by Dawn Atkins
She tried not to think about that, focusing instead on how well everything was going, on what she'd achieved tonight.
Finally, at 1:00 a.m., Lacey left her staff to attend to the stragglers and clean up, and headed for the door to go home. She was almost too exhausted to appreciate the amazing sight of Wade in rapt conversation with Pepper, the well-endowed belly dancer, at a table, while the gargantuan cockatiel pecked peanuts from his hand.
She pushed through the door, anxious to go home, lie down and analyze the evening. She missed Max, wanted to talk about everything with him, but he was probably fast asleep in his bunk. She missed him, but she wouldn't let that ruin her triumph.
She stepped out into the warm night. The stars were tiny and bright in the desert sky and seemed to be shining just on her. She heard an owl hoot and, far away, a coyote howl. Nearby, crickets set up a soothing racket. She was so tired, she could hardly walk.
"Finally."
The relieved voice was Max's. Lacey whirled and saw that he was sitting on the coffeehouse porch. He held a matchbox in one hand and was shaking out a match with the other. At his feet was a large pile of what looked like burnt twigs, but obviously were matches.
"Max! What are you doing here?" she asked. "And what are you doing?"
"Well, it's this way," he said, dropping the match and its box, pushing to his feet and walking slowly toward her. "I meant to leave. I had every intention of leaving, but I just couldn't get the sight of you out of my mind." He reached her and put his arms around her waist, tugging her to him. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
"So I made a deal with myself. I had this box of matches, see, and I decided that I would start burning the matches one at a time, and if you didn't come out by the time I'd burned them all, then it was over. I was done and I would go."
"You've been out here burning matches for two hours?"
"Well, I had to get another couple of boxes, but, yeah, that's what I've been doing. And I was on my last one when you walked out."
"Perfect timing," she said, her heart starting to pound.
"I'll say. I've got a blister the size of a dime on my thumb." He held it up.
"Let me kiss it better," she said and pressed her lips carefully to its tip.
He made a sexy, hissing sound. "Oh, don't stop there," he said. "I think I'm going to need first aid all over."
His words thrilled her, but she looked into his eyes. "What does this mean, Max?"
"I don't know. It's insane, but I just couldn't let you go like that … without … I don't know." His eyes searched her face.
"I'm so glad," she said. "It would have been humiliating to chase you out to that bunkhouse." Tears sprang into her eyes.
His hands cupped her face, so warm, so strong, so Max. "There's not much point, Lace. I know we have no future together. We're different people going different directions."
"But we can have tonight, can't we?" she said. "Just tonight?"
"You think we can manage that?" he asked sadly. "Really?"
"We have to at least try."
There was both surrender and command in the way he kissed her. It was such a relief. She didn't have to lunge at him or flirt with him or ask him point-blank. He just kissed her. Long and slow and sweet and full of the promise of more to come.
When she was so light-headed, her vision was black at the edges, Max released her mouth and said the words she'd longed to hear since she'd watched him eating Jasper's pie. "Let's go to bed."
"Finally," she said, feeling the delicious thrill of it.
He held her tight against him as they headed for her trailer. She felt so good tucked under his arm, breathing him in, aware of each finger pressed into her flesh.
When she'd walked out of the coffeehouse, she'd been so exhausted she could barely walk, but now, realizing what would happen once they reached her trailer, adrenaline rushed through her in waves, and she'd never felt more awake. The crickets thrummed a steady pulse that served as counterpoint to her erratic one.
They reached her door, and she turned to him, suddenly shy and a little nervous. She began to babble as she felt for her key. "I think it went well tonight, don't you?"
"It went great, Lacey," Max said softly, his voice low, intimate.
"The hors d'oeuvres were a big hit. And they loved the mint-chocolate-chip coffee. That was a great idea."
"Absolutely."
"I heard a reporter interviewing a customer, who went on and on about the, quote, hidden mystery of the Amazatorium. If they like the Amazatorium, they'll like anything."
"For sure."
"And people want Manny Romero back." She found her key and pulled it out. She caught the way Max was looking at her, his dark eyes glittering and hungry, and thoughts of the opening flew from her mind.
"You did great, Lacey," Max said, his arms around her. "You should be proud of yourself."
"I am. I really am." Not only had she gotten her coffeehouse, but she was about to get her cowboy, too. She couldn't believe it.
Except Max didn't seem like a cowboy anymore. Looking up at him, tall and handsome in the moonlight, she saw just Max. The man who'd helped her, supported her, who'd waltzed her across the floor at the opening night of her coffeehouse. The man who'd brought her lilies, crunched her numbers, hammered the stage together crookedly and hung the curtains too loose. The man who was now going to take her to bed.
Under the cowboy hat, which now seemed like just an article of clothing, Max's eyes were full of feeling. There was need, all right. Plenty of that. But there was also affection, caring … maybe even something stronger? She wasn't sure and was afraid to even imagine it was possible. This had to be just sex, as she'd promised him all along.
At last she was getting what she wanted from Max. And she didn't need to get drunk or try to seduce him or anything. All she had to do was this. She stepped up on her tiptoes, put her hands on the back of his neck, lifted her face and met him halfway.
Instantly, a flash fire of desire burned through what remained of her nervousness and she wanted Max more than anything else in the world. More than the coffeehouse, more than her career, more than her brother's respect. All she wanted was Max. Just Max. Something about that was dangerous, she knew, but right then, under the stars, in the dense summer dark, she didn't care one bit.
* * *
As they stood at the door to Lacey's trailer, the air thick with their desire, Max felt filled up by Lacey. She'd soaked into his skin, smothered his senses, permeated his brain. The way she felt in his arms shut out everything – his promise to Wade, his false identity, his secret job and his imminent departure from the café, the Rockin' W … and her life.
Once inside the trailer, he made himself hold back, take his time, except she kept kissing him with that incredible mouth – searching with her tongue, moaning into his mouth, wanting him as much as he wanted her. He wanted in. She wanted him in. Now.
Her blouse had come untucked, so he reached under it, sliding up, pushing her bra out of the way to cup her breasts, while their tongues moved and slid and pushed for positions that went ever deeper, more suggestive – promising what their bodies would soon do. She tugged at his shirt and the snaps gave way. Great idea. Ditch the clothes. He released her long enough to let her rip his shirt open. He let it drop off his arms to the floor.
Her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest and she made a sound that turned into his name. That made him surge. If he wasn't careful he'd climax before he even got her to a horizontal surface.
He yanked her to him, kissing her again, one hand holding her tightly to him, the other cupping the tender flesh of her breasts, then stroking the tight knots that were her nipples. She felt so good. He wanted more of her. All of her. He'd waited two months for this, wanted it, fought it, and now he was going to have it. He didn't care about Wade or his promise or whether or not there was any future to this. He just wanted Lacey and he'd see what happened after that.
Abruptly, Lacey pulled
away to fumble with the buttons on her blouse. She gave up and yanked the blouse over her head and tossed it to the floor, sending her bra immediately after it.
The sight of Lacey bared for him – just him – made Max's insides go weak. The moonlight shining through the curtains of the darkened trailer gleamed white on her pale skin, her breasts high and firm, rising and falling with her harsh breaths. Her eyes glittered with lust and her hair seemed to glow in the unearthly light.
For me, he thought, she looks this way for me. The idea filled him with a primitive possessiveness that made him want to grab her to him and say, you're mine.
"You are so beautiful," he said instead, and he cupped her face in his hands. "And I want to make you mine." She quivered and her breath came in rapid pants. She seemed to have trouble catching her breath.
"I – I'm … so … glad that we're … I'm just…" She kept trying to suck in air. "I'm so excited I feel numb. I … can't … breathe. I'm afraid I won't be any good."
"It's okay," he said and pulled her into his arms, managing a chuckle through the pounding of his lust. His chest swelled with emotion, with the desire to protect her, with the overwhelming sense of how precious she was.
Something had changed in him, he realized. Something big. The reason he hadn't slept with her before was because it would mean more to her than it would to him. Now he realized it might be the other way around.
That was okay, he decided, loving the way she felt in his arms, the way he could feel her heart beat, hear each precious breath. He'd just have to handle it. To be with her like this was worth every bit of misery afterward. And maybe, just maybe, she felt the same as he did.
He nuzzled her neck and whispered to her. "I'm as excited as you, Lace. In fact, if you look at me one more time like that I just might embarrass myself right here in your living room."
"Really?" she asked so eagerly he smiled against her neck. Her breathing slowed a little.
"Oh, yeah." He pulled back to look at her. "Don't you know how hot you are? How you turn me on?"
She didn't answer, just looked at him wonderingly.
"I guess I'm going to have to show you." He swung her into his arms. "Every way I can think of. All night long."
"Oh." Her fingers locked around his neck. "You have the best ideas." She rested her sweet cheek on his chest.
"And like they say, if at first we don't succeed, we'll just have to try, try … and try again."
She shivered at his words, gratifying him. He carried her down the narrow hall, careful not to bang her plump little toes against the wall.
* * *
By the time Max carried her to her bedroom door, Lacey had managed to slow her breathing to as normal a rate as she could expect considering she was about to make love – um, have sex – with the man of her dreams. She'd been hyperventilating like mad. It would have been humiliating to faint on him, but she couldn't bring herself to ask him to fetch her a paper bag to breathe into. At least her vision wasn't gray anymore.
For a second, she wished he wasn't a cowboy, a nomad who'd be heading off to a sheep ranch or a logging camp or who knows where. She wished he'd be somewhere close by, so she could see him all the time. That didn't make sense, of course. His whole appeal was that he wasn't the kind of guy she could see every day. He was wild and free and he'd stay that way. She could see it in his eyes – the passion there could never be civilized.
No, she had to do what she'd promised him – accept this as the fling she'd told him she wanted from the beginning. That had to be enough. So far it was more than she'd dreamed it could be. Max was carrying her into her bedroom in his arms like Rhett Butler in the movie. It was so sexy, so romantic, so perfect…
Then he tripped on something – probably the cowgirl boots she'd left on the floor – and they both crashed onto the bed, which promptly broke. Again.
They slid down the tilted mattress, laughing, until Lacey's back reached the wall. Then they looked into each other's eyes and desire burned away the laughter. Max's lips met hers and his fingers caressed one of her breasts. She went liquid with lust. She pushed herself against his erection, wanting more and more. Reading her mind, his hands slid under her hiked-up skirt and his fingers slipped beneath her panties and found her. She went electric. Heat and ache rushed through her. She wanted to touch him, too, to see him, so she pushed her hand inside his jeans.
He groaned and broke off the kiss. "Easy there. You've got me so hot I don't think I can hold out."
"So, don't," she said.
"But I want to be inside you," he said. "I want you around me." And the way he said it made her want it, too. She withdrew her hand. Max reached into his jeans pocket and produced a condom. "The coffeehouse bathroom is well equipped," he said.
"Customer service," she breathed.
Then Max's fingers started doing incredible things to her, and the banter died on her lips. His mouth found one breast and sucked, then nipped it, drawing her desire like a thread that stretched tautly from her sex to her breasts.
She moaned and writhed, powerless before this pleasure and ache.
She was in his hands – literally – and she gave herself up to the sensations. The tension built, the thread stretched, taut and more taut, until she knew she was at the brink of climax.
"Oh, oh, oh. I'm going to—"
"Wait for me," Max murmured and gently withdrew his fingers. He pushed off his jeans and underwear, and as magically as a movie dissolve, the condom was on and Max was on top of her. He gently pushed her legs apart, and she opened them even further, wanting him inside her now.
And then he was there. Easing in. She could tell he was using all his concentration to keep from slamming into her. I did this, she told herself with a thrill. I made him this hot. She loved the chivalry that seemed to come so naturally to him.
She moaned, loving the feel of him there, hard, yet giving. He eased in farther and farther. She reached to hold his muscular behind, to push him, urge him on, loving the movement of taut muscle she felt there with each of his thrusts inside her. This was for her. All for her. And then he was in all the way, and he began to move in and out. She moved with him, lifting her hips for more – more pleasure, more of him, giving him more of herself.
He seemed to know exactly what she wanted and when. As if he were in her mind, as if her pleasure were his pleasure, as if he were under her skin.
"Lacey," he moaned. "Lacey." He said it like a prayer and she answered it with his name. And then, with the next thrust, she felt her release come in a wave. A wave that went on and on.
Again she cried his name, surrendering to the spasms. She felt him climax within her, intensifying her own pleasure.
Afterward, they held each other for a long silent moment. Max was so big he felt heavy on her – like the best blanket of all. She smelled his delicious smell, felt his warm breath on her neck. Their legs were intertwined, their bodies wet with shared sweat, their hearts pounding in muffled counterpoint. Their breathing was ragged. She felt so good with him holding her, so right. As if the two of them understood everything about each other and about sex. She never wanted this to end.
Lying there, panting, feeling Max's lips on her neck, she realized something even more terrible. Max was right. This wasn't just sex.
Maybe it could have been if they'd done it that first night after the almost-brawl in the bar. But not now. Now she felt connected to him in more than a physical way. She knew him so well, and he knew her – saw inside her, understood her.
She thought of all they'd shared, how close they'd been as he'd helped her achieve her dream. He'd become part of her dream. And now she wanted him to be part of her life. This was more than sex. This was love. She was in love with Max.
Lacey opened her mouth, needing to say something, but Max lifted his face to her. His expression told her he was thinking about lust, not love. "So, what do you think?" he asked wickedly. "Was it good?"
"Was it good?" It was heaven on earth.
The instant hot charge of his fingers on her sent her agonizing discovery to the back of her mind, and she gave herself over to Max and the pleasure of his touch. And to hours of try, try, trying again.
* * *
Max's eyes flew open, except something blocked one eye. He brushed at the thing, then realized it was fingers. Lacey's fingers. She was stretched alongside him, half on his body. He was in Lacey's bed, he knew, so why did it feel even harder than the bunkhouse cot?
Because he was lying against a wall. He remembered that the bed had broken. They'd obviously succumbed to gravity in their sleep. Not very comfortable, but worth every neck crick to have Lacey lying on him like this. He looked past her soft curves and riot of hair to squint at her bedside clock. Six o'clock in the morning.
They'd only been asleep for two hours. They'd crammed a lot of lovemaking into the previous three. His body ached all over, but that wasn't the worst pain he felt.
He'd fallen in love with Lacey. Something he shouldn't have done. Something she didn't want. Or at least that's what she'd said.
Gently, so as not to waken her, he brushed her curls out of her eyes, so he could see her face, the way her fair eyelashes were soft half circles on her cheeks – so sweet, so innocent, her mouth soft in sleep. She looked like an angel.
But she'd made love like a demon, he remembered, getting aroused at the thought. She'd been a responsive lover who gave and received with such intensity she'd simultaneously worn him out and made him beg for more.
Now he was in love with her. He wanted to wake up with her every morning. That meant things had to change. He'd have to tell her who he was – a frustrated accountant hired to watch over her. A poser. She wouldn't like that. Not one bit.
