also works with other parts."
"I--I think I like that particular dance, too." She had trouble forming words as his fingers continued to stir amazing sensations in her.
He reached back and unfastened her halter, then let the straps fall to her waist, baring her breasts. While his fingers continued their rhythm, he drew one nipple into his mouth. She clutched his shoulders and arched her back against the sharp desire that lanced through her as his teeth lightly grazed her.
With his free hand, he fondled her other breast. "You are so gorgeous," he murmured. "Sometimes I have dreams about you."
"Wh-what kind of dreams?"
"Wet ones."
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back as he transferred his mouth to her other breast. Any minute now, she was sure her knees would buckle and she'd melt at his feet. Or maybe he'd been right earlier when he'd said she would burst into flames.
The next thing she knew, he was leading her to the bedroom. Standing beside her bed, he started to take off the chaps. She put out a hand to stop him. "No. Leave them on."
He grinned. "You like them?"
She put her hands on his waist and gave him an admiring look. "Let's just say I like the way they frame your, um, assets." She reached up and took off his hat. "You can lose this, though."
He pulled her close in another breath-stealing kiss, then they fell onto the bed. She lay back against the pillows while he knelt beside her and rolled on a condom. The sight of him in those chaps and that bandanna and the memory of him dancing just for her--risking dignity and all--overwhelmed her, and she felt herself getting all emotional again. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened, even as a fresh wave of need swelled within her.
He entered her slowly, sinking as far as he could go. She moaned in ecstasy and arched up to bring him closer still. "I don't think I can go slow this time, darlin'," he said.
She shook her head. "Then don't go slow. Go fast."
He withdrew and sank into her again, filling her completely with each thrust, leaving her bereft and aching with each withdrawal. Still it wasn't enough, and she writhed beneath him, reaching for feelings that were just beyond her.
When he brought one hand down between them to fondle her clit, she screamed, "Yes!"
His fingers worked their magic, and she went off like a firecracker, intense and burning, little shattering aftershocks rocketing through her, leaving her breathless. She felt tears slip from beneath her tightly shut eyes and tasted salt, but was confident Kyle never noticed, as his own climax overtook him. He shouted her name and pressed her back into the mattress. She wrapped her legs around him, holding him close.
After a few moments, his thrusts slowed, then stopped, and he lowered himself gently over her. "Was it worth the price of admission?" he mumbled against her throat.
She smiled and combed her fingers through his hair. It was slightly damp, curling up at the ends, tickling the palm of her hand. "I'd pay to see it again."
"That's good. But not right now. Not for a few hours." He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, eyes closed, breaths still coming in hard pants. "Maybe not even tomorrow."
"Mmm." She stroked her hand down his back, enjoying the dragging lethargy of being fully sated. She didn't want to think about tomorrow or even the next hour. She was happy and satisfied now--what else mattered? "I don't have anywhere I have to be," she murmured. "Do you?"
He rolled off her and looked down at her, grinning. "Nowhere but here, darlin'. Nowhere but here."
10
KYLE WOKE UP SOME TIME LATER, aware first of Theresa lying beside him, the skin of her thigh satin-soft against him, her breast an enticing weight on his arm. Then he registered the softness of the bed and the sweet-smelling cotton sheets. Sleeping with a woman definitely had more appeal to the senses than grabbing some shut-eye rolled up in a sleeping bag in his horse trailer, or even crawling into the tangled sheets of the bed at his borrowed apartment. Guys liked to think they were tough and didn't need things like perfumed sheets and feather pillows, but give even the most rugged outdoorsman those things and throw in a warm, willing, curvy woman, and any other sleeping arrangements sucked ditch water.
He turned and pulled her close, his hand around her waist, his head next to hers on the pillow. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Hey, there.""Hey, there, yourself." He kissed her cheek. She smelled like vanilla and face powder. A soft, feminine scent.
She turned toward him a little, and her vision focused on his new tattoo. "Your tat turned out nice," she said.
"The artist does good work." He buried his nose in her neck and planted a kiss on her collarbone. He couldn't have slept long, but the little nap had recharged his batteries and the feel of her naked body against his had him ready for action again.
But she was obviously in the mood to talk. "So stallions are really independent?"
> "A wild mustang especially. You've heard the expression 'stubborn as a mule'? Well, a mule ain't got nothing on a wild horse. And they're smart, too."
"How do you know so much about it?"
"A few years back I volunteered to help round up a herd of wild horses that was being moved to a sanctuary in Nevada. We spent a week gathering up maybe three dozen animals. And the stallion was the last to come in. He liked to wear us out, leading us in and out of every draw and canyon within fifty miles, doubling back and circling around. Just when we thought we had him cornered, he'd pop up behind us. After a while, every time he whinnied, it sounded like he was laughing at us."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "Independent, stubborn and smart. I can relate."
He smoothed her hair. "Guess folks like us need to stick together. It's getting harder all the time to be a nonconformist, seems like."
"Nah, there's still room for us. We keep things interesting for everybody else." She idly traced patterns in the hair on his chest. The light, tickling touches were sending definite messages below the belt. He was getting downright anxious for round two. Just to make sure she got the idea, he brought his hand up and began stroking the side of her breast.
She squirmed but didn't stop him. "Speaking of nonconformists, I talked to Zach this afternoon."
"What's he up to?"
"He sounded good. One of his paintings has been chosen for an exhibition. I guess it's kind of a big deal." But she didn't sound particularly thrilled about the news. She sounded sad.
He stopped fondling and hugged her close. "You miss him, don't you?"
She nodded, her chin brushing against his chest. "Yes, but he's so happy now. And I want him to be happy."
He stroked his thumb along her cheek. "What about you? You deserve to be happy, too."
"Yeah. I do."
He smiled at the certainty behind the words. Count on Theresa not to wallow in self-pity. It was one of the things he admired most about her. "So what would make you happy?"
"Does anybody know that? I mean, if there was a book you could look up the answer to that question in, it would make billions."
