Her New Year's Fortune

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  That swooping inside her started up all over again. “Maybe. Sometimes I think maybe you might sort of—” Her throat closed off like a vice.

  “Maybe,” he repeated softly. “Might.” He pulled his hat off his head and slapped it hard against his thigh. Then he raked his fingers through his hair and shoved the hat back in place. “Honey, however many men there’ve been for you—one or a dozen—they obviously didn’t teach you squat.” He turned and slid his arm around her waist, hauling her up flush against him. “Does this strike you as sort of?” His palms ran over her hips and closed over her derriere.

  Swooping and turning liquid. She stared up at him, unable to make her tongue work to save her soul.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked at her again. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Dumbfounded tongue or not, her hands still worked even though they were wedged between them. She curled her fingers against his ridged abdomen, then managed to slowly inch up the soft white cotton knit of his T-shirt.

  His gaze narrowed and he went still. Watching. Waiting.

  Hardly daring to breathe, she worked her hands upward, angling toward his shoulders and taking both the T-shirt and the plaid shirt along the way. Only when he eased his hold on her was she able to push her hands right beneath until she splayed them across the hard planes of his chest. The softly crisp hair there tantalized her palms, inciting her to explore just how far it spread.

  He suddenly shifted and caught both her wrists in one hand when she started following it downward and pulled away. “Wait.”

  Disappointment, humiliation, despair. In a heartbeat, they were all clogging together in her chest. She yanked her wrists free and the soles of her new boots slid a little as she hurriedly turned, wanting to race away. Anywhere, but just...away.

  She heard him curse softly. “Sarah-Jane, where the hell do you think you’re going?” He caught her arm and swung her back around to face him. “What’s going on?”

  She couldn’t look at him. She felt like she was dying inside. Of course she’d fallen for him. How could she not? But it was foolish to forget she was still who she was. Plain Sarah-Jane. “Just don’t lie to me, Wyatt. Please.” She could take anything but that.

  His fingers closed over her chin, forcing it upward. “Look at me,” he said quietly.

  She opened her eyes and found her gaze trapped in his.

  “What lie am I supposed to be guilty of here?”

  She was not going to cry. “You said you wanted me, but—”

  His gaze sharpened even more. “But...what?”

  “You stopped me,” she whispered miserably.

  Astonishment drew his mouth slack. Then he ran his hand down his face, seeming to wipe it away. “Sarah-Jane,” he said slowly. “One of these days, you’ve got to stop jumping to conclusions.” He shook his head once. “You’re no good at it, honey.”

  “But you—”

  “But I nothing,” he cut her off. “I didn’t want to stop anything, Sarah-Jane, but I didn’t bring you out here because I expected something like this to happen. Not—” he added, obviously forestalling “—that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. Hell, it’s been crossing my mind since I saw you that first night at Red. But all this just brings home the fact that—no matter what sort of experience you say you have—you don’t go around indulging in casual sex.”

  She swallowed hard. “Do you?”

  He grimaced. “There’ve been a few occasions,” he admitted with what she suspected was considerable understatement.

  “But...but not now?”

  He grabbed her shoulders and squeezed hard enough to get her attention. “Because I don’t feel casual about you!” His jaw flexed. “And you should never feel casual about this sort of thing,” he added stiffly.

  For an insane moment, she had to stifle the urge to giggle. Or maybe it was a tinge of hysteria. He didn’t feel casually about her? What was that supposed to mean?

  She chewed on the inside of her lip, feeling utterly out of her depth. “You invited me to your hotel room that night. After you took me to San Antonio.” No, he’d invited Savannah. “You...felt casual then?”

  He looked pained. “Do you want me to lie now?”

  Dear heaven. Did she? She slowly shook her head. The fat white clouds overhead were turning even darker and she saw another raindrop fall, this time hitting his shoulder.

  He didn’t seem to notice. His thumbs roved restlessly over the points of her shoulders. “Yes,” he finally said. “I would have slept with you. Not that night, because you were three sheets to the wind and I still have a few standards. But you would’ve been sober when you woke, and I’d have been there, all right, ready and waiting.”

  “For Savannah.”

  His lips thinned. “For you. It takes more than a name to get me going, Sarah-Jane. I’d spent hours at Max and Emily’s wedding reception watching you. I wanted to put my mouth on every inch of you and forget every damn miserable thing in my life except the feel of your legs wrapped around me.”

  Her breath stole out of her. “And now?” The words were barely audible, but he still heard.

  “Now I still want to put my mouth on every inch of you and forget everything except the feel of your legs wrapped around me,” he repeated evenly. “But I won’t as long as it feels like I’m taking advantage of you.”

  A spurt of pride belatedly reared its head. “I was the one trying to take off your shirt,” she pointed out huskily. A raindrop hit her hand. She ignored it.

  “Yeah. And bringing me closer to the end of my rope.” He moved his hands to her head, sliding down her hair until he slowly wrapped his fingers in the tangled strands. “I don’t think you have a full understanding of how little control I have where you’re concerned.”

  “I don’t want you controlled.” The longing thought found voice without her even intending it. But it was out there. She couldn’t take it back. And he’d closed his eyes and made a low, groaning sound that sent shivers dancing down her spine. And it made her brave. “I want to feel your mouth on every inch of me,” she whispered. “And wrap my legs—”

  He let out a harsh breath and covered her mouth with his.

  Her legs went weak. Actually, truly so weak she didn’t think they’d be wrapping around anything. But it didn’t seem to matter, because his hands had gone from her hair to her waist to her derriere again, and he pulled her on to the toes of her new boots, nudging one thigh between hers. Color spun inside every sense she possessed, as vivid and seductive as the reflection of the Christmas lights on the water that night at the River Walk. When he tore his mouth from hers, hauling in a harsh breath, she leaned up, pressing her mouth against the warm column of his throat. Tasted the slightly salty taste of him.

  She felt as much as heard the low rumble that rose up from his chest, and then he was kissing her again. And his hands seemed to be everywhere. On her spine. In her hair. Sliding down her hips, delving beneath her sweater, pulling it up, up, up until he had to pull her hands free from where they were buried in his thick hair so that he could pull it over her head.

  And when that soft cashmere knit was gone, no longer protecting her, Sarah-Jane froze.

  “Look at you,” Wyatt breathed, almost reverently, as he settled his palms on her shoulders before sliding them slowly down her arms. “How can you not see yourself the way I do?” His thumbs glided over the white, weblike lace that covered her breasts, not doing a single thing to hide her achingly tight nipples from the pads of his thumbs.

  It was exquisite and she couldn’t help the breathy moan that escaped. He inhaled on a hiss and slowly, deliberately slid his index finger along the top of the scanty cups, slipped beneath, and inched the lace below her nipples that sprang free, embarrassingly eager. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, brushing his thumbs over and around and over again, making waves of pleasure pulse right through her. And when he lowered his head and drew one of those tight points between his lips and tas
ted her there, she shuddered, her fingers desperately clutching at him.

  “I like that, too,” he murmured, and suddenly, they were moving, until he sat down on one of the big, fallen logs and he pulled her down on to his lap facing him. She exhaled shakily, only to suck air back in when his mouth returned to her breast and she felt his hand sliding up her bare spine. Then the confining lace was gone and her breasts filled his hand, his tongue teasing one nipple and his fingers the other, while his other hand clamped on her hips, urging on that rocking against him she couldn’t seem to stop. Pleasure was screaming through her and she couldn’t do anything to hold it back, but wind her arms around him and cry his name as she convulsed.

  She was still shuddering when she felt him shift, and then not even his T-shirt separated his chest from hers as he held her close. Her heart was hammering. Or maybe it was his, too. She couldn’t tell. Didn’t care.

  He slid his hand up to the back of her head, tucking it against his neck while she tried to regain her equilibrium. But there was no hope for that. Not when she could feel every hard line of his rigid abdomen against hers; feel that insistent bulge pressing so demandingly against the quaking heart of her despite their jeans.

  She ran her shaking hand down his belly, felt him flinch when her fingertips reached his fly. He grabbed her hand. “I didn’t bring a condom.” His voice was rough.

  Dismay sank through her. “You...didn’t?”

  He grimaced. “I told you I didn’t bring you out here for this. That’s why I was trying to slow things down. But you,” he pressed a hard, fast kiss on her lips that made her feel dizzy. “Just keep tempting and tempting.”

  She thought there surely must be something wrong for feeling so giddy that she could tempt him. “I thought guys always carried a, um, one of those things in their wallet.”

  He gave a snort of laughter that only succeeded in rocking their hips together again. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling through his clenched teeth. But Sarah-Jane could only assume that he didn’t want her to move away, considering the hard grip of his hands on her hips, which kept her right where she was. “Guys who are on the prowl, maybe. And I’m assuming from your reaction that you’re not on the pill.”

  “No,” she managed faintly. “No, um, no reason.”

  “Right.” His palm slid over her rear end, his fingers sliding inside the low cut waist of her jeans.

  She caught her breath. “Shouldn’t you stop doing things like that?”

  “There’ll be time to stop when I’m dead.” He kissed away a raindrop that fell on her bare shoulder.

  Her heart skittered around. “But—”

  “I want to touch you.” He lifted his head and his blue gaze set off sparks every place it landed. “Do you want that, too?”

  The breeze was cold on her naked back and shoulders and the smattering of raindrops even colder, but the rest of her—everywhere she felt him against her—she was hot and melting. Her breasts were crushed between them, abraded deliciously by that swirl of soft-crisp brown hair, and for once in her life, they seemed exactly right. Everything was exactly right. He was exactly right. “I want that.” She was breathless. “I want more than that.”

  The corner of his lips tilted slightly. “So do I. But that’s gonna have to wait until next time.”

  Next time. Her mouth ran dry.

  He leaned closer until his mouth hovered against hers, not...quite...touching. “Unfasten your jeans, Sarah-Jane,” he whispered. “For me.”

  She mindlessly reached between them again, feeling his tight abdomen against her knuckles as she fumbled with the top button of her jeans. She had to arch a little to work the short zipper down, and he made a muffled sound, his hands tightening again on her hips as she did so. Emboldened, thrilled, she rocked against him again. Deliberately.

  He lifted an eyebrow, looking devilish as he slid an arm behind her arched back. “Think you’re getting brave?”

  She held her tongue between her teeth for a moment and rocked again. “It’s sort of like cantering,” she said huskily.

  He exhaled a slow oath. “I’d blame this new you on wine, but we haven’t had any.”

  “Blame it on you,” she whispered. “I don’t feel like this from wine, but from you.” She pressed her mouth against his, teasing at the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue. “Touch me, Wyatt.” Her voice sounded throaty. Wholly unlike her. “Touch me anywhere you want, but please, oh please, kiss me first.”

  She felt his fingers tangle in her hair, then his hand was on her head, turning her just so while his mouth opened over hers and his other hand wickedly dove between them, slipping beneath her jeans and the scanty excuse of her panties, and his fingers found her.

  She jerked and her fingers dug into his muscled shoulders. The sensations were so exquisitely intense that she could hardly bear it.

  “Don’t chicken out on me now, Sarah-Jane,” he whispered. His breath was hot against her cheek. Her ear. Shivers ripped through her when she felt his teeth gently graze her earlobe. “Just like cantering.”

  She caught her breath. He was outrageous. Beautiful. And as his fingers slowly swirled, pressed, teased, then delved until her head fell back and she cried out yet again, she knew that right now...he was hers.

  Chapter Ten

  They never made it to the wine. Or to the sandwiches that Wyatt had brought along from the hotel. By the time Sarah-Jane’s sensibilities were beginning to return, the few droplets of rain began to threaten with more earnest. While Wyatt quickly saddled the horses, she shakily pulled on her discarded bra and sweater. When Wyatt crouched next to Annabelle, his hands linked together for Sarah-Jane, she didn’t hesitate this time, and let him boost her smoothly up into the saddle.

  Then he swung himself up onto Monty’s back in a motion that made her more than a little breathless to watch, and they set off back toward the Double Crown at a much brisker pace than they’d left it.

  As soon as the outbuildings came into view, the clouds started to let loose and Sarah-Jane laughed breathlessly. Wyatt shot her a grin as he leaned forward in his saddle. “Hold on,” he warned her, and she hurriedly tightened her grip around the saddle horn just as Annabelle and Monty surged forward, their gait lengthening. Speeding.

  Sarah-Jane clamped one hand on top of her head to keep her hat from blowing off and held on tightly. She quickly realized that as long as she kept her butt hugged deep down in the saddle, it didn’t seem to matter how fast Annabelle galloped.

  They made it back to the stables without managing to get drenched, and when Wyatt dismounted and came over to help her down, she felt like her face might split from the smile she couldn’t seem to tame. The second her boots were on the ground, she threw her arms around his shoulders. “This was the most perfect day I’ve ever had.”

  “Really?” He gave her a slow smile. “And here I was hoping you’d think there’d be some room for improvement.”

  She felt her entire body flush. “Well, maybe there could be,” she managed sedately.

  He laughed softly. Brushed a kiss over her nose and set her away from him. He unloaded the saddlebag, handed her the contents to hold, and started to unsaddle the horses.

  Sarah-Jane could have stood there for hours, happily watching him, but a teenaged boy she didn’t know came over to relieve Wyatt of the task. “It’s my job, Mr. Fortune,” he insisted.

  Wyatt would have argued, but he could see the way the kid’s gaze kept sliding toward Sarah-Jane. Typically, she was oblivious to the gawking attention she was garnering.

  He didn’t know where the possessiveness came from, but he damn sure knew he didn’t want her being the center of some sixteen-year-old’s wet dream. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it around her shoulders, as if it were any drier than her sweater, even though it really wasn’t. Ignoring the surprised look she gave him, he kept his arm around her and steered her out of the stables and back toward his truck, keeping as much to shaded areas as possible.
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br />   “Shouldn’t we stop to say thank you to Mrs. Fortune?”

  “She and William had plans this afternoon, remember?”

  “Oh. Right.” She smiled up at him when he opened the truck door for her, and something went tight inside his chest. “They’re such a lovely couple,” she mused as she stretched up to climb inside.

  He watched the voluptuous curve of her backside and shoved his free hand into his pocket to keep from reaching out for her. “Yeah, they’re great,” he agreed absently.

  She settled in the high seat, giving him a curious look. “Something wrong?”

  “Nope.” Except he was apparently no different than the kid in the stables when it came to gawking at her. He closed the door and went around to get behind the wheel, swiping the rain off his face before starting the engine. Almost as if it had been waiting for that moment, the cell phone he’d left in the truck on the console gave a little chime. He glanced at it. Saw the message was from his mother and dropped the phone back on the console.

  “Nothing important?”

  “My mother.” He didn’t know why he told her. The words just came out of his mouth. The rain was coming down steadily and he switched on the wipers as he drove away from the ranch. “I still need to feed you.”

  She gave him a sidelong look. “Is that all you need?”

  He choked back a laugh, thoughts about his mother and Atlanta sliding away like magic. “Honey, if I were to get all I needed, neither one of us would be able to walk for a week.” Her cheeks went pink and he grabbed her hand to kiss her knuckles. “How about Red?”

  “Sure. If that’s what you prefer. Or I could fix you something at my place.” She didn’t quite look at him. “Felicity won’t be there. I’m sure she won’t come home from the shop until tonight.”

  “Making candy?”

  She nodded. “Getting ready for Valentine’s Day.”

  He wasn’t really interested in what her roommate was doing, much less Valentine’s Day. “Fix me what, Gertrude?”

  Her lips curved. “I guess that depends on what you’re hungry for.” Her tone was demure. The sparkle in her eyes was...not.