Cowboy to Command

by Sabrina York

  Even though there was nothing between her and Cody, other than friendship and a rusty old crush caused by an ice-cream cone and a crooked grin.

  Yes, she’d made up her mind about Brandon.

  And there was no going back.

  Not when something felt this . . . right.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brandon’s heart thumped as he waited for Porsche to respond to his jest about the kiss. It had been a jest, hadn’t it?

  Maybe not.

  He tried for another, forcing a smile. “Sadly, I didn’t make dessert.”

  She blinked. Her lovely lashes created an intricate and delicate fan on her cheeks. Damn she was beautiful.

  He dropped his hand beneath the table and closed his fingers into a fist so he didn’t do something rash, like lean over the table and kiss her. His nails cut into the flesh of his palm.

  “No time, you know.” He huffed a laugh, but she didn’t respond.

  It was becoming unnerving, her lack of response.

  “I could . . . whip up something if you like.”

  “No, Brandon,” she said in a somber tone. “You’re not doing dessert. You made dinner, so I think it’s only fair that I take care of dessert.”

  Relief gushed through him that he hadn’t made a monumental faux pas by asking point-blank for a kiss. He figured, with two kisses in, they would be beyond such formalities, but in a situation like this, one could never be sure.

  It was, after all, a strange kind of courtship.

  She edged out of the banquette and he moved to join her, to show her where she could find the ingredients for a nice mousse—perhaps they could make it together—but she pushed him down onto the seat. “I thought I made it clear. I’m taking care of dessert.”

  Dang, her tone was severe. Almost . . . strict. He flicked a curious look at her. Her smile, impish as it was, befuddled him more.

  “Now, close your eyes.”

  Definitely an order. “But . . .”

  She frowned at him. “Close them.”

  He obeyed, though for some reason a jackhammer had taken up residence in his chest. His manic pulse stole his breath.

  “Are they closed?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good.”

  He jumped when she touched him, a slight riffle in his hair, but fortunately he didn’t open his eyes. He had no doubts she was watching. Her finger trailed down his nape, making goose bumps rise on his skin, and then she cupped his cheek.

  He tasted her breath before her lips touched his; it was like a soft gust from heaven.

  And the kiss, more heavenly still.

  She was gentle, tentative, and he struggled to hold back, because he was dying to know what she had in mind. But her innocent exploration was killing him.

  And then, when she set her hands on his knees and knelt before him, he lost all meagre control and his eyes shot open. “Porsche!”

  Oh, holy God. How wonderful did she look, there on her knees before him, with her eyes shining and her mouth slightly open? Deliberately, she ran her tongue over her lips.

  He knew. He knew the way a lion knew a wildebeest was ripe for the taking. He knew what she wanted to do. It scared him to death almost as much as it thrilled him to the core.

  “Porsche,” he croaked.

  “Yes, Brandon?” Her palm slid up his thigh. Closer and closer to his thrumming hard-on. And shit.

  He grabbed her wrist. There was something he needed to say.

  What the hell was it?

  His mind was gone, utterly gone, mired deep in the fantasy she had created.

  One word flickered dimly in his brain. “Ford.”

  She frowned. “Ford? Why on earth would you mention Ford at a moment like this?”

  He didn’t know. But there was something about Ford—

  Ah yes. “No shadows.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “What?”

  “I’m not allowed to kiss you in the shadows. Ford was very clear about that.”

  “Is that what you two talked about last night?”

  He swallowed heavily. “No shadows.”

  “All right.” She sighed and looked pointedly around the camper. It was well lit. “No shadows.”

  In his state of mind, that was all the reassurance he needed. Well, except one thing. “Are you . . . sure you want to do this?”

  He loved that she laughed, a joyful little trill, and then her expression became quite grim. “Absolutely. Are you going to cooperate?”

  Um, yes? “I am a very, ahem, cooperative man.”

  “That’s what I love about you.” She reached for his belt, but he had to stop her again. Oh, not because she’d said the L-word, though in a very flippant way, but because the dinette in his camper was hardly the place for this.

  “Should we go into the back?” The words stuck in his throat, but thank God they came out—in sharp pieces, though they did—because she nodded.

  She took his hand and led him into the back of the camper where two bunks flanked either side of the narrow space. It was hardly ideal, but better than her bumping her head on the bottom of the table as she feasted on him. Or vice versa. Because he absolutely intended to do that.

  With a grin she pushed him down on the bunk he slept in, because the other was covered with his stuff, which was in turn covered with a blanket that created a bulky mound. She knelt before him again and this time, when she reached for his belt, he didn’t stop her.

  There was a moment of agony, when the reality of his situation hit him. When he thought for sure she’d pull his jeans all the way off and discover his prosthetic and that would be the end of this . . . but she didn’t.

  She stopped as soon as she’d exposed his briefs.

  She smiled up at him. “Tighty-whities,” she said, as though it pleased her.

  “I am a military man—” he began, but the words got strangled as she reached in and gently cupped his cock. His eyes rolled back at the absolute pleasure. Her skin was so soft and her hold was freaking perfect. She played with him a bit, pumping him up and down, and he allowed it because he couldn’t bring himself to stop her, though it was torment indeed. And then, she edged up. Her breath skated over the head, and he groaned.

  “Mmm,” she said as she licked him.

  Licked him.

  He might have lost consciousness there for a second, spinning off into some glorious realm that was warm and wet and velvety smooth.

  When she sucked him in, his lungs locked. His pulse rocketed. His muscles seized.

  “Porsche . . .” If she didn’t slow down, he was going to lose it. It had been a long time since a woman had touched him, a long time since he’d allowed it. He didn’t have as much fortitude as he’d thought. Unfortunately, all he could manage was her name, which she took as encouragement.

  What followed was a hell unlike any he had ever imagined. She sucked him, licked and laved, nibbled on him and traced the thick vein to the root. And then she took him deep, swallowing him, consuming him, and his sanity.

  She began a drugging rhythm with her mouth and fist, one that had him panting and groaning and muttering all manner of profanities, but it all only egged her on.

  Pressure knotted at the base of his balls and grew, swelled, rose within him like an awakening beast. It roared through him, an agonizing rake of utter delight wrapped in thorny need.

  He tried to cry out her name again as his release took him, but he failed. Some feral sound issued forth instead as he stepped into the most delirious and delicious madness. His mind spun. His heart pounded and his soul writhed as he gave himself to her.

  And Porsche? She took it all.

  And she continued sucking his cock long after he was dry, the minx.

  Boneless and beat, he collapsed back onto the pillows, and when she crawled
up beside him, he held her tightly and kissed her and murmured her name into her hair, reveling in the lingering aftershocks of the most exquisite experience of his life.

  He fully intended to return the favor. To give her everything she’d given him, and more.

  It was a pity he fell asleep.

  • • •

  Porsche stared down at Brandon with a warm glow welling in her chest. He was so handsome, and he had responded so . . . cooperatively. It had been an utter delight making him squirm and plead and, finally, come.

  She would have loved to stay and rest with him until he roused again, but she knew better than to cede to temptation. If she closed her eyes, she’d fall asleep and would end up spending the night, and that would be awkward.

  For Ford.

  Besides, she’d made her point.

  She’d made it clear that she was willing to explore a deeper relationship, a real relationship, with Brandon. And he seemed interested in the same. That was enough. For now, at least.

  So quietly, gently, she extricated herself from his hold and grabbed a blanket from the other bed to cover him. Something on the bunk captured her attention and she stilled.

  She knew what it was at once.

  His leg. Or one of them.

  She knew instinctively that he didn’t want her to know about it yet, and she respected his decision to tell her when he was ready, so with a sigh, she recovered the items on the bed, and pulled a new blanket out of the closet and covered him with that.

  And then she slipped out of the camper, heading for her car.

  She was so preoccupied with thoughts about Brandon, she didn’t realize someone was calling her name until he touched her shoulder.

  She whirled around and blinked. It took her a second to reorient and realize Cody was standing before her. “Hey, Porsche,” he said.

  “Cody.” She nodded.

  “Um, visiting Brandon?”

  She glanced pointedly at the camper, from where she’d just come. “Yep.”

  He crossed his arms and surveyed her through one closed eye. She used to think that was cute. “What were you doing?”

  She wasn’t telling him that. “He made me dinner.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Steak and potatoes. It was awesome.”

  “Right. I heard he liked to cook.”

  “He’s really good.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yes.” She’d just said as much, hadn’t she?

  Cody shuffled his feet, as though searching for a topic, which was weird. She’d never seen him tongue-tied.

  “Was there something you wanted?”

  He flushed, shuffled some more, shoved his hands in his pockets, and then said, “Do you want to take a walk?”

  A walk? A week ago the offer would have had her in raptures. “I, ah, should get going.” And when he gaped at her, she added, “I need to get up early to check on Dougal.”

  “Dougal?” His gaze flicked to the camper.

  “He’s in town. He had to have surgery today.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Bolts.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He ate bolts. And some washers, but mostly bolts.”

  “Aw man. How’s Brandon taking it?”

  She shrugged. “He had a rough day. Tomorrow will be better.”

  She turned for her car, but he stopped her again. “Speaking of tomorrow, I was going to ask if you’re coming to the party this weekend.”

  While there had been jokes about Porsche being Brandon’s dresser, they’d never nailed anything down. Besides, “I thought Claire said it was a private affair.”

  “Well, it is. A birthday party for Diane Wilder. You remember her?”

  “Logan’s mom. Sure.”

  “Hanna and Sidney will be here.”

  “Really?” They were both old friends of Porsche’s who had moved to Dallas. She’d love to see them again. Why Claire hadn’t mentioned they were coming was a mystery, but then, it had probably slipped her mind. Or not. Claire was notoriously contrary.

  Cody shrugged. “Anyway, I thought you might want to see them.”

  “That would be fun.”

  “Shall we save you a room?”

  Her mind spun. Good lord, if Cody had so much as mentioned a bedroom to her before she met Brandon, she would have melted on the floor like the Wicked Witch of the West in the shower.

  He shot her a grin. “You know how much Ford hates it when you come to our parties. Think of it as a chance to rebel.”

  Rebel? Hell. It was a chance to spend more time with Brandon, and that was what she cared about. She nodded. “Sounds great.”

  “Awesome. I’ll tell Claire you’re coming.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  For a second, it seemed as though he was going to lean in and kiss her, which sent something strange scurrying down her spine. It felt like panic. Not the rabid panic of a woman besotted, but the mild panic one felt when a friend unexpectedly leaned in for a kiss. When one stepped over the line.

  She didn’t know where the line had come from. She certainly didn’t remember drawing it, but there it was, between them, gaping like an abyss.

  She quickly nodded, backed away, and headed for her car, tossing a casual “bye” over her shoulder.

  It wasn’t until she was in her car heading out to the main road that it hit her like a ton of bricks.

  She wasn’t in love with Cody Silver.

  And she never had been.

  Also, she was an idiot to have ever imagined that was the case.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Brandon woke up, she was gone.

  Also, it was morning.

  He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep on her. What kind of man fell asleep with a beautiful woman in his arms?

  A lucky one.

  He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading on his face. Sure, he wished they’d continued on. Sure, he’d planned for a longer interaction. But the fact that she’d taken the lead in seducing him was a damn fine thing. Aside from that, he was pretty sure he’d see her again today. That lifted his spirits immeasurably.

  It wasn’t until he emerged from his camper—to see the cacophony in the yard in front of the ranch house—that he remembered the party kicked off today. The guests were starting to arrive.

  There were several cars in the parking lot that hadn’t been there last night, and Claire stood out front with a smile on her face and a clipboard in her hands checking people in. After she waved her customer toward Cody, who was waiting on the porch to help with luggage, she came over and gave Brandon a hug. “How is Dougal?” she asked.

  A hint of guilt prickled his nape. He hadn’t thought about Dougal since . . . well, since Porsche went onto her knees before him. That had wiped his mind clean. Well, maybe not clean, per se. But it had emptied his mind of all non-Porsche–related thoughts. “He’s still at the vet. Last night he was holding on.”

  “Did they figure out what it was?”

  “He, ah, ate something that disagreed with him.”

  “What on earth made him that sick? You need to remember never to feed him that again.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to go check on him today. What time do you need me back here?”

  She checked her schedule. “The welcome party starts at seven.”

  “Wait.” He grimaced. “I have to do the welcome party?”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought I just had to dance.”

  “Well,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder, “that’s what you get for thinking. Read your contract.”

  Crap. He should have read the contract.

  “We need you to a
ttend the social events as well as the performances.”

  “And how many are there?”

  “Not too many. Let’s see.” She flipped some papers. “This is a birthday so today there will be the welcome party. And then dinner, but you’ll be onstage for that. Then there’s the starlight hayride afterwards. Tomorrow there’s trail riding in the morning and the lakeside picnic for dinner and, yes, here it is. The karaoke party at the pavilion with skinny-dipping.”

  “Wait. Karaoke and skinny-dipping?”

  “The ladies love it.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “You’re the ones skinny-dipping.” Her smile was brilliant.

  His gut lurched. He frowned at her. “I am not skinny-dipping.” The last thing he wanted to do was to bare himself in front of strangers. And it wasn’t Mr. Happy he was concerned about.

  “Oh don’t worry,” she said. “You can wear your G-string.”

  Not.

  “Claire.” He leaned in and whispered, “None of your guests want to see my leg.”

  She batted her lashes. “Ladies love a man with scars.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “Read your contract.” She waggled her fingers and sashayed away toward an incoming car.

  “I’m talking to Cody about this,” he called after her.

  Her response was more waggling, which wasn’t helpful, so he headed for the porch and waited for Cody to return from escorting the new arrival to her room. It took a while, and when he came back he had lipstick on his cheek. It was a little annoying, but Brandon found it in him to ignore that and plunged right in.

  “I can’t go skinny-dipping.”

  Cody frowned. “But it’s in your contract.”

  “I can’t.”

  Thank God Cade wandered by; Brandon caught his arm. “I’m not skinny-dipping.” He hoped that wasn’t panic in his tone, but it probably was.

  His friend stilled and stared at him for a moment. It was tough seeing what looked like pity and remorse flash across his face. He paled. “No. No. Of course not. You, ah, you can be the emcee of the party.”

  “What?” Cody bleated. Probably because he liked to be the one with the mike. Brandon had only been here for a week and he already knew that Cody would beat an old lady over the head to get his grubby paws on a mike.