The Billionaire Cowboy

by Mandy Baxter

Of course he didn’t have to take a bodyguard at all, but Zac had been insistent on him keeping some backup. That whoever had targeted Tremain was still out there and Alex could very well be in the firing line. Well, he was fine with that – as long as said backup was done his way.

  He tilted his head, surveying her. With her height she’d be able to carry any kind of gown off beautifully and he was sure there were curves under that severe black suit of hers. She was fair too which meant her skin would be pale, no perma-tan for his Russian ice-princess that was for sure. With her green eyes and blonde hair she’d look amazing in a green gown. Or blue. Or white…

  His gaze settled on her throat. Her shirt was buttoned all the way to the top, the jacket she wore over the top obscuring her shape. Not even an inch of skin beneath that collar was visible.

  Abruptly he got up off the couch and prowled over to where she stood. She blinked as he came closer, a crease forming between her brows. “You haven’t answered my question, sir.”

  “No, I know I haven’t. I want to see something first.” He stopped right in front of her.

  “See what?”

  His heart was beating rather faster than normal, which was strange. And he was aware of her scent all of a sudden. Not perfume because she never wore perfume, but the fresh scent of apples, her shampoo maybe or soap. He liked it.

  He lifted a hand and before she could move, undid the buttons that held her suit jacket closed.

  “Sir, I—”

  “Keep still. I need to see something.”

  Her frown deepened as her jacket fell open but she did as she was told, the perfect soldier.

  He leaned back, running his gaze over her, and yes, he was right, there were definite curves there. The white cotton of her shirt pulled tight over full breasts, the hem tucked into her black pants revealing narrow hips. Long legs too, which made her very definitely his type. At least enough to fool the press and anyone else who happened to see them together.

  “What are you doing, sir?”

  “One second.”

  Alex quickly flicked open the first couple of buttons at her throat.

  She took a startled breath, the sound sharp in the silence of the room. He glanced up at her face and for the first time since he’d met her, he read shock clear in her eyes. Shock that quickly gave way to confusion. But she didn’t say anything so he didn’t stop, undoing one more button, the fabric parting to reveal smooth, white skin.

  Beautiful. Perhaps this would work after all.

  His heartbeat sounded even louder in his head and though there was no reason at all to touch her, he couldn’t help himself, gently laying a finger on the pulse at the base of her throat. Her skin felt warm and that pulse was beating fast. As fast as his.

  She’d gone very, very still but he felt her swallow, felt her pulse beat even faster.

  The air around them had thickened, becoming dense with tension.

  “Sir….” Her voice was soft but he could hear a faint, husky edge in it. The kind of edge a woman’s voice always held when she was aroused.

  Interesting. No, scratch interesting. This was downright fucking intriguing.

  “Keep still a moment. I’m testing something.” He moved his finger, unable to resist the temptation, stroking her and watching as goose-bumps rippled over her skin in response.

  Ah, yes, so there was chemistry between them, and pretty damn strong chemistry. Excellent. Sexual chemistry would make everything much more convincing.

  Katya moved, taking a quick step back, leaving him standing there stroking empty air. She didn’t adjust her clothing but a faint strip of color stained her high cheekbones. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else, sir,” she said, her voice not quite level. “If you wanted a companion, I’m quite sure you could find another woman more suited to the job than I am.”

  He lowered his hand, the warmth of her still glowing on his fingertip. “There are no other women more suited to the job than you are, Katya.”

  “I’m not going to—”

  “Let me tell you which job I mean first, before you jump to any wild conclusions.”

  Her mouth snapped shut, her shoulders straightening.

  His own heartbeat continued to beat like a drum. Christ, he was almost on the point of getting hard, which was weird because these days it took a lot more than the brush of a woman’s skin to get him there. It must be the vodka, surely.

  Alex ignored the feeling, turning away and strolling back to the couch, sprawling down on it again. “Like I said, I am going to need you at this Monte Carlo game. But this time the job will be a little different to what you’re used to.”

  “How different?”

  He met her green gaze. Held it. “I don’t want people thinking you’re my bodyguard, Katya mine. I want people thinking you’re my lover.”

  Matt Sky is trying to return to normal, having faked his death and come back to life. He and Hannah move back in together, and Matt attempts to put his demons to rest as they strive to grow their relationship into something durable and honest. But as the two become more and more entangled, and the heat between them intensifies in all the best possible ways, Matt’s desire for Hannah ignites cravings he has kept at bay for a long, long time…

  Coming March 2015 in trade paperback and eBook

  from St. Martin’s Griffin

  Turn the page for a sneak peek!

  When I got back to the condo, I sprawled on the couch and texted Hannah.

  Matt: Sweet bird. I need a fix.

  She replied immediately.

  Little Bird: Hi you.

  Matt: Hi.

  Little Bird: What happened to your appointment?

  Matt: I left early.

  Little Bird: Oh …

  Matt: Mike sent me home. Said I wasn’t cooperating or some shit.

  Little Bird: Bad boy.

  Matt: Mm, exactly. Are your office doors shut?

  Little Bird: Yes …

  Matt: Touch your breasts for me. Just a little.

  Little Bird: Matt …

  Matt: Are you wet?

  Little Bird: I am now.

  Matt: And your pussy. Slip a finger into it. For me …

  Little Bird: God, Matt. Want you …

  Matt: I could drive over.

  Little Bird: No! Not at work.

  Matt: In my car then. Don’t you want me in you? And my cum.

  Little Bird: Matt. Jesus.

  Matt: I want to put it in you. Make you take it. Come in you.

  Several minutes passed. I gripped my dick through my slacks and sighed. All that skeevy talk in Mike’s office did a number on me.

  And Hannah … lately, she was more adorable than ever. When she cried over the damn bridal magazines, I wanted to drag her into the nearest bathroom and have my way with her. What gave? I couldn’t keep my hands off her.

  At last, my cell buzzed.

  Little Bird: Get over here Matt.

  I grinned and slid off the couch. “That’s my girl,” I murmured.

  I parked a block from the agency, which was desolate that day. The slap of my sandals echoed around the lobby. At the top of the stairs, I tousled my hair and checked my reflection in a glass case.

  Golden boy, I thought spontaneously. What had I done to earn that nickname? Behind my pretty face was a consummate jerk.

  Hannah leapt from her chair when I breezed into the office.

  God damn, she looked good. She wore her hair in a high, messy bun. Her blouse hung open enough to give me a view of her cleavage. She pushed her glasses up her nose and shot a look at Pam’s office door.

  “Matt!” she hissed. “What happened to … the car?”

  I lifted a finger to my lips. Silence. I locked the door behind me, then locked the door between Pam and Hannah’s offices. My erection strained against my jeans. I slid smoothly into Hannah’s chair and pulled her onto my lap.

  Mm—there.

  I exhaled against the back of her neck. I gripped her hips and moved h
er bottom over my lap, letting her feel my hardness. She shivered.

  As I hiked up her skirt, her hands fumbled between us, undoing my fly and freeing my cock. I shifted her thong and she sat, impaling herself. I inhaled swiftly. “Hannah,” I gasped.

  She reached back at an ungainly angle and covered my mouth with her palm. Fuck yes. This forced silence would drive me mad.

  She bounced on my lap—I bucked to meet her motions—and when she gave a reedy moan, I sealed my hand across her lips. My free hand traveled her body, cupping her breasts through her bra and rubbing her clit.

  I began to yank her down onto my cock, forcing a fast tempo.

  Pushing her over the edge.

  She came moments before I did, her hand braced against the desk, our bodies pinned and shuddering together. Ah, the things I wanted to say to her …

  Her hand fell, streaking sweat and saliva over my jaw. I wiped my cheek on my shoulder and whispered in her ear.

  “You have the tightest pussy I’ve ever fucked, Hannah Catalano.”

  We adjusted our clothes hastily.

  She perched on the desk opposite me. A beautiful flush gilded her cheeks. Her chest surged with hungry breaths; her eyes glittered with excitement.

  “You look very pleased with yourself, Mr. Sky.” She grinned.

  “Oh, I am.” I chuckled and stroked her leg.

  Absently, I scanned her desk. A magazine lay atop a stack of manuscripts, and when I reached for it, Hannah snatched it.

  I recognized the cover immediately. The Knot. I laughed.

  “Babe, are you playing on the job?”

  “No, I …” Her voice hitched and she glared at me. Fucking hell, was she trying to be cute, or was my Hannah addiction in overdrive?

  Sticky notes protruded from the magazine.

  I smiled—encouragingly, I hoped—and tilted my head. “Show me.”

  “No, just …” She played with the magazine. “I’m not, like, planning. I …”

  “Then start planning.” I cupped her cheek. Her eyes widened.

  “The—the wedding?”

  “Why not? God knows I’m not going to plan it. Have you got some little bird ideas?” I hauled her back onto my lap. Her flimsy office chair swayed. She swiveled sideways and plopped the magazine on her thighs.

  “You make me feel like a little girl,” she whispered.

  I frowned. “I do?”

  She touched my lips. “In a good way, Matt.” She squinted at the magazine—a nervous tic of hers—and flipped it open to a page displaying “do it yourself string accents and lanterns.” She pointed to a nighttime photo of a large, sprawling oak with dozens of mason jars hanging from its branches, tea lights shining in the glass.

  I kissed her shoulder.

  “That’s lovely,” I said.

  “Yeah?” She searched my expression. “It’s … simple and … intimate.”

  “Mm. Great atmosphere.”

  Hannah practically vibrated with happiness on my lap. This side of her—the feminine oohing and aahing over bridal magazines—surprised me, but pleasantly. I wanted to make her happier. I would give her anything. A fucking fairytale wedding. A cake ten stories tall.

  I opened to another tagged page displaying more candlelit nighttime scenes. Jars filled with glass beads and lights, paper mache luminaries.

  Hannah peeked at me continually.

  “An evening ceremony, then,” I said.

  She plucked the magazine from me and tossed it onto the desk.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Whatever you want. Something … simple.”

  “I want what you want.” I slid her off my lap and stood. “You know I love the evening. The night.” I moved to lean against the door. Now I needed a little distance from Hannah. If she kept giving me those coy looks through her long lashes, we’d have to go another round.

  She scooted up to her desk.

  “Cool,” she said, her eyes downcast. Her fingers danced over the keyboard. She straightened a pile of papers.

  “Work.”

  “Hm?” Her head shot up.

  “I want to watch you work.”

  “Um. I can try.”

  “Forget I’m here.”

  “No chance of that,” she said with a giggle. After some dithering, she began reading from the computer screen and typing. She glanced at a paper, typed some more. Licked her lips. Looked at me. I smiled and shook my head.

  With a huff, she refocused on the screen.

  I stood very still, and Hannah’s work finally absorbed her. Calm confidence came into her expression. She reclined in her chair as she read, then leaned forward to jot down notes.

  The future Mrs. Hannah Sky, working the job she’d refused to give up for me. Good for her. I felt clean, happy pride watching her, and Mike’s questions passed back through my mind.

  Would you be comfortable if she felt this proprietary about your body?

  Would you allow her to humiliate, dominate, and punish you?

  I slipped out of the office while Hannah wasn’t looking.

  I just might, Mike. I just might.

  They had it all—until he broke her heart.

  Now he’s back, and the heat between them cannot be denied…

  Coming March 2015 in eBook

  from St. Martin’s Press

  Turn the page for a sneak peek!

  Later, after the last of the wine had finally been drunk and the games disintegrated into laughter, when the kitchen mess had been tidied enough to make room for the breakfast cooking Bernie would be doing in a few hours, when everyone else had made their goodnights and headed for bed…when the house was quiet and still, Mick found her.

  She was in the swing, as he knew she’d be. Big enough for two, hung from the branches of an enormous tree near the bottom of the yard and overlooking the chuckling stream that wound through Bernie and Cookie’s property. Down past the garden, it was a favorite spot, much coveted and fought over by everyone who came to stay. Tonight, it was all theirs.

  “Hi.” He handed her a bottle of water and settled next to her without asking permission.

  Alice moved over enough to give him space, but not so much that they weren’t still touching hip to hip. Her shoulder brushed his as she cracked the top off the bottle and took a long drink. “Thanks.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Every so often Mick pushed at the ground to get the swing gently rocking. The creek burbled and splashed, and somewhere, not so far away, an owl hooted softly. The wind sighed through the trees, bringing him the scent of her perfume.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said finally.

  Mick put an arm along the back of the swing to settle on her shoulders. “I wasn’t sure you’d think that.”

  “Me neither, to be honest. Not until I did see you, and I realized it was going to be okay.”

  He turned a little toward her. “More than okay, I hope.”

  Alice said nothing. She didn’t move away from him, but she didn’t move closer, either. Her fingers toyed with the plastic bottle, tapping the sides.

  His fingers brushed the back of her neck, beneath her hair.

  She shivered.

  Her lips parted, though if she actually spoke she did it so softly that the night breeze and rushing water ate her words. Mick let his finger trace a circle on her skin. Then a heart. When her back arched a little and she shifted, he stopped to let his hand gently cup the back of her neck.

  “Mick…"

  “I want to kiss you, Alice. Again.”

  She twisted to look at him. Her eyes glinted in a shaft of moonlight. “So kiss me, then.”

  The kiss in the hallway had been furtive and desperate. Lunging. Fierce.

  This time, Mick kissed her gently and slow, urging her mouth to open with the subtle motion of his lips on hers. At the stroke of his tongue, Alice shivered and broke it. There wasn’t much room on the swing for her to pull away. Instead, she put her face to the side of his neck and her arms around him. She let
the scent of his skin envelop her, as much of an embrace as his arms.

  There had been times when missing him had felt like someone had reached inside her and pulled out the part of her that remembered how to breathe. And times when she’d barely given the memories of him a second’s worth of her time. Touching him now, having him touch her… a river of fire rushed all through her. And there was that pesky, pain-in-the-ass thing about fire. It burned. You could touch a hot stove a hundred times to make sure it would still burn you, and it always would.

  Well, Alice thought. So would this.

  “Mick…”

  He kissed her again. Harder. One hand on the back of her neck, the other going to her hip, then her ribs just below her breast. She couldn’t stop herself from arching a bit into that touch, doing her own urging with her body. It worked. Mick slid his hand up to cup her breast through the thin material of her dress. Her nipple went instantly erect when his thumb passed over it. She moaned.

  “There’s my girl,” Mick whispered against her mouth.

  His foot pushed against the ground to get the swing rocking again. The hand on her breast moved between her legs, pushing her thighs apart slow, slow, slow, so that she had time to tell him to stop. And she thought about it, knowing this path they were taking was probably going to end up causing trouble, but in that moment no longer able to care.

  Match to gasoline, that’s what Mick had always been to her. Should, would, could – there were a hundred thousand heartbeats between now and the last time they’d kissed, but it didn’t matter. She was touching that hot stove again with fingertips already scarred from the blisters.

  He didn’t have to move. The motion of the swing pressed his knuckles to her again and again, just enough pressure each time to build up the pleasure before easing off. When she gasped, he laughed against her lips before kissing her again.

  It went on and on, every sensation weaving together. The breeze and far off cries of nightbirds. The water splashing on the rocks. The creak of the chains against the tree’s branch. Mick’s low moan when she unbuckled his belt to free him. His sharp gasp when she slipped a hand inside to stroke his erection. The sound of his desire added a fresh layer to her own.