Cowboy Crescendo (Dynasties: The Danforths Book 7)

by Cathleen Galitz

It was Heather’s ruination.

  Her own voice was surprisingly steady in response.

  “I do mean it.”

  Ten

  In a simple white nightgown, Heather looked like an angel at his son’s bedside. Moonlight streaming through the window outlined the curves of Heather’s body, revealing the shape and size of a perfect pair of breasts. The dark areolas of her nipples blushed deep pink beneath the thin cotton material. Toby grew hard with wanting her. He had never seen a sexier piece of lingerie than the modest nightclothes Heather wore. Nor a more desirable woman than the one whose eyes widened when she felt his eyes upon her. The enchanted melody she was singing, to help Dylan find his way back to peaceful dreams, died on her lips.

  “There, there,” Toby crooned, stepping into the room to offer a frightened child the solace of his presence. “It’s all right. Daddy’s here. You just had another bad dream, that’s all.”

  As this was Dylan’s first nightmare since Heather moved in, Toby was greatly disturbed. Despite his best efforts to be all things to the boy, Dylan obviously still missed his mother. Dylan opened his eyes, reluctantly let go of Heather’s neck and allowed his daddy to coax him back under his covers. Toby’s hand grazed Heather’s as he smoothed back a lock of hair plastered by fear to his son’s forehead.

  Together they comforted the child with gentle words and touches. The lullaby that Heather continued to hum soothed the child. Toby’s nerves were pulled taut by parental worry—and a growing awareness of Heather’s effect on his son. He couldn’t help but feel jealous of the position that his son took nestled in her lap.

  Under such tender ministrations, Dylan fell easily back to sleep. Heather tugged the sheet under his chin as Toby tiptoed over to the door. He held it open for her and, when she took her leave, closed it with soft finality before bending to scoop her up into his arms.

  Heather put up no protest as Toby turned in the direction of his bedroom. Nothing had ever felt more right in her whole life.

  Lacing her fingers around his neck, Heather held on tight. His flesh was warm to the touch. She buried her head into the crook of his shoulder.

  The scent of Toby’s shower gel mingled with the clean smell of linen from the bed he’d just left and the faint but heady aroma of his own body’s musk. Intrigued, she kissed the strong column of his neck and licked the trace of salt left upon her lips. A feral growl rumbled from somewhere deep in his throat. The sound caused Heather to tremble as they crossed the threshold of his bedroom where he proceeded to lay her upon the very bed that she made for him every day. The covers were in a state of disarray from being thrown back in haste, but they were still warm from the heat of his body.

  Heather spread her hair upon the same pillow that she secretly pressed against her heart before smoothing it out each morning. It smelled just as she remembered—like essence of man untamed.

  Toby turned on a lamp situated in a far corner and flooded the room with soft light before coming to the foot of his bed where he gazed upon Heather with unabashed lust. She squirmed beneath his scrutiny and prayed he did not find her lacking.

  “Do you have any idea how incredibly beautiful you are?”

  Eyelashes, self-consciously lowered, fluttered open in surprise. Having learned early on that her talent was her greatest strength, Heather had seldom paid attention to her physical appearance beyond what was necessary in making a pleasing stage presence. Toby’s voice was too raw with emotion and she believed that his words were not mere flattery. Nothing could disguise his hunger for her.

  She watched in rapt fascination as he peeled off his briefs and dropped them upon the floor. Her breath caught in her throat as he proceeded to remove a small silver wrapper from the top drawer of his bureau and sheathe an erection that was well defined and beautiful in the dim light. Glad he had the wherewithal to think of protection when her own mind had turned to mush, Heather bit her lip. She hoped her relative inexperience did not disappoint him. Toby lowered himself over her, taking painstaking care not to crush her in the process. His tenderness caused tears to spring to her eyes.

  “Why are you crying?”

  Because I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Because I’m afraid I won’t be able to please you. And that you’ll think less of me for surrendering my body to you and that you’ll toss me aside the instant you get what you want.

  “I’m not,” Heather lied. She removed the moisture from her eyes with a quick wipe of her sleeve.

  Toby’s eyes caressed her. “I’m not in the habit of forcing myself on women who are crying in my bed—regardless of whether they are naked or not.”

  How he managed the proper combination of sincere concern and gentle humor under such circumstances was a wonder to Heather. She smiled at the absurdity of his words through a blur of tears before leaning up to kiss him soundly.

  The sweetness and passion of that kiss dissolved all apprehension as the world ceased to exist beyond the sensation of skin against skin. For all her shyness outside the bedroom, Heather was an uninhibited lover. She took delight in teasing Toby unmercifully. She ran the tip of her tongue along the fringe of his mustache, and when Toby opened his mouth hungrily to gobble her up, she proceeded to trace its outline with bold strokes.

  His tongue sought hers in an unchoreographed ballet of give-and-take that left him breathing hard. Toby touched the blond hair spread out on his pillow like a golden fan as if to reassure himself that he was not dreaming. Propped over her with his weight upon his elbows, he stared down upon an angelic face incapable of holding back her feelings. Heather didn’t have to speak words of love to him. He could read them in her expression.

  Fully aware that Heather was not the kind of woman who fell into a man’s bed unless she loved him, he did not want to break her heart. Wanting and loving were not altogether the same thing in his mind, and Toby knew that Heather deserved better than someone unable to commit to her completely. He didn’t think he was emotionally prepared to make any promises beyond the fleeting pleasures and demands of the flesh.

  Yet Toby could no more turn away from what Heather was so freely offering than he could forgo breathing. Never had he wanted a woman so badly in his life. No matter how hard he worked his body each day, his every thought was consumed with having her. Sleep provided no respite from dreams that twisted him in clammy sheets, woke him abruptly and left him frustrated. Lust might very well damn him to hell forever and a day, but Toby did not have the strength to resist his own weakness.

  Work-roughened fingers had no patience with the dainty, faux pearl buttons running the length of Heather’s demure nightgown. Grabbing both sides of a scooped collar, he gave a little tug. Buttons scattered in all directions. Heather’s gasp failed to cover the faint sound they made hitting the bedcovers, the floor and the nearby wall. Hoping he hadn’t scared her, Toby made a feeble apology for his lack of restraint.

  She responded with a kiss and guided his hands to the hole in the fabric that he’d made.

  “Don’t stop,” she implored, offering him the comfort of a body straining to please.

  Toby needed no more encouragement than that. Since the first day this woman stepped inside his house and pointed her stubborn chin in his direction, he wondered what it would be like to have her beneath him. Since kissing her beneath a shower of fireworks in a sultry Savannah sky, he couldn’t stop dreaming of what it would be like to be inside her.

  He struggled for breath as she tested his manhood, gently squeezing it in her hands. Heather gasped again. Pushed to the limits of human willpower, Toby could wait no longer.

  Despite his heartfelt intention to be gentle, Toby felt himself lose control.

  Heather couldn’t tell whether the indistinguishable words upon his lips were an oath or a prayer as he plunged into her. She heard herself mimicking his language with soft, guttural sounds of her own—sounds that sprung from some dark, secret place inside her. There was no thought in their lovemaking, save a driving need to hold nothing back, as the
passion that had been building inside both of them burst like a dam under unsustainable pressure. Raging, swollen waters swept them both away in a terrifying and oh-so-glorious ride.

  Surrounding herself with him, Heather offered Toby not just her warm and willing flesh, but also feelings as real and enduring as the silver-rimmed mountains casting shadows through the open blinds. This acknowledgement came as a revelation. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of Toby’s broad shoulders and discovered there was no way to keep from falling in love with the man who shuddered as he poured himself inside her with a moan that made her feel both small and powerful at the same time.

  Heather squeezed her eyes shut and clung to the dream that he might someday love her back. That he continued to hold her and engage in tender afterplay was a new and wonderful experience. Still, she knew better than to proclaim her feelings in bed. Such declarations tended to be brushed aside in the harsh light of day.

  Josef had been the kind of man to tell a woman he loved her, even if he didn’t, just to advance his own needs. Heather suspected Toby might have trouble saying those words even if they came from the bottom of his heart. Between the two, she far preferred the latter. Coaxing sweet words from a man meant nothing if he said them only in an attempt to pacify a petulant lover or soothe his own conscience. Wrapping her arms around shoulders slick with sweat, she reveled in the comfort of a body made hard by honest labor. Spent, he was hers alone until the morning light climbed the peaks of the nearby mountains, and brought not only a new day but also a new chance at rebuilding her life.

  Eleven

  Dawn light spilled across the mangled sheets of Toby’s bed, bidding him to open his eyes slowly and count his blessings as he did every morning. The woman curled against his body in a kittenish ball was first among those blessings today. Staring at his sleeping beauty, Toby had to wonder if he wasn’t still dreaming. His body’s involuntary response to her silky skin against his convinced him otherwise.

  That he could awaken in such a thoroughly aroused state after a night of the most intense and satiating lovemaking of his life was as wondrous as the realization that Heather wanted him as much he wanted her. That she didn’t seem inclined to demand more than he was capable of giving at the present added to the fact that she was already more than a mother to his son, and made their relationship as perfect as any he could imagine. He kissed her awake with the aching tenderness he had been incapable of giving her last night.

  “Next time I promise to go slow,” he whispered in her ear.

  Stretching a body sore from a night of glorious lovemaking, Heather smiled up at him in a way that made his heart somersault inside his chest.

  “I didn’t find anything lacking in last night’s performance, cowboy.”

  A sweet melody all on its own, her voice rivaled the meadowlarks and robins that were noisily competing for top billing outside. Never had a day seemed riper with opportunity. Had Toby not a ranch to run and a son to tend to, he would have been more than tempted to spend it in bed, leisurely showing Heather the many ways a truly dedicated man such as himself could please her. As it was, all that would have to wait until the sun set once again.

  “We’d better get up and dressed before Dylan wakes up and stumbles on the two of us in bed,” Heather said, stretching languidly and wondering when she would get around to explaining it to herself. “I don’t think I’m up for that just yet.”

  “I suppose it could be traumatic,” he murmured, resisting the urge to tempt fate. “I’d hate to set his progress back any.”

  Though Heather nodded in understanding, her heart, which only a moment before was as light and spirited as a sparrow, fell like a stone to the ground. Reverting to her shy old self, she was out of bed in a trice. She grabbed her torn nightgown from the floor and pulled it around her, balling it in the fist of one hand. She may have been the one to initiate this particular topic of conversation, but it nonetheless hurt to think that her love could be considered disturbing at any level.

  Was sex merely a prelude for all men to discard the women they conquered? The memory of Josef casting her aside for a new, improved and potentially more lucrative model came rushing back to haunt her. Determined to spill her tears in the privacy of her own room, Heather held her chin up high as she moved toward the door.

  Toby reached out for her, pulling her onto his lap. “Not so fast,” he said, pausing to nuzzle the back of her neck. “I said I intend to go slow with you, and I mean it. But that doesn’t mean you need to rush out of here without giving me a kiss.”

  Heather worried that going slow only meant postponing the inevitable—a breakup that would cost her not only her job but also the last shreds of her dignity. God help her, she didn’t think she could endure that.

  Not when she was so completely in love with him.

  There was no use in denying that fact any longer. Having already given Toby her heart, the only thing she knew for certain was that she would rather settle for a torrid affair with him than nothing at all. If it proved short-lived, as she suspected, she would cling to her memories to her dying day. The beautiful pictures in her head of their time together would always be her own to cherish and carry with her.

  No one could take those from her.

  In the time it took to turn around, Heather’s jumbled thoughts sorted themselves out with the kind of clarity that eluded most people every step along life’s predictable path. The kiss she gave Toby was sweet and full of promise.

  It held no taste of the remorse clogging her throat.

  There is a part of every woman that believes she can win a man’s heart by completely satisfying his body. Heather was no exception to the rule. She opened her nightgown and let it fall to the floor in a puddle about her bare feet. Then she proceeded to push Toby back on the bed and straddle him. If they were to have only a short time together, she intended to leave a lasting impression upon him. One that would render him unfit for any other woman ever again.

  Heather played him like a masterpiece. Lovingly. Her fingers ran over his most sensitive spots, evoking music from a place so deep inside, Toby was swept away with the profundity of it. His eyes widened to see this gentle, modest woman turn into a wild vixen.

  His promise to go slow would have to wait to be fulfilled yet another time. Toby gave her all that she asked for and then some. His shaft was as demanding as the soft flesh that welcomed him home. He heard himself call out her name, filled his hands with breasts as soft as satin and suckled her until she came, again and again. Repeating his own name breathlessly over and over, Heather reveled in the glorious spasms rocking her body.

  “I’m going to explode,” Toby murmured through gritted teeth, as if regretting the fact that he could wait no longer to satisfy his own pleasure.

  The crescendo carried him toward that explosion. Panting, he quivered in her arms, staring into a pair of eyes that mirrored his climax and accepted the warmth spilling into her with palpable satisfaction.

  Holding her in his arms long afterward, the thrumming in his blood reminded Toby that he was a physical creature with needs, and that living life solely for one’s children was always a mistake. Every man was entitled to seek happiness on his own terms. He believed that he, too, deserved to love and be loved for himself alone.

  Love?

  The word popped into his head, startling him. Could it be that Heather was looking for more than a physical relationship with him? Was it possible she wanted him without regard to what his name could do for her? That she might actually accept his dreams as her own? His arms tightened around her in the certain knowledge that one would have to be a fool to let such a woman go without a fight.

  The days that followed were the happiest that Heather had ever known. Starting and ending her days in the arms of the man she loved was as close to heaven as she could imagine. In between, the time flew. She hummed while she worked and took enormous pleasure in the bouquets of wildflowers that Toby brought her every day. Dylan picked up on their
happy mood and, though he still refused to speak, he smiled more readily, and the simple tunes he composed mirrored the joyfulness infusing a house that had only a month ago been filled with the sorrowful echoes of the past.

  In helping Dylan express himself through his musical gifts, Heather was drawn back to the piano, as she had been when she was but a child herself. Now, however, rather than seeing the instrument as something that had once enslaved her, she began to rediscover her own love of music through the eyes and ears of a sensitive boy. Watching his little fingers move over the ivories, Heather came to understand that like love itself, when given of its own accord and accepted without strings, the talent they shared was truly a sacred gift.

  Dylan smiled up at her instinctively. He nestled next to her on the piano bench and let the waves of that sweet melody wash over them and carry them both far away from troubles brewing in the distance.

  Wiping his dirty hands on his work-worn jeans, Toby stood in the doorway of his house and admired the view in silent reverence. The curve of Heather’s slender, white neck bent over the keyboard was enough to bring him to his knees. The softening light of the afternoon sun filtered into the room, casting a halo over her fair hair. The sight of his son snuggled up next to this miracle worker was something he wished he had the talent to capture on canvas for posterity.

  Unfortunately, Toby was no artist. Nor did he share his son’s musical gift. In fact, he once joked that he couldn’t carry a tune in a 747 jet. His artistry and passion were reserved for the way he handled horses, a gift he had apparently been born with. He considered himself lucky to have parents who nurtured what others regarded as little more than a silly, boyish whim. That he was able to make a life around such a whim brought him great satisfaction—and the grudging respect of his neighbors. Toby had earned a name for himself among skeptical locals as well as breeders of national repute for the way he could gentle a horse without force. He didn’t claim to be a horse whisperer. Still, anyone watching him could not help but be impressed with the way he communicated with even the most skittish of horses with a calming touch and softly murmured words into the animal’s ear.