The White Cowboy - Complete BWWM Romance Box Set

by Susan Westwood

  This sauce was going to be the best one he ever made.

  ***

  "Three days?" Gemma stared at the man in disbelief.

  He stood wiping his hands on a rag. She stood, wringing her hands. Would she still get to California on time? Would the agent understand if she were late?

  "Yes, ma'am. It'll take that long to get the part you need."

  Maybe she should have gone to the dealer.

  "What if I have it towed to the dealer?"

  "That dealer is the one I'm ordering it from. Doesn't have it in stock."

  Marco had turned out to be the only mechanic working. He owned and operated the place, and he'd patiently explained what was wrong with her car.

  Not that she understood a word he said. Still, she was pretty sure that he wasn't cheating her.

  She rubbed her forehead where a headache was beginning. "So I can't take this car for three days."

  "Yep, and that's only if I get to call this into the parts department before they close."

  She slumped on the chair in the waiting room. "Okay, order it. Thanks. So there isn't a hotel in town?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "And there's no bus to take me to the closes hotel?"

  This was what it was like having no options. Her father had always made sure she had more than one in life.

  "No ma'am."

  "Holy crap. What am I going to do?"

  The mechanic shrugged, then dialed the phone on the desk. Gemma went outside to get some air. Chilly air, but she hoped she'd be able to think better out there.

  A shiver went through her as she paced in front of the garage. A truck went by then stopped. Brandon's truck. He backed up, then pulled in front of one of the bays. "Car getting fixed?"

  "Not for three days."

  She stomped her foot to bring back some circulation. She'd shoved her hands in her pockets.

  Brandon frowned. "Then I guess you better come back to the house."

  "I don't feel I should impose on you," she said.

  "I can't leave you here. You have no place to sleep," he said. "I wasn't raised that way."

  She looked at the ground. Finding no answers there, she looked back at him. "Okay. I'll get my suitcase."

  ***

  The last thing Brandon wanted was a house guest No surprise, but he was raised to protect women, and this one needed a roof over her head.

  Maybe he'd get all his barn work done, and then he wouldn't have to spend so much time with her.

  He sighed as she climbed into his truck. She'd brought a suitcase and a guitar case with her. "I really owe you one, Brandon."

  He shrugged. "Just pay it forward. I don't need anything."

  The sun was beginning to set. The day was ending, and it wasn't any better than it had started. Here was his house guest coming back to his house.

  "Let me know what I can do to help. I'm not sitting on my butt for three days. I'll pull my own weight."

  "I guess I can figure out something for you to do."

  As soon as the words were out, he wanted to take them back. They sounded dirty. That wasn't what he'd meant. She smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking.

  He cleared his throat. "I, uh, have some projects that I've been meaning to get to, is what I meant."

  "Sure, whatever."

  He held his breath. Was she going to bring up their obvious attraction to each other?

  "Hey, look at that."

  She pointed to the sign in front of The Watering Hole, a bar that Brandon drank at once in awhile.

  "What?"

  "Open mike night," she said. "Tomorrow night. I could do that and be out of your hair for a time."

  He wanted her out of his hair and in his hair all at the same time. How confusing. He swallowed. "You can borrow the truck to get there."

  "Well, that'll take care of a few hours," she said.

  "Good."

  *

  Gemma looked forward to singing and playing. She hadn't had a gig in a week or so, and her fingers itched to get on her guitar.

  When they arrived back at Brandon's house, he went into the kitchen, and she settled on the couch with her guitar. She could hear him chopping and stirring.

  She chose a song that was a little country, and played it quietly. Her voice stayed soft, but at one point she realized Brandon was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her.

  She smiled at him when she finished the song.

  "You're really good."

  "Thanks. Something smells good," she said.

  "I'm working on a quick tomato sauce that you can make while the pasta is cooking."

  "Is this for your cookbook?"

  "Yes."

  Putting her guitar back in its case, she closed the lid. "May I watch?"

  He seemed to mull that over for a moment, then nodded. He returned to the kitchen. She slid onto a stool.

  He had jeans on, and his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. Strong hands held a wooden spoon. He had a notepad next to the stove. She couldn't read his writing, but figured it was the recipe.

  "I'll do dishes," she said.

  "Uh, no, that's fine."

  "I'm pulling my weight."

  She slid past him to get to the sink, and almost froze when they touched. There was that tingle again.

  She looked at him, but he didn't make eye contact. He held himself rigid, as if he couldn't touch her again.

  Opting not to speak yet, she filled the sink with soapy water, then washed the knives and boards he used. She knew they'd have to face their attraction at some point.

  Three days would be a long time to dance around each other.

  ***

  Brandon's breath caught in his throat as she brushed past him. That tingle again as they came into contact with each other.

  Then she was at the sink as if nothing had happened. She stood on stocking-feet, washing and putting things in the rack. Just like anyone would do.

  She'd glanced at him, so he knew she felt it, too. He let out his breath, then went back to stirring his quick pasta sauce. He put the pasta in the boiling water, then put the lid back on.

  "Dish towel?"

  "Under the sink."

  She proceeded to dry everything, but left it all on the counter for him to put away. He would later. He couldn't risk touching her again.

  He thought he might explode if they made more than casual contact.

  How was he going to get around the next three days? He'd have a permanent hard-on for sure. His dick hadn't wanted someone so badly in, well, ever. He wouldn't be able to walk, and his pants would be tight.

  The next three days would be the hardest (no pun intended) he'd ever been through.

  Finally, Gemma returned to her seat by the counter. He could breathe again. He tasted his sauce.

  "Can I taste?"

  That would require her to come over there. Close to him. But he couldn't think of a plausible reason for her not to. "Okay."

  He found a spoon, handed it to her, then stepped back. He watched the spoon go in her mouth, then out again. Kind of what he wanted to do to her.

  She licked her lips, then her eyes closed.

  Damn.

  "That's really good."

  Her eyes lit up as she smiled. Her words warmed him.

  "Thanks."

  She took a step toward him. He took a step back. "We're going to have to talk about this thing between us."

  And there it was. That straightforwardness he'd hoped she would keep in check. "Why?"

  "Because I'll be here for three days. Three nights."

  Her voice became husky. Was she seducing him? He coughed. He had to agree the nights would be long.

  She put a hand on his chest.

  The pasta water chose that moment to boil over. He lunged past her to the pot, turning down the burner.

  "You escaped this time, but we really need to deal with this."

  ***

  Saved by the boiling water from doing something so st
upid.

  Like kissing him or shoving her hands under that soft plaid shirt to feel the hard muscles Gemma knew were underneath. Her fingers twitched at the idea of touching his bare skin.

  They would tingle or hum, but she wouldn't have stopped touching and exploring. She escaped to the safety of the stool on the other side of the island.

  She caught her breath as he dealt with the overflowing pot. He didn't turn back to her when he had the situation under control.

  Maybe that was better. She was hungry and would deal better with the situation on a full stomach.

  "Wine?" he said finally.

  Would alcohol make it worse or better? "Sure."

  He pulled a bottle out of wine rack under the counter. She'd hadn't noticed it. In a minute, she had a glass full of red wine. She took a sip.

  "What is it?"

  "A Malbec. I like it with tomato sauce."

  "It's nice. Fruity and a lot of depth."

  "You a wine connoisseur?"

  "I know what I like. One of the restaurants my family owns has an extensive wine list. When I worked there, I had to learn it."

  "You worked there?"

  "I had to work in every place we owned. My parents made me earn my keep," she said. "Did you think I was a princess?"

  "I hadn't thought that deeply, but you do have a brand new car."

  "I do, and yes, my Dad paid for it. I have to pay him back."

  Brandon nodded. He plated the pasta and put one in front of Gemma. Good, because she was starved.

  ***

  Brandon liked that Gemma enjoyed his food. She didn't pick at her plate, but dug in as if she always ate heartily. Jessica had been too skinny and too particular about what she ate.

  He wondered if someone in Hollywood would tell Gemma she had to lose weight. She wasn't fat. She had enough for a man to hold onto. He thought her losing weight would be sad.

  Then he thought of her naked. He took a swig of wine to moisten his parched throat. He had to stop thinking of her that way.

  "So you have a good work ethic," he said.

  "I do."

  The conversation faltered there, and he searched his brain for another topic. Oh, wait. Music. "How long have you been playing the guitar?"

  "As long as I can remember. You play an instrument?"

  He laughed. "No. Not musical at all."

  "You don't even sing in the shower?"

  "No, I don't."

  "Wow. My life revolves around music. I can't imagine not singing in the shower. Or everywhere."

  Now he was thinking about her in the shower. Could he get her to make other noises besides singing? He took another swig of wine. He had to get his mind out of the gutter.

  "I didn't grow up in a house with music, I guess," he said.

  She twirled the pasta onto her fork. He couldn't help but watch her fingers and think of them around him. Touching him. Caressing him.

  "Shame. Would it be okay if I played after dinner?"

  "Be my guest."

  A silence fell between them. Not tension-filled, but one that long-time friends could endure. She put her plate in the sink, then filled it up with soapy water.

  He watched her efficient movements. She took his plate, and dumped it into the sink. She gathered all of the items to be washed before she started anything.

  Then she was done. He was still sipping his wine. Smiling at him, she dried her hands on a towel. "Thanks."

  "For what?"

  "For dinner and taking me back in. I'm sure you enjoy your solitude."

  He nodded. "I couldn't leave you stranded. Not my nature."

  Her turn to nod. She stood as if she didn't want to leave his presence. Then she frowned. "I'll get back to my guitar."

  ***

  Gemma sat by the newly-built fire, guitar on her lap. The dog curled up on the rug in front of the warmth. Brandon still had his wine glass as he sat on another chair.

  A homey tableau, but not really her home. She strummed lightly, then sang some songs she thought Brandon might know.

  He settled his head on the back of his chair, his eyes closed. Was she lulling him to sleep?

  After about a half hour, she'd had her fix, and put away her guitar.

  "That was great, thanks," he said.

  His eyes hung half-mast. He had his legs out in front of him, with stocking-feet crossed at the ankles. He'd already finished his wine and put the glass on the floor.

  "You're welcome."

  She rocked in the chair, looking at the fire. They still hadn't dealt with their attraction. It niggled at her brain as unfinished business. "I have a proposition for you."

  He sat up straighter. "Oh?"

  She bit her lip, then decided to go big. "We are clearly attracted to each other. We could spend the next three days avoiding each other."

  "Or?"

  "We could embrace the passion. Let's have three days we both can enjoy, then move on with our lives."

  He visibly gulped. "You mean, no strings attached?"

  She cocked her head, but she remained smiling. "Yes, sex with no promises."

  He blinked a few times. She wasn't sure what his hesitation was. What guy wouldn't want sex with not attachments? When her car was fixed, she would go on her merry way. He'd go back to his life. She'd go on with hers.

  "Uh..."

  "What's holding you back?"

  "I've never been offered something like this. I'm weighing the pros and cons."

  She laughed. "Really? I've just offered you sex with no long-term contract. You have to think about that?"

  He rubbed a hand down his face. "No, I guess I really don't."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Before she could change her mind, Brandon was next to her chair, pulling her out of it, and kissing her like a starving man.

  Her lips softened under his onslaught, so he lightened the kiss. But she must have gotten the idea, because she slid her hands under his shirt. Only because he had to take a breath did he release her lips.

  Her dark eyes were even darker. He hoped it was from passion.

  "Wow," she said softly.

  He leaned down and kissed her neck, taking in the scent of peaches. His hands dove into her hair. She unbuttoned his shirt, and his hand found her breast and cupped it over her top.

  "Bedroom," he gasped out.

  With a strength he didn't know he possessed, he picked her up, striding to his bedroom. When he got there, he placed her on the edge of the bed.

  Her lips were swollen from his kiss, her eyes molten. She licked her lips, then reached out to finish her unbuttoning job. She only stopped when he tugged off her shirt.

  His gaze took in her body. Her breasts peeked over a purple bra, and he just wanted to memorize the sight of her. He'd keep that memory for cold winter nights.

  She reached behind, then flipped off her bra He had no idea where it landed. Then he took those amazing mounds in his hands, first flicking one nipple lightly, then the other.

  He heard her gasp as she ripped off his shirt. Her hands moved up and down his chest. He had to get his pants off before his dick broke his zipper.

  As if she read his mind, she removed his pants and underwear. With a soft hand, she held him.

  "If you move a millimeter, I might explode," he said.

  She smiled. Letting go, she slid off her pants and panties. Nothing stood between them. Once again, he memorized every curve of her body. Then he gently pushed her back onto the bed.

  He ran his finger down her middle, then stopped just above her pubis. She kept her hair trimmed and neat, and he could see that her lips glistened.

  He let his finger slid down and then into her, his thumb on her clitoris. She lifted her hips.

  She was wet, and so ready for him.

  ***

  Gemma's eyes fell closed. She wanted to watch this gorgeous man and his gorgeous body, but he was doing things to her that she just had to enjoy.

  She spread her legs wider so he'd get a better angle. H
e gently pumped his finger in and out. Then she was gone. The tension in her exploded like a thousand lights behind her eyelids.

  With a groan, she came, her toes curling, her fingers grasping the bedspread. Her breath came out in pants. She'd never had an orgasm that strong. Such a release of over a day of tension between them.

  Now they could get down to business.

  When she finally opened her eyes, Brandon stood grinning at her. She scooted further onto the bed. "Here. Now."

  He climbed on top of her, sliding his hard body up hers. With hands planted on either side of her head, he kissed her again. Soft, sweet, but demanding. She returned his passion, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth.

  He pushed himself up. "Now?"

  "Now," she demanded. She might explode if he didn't enter her now.

  Could he see what he was doing to her?

  So he complied, sliding his length into her slowly. He must be trying to torture her. She'd give him what he wanted. If he needed state secrets, she'd talk. Her grandmother's recipe for cannolis, done. Whatever he wanted, just so that he would let her take him completely.

  She grabbed his hips, then pulled him. She heard a soft chuckle in her ear.

  He didn't move for a moment, then he began to move in and out. In and out. She wrapped her legs around him. Her fingers dug into his back.

  Slowly at first, he moved on top of her. Then faster and faster. Until she arched her back and came once again. With a grunt, he followed her over the edge.

  ***

  Gemma lay curled in his arms. Brandon couldn't have moved if the bed had been on fire. They'd crawled under the covers and hadn't budged since then.

  He stroked her hair, content as a cat that had a saucer of milk. He'd never felt so satisfied in his life.

  "Brandon?"

  Oh no. This wasn't going to be the mistake speech, was it? He braced himself. But she wasn't moving away from him. He didn't think she was in a hurry to leave anymore.

  "I'm glad we did that."

  He couldn't help smiling. "So am I. Good suggestion."

  She snuggled closer, then chuckled. "You would have taken too long to get there if I hadn't said something."

  He couldn't argue with her. He'd been raised a gentlemen, and gentlemen didn't suggest to stranger that they have sex with no strings. "Well, I wouldn't have known how to broach the subject."

  "Probably not, and for all you know, I might have run screaming from your house."