More Than a Rancher

by Claire McEwen

  “It does.... I mean, it should.... But it’s scary for me, you know? To think I’m just repeating the same bad choices over and over.”

  “So I’m a bad choice.” Sandro still wasn’t looking at her but at something far out in the darkness.

  “You’re not. But this probably is. You and me. A relationship that has no future.”

  Sandro turned and caught her hands in his. His face was shadowed but she could feel the intensity radiating off him. “Maybe this thing between us has no future...or maybe it does. Either way, I promise you, Jenna, I am not like your dad. I am not like Brent or Jeff. I am not one of those guys anymore.”

  “But can people change that quickly?” Jenna remembered the night by Dolores Park. She’d promised herself she’d stop expecting others to change. But here she was, hoping Sandro would be the exception to the inertia that kept people like her father stuck in their ways.

  “What was all that at the party last night, then? The tarot cards. You said it again earlier tonight—that they symbolized change. I don’t know if I really believe in all that, but I think I have changed, Jenna. I feel it inside. I am living it in my actions and my choices. I know you were hurt by boyfriends and by your father. But I am not like them anymore. And even if I was, I couldn’t be that way with you.”

  “What do you mean?” She tried to scrutinize his face but it was no use. His eyes were just darker shadows.

  “I mean that I like you. I admire you. You’re gorgeous and funny and tough and crazy talented. I can’t imagine why anyone would cheat on you.”

  Maybe he was lying, just saying words that she wanted to hear. But she didn’t think so. Sandro had done nothing but speak his mind since they met. He’d been nothing but brutally honest. And knowing that drove home the meaning behind his words. He liked her. A lot. She voiced her last doubt.

  “Do you think that seeing my dad like that, while we were out together, was some kind of sign? I mean, isn’t it crazy that in this big city, we were outside the hotel he chose to visit tonight?”

  “Jenna, not everything that happens is some kind of mystical sign! Or if it is, then how about the fact that I came along right after your bike accident—maybe that’s a sign that whatever is happening between us is okay? What about the fact that you’re a dancer and you met my little brother in our pasture and he wants to dance? Isn’t that a sign, too?”

  “I don’t know.” She put her head in her hands. She liked to believe that everything happened for a reason. But right now, with everything so complicated, that theory wasn’t making much sense. “Maybe.”

  “Jenna, I came out tonight to explain to you why all of this—Paul’s dancing, this thing between you and me—was a bad idea. I was planning to say goodbye and go home. But you convinced me, again, that Paul will be okay. And here I am, trying to convince you that we will be okay. What’s happening between us feels important. If there is a sign we should pay attention to, how about the fact that, aside from running into your dad, this is one of the best evenings I’ve ever had?”

  He had her attention. And whether he was right about all this or not, she was tired of worrying. What she really wanted, she realized, was not to worry or think or analyze. What she really wanted was to feel Sandro’s arms around her one more time.

  So she reached up through the dark and found his cheek with her hand. It was rough with stubble and damp with mist, and she brought her thumb up to his cheekbone, running it over the ridge there, then down to his lips. He opened his mouth and she very lightly touched his teeth, felt the tip of his tongue with her fingers. And then she got her wish. The worries fled, taking all rational thought with them, leaving behind only desire.

  She stood abruptly, stepped in between Sandro’s legs, leaned over and replaced her fingers with her mouth. Her hands went to his shoulders and her hair fell around them in a damp curtain as she kissed him, letting her raw hunger show as she explored the depths of his mouth.

  At first he was still, likely as surprised as she was by her boldness. Then his hands spanned her waist and he brought her down to straddle his lap. He matched her need with his own, one hand on her back and one in her hair, bringing her so close that the weight of his mouth on hers was bruising, but with a pain she sought, a pressure she needed.

  He kissed his way to her ear, making her nerve endings ripple under his touch, and then his mouth was on her neck, the sensation there causing her whole body to surge into his, to press down on his lap, making him groan low in his throat. She felt the vibration of the sound in the air between them.

  Sandro’s hands came down around her hips and from there slid easily under her skirt to follow the line of her legs. Her thigh-high socks left the skin above them bare and she could tell the moment he realized it by the sharp, shaky intake of his breath and the way his teeth bit down on her shoulder.

  She brought his chin up with her fingers and kissed him again, deeply, gasping into his throat when his fingers slid down the lace edge of her panties. She was wet for him, and when he realized it, his eyes opened and he looked into hers and that slow, lazy smile she loved tilted up one corner of his mouth.

  “You are so insanely beautiful,” he whispered against her cheek, and then he watched her eyes as he trailed his fingers through the slickness. She forced herself to keep his gaze, to not look away or let shyness dull the moment but to live with no fear, in the present. She couldn’t control the future, but she could choose how to live in this moment, and she was choosing to let this gorgeous man touch her like this.

  She leaned forward and took his lower lip between her teeth and bit gently, then sucked there and he rocked into her in response. His fingers entered her, bringing heat and insane longing with them, but she didn’t want to be in this hot, vulnerable place without him. Slowly, she lifted herself off of his hand, feeling the cold air when the warmth of him slid away. “I need you—inside me,” she gasped.

  He let out a harsh breath and tipped his head down, resting it on her chest. “I need you, so much, but I don’t have...” His voice trailed off.

  She could hear the frustration and how much he wanted them to be together.

  She kissed the top of his head, and he looked up and returned her kiss softly, a slight scrape of teeth on her lips that sent a shiver down her spine. “My bag,” she gasped, suddenly remembering. “I think I might have a condom....” Left over from Jeff, but she didn’t mention that.

  “I love a modern woman,” he murmured, and kissed her reverently.

  Jenna leaned over to grab her purse off the cement below them while he held her waist to keep her from falling. She brought the bag up between them and fished around until she found the small cloth sack that held emergency supplies—a few tampons, a travel toothbrush and, glory be, a condom.

  “How are we going to do this?” he whispered when she showed it to him.

  “Isn’t that supposed to be your specialty?” she whispered back, and kissed him again. She ground her hips against him and that one movement caused so much desire that she was unbuckling his jeans before she was even conscious of it. She freed him and wrapped her hand around his erection and followed it with the condom. Kissing her deeply, Sandro lifted her up, pulled her full skirt around them so it veiled their bared skin and gasped when she lowered herself over him.

  His arms around her back supported her when she might have collapsed from the feel of him inside. Heat filled her, fueled her, so that she was oblivious of the way the cement stairs dug into her knees or the way his hands on her waist gripped her so tight that they bruised as he guided her. The only thing she was aware of was that it was Sandro, so deep within her, and how perfect it felt to be this way with him. She buried her face in his hair, the faint spice and salt of him mixed with the fresh cloud scent of the fog.

  The pressure inside her built every time he pushed into her, and she tilted her pelvis for
ward to take him even deeper. He held her then, a hand behind her head, his mouth trapping hers in a searing kiss. She felt him pulse deep inside her body, a rhythm her muscles absorbed and mimicked. Then the pressure turned into pure energy, pure feeling that peaked and burst into sparks and shards that seemed to scatter and shimmer through her muscles. All she could do was cling to him while her body shook with his. And when she finally stopped shaking, he kissed her softly, over the skin of her face, her eyes, her lips, and then pulled her closer still. He was sheathed inside her, arms strong around her, his head buried against her chest. Jenna looked around hazily, surprised to see that the bay was still there, and the chill fog still swirled around them—they hadn’t actually been transported to some other, even more dreamlike place.

  Jenna stayed there, resting her cheek in his hair, listening to the foghorn, the rhythmic slosh of the waves, the occasional car on the street beyond their sheltering wall. She felt limp and languid and didn’t want to let go, but her legs were cold and getting so stiff she didn’t know if she could straighten them again. “Sandro,” she whispered, though she didn’t know why she was suddenly worried that someone might hear them.

  “Mmm?” He looked up from her chest.

  “I have to move.”

  He carefully helped her off him. She was grateful for her skirt around her as she rearranged her underwear and pulled up her socks. When she turned back, he was dressed, as well, and gathering up her bag for her. He pulled her close and kissed her and there was a new intimacy there, along with the same desire as before but amplified somehow. Maybe because now they knew how incredible they truly were together.

  Sandro pulled back slightly and Jenna bit her lip, pressing down on the place where his mouth had been. Regretting its absence. “We have to get you warm,” he said. “Let’s go find something hot to drink.”

  He kept a sheltering arm around her all the way back to Beach Street, so careful with her, as if she was fragile and precious. He walked her into a pub that boasted a late-night menu and the best Irish coffee in the city. They headed for a back booth. Sandro insisted they sit side by side so he could keep holding her, and he ordered the coffee—Irish for Jenna and plain for him. Jenna curled up against the strength of him, trying to absorb what had occurred. How somehow an evening that had started because she’d wanted to help Paul had become all about Sandro and herself.

  The waitress brought their drinks. The heat and the alcohol were a perfect remedy for Jenna’s frozen limbs and she sipped the scalding liquid eagerly.

  Sandro took his arm back to drink his coffee. Setting the cup on the table, he turned in the booth so he faced her. “Now I can see you,” he said. He pushed a curl off her shoulder. “That was amazing. Completely unexpected and incredible. Thank you.”

  Jenna flushed. “You’re welcome.” She knew she should say more but her brain seemed to have gone to sleep from the whiskey in her coffee, or maybe from the amazing sex.

  “It was good, right?”

  Sandro the infamous womanizer needed reassurance? She put a hand on his thigh, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Unbelievable,” she assured him. An accurate description. When she woke up tomorrow, would she believe she’d been so daring?

  He studied her closely. “You’re okay with it?”

  “Of course. Why, what’s wrong?” Jenna wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. She didn’t want her perfect memories spoiled. “You didn’t like it?”

  He took her hand. “It was the best. Seriously. But I feel kind of guilty, like it shouldn’t have been that way, at least not our first time.”

  Jenna stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant. Then it hit her. “It reminds you of the stuff you used to do in New York.” They’d just had sex and he was comparing her to the women he’d slept with before. Things he’d done with them. Suddenly she felt sick. She jerked her hand out of his.

  “No!” Sandro sat bolt upright.

  He reached for her hand again but she was reluctant to give it. His eyes were dark and pleading but all she could think was that she’d taken such a risk tonight, done something she’d never done before, and to him it was old news. Maybe even boring.

  “Look, I wasn’t thinking of any of that. I promise you, Jenna.”

  “Then what did you mean?” Her voice sounded tired even to her.

  “Well, I guess I’m wondering if I should have made us wait until we could make it perfect, you know? It seems like I should have made sure it was nice, respectful...” He broke off, seemingly stuck for words.

  “Not just some recreational sex on a bench in the city? I’m sorry if it wasn’t perfect enough.” She threw his words back at him.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I already told you it was incredible and I meant it.”

  Jenna was trying to understand, but the rational part of her brain seemed to be having trouble returning after she’d kicked it out earlier—kicked it out so she could enjoy the moment and not analyze it all. Unfortunately for her, Sandro hadn’t done the same, and his postgame analysis didn’t seem to be in her favor.

  Sandro reached out and ran his knuckles along her cheek. She couldn’t help but lean into the sensation.

  “I feel like you’re trying to misunderstand me,” he said quietly. “Are you regretting it?”

  “No!” The memory of how magical it had all seemed came back and taunted. The bay, the hum of the foghorns wafting through. She didn’t regret it—did he? “Yes. I don’t know. Look, I think I should just get going. It’s been a long night.” She took one last fortifying gulp of coffee.

  “Wait,” he said. “I’ll see you home.”

  “No, that’s okay, really.” Her head was spinning with exhaustion and a healthy dose of embarrassment. He’d wanted it to be respectful and nice, and she’d straddled him on a bench in a San Francisco park. He must think she was just like all the women he’d known back in New York. “I can grab a cab outside and be home in no time.”

  She turned to go, then turned back. She couldn’t leave it like this. “I just want you to know that before tonight I’d never done anything like that. And up until now I felt like it was incredibly exciting and way better than nice.”

  Sandro reached out, and for a moment it looked as if he might stop her, but then his hand dropped to his side. “I meant it when I said it was one of the best nights of my life. And somehow it got even better. I’ve gotten in the habit of overthinking things. I wish I’d just kept my mouth shut.”

  She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but she was way too exhausted to process anything else. “Maybe it’s better you didn’t,” she said numbly. “I’d always rather know the truth.”

  She walked quickly out of the pub, grateful to see a cab right outside. A getaway car. But there was no crime scene to flee, just a lot of confusing desire. And the baggage that both of them were carrying from their past mistakes.

  She got into the cab and directed the driver to the Mission District. Her whirling thoughts slowly calmed as she looked out at the neon signs of Van Ness Avenue. The strange thing was, there were only two things she regretted right now: that Sandro had regrets and that he might think less of her.

  She was strangely proud of herself. She’d managed to do what she’d promised on that bike ride after her terrible family dinner a few weeks ago. She’d let go of any expectations. She’d had sex with Sandro without hope of it turning into something more, without needing more from him than his immediate desire for her. And to live in just that one moment had been fabulous and unforgettable. It had felt a lot like dancing.

  Worry crept in after that thought. She’d never been able to dance with any moderation. No matter how many hours she spent in the ballroom, she always looked forward to more. If sex with Sandro felt like dancing, she’d just have to hope it didn’t have the same addictive qualities.

  Jenna
rested her head against the cold glass and let her thoughts drift back to what it had felt like to be with him—to see the desire in his eyes and feel the desperation and passion in his touch.

  Sandro had seemed disappointed tonight. Tomorrow there might be disappointment for her, as well. But tonight she just wanted to remember how it had felt, how incredibly phenomenal it had been, to be wrapped up in Sandro Salazar’s arms.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “CHAMPAGNE!” JENNA INSISTED. “We’re shopping for a wedding dress. Champagne is mandatory!”

  Tess placed their order with the harried waiter and then pulled out her phone, all business. “We’ve made it to only two of the shops on our list. We need to step up the pace if Samantha’s going to find the perfect dress by the end of the day!”

  “We’ll eat fast,” Samantha said as she picked up her water glass and turned her green eyes on Jenna. “But there’s something I want to talk about today besides my wedding. Jack mentioned something about you seeing Sandro here in the city. Why have you not mentioned this to your loyal girlfriends?”

  “Jenna!” Tess exclaimed, outrage lifting her perfectly sculpted brows. “You’ve been holding out on me! Who is Sandro?”

  That was a good question. There seemed to be a lot of Sandros. The polished chef who made incredible food in Samantha’s kitchen, the tortured man with the troubled past, the sweet friend who’d supported her when she’d seen her father. And, of course, the incredibly hot guy she’d had sex with on a bench at Aquatic Park a mere thirty-six hours ago. The memory made her blush.

  “You are beet-red! What is going on?” Samantha asked.

  The champagne arrived and Jenna took a large gulp of hers. Tess suddenly leaned forward. “Wait a minute. Is Sandro the studly guy who was looking for you at Marlene’s party?”

  “Marlene’s party?” Samantha stared at Jenna in shock. “You saw him at the party? Why haven’t you told me about any of this?”