Every Second Counts

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “Well, you should go home and sleep until Monday, when we have to start packing everything up.” Lydia released her and kissed her briefly on the cheek. “You’ve got the loft to yourself. I’ve been invited to a sleepover, so you won’t have to worry about entertaining me.”

  She chuckled and shook her head, her gaze still on the painting. “I should have known you’d pick up somebody tonight.”

  Lydia glanced toward the door. “The night isn’t over. There’s still a chance for you, too.”

  “Good night, Lydia.”

  The sound of Lydia’s heels clicking cross the hardwood floor had barely faded before she was again immersed in her thoughts.

  One voice in her head screamed for her to check the Internet to see if Marc had survived today’s ride. Another voice calmly told her to let it go, let Marc go. She ignored them both and, instead, closed her eyes and opened the memory of their last night of passion—Marc’s head thrown back, breasts heaving and heart beating wildly against her cheek.

  She opened her eyes and stared at her painting. Well, not hers any more. Someone had paid an extravagant sum to purchase it. It was time to say good-bye, to the painting and to her hope that Marc would choose her.

  She lifted her hand to touch the face she had come to love.

  “I’m certain the buyer of that piece would not appreciate fingerprints on it.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat and she whirled to find Marc at her side, wearing a cocky smile and the sexiest tailored tuxedo she’d ever seen on a woman.

  “In fact, since I’m the new owner of that portrait, I can guarantee it.”

  Her thoughts rapid-fired, ricocheting in her head. Marc was safe. Marc was here. Why had she come? Damn, she was gorgeous.

  “Marc.”

  “Shhh. You’ve had your chance to talk. It’s my turn.”

  Marc took her hand to lead her out of the studio and down the hall to the bedroom. She closed the door and locked it.

  They stopped next to the bed where they’d made love before. It seemed like ages ago now. Marc kissed her hand, then turned it to press her mouth against the inside of her sensitive wrist. Her gaze was a soft caress.

  “You are so beautiful,” Marc said. “Don’t move. Just listen.” She stepped back and began to slowly undress as she spoke.

  “There’s one perfect moment in bull riding.” She unfastened the gold brooch that substituted for a bow tie and slid it into her pocket before dropping her jacket to the floor.

  “You’d think that moment would be when the buzzer goes off and you know you’ve ridden that animal for a full eight seconds.” Marc worked the pearl studs loose from her shirt, revealing her bare breasts.

  “But that’s not it.” Her shirt joined the jacket on the floor, and she toed off her boots and socks.

  “It’s that long second when that bull rope is tight around one hand and your other is held high over your head. You’re staring down at the bull’s horns and you feel him between your legs, coiled to buck as soon as you give the nod.” Marc’s hands went to the zipper of her pants.

  “That’s when the perfect moment happens. You’re perched on a precipice. When that gate opens, there’s no turning back. But it’s in that moment that you know.” She stripped her pants and underwear off in one movement.

  “You know with absolute certainty whether you can do it.” She stood before Bridgette fully exposed.

  “Marc.”

  “Just listen.” She knelt and gently removed Bridgette’s shoes then stood again. “I was there today.”

  Bridgette shivered when Marc’s lips found her neck as she reached around and slid the zipper down on her simple black dress.

  “I was one perfect moment away from riding a bull named after a serial killer. That’s when I knew.” Marc smiled when Bridgette’s dress dropped to the floor and revealed she also was braless. She lowered Bridgette’s panties and hose and tossed them across the room.

  They were both naked now.

  “I knew I wasn’t there to satisfy my agent or my sponsors or my fans. I was there so I could know for sure that I wasn’t afraid after the last bull nearly killed me.”

  Bridgette’s vision blurred with tears as her heart emptied of hope. Marc had needed to ride that bull more than she needed to love her.

  “No. Don’t cry.” Marc’s lips brushed her cheek. When she lifted her head, Marc’s gaze was full of affection.

  “Then a second epiphany came to me as perfect as a pearl.” She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “And I climbed out of that chute and told them I was sorry, but I had a plane to catch.”

  “You…you didn’t ride?”

  “No. Not today or any day in the future.”

  Relief and, at the same time, regret flooded through her. She sagged with the weight of it and Marc caught her, lowering her gently to the bed. She sobbed against Marc’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant for my weakness to cost you so much.”

  Marc’s hands stroked her back as she held her. “No. It’s okay. Really. It won’t cost so much. I already know a guy who wants to buy the RV I take to rodeos.”

  She laughed, in spite of herself, and Marc smiled as she used the bedsheet to dry Bridgette’s tears.

  “I’ve never been in love before,” Marc said. “I’ve never let myself.” She shrugged. “I have abandonment issues. You should know that before you get involved with me.”

  “It’s too late. I’ve already fallen for you.”

  “Ah. But I fell for you first. The morning after we made love in this room, I knew I was hopelessly lost.” Marc kissed her again, her tongue teasing Bridgette’s lips.

  “Say it.” She needed to hear it, needed to know it was true.

  “I love you, Bridgette. I want to show you how much.”

  Marc kissed her gently, then deeply as she rolled her onto her back. Belly to belly, their hips fit together perfectly, and they shared breath and longing as their tongues met in an unhurried waltz.

  Marc’s thigh slid between hers and she moaned. A slow glide slicked her thigh with Marc’s heat. Their breath quickened with each measured stroke until they could kiss no longer. Still, Marc held the steady pace, her hands finding Bridgette’s breasts, her gaze capturing Bridgette’s as their fervor mounted.

  “I love you,” Marc whispered.

  “I need you,” she gasped.

  Hers to command, Marc thrust faster, bearing down harder as though to meld their flesh as well as their souls.

  When they reached the precipice together, they shared that perfect moment when passion peaks for a few breathless seconds before it explodes and dissipates in waves of pleasure.

  She lay panting, her heart dancing with Marc’s in an erratic pounding staccato. When her sweat-slicked body began to cool, Marc rolled onto her side and drew the sheet up to cover them. They lay face to face, their legs still entwined.

  Bridgette touched her fingers to Marc’s cheek. “I can’t believe we’re lying here naked with a house full of art patrons milling around just outside our door.”

  “They’re probably all gone now. I asked Lydia to do what she could to clear them out, then lock up when she left. I called her as soon as the jet I chartered left Dallas and I knew what time I’d land. She promised to put sheets on this bed and make sure you didn’t leave before I could get here.”

  Bridgette frowned. “You had her cell number?”

  “She got my number from your phone and texted me that day I came here and she was with you.”

  “That little minx. Wait until I get my hands around her neck.”

  “She never had a chance. You already had my heart.”

  Bridgette was quiet, sorting through all that had happened. She couldn’t believe Marc was here and that she loved her. She studied her handsome face.

  “You said you had a second epiphany.”

  Marc smiled. “I did.”

  “Want to share?”

  “Everything with you.�
��

  Marc took her hand and pressed it against her chest to hold it there. She could feel the throb of her strong, steady heart.

  “I realized I could do this,” Marc said. “That I could trust someone again, trust you with my heart.”

  “I love you,” she said, stroking the cheek under her fingertips. She couldn’t stop touching her. “So, what will you do now?”

  “Wind Walker has a lot of good stud years left, and I have this house and an empty stable out back. I was hoping to settle down with a sexy artist—if she’ll have me—and maybe raise Arabians.”

  Her heart soared, but she pursed her lips as though she was thinking it over. “Your grandmother’s studio does have perfect lighting.” She pushed Marc onto her back and straddled her hips. “But—other than horses—I have to be your only ride.”

  “Only you.”

  “And I want a lot more than eight seconds.”

  Marc flashed the cocky grin that always made Bridgette’s insides clench. “I am a professional rider. I’m thinking endurance may be my next venture.”

  About the Author

  Jackson Leigh grew up barefoot and happy, swimming in farm ponds and riding rude ponies in rural south Georgia.

  Her passion for writing led her quite accidentally to a career in journalism and North Carolina where she now feeds nightly off the adrenaline rush of breaking crime news and close deadlines.

  She is a hopeless romantic with a deep-seated love for anything equine.

  Friend her at facebook.com/d.jackson.leigh, follow her on Twitter @djacksonleigh or visit her website at www.djacksonleigh.com.

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