“It’s safe.” He tucked it close to his body and patted the bag.
“Thank you.” She slipped on her wrap. “There aren’t a lot of places to get a drink in Lonesome Valley this time of night.”
“Small town problems. I know them well,” he said.
“Do you?”
“I do.”
She turned to lead the way upstairs, to the lot where her car was parked. “I don’t imagine there are too many bars on a cattle ranch.”
“Not too many.” He chuckled.
They reached her car and she unlocked it. Even in a small town, cautious habits she’d learned in New York followed her home. Normally, she’d never invite a man she’d barely met to her home, but she knew this man’s grandmother and brother, so she felt safe enough. Before she opened the door, she spoke. “I have coffee at home.”
“I’ll follow you.” He pointed to a big pickup on the edge of the parking lot.
“It’s not far.” She opened her car door and climbed inside.
~*~
What was she doing?
Taylor wondered if she was making a tremendous mistake by not only inviting a stranger to her home, but one who would not be around tomorrow. She gave a mental shrug. It was just a cup of coffee.
At her small cottage, on a side street, she parked, locked her car and waited until Waylon exited his truck. She gestured with her keys toward her home. “This is it.”
His gaze took in the weeping willows, well-maintained yard and row of lilac bushes that separated her house from the neighbors. “Nice place.”
“It was my great-aunt’s. She sold it to me when she got too old to take care of it.” She led the way up the stone walk, to her front door and inserted the key. “What is your home like?”
“A log cabin not far from the big house,” he said.
“Big house?”
“The homestead where I grew up with my brothers.”
She stepped inside and turned on the lights. She’d left the house decorated much as her aunt had, in an old-fashioned theme the turn-of-the-century home called for. Lace curtains covered the bay windows overlooking her front yard and street. A rose-colored Victorian sofa and a buffet with curved legs filled the small room.
“Very nice,” Waylon said, looking around. He stood several inches over her five-eleven, and he filled the room with his height and broad shoulders. Her breath caught. This man was dangerous.
Abruptly, she turned toward her kitchen. “Make yourself at home while I get a drink. Coffee with Kahlua, or would you prefer something stronger?”
“Coffee with liqueur is fine.” He settled on her rose settee and she smothered a giggle at the image of the big man dwarfing her sofa.
“Something funny?” He arched a brow.
“Just that my sofa isn’t made for rugged men,” she said.
He lifted a brow. “You think I’m rugged?”
“A bit,” she said dryly. To avoid any more of the conversation, she darted into her kitchen and fumbled with her coffeemaker. While it perked, she took a moment to regroup. She’d dated enough that an attractive man shouldn’t be sending her pulse off the map and her good sense along with it.
She poured them both a cup of coffee, added a liberal amount of liqueur into them and carried them into her parlor. The phrase made her lips curl up. In another time, she would be a lady, Waylon the cowboy courting her. Courting. She almost snorted.
Although she liked old-fashioned furnishings, she was modern in every way. She liked this man, wanted to get to know him better. In the olden days, a woman wouldn’t have ever invited a man, much less a stranger, into her home. To do so would cost a lady her reputation.
Handing him the cup, she sat on the other end of the sofa, although there wasn’t much room between them. “The Kahlua okay?”
He tasted. “Just right.”
“So, tell me, Waylon, do you have a girlfriend at home? A wife?” She angled her long body his direction.
He sipped the coffee, then set down the cup and frowned. “I do not. I dated the same girl since high school, but she recently left town to pursue other things.”
“So, you’re on the rebound?” It was Taylor’s turn to frown.
“Not at all. Logan and I will always be friends, but I’m not pining for her like a newly weaned calf crying for its mama.” He sounded sincere, or maybe she just wanted to believe him. “You?”
“Me, what?”
“Seeing someone?”
Her last relationship had been causal and he was not someone she thought much about now. “No.”
“Tell me, Taylor, what made you give up the life of a model to pick up a camera instead?” Instead of the usual derision she got when that question was asked, he sounded genuinely interested.
“I’ve always been into taking pictures. When I was in New York, I gravitated behind the camera, and I realized I was happier there.” She waited for his reaction. Would he laugh? Mock her?
“I admire that,” he told her.
Taylor’s heart filled. So many people, including her own family, didn’t understand she got no fulfillment out of standing in a skimpy swimsuit in front of a camera. But to see an image through a lens, bring it to life, that made her happy. “I enjoy it. Do you like your job?”
“Love it,” he said. “A cowboy’s all I ever wanted to be. Ridin’, ropin’. Nothing like it.”
“I’d like to take pictures of that,” she said wistfully. “Although portraiture is more my specialty.”
“The ranch has had several well-known western photographers shoot there.” He mentioned a couple, but she didn’t recognize their names.
“Did you pose?”
He laughed, the sound washing over her. “Me? Nope.”
“Why not? You’re certainly attractive enough to be in front of the camera.” Funny, she’d just uttered the same phrase that had been repeated to her so many times.
“Because it’s not my thing,” he said. “My twin loves the limelight. Me, not so much.”
She understood. “I get it.” Something else he’d said struck her. “You have a twin? I didn’t see anyone who looked like you at the wedding.”
“We’re fraternal. He’s blond, we don’t look alike.” He recounted it as if he’d done it a million times before.
“I see.” She wracked her brain, but couldn’t recall anyone who fit his description. Maybe because she’d been so focused on Will and Lily. Or this guy. He’d captured her imagination and she wasn’t sure why. But, she was willing to find out.
CHAPTER TWO
They each drank two more cups of coffee with Kahlua. Taylor was more than a little buzzed by midnight. Yet, she didn’t want the night to end. Waylon was fun to talk to and she was enjoying herself immensely.
He’d scooted closer until their thighs bumped. Little jolts of awareness ran up and down her leg. She was dangerously attracted to this guy. Risky, because they had no future. Too bad, because she liked him more than she’d like anyone for quite some time.
“Would you like to see some of my pictures from tonight?” she asked abruptly.
“Love to.”
She reached for her camera bag and withdrew her treasured Canon. She wouldn’t share those of Will and Lily—they had the right to see those first—but she could show Waylon some of him. She scrolled back, until she’d begun focusing on him and handed him the camera.
“There are some of you here.” An embarrassing amount, actually.
He took the camera. “Hey, you made me look pretty good.”
“A little better than good,” she said. “You’re beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” He pulled a face. “A mountain’s beautiful. Or a horse. You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
She’d been told so a lot of times, but coming from him the compliment touched her in a way it never had. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked back at the camera. “These are damn good. I see why you like taking pictures. Yo
u’re talented as hell.”
His praise warmed her. “You’re photogenic. I’d like to shoot you someday.”
“You would?”
“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t think clearly. Maybe because of the alcohol, maybe because he was too close.
“Why not now?”
She gave her head a little shake. “Now?”
“You have other plans?”
“No. Bed.”
His grin sent her pulse pounding. “Then why not?”
“I don’t have lighting, props….” She would capture him on horseback, the Rockies in the background….
“What props do you need?”
She laughed. “I was thinking of a horse, a lasso….”
“Rope,” he said. “No real cowboy says lasso.”
“Rope, then.”
He motioned toward his Stetson. “I have my hat.”
A naughty image of only his hat covering his cock zinged through her head. The thought made her sex dampen. “I could sell a million of you to romance writers for their book covers.”
He flushed. “Not likely.”
“Wanna bet? She reached for the camera. “Those ladies would go crazy for pictures of you. You’d sell millions of books for them.”
“I never back down from a bet.” He reached for the top button of his tuxedo shirt. “Aren’t those guys usually half naked?”
Her mouth went dry as sand. “Yes.”
As he worked loose the top three buttons on his shirt, her hand automatically went to her camera. She lifted it to capture every tantalizing moment. Unlike most of the male models she’d seen on romance books, he hadn’t shaved, or oiled his chest. Dark hair peeked out from where he opened his shirt.
Taylor’s hand shook and she steadied it.
When he reached to pull the fabric from his waistband, she gulped. “Stop.”
He paused. “Why?”
In her alcohol-fogged brain, she fought for a reason. “Go ahead.”
Her lens followed his hands as they took the snowy cotton from the waistband of his ebony tuxedo pants. Dimly, she thought how the contrast was striking, and how the image would play in black-and-white. Her thoughts vanished as the shirt fell open.
Damn!
Dark, curly hair feathered his pecs, triangling toward his waist, disappearing under his waistband. She swallowed hard. Under that delectable trail lay well-defined abs that made her long to touch them.
“Want more?” His low tone sent shivers cascading over her.
She wanted a lot more. Somewhere, deep in her alcohol-fueled brain, she knew this wasn’t a good idea, but she banished the thought. She licked her dry lips. “Yes, take it off.”
Leaning forward, he tugged the shirt free from his shoulders and tossed it aside. Naked from the waist up, he rivaled any male model she’d ever worked with. Absolutely perfect. Her lens captured every flawless angle of his bronzed body. Skin, tanned from the sun, not spray.
“The background isn’t good,” she muttered as her photographer self-realized he sat framed by a pink sofa. She could edit it out, but it would be better if he were posed against something else.
“What do you need?”
“My bed.” Her headboard would be perfect and so would the low light in her bedroom.
His eyes twinkled. “Lead the way.”
What was she doing? She’d never taken boudoir-type shots of any man before. She’d never sold any of her photos to an author, and had no idea of how to go about it. These pictures would be for her eyes only, so why not? They were both adults and having harmless, innocent fun. She pointed. “That way.”
She couldn’t resist taking a few shots of his ass as he walked away. If it looked this good under trousers, what would his butt look like under Wranglers, or nude? She swallowed hard. Her grip on her camera tightened. Thoughts like those would only lead her into trouble.
In her bedroom, she turned on the light, and indicated her headboard. White, made of old doors she’d stripped and repainted, it was the perfect backdrop. “There.”
“As the lady wishes.” He kicked off his boots, climbed on her bed and knelt. “What now?”
Her artistic eye took in the scene. Like the rest of her house, her bedroom was feminine and a little old-fashioned. Her king bed took up most of the room, and it was the focus. Her fluffy white comforter with tiny pink roses entwined with green vines covered the bed. A few of her favorite black-and-white portraits adorned the walls. A bookshelf held dog-eared favorites.
He didn’t fit.
A man like Waylon needed an outdoorsy backdrop, not her ultra-feminine haven. Too late now. She’d snap a few pics and get him out of here.
Waylon, with his hands hanging loosely by his sides, said, “What do I do now?”
“You need your hat. I’ll grab it.” She darted into the living room and picked up his black Stetson. Returning, she handed it to him. “Hold it with both hands in front of you.”
He did as asked, posing with the hat in front of his zipper. He put the hat on his head and grinned, then tipped it over one eye. My God, the man could have a job as professional model if he wanted it.
After dozens of shots, she put aside her camera. “Fantastic.”
“We done?” He sounded disappointed.
She hefted the Canon. “I have tons.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure.” She stepped to the side of the bed and sat. He moved close, his breath warm near her ear.
“I’ll look over your shoulder.”
“Okay.” Her nerves fluttered at his proximity. Only an inch or so separated them. He wasn’t touching her, but the slightest move and he would be against her back. Trying to ignore her galloping pulse, she scrolled to the beginning of the pictures with fumbling fingers. Concentrating was difficult with Waylon so close.
As she flipped through the photos, she was struck again by the looks of the frying pan hot man beside her. Behind her. If she turned her head, they would be nose-to-nose. Or mouth-to-mouth.
He would be leaving in the morning.
She was single. He was single.
She wanted him.
Turning her head, she looked into his eyes. Reflected there was desire. Without thinking about it anymore, she brought her lips to his. The kiss instantly heated. It wasn’t a slow, get-to-know-you kind of thing. It was a hot, tongues tangling together kiss.
His hand slipped around her ribcage and edged upward until he cupped her breast. She held her camera with her left hand, gripped his thigh with her right. A few inches higher and she would be able to feel everything he owned.
Her grip on her Canon began to slip and she pulled away from Waylon’s hot lips. “My camera….”
“Better put it away,” he said. “Or you could film us….”
She wasn’t a prude, but she wasn’t quite ready to record what was about to happen. “I don’t think so.”
For an answer, he brushed a kiss on her shoulder. A shiver rocketed across her skin. She leaned forward and placed the camera on her nightstand. When she did, he slid down her zipper, one tantalizing inch at a time.
With both hands, he slipped her rose-colored dress from her shoulders. She wore a matching bra and he made quick work of the fastener. He slipped off the rosy satin and let it float to the floor like a leaf in the wind.
Nude from the waist up, she still sat on the edge of the bed. He moved directly behind her, kneeling to press kisses along her collarbone and neck. He reached around her to cup both breasts in his palms, thumbs flicking over hard nipples.
Taylor’s head lolled to the side, and Waylon took advantage, gently nipping to her earlobe. He sucked on it until she curled her fingers into the covers. She clenched her thighs together in a futile attempt to block the building pressure.
Behind her, Waylon moved back, pulling her with him until she lay on the bed, her toes touching the floor. He sidled beside her and bent to kiss her. At the same time his lips settled over hers, so did his palm over her breast. He co
ned it, pulling the nipple into a point, then releasing and repeating. It was sweet torture.
She put a hand on his waist, pulling him close.
His skin was hot, smooth, under her palm.
She slid her grip lower, to his butt. Her eyes hadn’t deceived her—it was as firm as it looked. She’d like it better naked. With her free hand, she fumbled with the button, but had no luck freeing it.
He released her mouth. “Need help?”
“Uh-huh,” she managed.
With the slow grin she was beginning to recognize, he undid the button, then let his hands dangle at his sides. Clearly, he was inviting her to finish what he’d started. She took the bait, reaching for his zipper. Careful not to injure him, she slid it over his erect penis. She was disappointed to find he wore shorts under his tuxedo pants.
He stood, and shucked his trousers and underwear.
Taylor gulped. The man was simply perfect. Muscled, but not bulky. Hairy where it counted, but not in need of a wax. Big cock, but not massive. Exactly right.
Where was her camera now?
She didn’t have time to ponder as he moved in front of her and reached for her dress, bunched around her waist. “Lift up.”
Obeying, she watched with half-open eyes as he pulled the silk from her hips, taking her rose-colored panties with it. She’d toed off her heels the moment she came home, and had not worn nylons, so nothing lay between her and his intense gaze.
“You shouldn’t have given up modeling,” he said.
Ordinarily, that statement irritated her, but coming from him, it warmed her. “Thank you.”
With his palms, he pushed her knees apart and stepped between them. Keeping his hands on her knees, he made slow, enticing circles with his thumbs. Heat rose from his touches, racing through her limbs. She reached for his cock with one hand and grasped it. Mimicking his circles, she slid her thumb over the head and slit until she made it slick with his own juices.
Edging his hands along the inside of her legs, he moved them up until they met at the juncture of her thighs. He smoothed one over her mound and with the other, slipped a finger inside her sex. She arched her back and tossed her head.
When he pressed deep, she tightened her grip and began stroking him. As their tempo increased, their bodies moved in synchronized, but separate rhythm. Taylor’s hips lifted from the bed, Waylon’s thrust forward.
Cowboy Strong Page 37
