Tough Luck Cowboy

by A. J. Pine

  He took a step closer, and she crossed her arms, holding her ground, one small little act of defiance, though she wasn’t sure what she was defying.

  “Give her a name, and she’s yours whenever you get the money—and land. You cannot put livestock in your backyard.”

  Lily pouted. “She’d probably eat my garden.”

  “She’d definitely eat your garden.”

  He placed his palm hesitantly on her cheek, but she stayed where she was, even leaning into it.

  “What I said before, about you being a part of something big in our world? I didn’t mean that.”

  Her eyes widened, but he just laughed, his other palm cupping the other side of her face.

  “That was a cop-out,” he added. “Me being too chickenshit to tell you the truth.”

  Something squeezed inside her chest, and she held her breath, waiting for him to say more.

  “You’re a part of something big in my world, Lily.” She sucked in a sharp breath, and he laughed again. “You weren’t supposed to fit,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to give me that oil-and-water crap again…”

  “If someone had said to you a month ago that we’d be standing here right now, like this, what would your reaction have been?”

  She chewed on her upper lip. His hands were on her face, and he was so close to kissing her. But she wasn’t going to lie just to prove a point. Or to get his mouth on hers any faster.

  “I would have said you were an overconfident jackass who was too attractive for his own good.”

  He raised a brow. “As much as you tried to insult me, I can’t help noting how attractive you think I am.”

  “Too attractive,” she reminded him. “It’s like you use those eyes and that scruff and the whole cowboy thing as a distraction for the overconfident jackass part.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “Is it working?”

  “That depends,” she said. “Are you going to kiss me?”

  “Yep.”

  And just like that, his lips were on hers, his tongue slipping past her parted lips.

  “You taste like chocolate,” he rasped, and she hummed against him.

  “You taste like—you,” she said, and he nipped at her bottom lip, eliciting a small gasp.

  “Is that a good thing?” he asked.

  She nodded as his kisses trailed the line of her jaw, as he moved farther south into the sensitive crook of her neck.

  “The best thing,” she squeaked. “The best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  He tilted his head up. “Seeing as how you’re a chef and all, that says a lot.”

  He went back to kissing her, moving from her collarbone to the swell of her breast just above the line of her dress, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh.

  “Luke?” she asked, barely able to find enough breath to make the word.

  He tipped his head up, whispering in her ear.

  “Lily?” Then he tugged her earlobe between his teeth, and her knees buckled.

  He caught her, of course. He’d never let her fall, would he?

  “About going home with you tonight?” she managed to ask.

  He continued to pepper any skin he could find with soft, tingly kisses. “What about it?” he asked.

  She pressed her palms to his cheeks, urging his head up to where she could look him in the deep ocean of his eyes.

  “Is it time to go home yet?”

  Like a switch had been flipped, he grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and led her to his truck.

  She giggled as she almost ran to keep up. “Don’t we have to go say good-bye to Ava and Jack or something?”

  Luke nodded to her purse on the passenger-seat floor of his truck. “Text her. She’ll understand.”

  Lily scrambled into her seat, pulling out her phone and typing in Ava’s name.

  Happy birthday! Talk tomorrow…I’m reading between the lines.

  She finished typing, hit send, and then dropped her phone back into her purse all in the time it took Luke to make it to his side of the truck and climb in.

  “Lucky,” she said when he pulled the door shut and slid the key into the ignition.

  “What?” he asked.

  “The calf,” she reminded him. “I’m gonna name her Lucky.”

  And then she let him drive, wondering how long her own luck would last, hoping that it never had to run out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Luke’s jaw, shoulders—hell, just about everything—tensed as they pulled up in front of the small, ramshackle green house. Two windows, a door, and a porch light stared back at them as he rolled up the driveway that might have had more weeds than concrete.

  Shit. What the hell was he thinking, bringing her back here when they could be in her nice little suburban two-bedroom with that fenced-in yard and granite counters and…

  “It’s a fixer-upper,” he said before she had a chance to speak first.

  She rested a hand on his knee and squeezed. “You bought the land,” she said, staring off into the hills.

  And because she got it—because she fucking got him—he kissed her. She hummed a soft moan as he did.

  “Mmm,” she said when he pulled away. “What was that for? Not, by the way, that I’m complaining. Feel free to do that again.”

  He chuckled, then skimmed his fingers across her forehead, tucking her overgrown bangs behind her ear.

  “I want to show you something,” he said, then kissed her again softly before pulling away and hopping out of the truck.

  She was already out by the time he got to her side, and he simply took her hand, leading her through the overgrown wild grass of his front lawn and around to the back of the two-bedroom house.

  It was nearly dark, but there was still enough light in the pink-and-orange-streaked sky for her to see.

  She stopped short, hand on her chest. “It’s just sky and hills. For as far as you can see.”

  He squinted into the waning rays of sunshine. “Just to be clear, it’s not all mine,” he said. “But there was enough payout from the life insurance to help make sure we didn’t lose the vineyard and to put a down payment on a couple of acres.”

  Her eyes widened, and he crossed his arms, brows raised as he took her in.

  “You’re surprised,” he said. A statement—not a question.

  Her mouth hung open for a second. “No…I just…” she stammered.

  “You didn’t think I gave a shit about anything other than fun.”

  He said the word like it was a curse and wondered if that’s exactly what it was. He’d done so well at cultivating the persona of the guy who was always up for a good time that he’d grown to believe it, too. It didn’t stop him from going back to the night they met, how he could have sworn she saw through his bravado. What’s more was that he’d wanted her to, but as soon as Tucker swooped in, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t compete, and he hadn’t wanted to. Not when Tucker had needed a win—and not when Lily had so clearly preferred a guy who could give her the world to a guy who had no more than himself to offer.

  She crossed her arms right back at him, then shivered.

  He stepped closer to her, the movement as natural and instinctual as breathing, and rubbed his hands up and down her shoulders.

  She cleared her throat. “You’re making it very difficult for me to chastise you.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I didn’t realize I was in need of chastisement.” He rubbed more warmth into her goose bumps–covered skin.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think you give a shit about nothing other than fun. Not anymore.”

  He pulled her closer, pressing his torso to hers, and she sighed. “Are you saying you misjudged me?”

  She splayed her palms against his chest. “I’ve always known you gave a shit about your brothers. And your aunt.”

  “They’re blood,” he said. “Doesn’t count. I have no choice. You gotta give me something better tha
n that.”

  His tone was playful, and yet he hung on to the edge of the silence between his request and her response. Because he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more—her or himself.

  “You do have a choice, though. Who or what you give a shit about, I mean.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “You aren’t the man I thought I knew,” she said. “When I made any assumptions about you—whatever I said before…” She shook her head. “I was wrong.”

  His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes as he breathed in deep, filling himself with the scent of earth, and salt, and her.

  “And I was wrong about something else, too.”

  Her voice trembled, and he opened his eyes to find her emerald pools glassy in the waning light. She let out a shaky breath.

  “I didn’t plan on doing this tonight, but it’s all just sort of hitting me, you know?”

  She wasn’t smiling, and her eyes seemed to fill with something he couldn’t put his finger on—something like sadness or regret, and it suddenly felt like the ground was opening beneath him, ready to swallow him whole.

  He shook his head. “No, Lily. I don’t know.” His teeth ground together. Because even though they never promised each other anything, was she going to walk away tonight? Just like that?

  She backed away, rubbing her bare arms with her palms, and he froze.

  “I thought I’d be okay with this no permanence stuff because I was convinced this was a rebound—that all I needed was to get you out of my system. But—I’m not okay, Luke. Not anymore.”

  He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Lily—are you ending this?”

  His back porch light went on, spotlighting the moment, the timer right on cue.

  “I thought we hated each other, you know? I thought whatever this was that it was just two people burning away this sudden fire, that when the time came it would be easy to walk away. But—you tried to save me from getting mixed up in Tucker and Sara’s wedding. Then you came over that night after the hospital when I needed a friend. And then there was Gertie, and riding Ace, and Lucky my new calf…”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, but he fought the urge to grin. Because if this was it, there’d be nothing to grin about. And he’d have no one to blame but himself.

  “I don’t know how to walk away,” she said, and there went a tear. “Even knowing you’ll leave, eventually, that you’ll have to, because this isn’t what you do, I don’t know how to do it myself. Because you’re not out of my system, Luke. You’re so goddamn far from being out, I don’t know what the hell to do.”

  He closed the distance between them, palms on her tear-streaked cheeks.

  “You were right, about me having a choice,” he said, kissing her wet lashes and tasting the salt on his tongue. “About who or what I care about. I thought if I chose not to care about the things that could really get to me—about the people who could hurt me—that I’d be invincible.”

  “But the rodeo,” she said. “You were hurt so badly last time.”

  “Broken bones heal.” He took her palm and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. “But I don’t know the first thing about fixing this part. Forget what you think you know about me. You said it’s my choice, and Jesus, Lily—I choose you.”

  He kissed her as they backed toward the door, as he fumbled for his keys, clumsily unlocking it by touch alone.

  His lips never left hers as they passed through the kitchen and small living room to his bedroom on the other side.

  Only after he’d undressed her—after she’d done the same to him—did he finally find the words.

  “I don’t want to walk away,” he admitted. “Not from you. But I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, Lily. I don’t know how to do right by you.”

  She sat on the edge of his bed and held out a hand for him. He took it.

  “Don’t break my heart,” she said matter-of-factly, then pulled him over her.

  For so many years he’d thought he had life figured out. He loved what he did—the riding, competing—more than he loved anything else. And even if it broke him, it could only break him so deep.

  That’s why when he and Tucker walked into that bar three years ago and the prettiest, funniest, smartest girl there went home with his best friend, he’d stepped back. Hell, he’d stepped back before that, hadn’t he? Because he’d gone and assumed a girl like her would see nothing more than a guy who liked to have fun. And when that’s how she did see him, he blamed her for it.

  Even as he fought with her, pressed her buttons, and made sure she never saw past the facade, he used it as ammunition to blame her—because that was easier than admitting the truth. Every day she’d grown closer to Tucker, Luke had fallen harder. Hating her had been the only way to survive, even if he’d always known it was a lie.

  Don’t break my heart. That was all she’d asked.

  So what did it mean that she’d already obliterated his time and time again?

  He nudged her opening, coating himself in her warmth. There would be no foreplay tonight. He needed to bury himself in her—bury himself and never fucking come up for air.

  “I won’t,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. “Break your heart, I mean.”

  She ran the tips of her fingers over his bottom lip and gave him the most beautiful, radiant, red-lipped smile. And he remembered his promise to kiss that cherry-red right off her lips.

  “Famous last words,” she said.

  He’d be a man of his word, in more ways than one if he could help it.

  She kissed him then, snaking her arms around his neck, and he sank down inside her, right to the very root.

  She cried out, her fingers fisting in his hair.

  This woman was going to wreck him—utterly and completely—and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do but let it happen.

  It was just like riding that bull. Eventually he’d get thrown off balance, and something would break. He just wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up when it did.

  He slid out slowly, his chest aching with every inch because it hurt—physically fucking hurt—to put even the slightest distance between them.

  “Jesus, Lily.” She tensed around him as he sheathed himself once again in her warmth.

  “Kiss me,” she said, voice hitching. “No talking. Just—”

  She gasped as he pulsed inside her, and he claimed her mouth with his own. Her lips parted, his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with hers.

  No talking. That was sure as hell fine with him. Because something was shifting tonight. A silent admission that he wanted more with this woman, even though he had no idea what that meant or how to do it.

  He rolled onto his back, the two of them still joined, then eased onto his elbows, urging her onto his lap. Soon they were both sitting, her knees bent beneath her, her eyes meeting his.

  He slid a hand up her side, cupping her breast before pinching the hard, peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, then rose and fell over him. So he took her into his mouth, teeth teasing as his fingers had, and he swore nothing she cooked—and she was a goddamn artist—tasted as good as her skin on his tongue.

  “Luke,” she said, arching her back, head tipped toward the ceiling as he licked and nipped, all the while anchored to him, her every movement threatening to send him straight off the edge.

  “Are we talking now, sweetheart?” he teased, because the alternative was acknowledging not only the plea in that one word—his name—but how much he thought he might need her.

  Her knees clamped against his thighs, and inside she tightened around him.

  He kissed her hard, then lowered his hands to her hips as she moved in a slow rhythm, writhing against him.

  Then she rose and fell. Rose and fell. And slow was a thing of the past.

  His fingertips pressed into her skin, thumbs against her hip bones as he guided her down again and again.

  “Let go for me, Lily,” he said
, sliding one hand between them. “Let go all the way.”

  He pressed his thumb into her crease, rubbing slow circles around her swollen center, and she cried out so hard one could have mistaken the pleasure for pain—sweet, aching, tear-you-in-half pain.

  That’s when he realized she hadn’t let go alone.

  Something feral tore from his chest, and he was all at once grateful for his lack of neighbors and fucking terrified that whatever he’d just ripped apart was unfixable.

  Not his ribs.

  Not a dislocated shoulder.

  Not a goddamn concussion.

  They collapsed together, him still inside her, sweat glistening between her breasts.

  She brushed her thumb over an old scar on his cheek—his memory of his first time on a bull.

  He kissed her palm.

  “That was—” she said, then kissed him softly, her teeth tugging playfully at his lip. “I mean, I’ve never—” she added, but she wasn’t able to fill the rest of it in.

  All he could say was, “I know.”

  And then, because this was real life and not some movie where sex—even mind-bending sex like that—was some sort of magic pill, he pulled out, let her clean herself up first, and then indulged in a long, cold shower.

  “Lily?” he whispered when he came back into the room in nothing but a towel. “You awake?”

  She hummed softly, her face buried in one of his pillows, his sheet pulled up over her still naked form.

  He dropped the towel and climbed in beside her, and she stirred enough to burrow into him, head resting against his bare chest.

  “I guess I wore you out, huh?” he mused, then planted a kiss on her forehead. This time she didn’t make a sound. So he sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out, long and slow.

  They needed to have a little chat—only one where she wouldn’t really remember in the morning.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “Broken bones heal. And I got scars on my skin that prove you can put a man back together again. But this?” There it was again, that weight on his chest that made him sure he was being torn apart from the inside out. “I could fall all the way for you,” he said. “But if you knew me—knew all of me—then you’d know the truth.”