The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2)

by Nancy Herkness

  Leaning against the open elevator door was Luke, looking like a pinup cowboy in a tan Stetson, leather chaps over faded jeans, and tooled-leather cowboy boots. Even better, he wore no shirt, so she could see every muscle of that magnificent torso, as well as the technicolors of his healing bruises.

  “Hey, sugar,” he drawled, pushing away from the elevator and sauntering toward her.

  “Should I call you Tex?” she asked as Luke’s slow smile banished all thoughts of future problems from her mind.

  “You called me cowboy on the phone.”

  “Did I?” She was having a hard time even remembering her own name, much less what she’d said earlier.

  He stopped scant inches from her, so she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin and catch the fresh scent of his aftershave.

  “So you’re here to fulfill all my Old West fantasies?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah, and all mine, too.” His voice was a low rasp as he threaded his hands into her hair and bent to kiss her, the brim of his hat creating an intimately enclosed space. When she ran her hands over the bare, warm skin of his shoulders, a low groan rumbled in his throat. He pulled his mouth away from hers. “Let’s get in that elevator.”

  He locked one of his arms around her waist and swept her into the walnut-and-brass-paneled space. The doors closed behind them, and Luke flipped a switch before turning to slip her bag off her shoulder and drop it in the corner.

  “The elevator’s not moving,” she said.

  “I’ve got it on hold.” He began to unbutton her coat. “I didn’t want to rush through your fantasy.” He lifted his eyes so she could see the burn in them. “We’re taking it slow this time.”

  “Oh,” she breathed as he pulled the coat down her arms and tossed it on top of her purse. Desire was already rolling through her in waves. “I thought cowboys liked to ride hard.”

  “Hard doesn’t have to be fast.” His fingers traced along the low neckline of the camisole that showed through the lace. “I like this. I can feel you through it.”

  The brush of his fingertips against fabric and skin sent little tendrils of sensation dancing over her nerve endings. Such a light touch from such a powerful man. As his fingers glided down to skim over her already-hard nipples, she shuddered, arousal spreading through her like licking flames.

  When he slipped one of his hands under the hem of her camisole and around her waist to hold her steady, she decided to take advantage of that tempting expanse of bare, muscled chest right in front of her.

  She placed her palms against his pectorals, relishing the way they jumped under her touch. There was a light sprinkle of glinting blond hair over his smooth skin. She found the surgical scars on his shoulder and ran her fingertips over them. Skimming downward, she walked her fingers over the washboard of his abdomen, marveling that this was a living, breathing body and not the carved marble of an idealized statue. Except for one thing. “Your bruises have turned a lovely shade of purplish green.” She gently traced just outside the edge of the discoloration. “Do they still hurt?”

  “I don’t even remember getting hit.”

  She smiled up into his eyes. “Big, strong football player. Never let them see you wince.”

  He was serious when he said, “Damn straight.” Then he hooked one finger in the waistline of her jeans and pulled her in closer. “Truth is, you have miraculous healing powers in your touch.”

  “You’re just temporarily distracted.”

  “That’s why I need you to stay here. To distract me all night.”

  God, she wanted to stay. It was her last chance to be with him. But tomorrow was going to be long and exhausting even without the loss of sleep. She wasn’t used to the physical labor of farm chores anymore. However, she wasn’t going to ruin his seductive mood by telling him about the farm. So she kept it vague. “I have to work tomorrow. Can we spend a few hours actually sleeping?”

  Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “We’ll definitely spend some time in bed.”

  “I caught the difference between those two phrases.” She took all hint of teasing from her voice. “I know how wonderful it is to curl up against that large, hot body of yours and drift off to sleep.”

  “I’ll make sure you get your rest, sugar. But you’ll sleep better after some exercise.”

  With that he took hold of her lace overblouse and tugged it upward, so she raised her arms to let him slip it off. He peeled the camisole up and off, too. Now all that stood between his hands and her breasts was a wisp of cream-colored lace. “This is real pretty,” he said, grazing his fingertips along the scalloped edge of the bra, “but it’s in my way.”

  Before she realized what he was doing, he had snaked his hands behind her and flicked open the hooks. He slid the straps down her arms, and the bra landed on top of the growing heap of clothing in the corner.

  His gaze dropped to her now-bare breasts, sending a wave of self-consciousness washing over her. Until she saw his expression. Pure, unadulterated want lit his eyes. “So perfect,” he said, bringing his hands in to cup her breasts almost reverently. The feel of his palms against the sensitive skin made her breathe out a long, “Aaah.” She arched her back to push into his hands, needing more pressure against the aching nipples. He moved so he could circle the tight buds with his thumbs. Lasers of heat sizzled downward to converge in her belly. She moaned and rocked her hips.

  He slid one chaps-clad thigh between hers so she could pulse against him. But there were too many layers of clothes between them. She unbuttoned her jeans and ripped down the zipper.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, helping her jerk her jeans and panties down to the top of her boots. He knelt to slip the boots off her feet and set them aside as she kicked her jeans away. His gaze laid a trail of heat up her body until he met her eyes. “Let’s put those sexy boots back on,” he said, holding one out for her to slip her foot into.

  As she stepped into the second one, he stood up, skimming his fingers over her legs and hips. “I like spike heels and bare skin.”

  He backed her into the rear of the elevator and drove his thigh between hers again, lifting her so she was riding him. She nearly came when her wet, aching center ground against the sueded leather covering his leg. She fought down the near orgasm. He’d said he wanted to take it slow.

  “How does that feel?” he murmured against the side of her neck as he wrapped his hands around her hips and rocked her against his thigh.

  “Like I’m going to come if you don’t stop,” she panted when the tension nearly crested again.

  “Let yourself go. You can have another one.” He pressed his thigh upward so it ground against the searing hunger between her legs. She exploded, holding on to the steel of his upper arms as her internal muscles released from their clench of arousal and her body jolted with pleasure.

  “Yesssss!” she hissed, her eyes closed and her head thrown back. He tilted her hips to a different angle and the climax smashed into her again. The wash of blazing, luscious satisfaction flooded through her. “Oh, yes!”

  As the tremors lessened, she sagged forward against him, still astride his hard, muscled thigh. He wrapped his arms around her and held her while she eased down from the soaring heights he’d taken her to. “So much for slow,” she said.

  “I love it that you were so ready.” His voice vibrated in the ear she had pressed to his chest.

  “How about you, cowboy? Aren’t you ready, too?” She felt his erection solid and hard against her.

  “I’ve been ready since our phone conversation this afternoon.”

  She chuckled smugly. “Some things are worth waiting for.”

  She felt a jump of tension in his muscles. “I want you to keep that in mind, sweetheart.”

  “Well, I don’t want to wait any longer.” She pulled his head down to hers so she could kiss him with carnal intent. He shifted so their mouths melded and their tongues glided together. He took her mouth in a foreshadowing of how he would take all of her.
r />   With a groan he tore his lips away from hers and ripped the buckle of his chaps open.

  “Too bad you didn’t wear just those and nothing else,” she purred.

  “So you like leather. How about I just unzip my jeans and go from there?” He did that, freeing his erect cock from the denim and yanking a foil envelope from his back pocket.

  She held out her hand. When he passed her the packet, she ripped it open with her teeth. The gesture fit this wild, abandoned encounter. Before she rolled it on, she ran her fingers up and down his erection, loving the growl she drew from his throat. She stroked the condom on, eliciting another low rumble.

  Before she knew what was happening, he had spun her into the corner, where the handrails that ran around the sides of the car met. He took her hands and placed one on each handrail before pulling her knee high up on his hip and holding it there. “Hang on tight,” he said, as he slid his other hand under her bottom and pulled her upward so she was tipped into the corner and braced on her arms.

  He bent his knees and came up into her in a swift, devastating motion, making both of them gasp at the contact. It was so good to have him inside her, filling the fiery ache. She braced herself on the handrails, angling her body so he could have easier access.

  “That’s it, sugar,” he rasped, shifting his grip to splay her thighs wider. For a moment, he met her eyes, the blue of his scorching. Then he deliberately dropped his gaze to where they were joined, watching as he plunged into her and withdrew, then drove in again.

  The leather of his chaps grazed her inner thighs, adding one more sensation to the build of pressure and motion inside her. Tension knotted tighter and tighter in her belly as he filled and emptied her.

  And then he lost control, moving faster and faster until she felt the beginning of her second orgasm. When her muscles tightened, he thrust hard and lifted his head to send her name echoing around the enclosed space as he came. While he pulsed inside her, she went over the edge, feeling the wholly different thrill of climaxing around the delicious invasion of his cock. A sound she didn’t recognize as her own wrenched itself from her throat as her insides seemed to melt into liquid bliss.

  When he slid out of her, she moaned at the friction against already stimulated nerves. “Easy, sweetheart.” He let her down slowly to balance on her stiletto heels. Her arms had spasmed from holding herself up and she tried to shake them out.

  “Cramps?” he asked, using his thumbs to push into the tired muscles in exactly the right places.

  “That’s almost as good as the sex.”

  “Then I didn’t do the sex right.” He pivoted away to strip off the condom.

  “If that sex was wrong, I don’t think I could survive right.” She bent to grab her jeans off the pile.

  “No need for those.” He flicked a switch, sending the elevator soaring upward. Once again, his gaze scorched down her body to her boots. “I’ll keep you warm.” He pulled her against him by grabbing her bottom with one hand.

  She smacked her jeans against his thigh. “I’m not walking out of this elevator stark naked.”

  “Why not? It’s a private elevator direct to my place, and no one’s home but us.” His dimple appeared. “I want to lay you down on my big leather couch and kiss every inch of your gorgeous skin.” He dropped his voice lower. “And taste you. God, do I want to taste you. Then maybe I’ll talk you into bending over the sofa arm and . . .”

  “Stop.” She put her hand over his mouth. He touched her palm with the tip of his tongue, a silky, damp warmth. His touch reverberated through her, pooling low and sultry.

  The elevator glided to a stop, and the door slid open. Miranda peered out into the light-filled foyer of his apartment.

  “I swear it’s empty,” Luke said, amusement edging his voice. He gave her a playful nudge on her butt. “Go ahead. I’ll grab the rest of your clothes.”

  She wrapped her jeans around her torso as she stepped out onto the gray stone floor, her heels clicking against the hard surface. She felt awkward and exposed until Luke came up behind her and wound one arm around her waist, bringing her back against him so she could feel leather, denim, and his bare skin touching hers.

  “It’s strange walking into your home for the first time without any clothes on. I want to look around, but I feel too . . . naked.”

  He blew out an exaggerated sigh against her neck. “Naked is good, but I can offer an alternative.”

  “You can give me my clothes,” Miranda said, wiggling out of his grasp.

  He put the handful of fabrics behind his back with a grin. “There’s something else I’d like you to wear. Make yourself comfortable in the living room, and I’ll be right back.”

  With that he turned and took off down the hall. The chaps outlined the worn denim that cupped his butt so she could see the muscles moving under the fabric. The buckles gave a faint musical chink with each step.

  She’d just had two orgasms in an elevator with the most amazing man she’d ever met. If the night ended right now, she could say it was a good one. Instead, it stretched in front of her with all its exhilarating possibilities. Her body hummed with satisfaction and anticipation. She would not think about the fact that this was the end.

  When he disappeared through a door, she turned to admire the huge photographs of cowboys hanging on the foyer walls. They were shot as silhouettes against skies of brilliant blue and white or sunset orange and gold. A photo of two cowboys walking side by side, carrying their saddles, drew her closer. One man looked tough and experienced, while the other appeared slight and untested. The older man walked a step in front of the younger, as though he was both leading the way and protecting his companion.

  It made her think of Luke and his brother, and sadness for the two men washed through her.

  The thud of Luke’s boot heels interrupted her reverie. He held up an extralarge plaid flannel shirt. “This will look better on you than me.”

  “Was this originally part of your outfit?” she asked, turning to slip her arms into the sleeves as he held it for her. The fabric was so soft she knew it had been worn and laundered many times.

  “Maybe.”

  As she pulled the shirt closed in front of her one-handed, he tugged at the jeans she still held against her. “Hey, I’m not sure I want to give those up,” she said.

  He disarmed her by skimming one palm down her thigh to the edge of the shirttail, where he let his fingertips play over her skin. “I like seeing your legs bare and knowing what else is bare under there.”

  Little circles of sensation rippled out from his touch. She loosened her hold on the jeans, and he whisked them out of her hand. She needed to remember those athlete’s reflexes of his. As she buttoned the shirt, she felt a thrill at the knowledge that the soft cotton now brushing her naked body had also touched his. She wished she could keep it to wear when tonight was just a memory.

  She looked up to find his gaze following the path of her fingers down the front of the shirt. He reached out to flick a button free so her cleavage was fully exposed. “Much better,” he said, his eyes burning even bluer.

  “For whom?”

  He traced a line from the hollow of her throat down between her breasts, making her nipples harden. “I’d say for both of us.”

  She said with only a slight hitch in her voice, “I’d like to see your place first.”

  “First?” His drawl thickened. “What were you thinking would come second?”

  She did her best to look provocative, not something she attempted often. “Both of us.”

  “If you talk like that, you’re going to get the speed tour.” He laced his fingers with hers and pulled her toward a doorway across the foyer.

  “Just a minute.” She planted her boots. “Can you tell me about these photos? Are they from Texas?”

  Pleasure overlaid the arousal in his expression. “They’re by a Swiss photographer named Hannes Schmid.”

  “It’s ironic that a European would make such great c
owboy pictures.”

  “Not really,” he said, his gaze on the silhouette of a cowboy herding horses through dust-laden sunlight. “The Europeans I’ve met buy into the whole myth of the American West even more than Americans do.”

  She remembered an elderly Englishman who had visited friends in the Pinnacle. He had asked her to arrange a day trip to Montana to see an Indian reservation. When she explained the distance involved, he’d been hugely disappointed. Pulling Luke over to the photograph she’d been admiring earlier, she watched his face as she said, “This one made me think of you and your brother.”

  His lips tightened. She’d expected the anger, but under it lay a profound well of pain. “I tried to call him. He didn’t pick up.”

  “Because he’s embarrassed about last night.” She flexed her fingers against his in comfort.

  “Or he’s sulking.” His voice was flat.

  “Did you choose this photo because of Trevor?”

  He made a gesture of uncharacteristic uncertainty with his free hand. “The decorator gave me a bunch of choices, and I marked the ones I liked.”

  So it might have been subconscious.

  He stared at it. “One cowboy looks older, tougher. Tired.”

  “Yet he seems to be both leading and protecting the other one.”

  Luke shrugged. “Could be.”

  Miranda reached up and turned his face toward her. “Your brother will figure out how much he would lose if he stays away. And I don’t mean luxury boxes and fancy parties. I mean you. It’s a precious thing, the love of a brother.”

  “When you say it, I almost believe it.” He turned his head to kiss her palm before he took her hand in his. “But Trevor resents me for reasons I can’t change.”

  Luke looked around the foyer with the high-priced art photos hanging on the custom-papered walls. “I didn’t go after all this. I just put my head down and worked like a dog at football. I didn’t think about how it would affect my family. My friends.” He turned his gaze back to her. “My lovers.”

  “No one believes that success comes with a price. Until it’s time to pay.” Orin was exacting payment from her now.