Frowning down at the water, he wondered if he'd make it out alive from all from this encounter. The day after tomorrow, she'd be gone.
Which did he want more? For her to stay, or for her to go?
Could he really go back to his solitary existence?
He looked down to talk to his dog, but he wasn't there. Probably still at Gemma's feet. He laughed. He knew what Spike would vote for.
With the dishes done, he had nothing else to do in the kitchen, so he went into the living room. Gemma had returned to typing up his recipes.
"I can find someone to make these recipes for you,” she said. “Someone you can trust."
He wasn't sold on that idea, or on what he was going to do with the recipes once they were typed up. Trying to find a publisher was a big risk, and self-publishing held as many risks.
Plus, not being tech savvy, he wasn't sure he could publish them himself.
He was out of his depths in more ways than one. He settled on the rocker. "We'll see."
"No, you really need someone else to make them. They can give feedback on wording," she said.
He shrugged. "We'll see."
"You are frustrating. These recipes are so good."
He rubbed his chin. Her eyes lit up when she spoke, showing her passion. He wondered if he could have that same passion for this. Jessica had taken it away. Would Gemma give it back to him? "I'll think about it. Okay?"
"Please do."
"In the meantime, don't mention it to anyone."
She looked around. "I think your dog already knows, and he isn't telling anyone."
"In case your family calls."
"Fine."
As he left the room, he wasn't completely convinced that she would comply.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gemma finished one last recipe, then hobbled to the bathroom to do her hair and makeup. She'd never tried it while balancing on crutches, but she had no choice.
A performer needed to look good, or at least look the part, and her current wardrobe would impress no one but those who worked from home. She'd brought jeans and a nicer shirt into the bathroom, but she wasn't sure how she would get the pants on.
She'd been wearing sweatpants today.
"Damn."
Frowning at herself in the mirror, she decided to save that for last.
She applied her foundation, then lipstick and smoky eyeliner. She'd transformed herself from a girl you'd meet in the grocery store to a girl whose autograph you'd scream for. She hoped it wasn't all too much for the small town.
"Brandon?" she said through the open bathroom door.
He'd been puttering in the kitchen. He came around the corner, and his face with its wide-open mouth said it all. "Yeah?"
"Is this too much make-up?"
He flinched. "I'm going to go with yes."
She bit her lip. "I went overboard."
"A little, sorry."
"No, I'm glad you’re honest. I'm going to wash my face and start again. Can I get your help in a few minutes?"
"With what?"
"Getting my pants on."
He blinked. "Okay."
She washed her face, then began again with a lighter hand. When she finished, she called him back again. "I know you know how to take my pants off, but can you help me get them back on?"
***
Brandon didn't know what to say first. She stood with her doe eyes pleading with him, but her statement had been so sexually charged.
Should he respond or just help her?
"This might be easier in my bedroom."
Really? He probably should have thought that through. That didn't make the situation any better. She smiled at him. Probably enjoying his discomfort.
Damn. "Grab your pants," he said before scooping her up.
He strode into the bedroom as if he brought women into his bedroom to put their pants on every day. His own pants became tight. Down, boy. We're dressing not undressing.
He put her on the bed as gently as he could. Her purple lacy underwear barely covered her. Thankfully, she had her top still on.
"Shall we try the hurt leg first?"
"Whatever you want," she said, her voice low and husky. She cleared her throat, and her ears went red.
He froze. She was feeling it as well. She leaned back on her elbows, giving him better access to her legs. He knelt and took the pants in his hands.
He'd never put pants on a woman. He never put pants on anyone but himself. "Uh."
"Put them on one leg then the other, but only part way up. Then I'll stand and we can get them up the rest of the way."
He looked up at her. "You've done this before?"
"On someone much smaller than I am. I have nieces and nephews."
He bunched up the pants leg, then slid it over her wrapped foot.
"Ouch."
He stopped. "Sorry."
She reached down for her pants, but he shooed away her hands.
"Here. Get them on the leg."
"I'm trying," he said.
"Don't bunch them up."
She touched his hand, and his arm tingled. Was she feeling this too? He did his best not to jolt away from her. He let go of his handful of the pants leg. Then he slid just the top of the pants over her foot.
She hooked her fingers into the belt loops and slid them up further. "Now the other leg."
He did as she directed. She was able to pull the pants on her legs above her knees.
"Now help me up," she said.
She planted her good foot on the ground as he shifted her onto it. He held onto her, enjoying her closeness. Her scent filled his nostrils, and he wanted to push her back on the bed and yank off the pants they’d so carefully just put on.
***
When Gemma looked up at Brandon, his eyes had darkened. She knew exactly what he was thinking.
She was thinking the same thing. Hopefully feeling the same things as he was. She wanted him. Simple and so complicated at the same time.
"Let's reverse this project," she said, her voice husky to her own ears. She heard her own desperation.
He cleared his throat. "Do we have time?"
"If we're quick."
"Then we have time, but not to do it right."
She tugged at his shirt. She'd live with quick and dirty just to have him inside of her. "Let's do it anyway."
He smiled then pulled her pants back down her legs. "You are so sexy."
"You aren't too bad yourself, cowboy."
He shifted her back on the bed, then crawled on top. She tugged at his shirt buttons; they gave way under her fingers, and then she had unfettered access to his chest. Muscles from real work were so sexy.
She couldn't stop touching him. She loved the hard planes and soft hair on his chest. She'd miss this when she was gone.
He nibbled his way down her neck, his other hand deep into her hair, as if he were afraid she'd move.
"Gemma."
His voice held the same desperation hers had. It turned on her on even more that he wanted her this badly. Her. Not anyone else.
This hot sexy cowboy who could be on the front of magazines, wanted her. Gemma from New Jersey.
"Brandon."
"I love my name on your lips," he murmured into her ear.
"I love your hands on me," she said.
He'd moved one to play with her nipple through her shirt.
He unbuttoned her blouse and removed her bra.
***
Brandon couldn't help but take in the sight of her. Naked, ready and willing. On his bed.
With nothing but his clothes holding them back, he removed them. Then he slid his body back onto her. She was so soft.
"Ouch."
"Oh, crap. I hurt your foot."
She grabbed him. "Don't stop. Don't you dare."
He studied her eyes, now half-lidded, he hoped from passion. He didn't want to stop, but he would rather stop than hurt her. "But your foot."
"We'll figure it out," she said.
She wrapped her good leg around him. His erection nudged at her, and she took it in her hand. "I know the place for this."
He entered her warm, wet canal, and wanted to die right there. Each time he made love to her it got better and better. How could that be?
His eyes fell closed as he began to stroke in and out. They didn't have much time, but he didn't want her to regret this decision.
Again as he did everything in his power to make her cum.
Then he felt it. "Give it up for me Gemma."
Her leg tightened around him, her head flung back, white teeth clenched. She let it go. Then he could.
In and out, faster, as if he wouldn't ever make love again. And then he was over the edge. Falling and flying and wanting it to never end.
With a last thrust, he was done, and leaned on one elbow to smile at her.
She stroked his face. "Now that was worth it."
***
Gemma loved being this close to him. Especially after they'd made love. He held her gently as she balanced on her good foot, sliding the tight pants up her legs. When she managed to pull them all the way up, she said. "Let me sit now."
He guided her with strong hands back to his bed. She wouldn't ask him to zipper her pants. He might explode, she thought. She might explode. Even though they'd just finished making love, she still wanted more. Wanting him again seemed to be her constant state.
Distance could cure that.
Instead she lay back on the bed as if she were zipping a too small pair of pants. With her zipper up, she sat back up. "Do I look okay?"
"You look great."
He was staring, so he must mean it. "Can you get me my crutches?"
"How much time do we have?"
"Twenty or so minutes."
He came back with her crutches, then he backed out of his bedroom Figuring he didn't trust himself with her current position, she smiled.
"I'll shave and freshen up. And put a clean shirt on."
"Sounds like a plan."
She didn't move until he closed the bathroom door. She heard water running, then she let out the breath she'd been holding. It had taken all of her self-control not to beg him to take off her pants. And make love to her. Again.
"What am I thinking?" she said as she made her way out to the living room.
Settling on the couch, she tuned her guitar. Satisfied she was ready to go, and with a playlist ready in her mind, she tapped her hand on her thigh, waiting for Brandon to finish.
He finally emerged from the hallway with a blue snap shirt that brought out his eyes even more. He'd changed his work jeans to black ones. He looked very polished compared to his everyday attire.
She smiled. "You look great."
He shrugged as if that weren't important, but to her it was. He was making an effort for her, and that made him even sexier in her book. She didn't like the polished metro-sexual guys or the gold-chained wannabe rappers that she encountered in New Jersey.
She liked a guy who was comfortable enough to wear something simple. Brandon clearly did, and he rocked it.
***
Brandon hadn't worn the shirt since his rodeo days. It was probably the nicest one he owned. He didn't have a suit or a tux; he had never needed one.
But he wanted to look nice to go out tonight. He figured it would be important to Gemma.
"Are you ready?" he said.
She stared at him, as if admiring what he looked like.
"Yes, I am. Can you carry my guitar? Then I can get myself at least to the truck." He brought her coat to her and helped her on with it. "Thanks."
"Give me a moment to warm up the truck," he said.
Outside, the cold, biting wind made him cringe. He liked winter, but sometimes it was too harsh even for him.
He started the truck, then went back for her guitar. He placed in the foot well of her side of the truck. By the time he got back to her, the truck was warm.
Well, as warm as it would be. It would heat up on their ride.
Gemma hobbled to the truck, then handed him the crutches as she hung onto the door.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," she said.
He lifted her into the truck, then shut the door.
Sliding into the vehicle he gave her a quick smile. Then he drove towards the bar where he was going to spend the evening. He hoped for a pool table, but it had been in need of repair last time he'd been in the bar.
"Do you go to his place often?"
"I haven't been in a year or so," he said. "I don't frequent bars often."
"Is it the only one in town?"
"Yes. There was another one, but the owner retired and moved to Florida."
She tugged her coat tighter. "I can understand. This is brutally cold tonight."
"You warm enough?"
"I am now, but that wind cut right through me getting to the truck."
"Yep, Iowa winters are not for the faint of heart."
CHAPTER NINE
Gemma decided she could survive an Iowa winter if she had a cowboy to keep her warm. She wanted to laugh at the thought, since in a little more than twenty-four hours she'd be on her way to sunny California.
"What are you smiling at?" Brandon asked.
Whoops. "Oh, nothing. I do appreciate you driving me here. I'm going a little stir crazy, and it has been a while since I've performed."
"Are you nervous?"
She thought about that. "No. I don't get nervous in front of people."
"You couldn't pay me to get up in front of people. Well, at least not to sing. I never really noticed the crowds in my rodeo days."
"Not surprised."
"Why?"
She searched for the right words. "Because you've made your life around being alone."
"Until someone knocked on my door."
She laughed. "Until someone knocked on your door during a blizzard. You'll get back to your life when I'm gone."
He didn't make a comment to that. Instead he said, "Do you know what you're singing tonight?"
"I have a loose playlist in my head. I think I only get two songs unless the crowd asks for more. That's how this works."
"I've never been to one of their open mike nights. I don't know."
"Well if it is the only bar in town, it should be packed."
"Packed is a relative term."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, packed for New Jersey will be different than packed in this part of Iowa. The towns are spread out and not as populated."
"People will come, won't they?"
"Of course. We don't let winter keep us in. Unless there's a storm. Then we hunker down. What's a storm like in New Jersey?"
"People who can't drive in snow refusing to hunker down and emptying the grocery stores of bread, milk and eggs."
"Does everyone make French toast?"
She laughed. "It would seem that way."
***
Brandon thought that New Jersey would be too crowded for him. His rodeo circuit hadn't brought him to the Garden State at all. He'd been to Pennsylvania, but no further east.
Her description of people's reaction to a snowstorm made him chuckle. Iowans were more practical.
He pulled the truck into the parking lot of the bar. "I'll let you off at the door, then bring in your guitar."
"Thanks."
He stopped the truck in front of what looked like a bar from the old West. He came around, slid her out, then set her on her one good foot. She held onto the truck for balance, then he handed her her crutches.
"Now get inside. Find a seat. I'll catch up."
He parked the truck not too far away. Locking it, he pocketed the keys. The wind whistled as he crossed the parking lot. Many stars shone in the sky.
Music spilled from the bar when he opened the door. Someone was playing banjo on the stage, which sat on the far wall from the door. Off to the left was a pool table with two people playing a game.
To his right was the bar, with only four
people at it. The bar ran half the length of that side of the building. A few small tables were scattered in front of the stage and each was filled with at least two people. Some had three. One had Gemma sitting by herself.
He sat down next to her. "You want a drink?" he said into her ear.
"Just some water. To keep my throat wet."
"I'll be back."
The banjo player finished up to meager applause. He left the stage.
"Hey Brandon."
He turned to find he was smack dab against Helen, one of the waitresses. Her gravity-defying breasts, uplifted by what could only be the largest bra he'd ever seen, were almost in his face.
"Hello Helen."
"What brings you out?"
"Well, I have a houseguest because of the storm, and she wanted to come perform."
Helen looked over her shoulder. "That young thing? This crowd may eat her alive."
"Why?"
"For the obvious reason."
"Is that really a reason anymore?" he said.
She patted his chest. "I don't care what color anyone is, but we have a few Neanderthals in here tonight."
"Hm."
Maybe he should warn Gemma that there might be heckling.
Helen batted her eyelashes at him. "Something going on? Is Brandon dipping his wick into that well?"
"That would be none of your business."
Helen always flirted with him, but he'd never taken her seriously. A relationship with her would be more drama than he cared for. She had three sons with three different fathers. He wasn't looking to be daddy number four.
"Suit yourself, sugar."
Brandon reached the bar and ordered a beer for himself and water for Gemma. He returned to the table just as it was her turn.
***
"All the way from the Garden State, we have Gemma Watson to serenade us on her guitar."
Gemma was already settled onto her stool on the stage. Brandon had found another one to put her drink on so she could reach it.
"Hello," she said smiling at the audience.
The crowd murmured a little, but quieted down when she strummed her guitar.
She'd decided at the last minute to pick a more country tune to play. The bar was definitely in the country, and each patron had a cowboy hat.
By the end of the song, the crowd was clapping along with her. That was great. She was allowed one more song so she chose something almost as country as the first one.
The White Cowboy - Complete BWWM Romance Box Set Page 11
