Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy)

by Drake, Laura

  He’d seen a wince lots of times, but he’d never before heard one.

  She swirled the wine, sniffed it and then took a tentative sip. “Hmmm. This is lovely. What is it?”

  “Storybook Mountain Zin. I know you like Napa Valley wines. It’s aged in barrels stored in caves on the side of a mountain.” Max took a sip. It would never replace a good Rolling Rock but he could choke it down.

  They spoke of inconsequential things—the weather and local gossip. He discovered they both loved football, were ambivalent about baseball, and were bored to death by NASCAR.

  Her eyes glinted like chips of topaz as she raised his dad’s cut-crystal wineglass to take another sip. He decided she belonged in the candlelight. Her peach-tinted skin glowed. The fine bones of her face and hands reminded him that she no more belonged in his stable than Ivana Trump. But just for tonight, he didn’t care what had brought her here. He was going to relish his good fortune.

  They laughed, reliving the pratfalls of the day. When he picked up the bottle to fill her glass once more, he was surprised to find it empty.

  She gave him a wistful smile. “It’s for the best anyway. We’ve both got to be up early.”

  She reached a hand across the table to cover his. “Thank you, Max. This has been a perfect evening.” She closed her eyes and he watched her breasts rise with her deep breath. “And I haven’t had one of those in a long, long time.” After a handful of heartbeats, she stood and blew out the candles.

  Somehow this woman had burrowed into his world and turned it inside out. Studying the silhouette of her face in the dark, he was overcome by a sense of rightness. She belonged here, with him. When he held his hand out to her, she entwined her fingers in his. She fit him.

  They strolled in companionable silence to her room.

  She stopped in the doorway. The light from the tack room bathed her face as she turned to smile up at him. To say good night.

  It was his move now, but for the first time since high school, Max didn’t have a smooth line. All the ones he used to charm buckle bunnies and barflies sounded to him like a fist against meat. Blunt. Wrong.

  So instead he blurted the first thing that came to his wine-dampened brain—the truth.

  “Bree, you’ve never gotten to see the good side of me. I’ve been mad at the world for quite some time now, and Jo’s leaving capped it all off. I realize that I took all that out on you. Because you were there, with your beauty, your red hair, and your sophisticated ways.” He took her hands in his. “I’m sorry, Bree. Sorry for all of it. If you’ll let me, I want to show you that there is a good side to Max Jameson.”

  Her lips turned up, but when she would have spoken, he put a finger to them. “I’ve been thinking about your kiss all day.” Her smile slipped. “The feel of you through your jeans. You looking at me like you are now.” Her whiskey eyes darkened to molten honey, and her mouth opened a bit. “The truth is, since that first day, when I saw those long legs walking toward me, I just wanted to wrap them around me.” As he lowered his head to kiss her, he recalled her promise. “Is it later yet, Bree?”

  He could hear her breath in the hushed barn. She stood on tiptoe and touched her lips to his. “Oh yeah, Max. It’s definitely later.”

  The anticipation in her kiss granted him admittance. A surge of joy hit his brain even as a lust spread downward. Kissing her, he nudged her farther into the room and kicked the door shut with his heel. Now that he’d gotten through the part of the date he’d rehearsed, he felt twitchy. “It’s been a long time for me, Bree. I want to make this special—for both of us.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted in a sexy smile as she reached up to unsnap the top of his shirt. “I’ll try to go slow, Max.” The second snap popped. “But it’s been a long time for me too.” She grabbed his lapels and with a sharp tug, the remaining snaps cracked like pistol shots. “I’m not promising patience.” Her lips closed over his as she slid his shirt down, trapping his arms. The sexual tension that simmered in the air all day boiled up. He allowed her to lead the way for only a moment before he fought his arms out of the sleeves and tossed the shirt aside.

  Her nails lightly raked his back as his tongue wrestled with hers, their breathing loud in his ears. Using his thumbs, he tipped her head back and trailed kisses over all that exposed tawny skin. As he approached the ropy necklace of scar tissue at the base of her neck, she jerked away.

  His gut tightened. That this vibrant, beautiful woman would believe that a scar made her less gorgeous somehow made him want to go pound someone to mush.

  He caught her chin, bringing her gaze to his. “You’re exquisite, Bree,” he whispered, “Every inch of you.” Her sad eyes told him how badly she wanted to believe, but didn’t. He lightly kissed the edge of the scar and then moved on, to run his tongue over the delicate ridge of her collarbone.

  Bree closed her eyes and was lost. Her body now existed only where he touched it. He lightly nipped her shoulder, pulling her into the circle of his arms. Her skin, her lips, her heart, ached to make him hers, this cowboy who’d put the ground back under her feet.

  Her shirt disappeared and then her bra. His strong, gentle hands rested on her waist as his gaze took her in. There was a look of wonder on his face and, for the first time since waking up in the prison infirmary, she felt whole.

  His light touch smoothed over her rib cage to cover her breasts, palms sliding over her hard nipples. Electric signals shot through her as she arched to his touch. She wanted to bring this man pleasure. Wanted to give him—everything.

  Suddenly he was gone. She opened her eyes to see him leaning to turn on the desk lamp.

  “I want to see you.” His eyes were black smoke where they grazed her body. She reached for him, but he backed away. “Just let me get rid of some extra stuff.” He put the heel of one boot to the toe of the other to pry it off.

  The last time she’d seen him shirtless, he’d been in the garden with Tia. She hadn’t been able to do any of the things she’d imagined. Now… she knelt, and when he pulled off the other boot, she unbuttoned his jeans. He went still and looked down at her. As she released the last button, his hard length sprang into her hands.

  I should have known a cowboy would go commando. She tugged his jeans down his muscled legs and he stepped out of them. Running her fingers lightly up and down his length, she reveled in his velvet hardness. It had been so long since she’d caressed a man. She’d almost forgotten…

  He bent and lifted her to her feet. “Hon, if you want this to last any time at all, you don’t want to be doing that.” Cradling her to his chest, he ravaged her mouth, then settled her gently on the bed. She chuckled, reclining on one arm, watching the man who was about to become her lover as he divested himself of clothing. Desire pooled in her belly as she took in the warm-toned skin sculpted by the harshness of working the land. Muscle corded his arms and legs, his stomach flat and taut.

  A muscle deep in her core jumped as she melted in molten anticipation. “Hurry.” She stripped off her shorts and scooted to the far side of the narrow bed.

  As he lowered himself to lie next to her, the heat of his skin seared her where it touched. Max’s eyes followed the path of his hand as it skimmed her torso. “God, you’re lovely.” He bent to whisper a kiss across her forehead; then he lowered her lips to hers.

  The hot kiss sizzled as they lay plastered together on the narrow cot. Even on their sides, Max was perched precariously on the edge, not an inch between them.

  Raising his head, he murmured, “I’ve got a better idea.” He pulled her over him to straddle his waist, and she moaned as her wet core made contact with his hot, smooth skin. The yellow light from the desk outlined the sharp planes of his jaw, his shoulder, his bronzed chest. She delighted in the change in texture as she ran her hands over as much skin as she could reach. Her skin tingled where his gaze roamed. His hands skimmed her ribs, encouraging her to raise her arms. She stretched, understanding that he wanted to see her that way.
>
  “Free your hair,” he growled.

  Bree tugged the band at her nape, and her hair tumbled down her back and, with a whispery touch, over her breasts. His hands tightened at her waist.

  Modesty had no place here. She held his gaze as she leaned down to run her tongue over his nipple.

  “Bree.” He brought her face to his to kiss her frantically. “Wait.” He stretched to reach his pants on the floor and pulled out a condom. She took it from him and ripped it open with her teeth, hurrying to slide it over his pulsing erection.

  “Bree, please…”

  She smiled. Heady with the power she held over this hard man, she leaned down to tease his nipples with her own. She’d thought only to arouse him, but as her body glided, fissures of pleasure exploded between her legs. She moaned, sliding down until his jerking erection demanded entry.

  His fingers squeezed her thighs, but he held himself still, jaw clenched, letting her take the lead. “Is this what you’ve been wanting, Max?” She slowly lowered herself and felt the head of him glide into her.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Max growled as he grabbed her bottom, and bucking his hips, plunged into her.

  Bree cried out as he filled her, the pressure of him making her frantic for more. As he massaged the sensitive bud in her soft folds with his thumb, bursts of pleasure shot through her. She leaned back and ground against him, to pull him deeper. Faster than she thought possible, an orgasm rocketed like fireworks through her body to explode in her brain. She swayed, keening, as her muscles clenched, milking him, unwinding her. He held her hips as he bucked, once, twice, and let out a hoarse shout.

  She collapsed on top of him, dragging air into her starved lungs. She continued the lazy rocking, knowing the shocks that coursed through her traveled through him as well.

  As his breathing calmed, the galloping heartbeat beneath her ear slowed. Her muscles were liquid. If she never moved from this spot, she’d die happy. He brushed her hair back for a kiss. A sweet, tender kiss that touched her in places his fingers couldn’t. She folded her hands on his chest, resting her chin on them. Smiling, she said, “Well, now, cowboy. I’d say that was worth waiting for.”

  His arms enveloped her, and the warmth lulled her into a dreamless sleep.

  Bree was alone when she opened her eyes to morning sun streaming through the high window above her bed. Sun? She glanced at the travel alarm on the desk. Six o’clock. The boss probably won’t fire me for being late this morning. She felt more refreshed than she had in—forever.

  She turned off the desk lamp that had burned all night before flopping onto the tousled bed that smelled of Max. Her and Max. She stretched like a house cat in the sun. Muscles she’d held taut for a year and a half now hung slack off her bones. She wallowed in liquid laze, replete.

  Max’s lovemaking opened a door so long closed that she’d forgotten what lay beyond it. They’d spent the entire night discovering, using all their senses to enjoy each other. After their initial rush, they’d caught a rhythm. Max was strong and patient, reveling in her satisfaction as much as his own. Her last waking memory was of lying on top of him, his arms around her, his heart strong and steady under her ear. “Who knew? All I needed for a good night’s sleep was a new pillow.”

  She smiled, climbed out of bed, and reached for her clothes, then extras, for after her shower. She dressed quickly and as she grabbed the knob, noticed a white slip of paper tucked into the doorjamb.

  Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. See you at breakfast. Max.

  She hummed a happy tune as she opened her door to a new day.

  An hour later, showered and refreshed, Bree walked into the mess hall as the cowboys were finishing breakfast.

  “Buenos tardes, chica,” Miguel hailed her. “Did we sleep late?”

  Surveying the group, she spotted Max sitting at the far end of the table, hands wrapped around a coffee mug. His private, knowing gaze reminded her that he knew what she looked like with her clothes off.

  Trying not to blush, she lightly cuffed the back of Miguel’s head on her way to the coffee. She batted her eyelashes. “Watching all you big, strong men yesterday flat wore me out.” After pouring a cup, she hesitated, unsure of where to sit. Everything seemed different today.

  Max was deep in conversation with Wyatt, who was sitting across from him. Without looking up, he patted the bench beside him.

  A thrill went through her. God, Madison, you’re acting like a smitten seventh grader.

  Maybe. But this morning hope sang in her blood, and all seemed right with the world. Her body felt clean and light, like the first hot day of summer, when the chill of winter finally leeches out of your bones. She strolled to the table, taking a seat next to her cowboy.

  Max turned to her, “We’re going over our plans for the Fourth of July.” His eyes were full of promises that his businesslike tone belied.

  As Wyatt’s gaze bounced back and forth between her and Max, a lopsided grin spread across his face. Bree’s face heated. His tone was all innocence as he asked, “Do you think Fire Ant is ready for his debut?”

  She raised her voice to address the table in general. “That bull was born ready, as yesterday proved. Maybe he’ll get a little more respect around here from now on.”

  She sniffed at the men’s chuckles and turned to Wyatt. “So what goes on around here for the Fourth?”

  “Only the best celebration in the state. There’s a Pro Rodeo all weekend, but Saturday’s the big day.” He picked up the Steamboat Pilot folded at his elbow and shuffled pages until he found what he wanted. “We begin with the Lions Club pancake breakfast down at the Little Toots Park.” He said in his best drawl, “That’s followed by a five-K run down Lincoln Avenue. Then there’s an art festival, barbeque, and of course, fireworks.” He looked up. “And that’s only the stuff we’d be interested in.”

  She swiveled her head to Max’s deep voice. “Then on Sunday morning, we drive a hundred and ten pair of cattle down Lincoln Avenue, right through town.”

  “You’re kidding me. More than two hundred cattle herded down Main Street?”

  Max said, “One pair for every year the town’s been in existence, as a reminder of the town’s heritage. One that certain people need—especially this year.”

  Wyatt broke in. “Now, Max, don’t get on a rant. The girl wants to know about the Fourth.”

  Max frowned across the table, then glanced at Bree. “We drive them to the rodeo grounds to be used in the pro events.”

  Bree perked up. “Pro Rodeo?” At the brothers’ nods, she continued. “Why not take Fire Ant and let him decimate the ranks of local bull riders?”

  Max said, “I already took the liberty of signing him up. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Mind? Think of the publicity!” She cocked her head. “I don’t suppose they’d allow us to enter some of our cows?” She laughed at Max’s horrified expression. “I’m just kidding.” She patted his hand. “Your secret is safe with us, big guy.”

  The cell phone in Bree’s shirt pocket vibrated, and she jumped. It was early for her mother’s daily call. She pulled the phone out. The number on the display wasn’t familiar. Flipping it open, she stuck her finger in her other ear. “Hello?”

  “This is Estella Estavez, with the IRS. Is this Aubrey Tanner?”

  Break over, her muscles snapped to attention. The familiar buzz of adrenaline shot beneath her skin as her heart stuttered and then steadied into a gallop.

  “It is.” It came out squeaky as a stepped-on mouse.

  “I have your application for a Corporate Federal Employer ID number here, but there seems to be an irregularity. We’ve run a routine criminal history, and I’m picking up a Federal charge under the other name you listed—Madison—but no further information.”

  Bree cut her eyes to the table, relieved to find Max and Wyatt still engrossed in conversation. “Could you hold just a moment? I can hardly hear you.” She stood on shaky legs and strode quickly to the door. Thankfully,
the porch was deserted. “I can explain everything.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  The pool balls clacked and scattered as Max broke. He rubbed chalk on the tip of his cue and waited for the balls to stop rolling. Wyatt stood across from him, leaning on his stick. After dinner, they’d pulled the dust sheet off the pool table in the corner of the great room.

  Wyatt’s golden hair gleamed at the edge of the pool of light. “I’ll bet this table hasn’t been touched since you and I last played.”

  Max lined up his first shot. “Not much, that’s for sure.” He snapped it off, wide of his intended target. “Evidenced by my ability, or lack thereof.”

  He straightened, watching as Wyatt circled the table, moving like a cat stalking a sparrow. The bar-style light above spotlighted emerald felt and cast the rest of the room in shadow.

  How many hours had they spent around this table as kids? Years melted away, as he compared the man in front of him to the boy he remembered. Same gold hair and soft features, but somehow so different. Max took a pull from the longneck on the edge of the table.

  Wyatt’s shot was better. The red three-ball snicked into the pocket, and he ambled to the other end of the table. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, Max.” He sighted down the cue to his next target, the five ball. “Since it looks like I’m going to be here awhile,” His elbow jerked and the five was history.

  “Yeah?”

  Wyatt surveyed the table, eyes darting from one angle to the next, bouncing the cue in his hands. “I’m thinking about inviting Juan out for a week.”

  Shit. The beers Max had drunk soured in his gut. He and Wyatt had fallen into the habits of the past over the last couple of weeks, rediscovering the closeness they’d shared as kids. I should have seen this coming. In all fairness, half the ranch belonged to Wyatt. His home, if he wanted it to be.

  Max glanced at the pool table, avoiding Wyatt’s eye. Wyatt and his boyfriend under this roof? In the same bedroom? He scrubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. Damn it, why can’t he just leave that crap in Boston?