“Jesus. No.” Gunner pulled her closer. “No. It’s nothing like that,” he said, stroking her cheek, her hair.
She didn’t struggle or push him away. Far worse, she sat with her back rigid and her arms limp at her sides, her gaze averted.
Hell, touching her might be adding fuel to the fire, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“That night at the Renegade—” He remembered how skittish she’d been at first, but maybe that wasn’t the best thing to point out. “You were upset about the lease expiring. I came on strong. I’m sure the last thing you expected was for me to hit on you. Everybody else had left. We were both a little drunk. Maybe you felt like you couldn’t tell me to get lost...”
She looked sharply at him. “Shut up, Gunner. That’s so stupid. You know better.”
One thing was for sure, he’d rather see her pissed off than vulnerable. Pissed off he could deal with. “Look, this is how I saw it. We had sex,” he said, and she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “And it was goddamn awesome. For me.” He raised his hands, palms out, when she looked at him again. “I’m speaking for myself here.” He paused, saw she wasn’t in a forgiving mood yet, but hey, she was listening.
“The timing sucked, me leaving for Argentina. When I called after I landed, the connection was bad, but you sounded okay. A few more calls, each time you tell me you can’t talk. Then, you stop answering altogether. And don’t return my calls. I was worried because you were in a funk about the lease expiring. I called Mac. He was working in Asia and didn’t know anything.”
She stared down at her clasped hands.
Gunner welcomed the silence. He needed a breather since he hadn’t planned for all that to come out. And there was something else...something that shocked the hell out of him.
Under all the anger, under all the frustration, all the worry that something had happened to her, he finally realized he’d been hurt. Because she’d left like that. Had just taken off without so much as sending a text. As if he meant nothing to her.
He shifted his gaze to the window, trying to shake the raw emotion making him edgy. Trying to forget the feeling of utter powerlessness he’d experienced and had stuffed down deep every time he’d made a call or checked for messages. He’d never felt like that before and it sucked.
Aware she was watching him, he shrugged, pretended something outside had caught his interest before he continued.
“Then last night, it was great. I thought you were into it,” he said, cutting to the chase. “This morning you’re acting weird again. If I call later, are you gonna answer your phone?”
Sighing, Mallory laid her hand on his arm. “Only two,” she said quietly. “A guy I knew in high school...it was one time the night I graduated. And then Brandon...” She kept her gaze lowered. “On and off for about a year. It was just fast, easy sex.”
“Brandon?” He knew that name, but hoped he was wrong. “Not the kid who used to deliver your booze.”
She looked up. “He’s not a kid. Brandon’s my age.”
“The dumb-ass with the hula girl tattoo on his arm?”
“He got it when he was eighteen and drunk.”
“Come on.” Gunner hated that he was actually jealous. Was it because Brandon was a good-looking guy, or because Gunner could put a face to the name? “What kind of idiot goes through the pain of getting inked for a hula girl?”
Mallory studied him with a slight frown, then looked as if she’d just had one of her irritating aha moments and laughed. “I can’t believe it.”
“What?”
“All those videos I’ve seen of you doing incredibly dangerous stunts, which almost made me pee my pants twice by the way, and you’re too chicken to get a tattoo. Afraid it’s gonna hurt?”
She tried to ruffle his hair but he ducked.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. I figured it out.”
“I just don’t like ’em.” He thought about the small heart on her hip that he’d traced with his tongue. Obviously there were exceptions. “Guess I’m still a cowboy at heart.”
Mallory’s mocking grin faded and she gave him the oddest look.
“You won’t see too many guys around here sporting ink,” he said. “I can promise you that.”
She tilted her head to the side, studying him. “You don’t mention Texas much.”
“No,” he agreed. “Why are you bringing it up?”
“I never knew you considered yourself a cowboy.”
“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, remembering the night he’d told her about growing up on a ranch in Texas. Though the run-down house and sagging barn hadn’t been much. Folks around here would laugh at the place. “You know I like working with horses. Ben and I used to hang out with the wranglers on the set. That’s why Rusty and Kirk started coming to the Renegade.”
“And now Ben is here running his own ranch.”
“Yeah,” he said. “How about that.”
“I hope he doesn’t start missing the action,” she murmured, looking skeptical.
Gunner picked up his mug and stared into the cold coffee. He’d had a similar thought so why did her cynicism bother him? “Brandon,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Mallory groaned and shoved his arm. “God. I’m sorry I said anything. I haven’t seen him in ages, but I shouldn’t have mentioned his name. Anyway, how was I supposed to meet guys? Tell me that. I spent most of my life at that stupid bar. And sometimes I just plain ole got tired of my vibrator.”
Gunner choked out a laugh. “But Brandon?”
“Oh, grow up.” She sprang to her feet but he caught her hand. “You can’t ever say his name again. Do you understand? I’m not screwing around.”
She continued to glare at him, even as he pulled her onto his lap. But she didn’t say a word when he slid his hand up her silky thigh. She just watched his face, and then bit back a smile when he discovered she was wearing panties.
No sweat. He bypassed them and slipped his hand higher under her T-shirt.
11
MALLORY GASPED. “YOU’RE NOT supposed to kiss me, remember?”
“Ah, that’s right,” Gunner said, palming her bare breast. Her nipple was already tight and swollen, and the sound of her sexy little whimper went straight to his cock. “I haven’t kissed you yet.”
“I think this falls in the—the same category,” she murmured, her lids drooping.
“You want me to stop?”
“Just try it, buddy.”
Gunner laughed. Although he was going to have to adjust his jeans. And soon.
The large T-shirt slipping off her shoulder needed only a slight tug down to expose her breast. Her eyes flew open and she watched him circle his tongue around the tight bud, sweeping close but never touching it.
He felt her shiver, heard her breath catch. She arched, trying to get him to take her nipple into his mouth. But he continued to tease her, laving the skin around it, pressing soft kisses between her breasts...
Until she started to squirm.
His jeans were too snug for that. Shifting her a few inches to the left did nothing to ease the pressure.
“Hey,” he said, lifting his head. “Stop it.”
She stared at him with unfocused eyes. “Stop what?”
Gunner smiled at the frustration creeping into her face. The memory of her wounded look earlier tried to intrude. He shook it off. How could she possibly have thought she’d disappointed him?
He brushed a kiss across her lips. “You have to stop moving so much.”
The fog was clearing. Her gaze sharpened, and with a slow, devious smile, she moved her hips. “Make me.”
His laughter ended in a groan. He caught her waist and lifted her off his protesting cock.
“Oh. Sorry,” she said, her eyes sincere. Her voice not so much. “But if you’d been doing your job this wouldn’t have happened.” She slid off his lap before he could stop her, and sat next to him.
“My job?”
“You were teasing me instead of getting down to business.” She pulled up the neckline of her shirt.
Gunner watched her breast disappear behind the fabric and sighed.
“You’re right,” he said, rallying. “That was wrong of me. My technique needs work.” He almost nabbed the corner of her shirt hem before she scooted back. “Come on now...don’t be like that. I’ll only improve with practice.”
Laughing, she captured his hand, held it down with both of hers. As if he couldn’t get away if he wanted. “First, let’s make sure I didn’t injure you,” she said, nodding at his straining fly, a tiny twitch at her mouth. “I should check.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Then I suggest we find your box of condoms because I don’t have any more.”
“I just want a quick peek.”
“Yeah.” He freed his hand, and inched toward her thigh. “Because that won’t lead to anything.”
Mallory let out a laugh and he made his move, grabbing her arm and tugging up her shirt. But with all her jerking around he couldn’t get it over her head.
“We have to find the condoms...” Still laughing, she barely got out the words.
She kept struggling, flailing her arms and muttering threats every time he copped a feel. He took a nice nip of her butt and she swung around, on the offensive.
Something shattered. Something close by.
She went completely still, except for her widening eyes.
Turning to the table, her shoulders sagged. “Oh, no. Not that one.”
Two of the little figurines had fallen. Pieces of colorful porcelain lay scattered across the table.
She picked up tiny gold chips and larger purple chunks and set them on her open palm. It broke his heart to watch her trying to match the pieces. Putting those figures back together would take a miracle.
He couldn’t see why anyone would want to try. Eyeing the row of survivors, he found it odd she’d collected any of them. They were all kinda ugly, but that didn’t matter. Clearly they meant something to her.
“I’m sorry.” Gunner picked up a gold shard from the floor. “I’ll replace them.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “First off, it wasn’t your fault. Mine, completely. And anyway—” She stared at the remains on her palm. “They can’t really be replaced. It doesn’t matter.” Her shrug was unconvincing. “I shouldn’t have bothered packing them. They’re not even worth anything.”
Gunner put his arms around her. “They make you happy,” he whispered. “They’re worth everything.”
She briefly glanced up at him, then let him pull her close. “Just so you know,” she murmured, burying her face in his chest, “you’re still on shaky ground. Don’t think you can get away with making me cry.”
“Oh, shit. Tell me you’re not gonna start bawling.”
He got the small laugh from her that he’d wanted, and kissed her hair.
It was a shame about the knickknacks. He hated that it made her sad. But being here for her, holding her in his arms, comforting her, it felt so damn right.
Whatever he’d done to chase her off, they’d get past it. He knew they could. For weeks she’d been afraid of keeping her business together, losing sleep over it, wondering if she would ever land on her feet. And the way he’d raced off to make his flight, she had probably felt abandoned, too. It wouldn’t have mattered that she’d known he’d had to go because it was his job and that he was coming back. That he always came back. Emotions were seldom rational.
He needed to remember that himself.
She pulled back, sniffing, and gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m fine. The world hasn’t come to an end,” she said. But she could barely glance at the ugly little whatnots.
What if she was wrong? What if he could find a way to replace them? To surprise her. It always amazed him how much stuff was available online.
Mallory left his arms but he didn’t stop her. He figured she wanted to dab at her eyes and nose.
Giving her a moment of privacy, he crouched for a better look at the row of escapees. “Where exactly did you get these little—” He was almost afraid to touch them. Shit, what if he broke another one? “I’m sorry, Mal, I don’t know what these things are. They look like toy soldiers.”
She crouched next to him and picked up the blue-and-silver figure he’d been squinting at.
“Dale brought this one back from Taiwan,” she said. “And then he gave me this little red-and-white guy two years later.”
“Dale? You don’t mean Dale Thomas.”
Nodding, she picked up two more. “These are from Ray, though I think he found them in Japan.”
Gunner knew the two guys, both stuntmen. Last year Ray had retired and hung out at the Renegade every day bitching about having been forced into it. No one had paid any attention to him. Goddamn, he’d worked well into his forties. How many stuntmen were lucky enough to say that?
Ray had also been Coop’s friend, so Gunner could see him bringing small gifts for Mallory when she was a kid. But Dale wasn’t much older than Gunner. His gifts had to be recent.
Mallory dug into another box. “Oh, and look at this gourd. Someone actually hand-carved these figures. It’s from Peru,” she said, setting it down and admiring the gourd. “Wayne brought it back last fall.”
Gunner nodded. “Impressive,” he said, familiar with that particular type of workmanship. He’d seen a variety of clever things tribesmen and artisans in South America did with gourds. He’d even considered buying a few. It just hadn’t occurred to him to bring one home for Mallory.
Watching her unwrap more keepsakes, listening to her explain the countries of origin or what the items meant and who’d given them to her, he felt more and more like shit. It seemed as though every damn stuntman who’d ever worked on location had brought home a memento for Mallory.
Every guy except him.
Hell, of course it hadn’t occurred to him. She wasn’t the type to want silly trinkets.
Or was he fooling himself? Because the happiness on her face said otherwise.
Maybe she’d accepted the gifts to be polite, then thrown them in storage and had forgotten all about them until she’d moved. “I’m surprised you didn’t set these things out at the Renegade.”
“Oh, please, I would’ve been too nervous. You know how some of those guys behave when they’re drunk.” She swept a happy gaze over her little treasures. “I kept them at my apartment in a display case I had made. It’s still in the U-Haul. I didn’t want to take a chance on moving it by myself and damaging it.”
Gunner wished he’d been more thoughtful. What a piss-poor excuse of a friend he was. He managed a smile. “I’ll take good care of it for you.”
“I know you will.” She rose from her crouched position and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You haven’t told me how you like the house.”
“It’s great,” he said, glancing down at her bare feet. “It’s perfect for you.”
“I know just where I’m going to put the Christmas tree.”
He looked up to see if she was joking. “You hate Christmas.”
“I don’t hate it. Not really. The day just always seems so—I don’t know—anticlimactic or something.”
Hell, everything seemed to be getting weirder and weirder. Including those bright pink toenails of hers. And what were those other things...
“What are you frowning at?” She curled her toes, preventing him from getting a better look. “My nail polish?”
“I’m not used to you being so short. You always wear boots with a little bit of a heel.”<
br />
“Short?” she said, smiling. “I’m five-nine. I don’t think that’s considered short for a woman.”
He kept staring down at her feet. Dead center on each big toe was a goddamn daisy.
“What are you doing? You’re making me feel self-conscious.” She moved away from him. “Knock it off or I won’t buy you breakfast.”
Since when did she have a thing for flowers? Or tacky miniature figurines? And Christmas—what the hell was all that about putting up a tree?
“Well, are you hungry or not?” she asked, giving him a grumpy look.
She’d never been domestic or liked girlie things. Not even as a teenager. But it wouldn’t matter to him if Mallory was an aspiring Martha Stewart. No, that was a lie. Too extreme for his tastes. They’d shared jokes about being scandalously nontraditional. She’d taken pride in being unable to cook worth a damn.
He met her expectant gaze. Right. She’d said something about breakfast. “You don’t have any food here,” he said.
“Depends on what you consider an apple and a bag of Oreos.” Mallory sighed. “That’s why I suggested the diner. Marge’s is just around the corner.”
“I need more coffee.” His empty stomach had growled a protest a minute ago. But now, the thought of food didn’t sit well. On his way to the kitchen, he realized he’d forgotten his mug and turned back.
Mallory was standing in the same spot where he’d left her, arms folded, staring at him with a troubled expression.
He thought again about how young she looked without any makeup. “I forgot this,” he said, grabbing the mug and holding it up, because yeah, he really needed to point out the obvious. “You want some?”
“Earlier you accused me of acting weird. But now you’re doing it.”
“Am I?” Gunner set the mug back down, then walked over and put his arms around her. She stiffened and kept her crossed arms a barrier between them. “I admit I’m preoccupied. It’s getting late and I’m anxious to get your stuff unloaded, especially the display case.”
“I hope you aren’t blaming yourself for the accident.”
Come Closer, Cowboy Page 10
