The Trouble With Cowboys

by Melissa Cutler

  Kellan knew he was a needy, rotten son of a bitch.

  It was a truth he’d been able to ignore for the better part of the evening. Trouble was, reality was catching up with him like a silent predator, stalking closer with each ticking minute that brought the evening nearer to an end.

  Amy’s captivating presence made it easy to live in the moment and forget everything but his overwhelming desire to bring her pleasure, to entice a smile or a hum of delight from her lips, to make her eyes light up, as they had while her fingers danced over his knife collection. She’d slung an arm around his neck and her body trembled with emotion. In her eyes, he saw affection.

  And now, framed by the flickering glow of firelight and his Christmas tree, and set to music by the sound system playing an album of jazz piano holiday songs, Amy looked even more magnificent. As though she belonged in his home in a permanent way.

  As though she were the warmth he’d been searching for all his life.

  Kellan tore his eyes away, cursing silently. He had no business entertaining thoughts about a relationship with Amy Sorentino. Period.

  When he sat her down and told her about his connection to Amarex, she was going to hate him. It hurt, thinking about that affection morphing into hate, yet he couldn’t make himself drive her home early like he knew he should. Selfish as he was, he wanted to cling to his final moments with Amy, to relish his time with her before they went their separate ways. Before she hated him.

  She slid another bite of filet mignon into her mouth and he said another silent curse as he felt his cock stir to life. How utterly erotic. This lovely creature was savoring beef raised on his ranch, the product of so many years of toil and rising before dawn. Watching her bliss out as she ate made every day of backbreaking labor as a rancher worthwhile.

  Burrowing herself even deeper into the cushions of his sofa, she sliced another bite from the steak. Kellan watched her mouth, riveted. Her lips parted in anticipation as she lifted the fork. Her teeth drew the bite onto her tongue. This time, when she closed her eyes, a little moan of ecstasy escaped from her throat. Kellan’s hand twitched with the urge to stroke his raging erection. Amy was a carnivore’s erotic fantasy. Holy shit.

  Once Kellan started breathing again, he asked in a low voice, “How’s the filet?”

  She grinned and pressed a napkin to her lips. “Heavenly. What salt did you end up choosing?”

  “A Japanese sea salt. Amabito No Moshio. And I’ve got to tell you, your mushroom goat cheese sauce has taken these instant mashers to a whole new level of gourmet.”

  She giggled. “That’s not saying much. But I am enjoying the potatoes. I can’t remember the last time I ate the instant variety. It’s surprisingly yummy.”

  “Yummy? That must be an off icial term they taught you in chef school.”

  “Absolutely.” Smiling, she sipped her wine. “Did you go to college?”

  He shook off the voice of his conscience pressuring him to cut the evening short and rolled a sip of wine over his tongue. “Sort of, eventually. When I turned eighteen, I cared more about getting out of Florida than I did about earning a degree. Once I got the ranch up and running, the desire to finish school took root inside of me. Of course, the timing was terrible because the nearest college was in Clovis, which is over an hour drive, and I couldn’t manage the time away from the livestock. For whatever reason, though, I couldn’t let the idea go, so I signed up with one of those online correspondent universities. It took me six years, but I earned a diploma.”

  “Is your degree in business or agriculture?”

  In petroleum engineering, he longed to admit. But that would lead to questions he wasn’t prepared to answer tonight. Man, he was a selfish bastard. “Business.” Time to change the subject before he dug himself into a hole. “Christmas is in two and a half weeks. What do you and your sisters have planned to celebrate?”

  His favorite worry line appeared between her brows. “Oh, geez, I’ve barely thought about what I’m going to fix. Definitely a turkey. My mom loves turkey. She’ll get to come home for a few hours for Christmas dinner, which will be great. It’ll be her first time home since she . . . since she got sick.” She blew a strand of hair away from her face. “The best part of Christmas for me is watching Jenna’s son, Tommy, open presents. What about you? Do you fly to Florida to see your family? I bet it’d be tough to leave the ranch for more than a day or two.”

  “You’re right, it would be near impossible.” No sense in getting into that unpleasant story now. “I stay local, spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with the Bindermans. As Daisy’s godfather, I work hard to spoil her with lots of gifts.”

  “Are you an only child?”

  Yikes. They were getting into dangerous territory for a whole slew of different reasons. “No, I have a younger brother. Jake. But he’s busy with his job in L.A. You know how it goes.”

  “Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes at him in that Superman-vision way women managed, like they were trying to squeeze a drop of water from a rock with their mental muscles. Once again, Kellan was desperate for a topic change as Amy swerved too close to the heart of the matter.

  He gestured to her empty plate. “You finished your filet in record time.”

  “You know me, going too fast, as usual.”

  Right now, his conscience argued. Take her home right now before you lose your head over this girl.

  As if he could stop himself from sleeping with her after watching her eat that filet mignon. Transferring his plate to the coffee table, he dropped to his knees and reached for her boot. “Then it’s a good thing you’ve got me to slow you down.”

  “At least for tonight,” she whispered like a question.

  Her boot slipped from her leg with a tug. Her sock followed. Cupping her heel in the palm of his hand, he pressed his lips to the inside of her ankle. “Tonight is all that matters,” he murmured against her skin.

  She slouched on the sofa, spread her knees, and placed her still-booted foot in Kellan’s hand. “Carpe diem?”

  He tugged her other boot off. “Give me a few more minutes and you won’t believe the Latin I’ll have you screaming.”

  “Bet we’ll make your cattle blush.”

  “Don’t forget about Max. He’s awfully old-fashioned.”

  She arched, throwing her head into the sofa with a throaty chuckle. A knife of pain and longing wedged in Kellan’s heart. She is the warmth you’ve been looking for your whole life.

  No, no, no. Just sex with a beautiful woman. Casual. An agreed-upon one-time fling, nothing more. No matter what his heart whispered to the contrary.

  He rose, offering Amy his hand. And when she stood, he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, through the darkness, to his bedroom.

  Chapter 10

  Amy couldn’t keep her mouth off Kellan’s neck as he carried her, rasping her lips over the thick stubble on skin that had been smooth only a few hours earlier. He carried her like she weighed nothing, his effort showing only in the veins of his neck and the bunch and flex of muscles along the substantial breadth of his shoulders. Never before had she come up against such an embodiment of pure masculinity—broad and hairy and muscled. So capable, so solid a man.

  Someone she could depend on—a living, breathing cowboy who weathered storms and hard desert living and the ravages of time. A man who remained, through it all, fighting strong. She splayed her fingers over his firm chest, imagining him fighting for her.

  Once in his bedroom, he placed her on her feet and switched on a reading lamp.

  She looked around, taking stock of the room. The first time she’d found herself in Kellan’s bedroom, she hadn’t cared about discovering who the man beneath the Stetson was. All she wanted was a diversion from the stress of the day at the capable hands of a sexy cowboy. Tonight, saturating herself with the details of Kellan’s life outweighed her lust. Outweighed everything else.

  The room smelled of polished wood and worn leather. A huge, wood-
framed bed topped with a blue-plaid quilt dominated the uncluttered space. Amy suppressed the urge to smooth her hand across the quilt and bury her nose in one of the two plump pillows.

  A line of boots, some old, some shiny, sat at the base of a looming wardrobe, its doors wide open. Shirts in varying shades of blue and red and black hung in a neat row. Atop a matching dresser sat photographs of the Bindermans’ children—their adorable daughter, with a huge smile, sitting on a horse, inside a picture frame that declared World’s Greatest Uncle, and a birth announcement for Rowen Binderman propped next to a framed picture of Kellan holding the baby boy.

  Then Kellan stood before her. “Raise your arms,” he commanded softly.

  She complied.

  With a naughty, lopsided smile playing on his lips, he peeled her sweater off and closed his hands over the cups of her bra. Spellbound, Amy let her fingers dance over his face to trace the beginnings of wrinkles at the edges of his eyes, the corners of his mouth. Laugh lines. How wondrous he was.

  Hooking his index fingers under the straps, he tugged her forward, into a kiss.

  She melted into him, yielding her mouth to the soft persistence of his lips. His hands grazed her ribs en route to the clasp of her bra. A flick of his wrist and it was loose, the straps falling away from her arms.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he stared down at her body, his eyes dark, his expression reverent. His lips covered her right nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth. She tangled her hands in the brown curls of his hair, discovering a smattering of gray ones. The glamorous life of a cowboy. She grinned, loving the truth she saw in those hairs, of a life lived, of worry and time passing, the flaws that make a person beautiful.

  She smoothed a hand along his neck, taking note of his skin’s dark tan lines, a reminder of the hours and years he’d spent outdoors, every day sweating under the unrelenting New Mexico sun.

  Leaving a hand in place over her right breast, he moved to her left, teasing it with his talented tongue until she was dizzy with pleasure. She arched into his touch, feeding her breast to his mouth as his fingers tugged and caressed her other nipple to a stiff peak.

  She squirmed, rotating her hips, knowing she would disintegrate if he didn’t quell the aching need gathering between her legs. She would absolutely crumble into pieces if he didn’t tend to her clit immediately. With unsteady hands, she unzipped her skirt, pushed it to the ground, and pressed his head lower.

  Kellan twisted away from her hold and straightened. “You’re getting impatient again.”

  She scoffed at his gentle reprimand. “Cowboy, you haven’t even seen ‘impatient’ yet.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  Holding his gaze, she slid a hand down her belly and nestled a fingertip into her damp folds with a groan of relief.

  His eyes widened a bit, then crinkled as he grinned. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Either I meet your demands or you move on without me?”

  “I’m not moving on without you.” She stroked herself with exaggerated movement and made a show of moaning her pleasure. “I’m inviting you to join me, if you think you can keep up.”

  Kellan raised a brow. “A challenge? I never turn down a challenge as tempting as you.” He dropped to his knees and settled her left leg over his shoulder. She wiggled her standing leg more firmly into the hardwood floor and moved her hand out of the way. He took hold of her wrist.

  “No. Keep touching yourself. I want to watch.”

  She replaced her fingertips against her swollen flesh and swirled them over her clit. With any other man, she might’ve felt self-conscious of him getting so up-close-and-personal with her curves. Like all the women she knew, she’d tried dieting off and on, but she never had a knack for it, choosing instead to indulge in the joy of cheeses and wine and truffles and chocolate, to savor the vivid flavors of the world.

  Kellan didn’t seem to mind her inability to deprive herself of good food. He bathed her stomach and hips with butterfly kisses, his excitement evident in his shallow, tremulous breaths. Overcome with arousal at his voyeurism, she braced her shoulders and head against the wall. Closing her eyes, she worked her flesh with rhythmic purpose.

  Kellan’s hand brushed against her thigh. One finger slipped inside her, then a second. Her inner muscles contracted around them as he sunk them deep within her. He scissored the two over her g-spot, a little butterfly of a move that nearly made the knee of her standing leg buckle. She fought to stay upright, fisting a hand in his hair as she inched ever closer to climax.

  Encircling her wrist once more, he drew her moistened fingers into his mouth. “You taste so sweet. I want to taste you for myself.” His words strained. Wetting his lips, he parted her folds and covered her clit with his mouth. Pleasure rocketed through her and she screamed out, the call of a woman untamed, reckless in her hedonism, teetering nearer to the edge of release with every flick of Kellan’s tongue.

  Her foot skidded along the floor and she squeaked in surprise, flailing her arms. Kellan’s hand clamped around her hip before she tumbled sideways.

  “I guess when you make a woman weak in the knees, you go all out.”

  He lowered her leg from his shoulder and stood. “Then I’d say it’s time to lay you down, do this right.”

  Rocking onto her tiptoes, she guided his face to hers for a kiss. It felt so wonderfully wicked, tasting her own liquor on his lips, rubbing her nude body against his fully clothed one. Like she could abandon every trouble in her life at Kellan’s bedroom door and simply exist—a naked, uninhibited, sexual being.

  “Oh, no. I don’t think so,” she said.

  He raised a brow in question.

  “You’re done with me for the moment.” She popped open the button of his fly. “It’s time to test your ability to stay standing.”

  She knelt before him. After unzipping his slacks, she mouthed the head of his cock through his boxers and he slammed against the wall. His hands wove into her hair.

  “Are your knees comfortable? The floor’s hard.”

  A tug and his pants dropped to pool around his ankles. “My knees are fine.”

  She stretched the elastic waistband of his boxers out and over his erection, then added them to his pants and pulled her face back to admire him. No way around it—Kellan Reed was the finest built man she’d ever seen. Her lips closed over him, sinking until the head bumped on the roof of her mouth. His hot, silken flesh tasted salty, musky, like a man. Her man. She hummed, savoring the knowledge.

  He moaned, clutching her hair more firmly.

  Exhaling through her nose, she relaxed her jaw and took him deeper until he groaned and gave a little thrust. Amy’s lips twitched as satisfaction flared within her.

  Look who the impatient one is now, cowboy . . .

  She picked up the pace, cupping his balls, rolling them in her fingers, then lightly scratched his sac with her nails.

  “I’m too close. You have to stop.”

  Not a chance. She was enjoying herself far too much to give up. She loved the give-and-take of pleasuring a man all the way to the end, experiencing his build-up, the tightening of his flesh, the taste and feel of his release in her mouth. She could practically come this way, herself, she thought, as a trickle of moisture seeped onto her thigh.

  “Amy, please. Stop.” His voice was hoarse, desperate. He pushed at her shoulders, but she was undeterred. “I don’t want to come yet.”

  His hands clamped on either side of her face, forcing her off. She sat on her heels and looked up at him, breathing hard and smiling. His jaw was clenched, his expression fierce.

  Tense silence settled over them. Amy swiped her thumb over the wetness at the corner of her mouth, determined to lighten the mood. “Next time we’re together, I’m going to have my way with you as long as I want.”

  As soon as the words were out, she realized her mistake. She saw in the shift of Kellan’s expression that meant he, too, heard the expectation—the hope—in her declaration.

 
He pulled his boxers and pants over his hips. “Amy . . .”

  She stood. “Don’t say it, Kellan.”

  Tonight was a one-time event. Hell, this final night together had been her suggestion. A booty call, she’d flippantly labeled it. A means of getting Cowboy Kellan out of her system once and for all. What an idiot she’d been, to believe that was possible. She mashed her eyes closed, hating herself for what she was about to say, knowing how pathetic it would sound. But it needed saying nonetheless. “I need to see you again. Tonight is not enough.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “This has to be enough, Amy. We agreed to the terms.”

  “I know what we agreed, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “There can’t be a next time. I wish to God it could be different, and I feel like a total ass for letting things get this far out of control, but I can’t seem to help myself when I’m around you. You have to understand, I’m not good for you.”

  She huffed, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. “You’ve been pretty damn good so far.”

  He slipped sideways apart from her to pace, sighing, his hands on his hips. What did a sigh mean? Did he regret bringing her home? Was he thinking, Women, what a pain in the ass—they reel you in and always want more?

  Jenna had mentioned more than one remark about Kellan’s purported appetite for women. Amy hadn’t pressed her for details of his playboy reputation, not wanting anything—not even the truth—to interfere with the fantasy image in her mind. Maybe this was how he usually played the game, worming out of commitments with a tossed-off apology about what a no-good guy he was, putting the onus on himself. No question about it, she felt a deep, powerful bond with him. Maybe he didn’t feel it the same way she did.

  Or maybe she was as unbalanced as her mom, the way she could conjure the illusion of love out of thin air. She closed her eyes as realization swept through her.