Cowboy Professor_A Western Romance Love Story

by Ivy Jordan

  I appreciated how compliant he was. A lot of people got ornery when I suggested that they get help for their problems. Stacy, in particular, was angry when it was suggested she seek help. The times she’d been in rehab hadn’t been her decision; more often than not they were court-ordered, and she’d been happy to take it over the jail sentence.

  Frankly, the thought of Sawyer in a similar position made me sad. I didn’t want him to go back down that road. He looked too dignified to be involved with drugs.

  When the session ended, he hung back a moment to clarify our next appointment. “We have an appointment Wednesday?”

  “If they’re helping you,” I agreed. “I don’t want to waste your time three times a week if it’s not helping.”

  “It really is,” Sawyer said. “Not just… last time, I mean sessions like this help a lot. You listen better than anyone I’ve ever talked to.”

  I couldn’t help the blush that rose to my cheeks. I appreciated being complimented on my professional skills. It wasn’t the same as being told I was beautiful or being told how badly he wanted me, but it was certainly still something I treasured.

  “Well, thank you,” I said. “I’m glad to help.”

  “Actually…” Sawyer trailed off for a second. “I was thinking, I still wanted to talk to you before the meeting Wednesday. If you’re still opposed to it, I understand, but I’d still love to take you to dinner if you’d let me.”

  He was terribly bold, asking me again. I smiled, recalling something of a promise from him not to ask me to dinner again. But a lot had changed since then. We’d done a lot since then to make it foolish to try and say, ‘Oh, no, dinner would be too brash!’

  I’d already slept with him. Dinner certainly couldn’t hurt at this point.

  “That sounds great,” I said. “You’ve got my number. Just let me know when you want to pick me up, alright?”

  He looked shocked, and I suppressed a laugh at that shock.

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll let you know.”

  I bit my lip and waved as he walked out of my office.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SAWYER

  “Sawyer, don’t put those there. Those don’t grow in the shade.”

  I blinked and looked down at what I was doing. I appeared to be placing a tomato plant in the wrong place, and I put it back in the pot and set it to the side.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Pete walked over and picked the pot up. “You got something on your mind?”

  “I’m having dinner with Quinn tonight,” I said. “I’m not sure where to take her. A bar is a little too… I don’t know. And I don’t want to take her somewhere super upscale for a first date. It’s overcompensating, you know?” I hadn’t been on a date in six years. Hell, it had been longer than six years. Stacy and I hadn’t gone on any dates. So it had been since college since I’d been on a date, and I couldn’t even recall it.

  “You’re going to dinner with Quinn?” Pete asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened to ‘I need to sleep with someone else or see a different therapist?’” Pete paraphrased what I’d told him a few days before, and I sighed, not surprised that he had it ready to throw back in my face.

  “I decided I might as well try,” I said. “She’s a damn good therapist, and I don’t want to not see her. Someone else might not do as good a job, you know? And I also know that I don’t want to see another girl.”

  Pete frowned. “It sounds to me like a conflict of interest. It’s messy, that’s all. I don’t think it’s a good idea to be her patient if you’re dating her.”

  “Well, I think it’ll be alright.” Logically, I knew it was a horrible idea, but my gut told me that this was something I could pull off. “Besides, worst case scenario, I go see someone else. Might as well try.”

  “I suppose.” Pete shoved his cap onto his head and went back to moving dirt around. I could tell that he still didn’t approve, but frankly, I couldn’t expect him ever to approve, and this was better than getting back into drugs.

  When I got home, I spent a little too long trying to decide what to wear. I didn’t want to look stupidly overdressed, but I didn’t want to look casual, and my inexperience was starting to grate on me. I was almost thirty years old—I shouldn’t be nervous about going on a date with someone! I finally ended up with a clean pair of dark jeans and a button-down shirt, nothing too uptight but not my t-shirt from the day before, either.

  The air was a little hot outside, so I rolled the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows, careful to smooth out the cuff. I texted her to let her know that I was on my way, and she sent me her address with a smiley face. I tapped it into my phone and made my way to her house.

  The fact that she lived so close to Austin told me she was doing well for herself. It was hugely expensive to live in the city—most of my professors from the University of Texas lived in San Marcos or San Antonio and commuted every day to work. The closer you got to Austin, the more money you had.

  Her house was lovely. It wasn’t anything ostentatious, but it was a beautiful house with a green lawn and vivacious flowerbed. I stepped up to the front door and knocked carefully.

  Quinn opened the door with a smile on her face. I took her in for just a moment—she wore a dress that hugged the curves of her body, and her hair had been curled. I remembered being told by one of my girlfriends in college that the effortless curls were the ones that took the longest to do.

  “You look lovely,” I told her, and a blush came up to her cheeks.

  “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she told me. I smiled and led her back to my car.

  “Where are we going?” She asked.

  I tapped my thumbs on the steering wheel. “There’s a little restaurant in Austin by one of the parks that does some live music and all fresh, local-grown food. There’s a lot of college kids, but if you can get past that, it’s nice.”

  “I don’t mind college kids,” she said. “Sometimes they remind me I’m getting old.”

  “You are absolutely not old,” I assured her. She was still in her twenties!

  “Well, I’m not a college student,” she said.

  “Neither am I,” I pointed out. “But I’m not old.”

  “No, you’re certainly not,” she said, and it seemed we’d reasoned it out, both of us smiling. We pulled up to the parking garage, and I picked up my ticket on our way out.

  It was too loud on the street to make conversation, so we didn’t say much of anything until we reached the restaurant. It was a small place sort of crammed up against the park, but the setting was beautiful, with an elaborately decorated interior and even candles at the dinner tables.

  The hostess got us seated, and then, finally, we could have some conversation.

  “This place is beautiful,” Quinn said. “It feels like I haven’t been on a date in ages.”

  “Oh?” I found it hard to believe that someone like Quinn could go very long without finding someone or another to take her out. She was absolutely everything most people looked for in a person—or perhaps she was everything that I looked for in a person, and my opinions were skewed.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I mean, I guess I shouldn’t talk about it, but you know, it’s not a big deal. It’s just been some time since I was on a date.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “You didn’t get up to anything overseas?” She asked. “You had women in the army, right?”

  “Well, the men and women’s units are separate, to begin with,” I said. “And the women who are native to the area… they either hated us, fell all over us, or wanted to sell themselves to us. Mostly they just wanted to be left the hell alone. It wouldn’t have been right to go over there and bother them.”

  “Definitely not,” she said. “But you must have been lonely.”

  I had been. I watched her across the table, dark blue eyes scanning me like she knew every thought in my head already. She leaned her head
against her hand, and it was difficult not to trace the slender wrist to the pale arm, up to the shoulder, to the neck, every curve of her body mesmerizing in an unexplainable way.

  “Sometimes,” I said. “But we’ve talked plenty about me. Why don’t you go out and find someone to take home? You could, if you wanted to.”

  “Am I not?” The corner of Quinn’s mouth cocked up in a smile, and I bit the inside of my cheek. This woman was going to be the death of me, and we hadn’t even been served our food yet.

  “I think that’s why we did what we did,” Quinn mentioned at some point.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s been ages since I’ve been on a date. You’ve been in the military for some years. I think we both just had a lot of pent-up tension,” she said. “A lot of the work around sexual repression is Freudian, and I’m not very keen on Freud, but some of it holds.”

  “It did happen quickly,” I said. “But I can’t pretend I tried to stop it.”

  “Someone might have seen us,” Quinn said, almost like she was teasing. When she moved her shoulder forward, the sleeve of her dress drooped against her arm, and she didn’t move to correct it. Like a bloodthirsty hound, I stared after that bit of exposed skin and met the smirk she gave me when I returned to her face.

  “I’d have let them watch,” I said, struggling to keep my voice from betraying my intentions. “You have a way of making me forget myself.”

  “I have several ways,” Quinn corrected. “And you’ve only seen a few.”

  Her cheeks blushed pink, and I tilted my head to the side, intrigued by this sexual tension. We were in public, but the surrounding noise was loud enough that no one would overhear. The waiter could be seen coming from far enough away that he wouldn’t overhear it, either. I leaned forward.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I asked her, shaking my head. I was still certain she’d be my undoing. I didn’t know how yet, or to what end, but I knew she would eventually drive me mad. Still, I was hardly leaving.

  “I was hoping whatever you wanted,” Quinn returned. She was too good at flirting where I was terribly, terribly rusty.

  So I sat back in my chair a little, frowning. “I’ll admit, I’m a little rusty with this.”

  “You’ll pick it up in time,” Quinn said, smiling. “I think it’s sweet. It’s never good to go out with someone and find out that they’re terribly smooth. That always lends itself to nasty surprises later.”

  “I think I’ll still be able to surprise you,” I mused. “But I wouldn’t call it nasty.”

  “Some would,” she retorted and grinned. It was almost a game now to see what we could turn into an innuendo. It was a relief to have that pressure off; the tension was still there, oddly enough, but I didn’t feel pressure to be sexy or suave.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” I conceded, taking a sip of my water.

  “I’m better at other things,” she said. She made a face. “No, that one didn’t work as well.”

  “It could have,” I insisted.

  And so dinner went, naming innuendos and trying not to focus on her too blatantly in public. We laughed throughout the evening, and when we got in the car, the game continued; only now, with her so close, it became less funny and slightly more serious.

  “When I was in high school, a lot of the girls would give their boyfriends handjobs while they drove,” Quinn said.

  I winced. “That’s a terrible idea.” Then I made a point of shifting my hips out of her focus, and we both laughed.

  “I don’t want to crash!” She insisted. “I just remembered that it was something that happened!” She laughed. “Teenagers are stupid.”

  “Adults are stupid,” I said. “There were privates that stick firecrackers up every orifice of their body.”

  “That’s just college!”

  “Where did you go to college?”

  We pulled up at her house, and I opened the door for her. I walked with her up to the front door, and she paused for a moment.

  Her smile faltered, and she rested her hand against my forearm. “This is a really, really bad idea,” she said. She looked down like she was ashamed to meet my gaze.

  I didn’t know whether she meant me walking her to her car, her standing so close to me, or us trying to have a date in general. Either way, she was completely correct. I could smell her perfume, she was standing so close, and out of a million things I could have done, stepping back and saying goodnight was the worst possible thing. I couldn’t step away from her.

  “I think it probably is,” I agreed. I held her waist in my hands and pulled her close to me and kissed her. The world stood still when I kissed her. I felt like a teenager when I kissed her. She leaned against me, and despite what we’d only just said, I could feel her melting in my arms.

  Chapter Eighteen

  QUINN

  I didn’t care that this was a bad idea. I didn’t care about any of the reasoning I’d made after the last time we’d had sex. I wanted this, and I wanted it more than I wanted to be professional or keep face with Sawyer or any of the stuff that, at that moment, seemed so insignificant and far-off. He held me closer to him and kissed me, eliminating any protest that my brain could have formed.

  I broke away to open the door, and I’d barely gotten it closed before Sawyer had me against him again. He kissed me with intention, with a lust, pressing his tongue to mine and exploring my mouth like it was the most important thing for him to do. I could barely keep up; I could barely breathe, trying to remember what it was like to breathe easy.

  I managed to lead us towards my bedroom. As we walked, clothing came off. I pushed my dress off my shoulders, and he dragged it off my waist; I undid the buttons on his shirt as we backed into my bedroom and he pulled the garment off. Eventually, the fumbling grew irritating, but we’d reached my bed, so it didn’t matter.

  He lowered me down gently, like I was made of glass, and I let my hands roam over his chest. I knew SEALs did extensive physical training and had to be in absolutely amazing physical shape; under my fingertips, hard muscle nearly made my mouth water. I broke free from his kiss long enough to press my lips to his neck, his collarbone, mapping his torso with my mouth. I pressed a kiss to his hip, and before I could get much further, he grabbed me and pulled me back up.

  We locked eyes for a moment, him unsure whether he’d grabbed me too hard and me unsure whether I liked it. Slowly, I began to smile, and that smile was all the incentive he needed. He kissed me again, pulling away my bra while I fumbled with his belt. We were all fumbling and frantic kissing and gasps for breath; the assertive sexiness of our first encounter was gone. When I produced a condom from my bedside drawer, I nearly dropped it in my eagerness to get it open.

  But this was better. This was sweet, and honest. This time, as he lowered himself over me and slid against me, he gasped, and the sound was music to my ears. We found a rhythm every bit as easily as we had the first time, something more patient and deliberate than before. He sat back and pulled me up, grabbing my hips in his hands and lifting my ass up without even seeming to exert much effort. Then he began to drive himself in again.

  The angle made my head spin. I cried out as he drove into places I’d never been able to reach myself. I chanted my approval, gripping blindly at the bedsheets. When I opened my eyes to look at him, his head was thrown back.

  He began to slow down, and I stared up at him almost in irritation.

  “I won’t last much longer,” he said, his voice a low growl. He slammed against me once, making me yelp, and then followed that with long, slow strokes.

  I could barely keep my head on straight enough to answer. “I don’t care. But please, harder.”

  He picked up his speed but didn’t drive as deep as he had before. I could tell he was doing this to taunt me and I glared up at him.

  “Harder,” I grunted.

  He thrust into me forcefully, and I cried out. Then again, long, slow.

  I decided to t
ake him by surprise. He began to build up pace again, and instead of letting him set a rhythm, I clamped down on him. His eyes shot open, and surprise painted his features before he detonated, hips bucking without his control.

  His loss of composure set me over the edge; as his hips bucked, I pressed up to meet him and found myself getting lost in the throes of my own pleasure. When we finally came down from it, he moved away from me slowly. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and stood up, walked to the bathroom.

  I was confident that I needed a shower, or at least to tidy up, but I didn’t care. I could wait. I felt spent, and further, I felt incredible. When the sink turned off, I worried that Sawyer was on his way out the door. He returned to the bedroom and sat back in the bed with me, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

  “You surprise me,” he said. “You know, I think we’ve really gone and blown the whole patient-doctor thing.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know. I’ve seen it work in sitcoms. I’m sure there’s still some amount of professionalism we can maintain.” This I said to the man who had been inside me about five minutes previous.

  He grinned, presumably for that very reason. “Oh, I’m sure,” he said. He glanced at the door, almost like he expected someone else to walk in.

  “Do you need to leave?” I asked him. I couldn’t blame him if he did; a lot of the men I’d dated I’d dated just for the sex, and they’d left afterward. With Sawyer, some part of me expected that to continue. Even though we’d had an incredible date—I hadn’t laughed so much in a long time. Still, I knew I could romanticize things, and it was very possible he’d gotten what he came here for, and now he had other things to do that day.

  Sawyer shook his head and said, “Actually, I was going to ask if you were okay with me staying.”

  I frowned. I couldn’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t be okay with it. I supposed some people might worry about being clingy or moving a relationship too fast, but at this hour, it was honestly more convenient for him to just stay over.