Do Him Right
Cerise DeLand
Shana ruined rodeo champion Chet Stapleton years ago with hastily written words. Now a PR pro, she’s engineered a plan to make amends. She’ll successfully promote his rodeo, soothe her conscience and leave. Trouble is, she can’t keep her hands off the smooth talker or call a halt to their smokin’-hot sex.
Chet takes one glance at Shana and develops an itch to put his boots under her bed…permanently. He’s won awards for taming willful fillies so he can’t understand why he can’t break Shanna’s stubborn refusal to open up to him.
The closer Shana gets to Chet, the more she wants to stay, in his life and in his bed. But to do that she’ll have to tell him everything—and risk being rejected. One thing is certain, if Shana doesn’t put the past to rest, she’ll never be able to grab the future—or the cowboy she wants most.
A Romantica® Western erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Do Him Right
Cerise DeLand
Chapter One
If Shana Carpenter had forgotten Chet Stapleton was eye candy, it was definitely because she’d feared for weeks now that he’d realize who she really was when they met this morning. That he’d call her callous and unethical, throw her out of his office and slam the door to any apology she might make for how she’d ruined him.
But here he stood. Cool and businesslike, he blinked at the sight of her, seeming more stunned at her appearance than angry. Good. Great, in fact.
She’d dressed for success, and if he were eating her alive with his heavy-lidded, unusual lime-green gaze then she rivaled him for ravenous.
What a man. Every inch a hard muscular dream machine, Chet stood maybe ten inches taller than she. He’d bulked up since last she’d seen him four years ago in the ring. Sculpted and golden, the former rodeo star stared down at her, and damn, did he make her mouth water. He even smelled great. Like citrus and cinnamon.
She’d never gotten as close to him as this—except in her dreams and recently those had begun to come with startling frequency. All of them these days were nightmares. In those hideous visions that woke her, he stalked her. Astonishingly, he was younger than when she had first seen him riding in the ring. He was a teenager, rangy and nimble, a boy who transformed in a second into a ghoul attempting to catch her. Meanwhile she grew older, wizened, weak and wild to escape him. The dreams, the visions, were her guilt talking and she knew it. She was here to make amends for her rash article that condemned his behavior—and took him from the circuit.
But here, striding toward her, he seemed so much more impressive than four years ago. His build, his stirring eyes, his quick smile combined to make him more appealing. Little could he know that he was her obsession. Her “project” to right the wrong she had done him. Little could she have predicted that he would have become so damn attractive that her mouth watered. Even her heart picked up a beat at the sight of his rolling gait, his lean hips, the broad-as-a-barn shoulders he’d honed from working in the saddle ten hours every day—every day until four years ago, when he’d quit. All because of her.
She winced, shocked at her fascination with his looks. She wasn’t a woman to fall like a brick for a lantern jaw or steely eyes. Okay, so he had grown into a droolworthy hunk, but he was still the man she had done wrong. Keeping her head screwed on straight would be a fine idea. So what if he could he be acting polite? If he were covering his knowledge that Shana Carpenter was really S.J. Carpenter, the reporter who’d killed his career, then she would deal. She had set her mind to it, her heart too. After the way she had ended his career, she owed it to him to make his life better in a big way. Whether he yelled at her now or not.
But he continued to smile at her pleasantly. Not one move of his mouth or arch of a blond brow indicated he might connect the woman who stood before him with the one who had written about his savage temper.
“How do you do, Miz Carpenter?” he crooned in a Texas drawl that rumbled all the way down her body like a thunder on the plains.
Her insides thrummed at his warm welcome. Wow, was she a hot mess. She found the smarts to beam at him, blessing her instinct not to wear too many clothes today. It was going to be a torrid day out there and in here with him. So her cotton tank and lightweight suit had been the right choices. She needed to be comfortable today, she’d told herself. All so that she could feel free. Free of the past.
Do him right. Make it up to him.
She straightened. Talk sense here, woman.
“Hello, Mr. Stapleton.” She plunked her briefcase on the floor and put out her hand. “Good of you to see me.”
“Nice of you to travel all this way to meet with me,” he murmured as he took a long gander into her eyes, and she hoped he saw past her fangirl desire for him to her need to have a substantive business discussion. He grasped her hand, and a sizzle sparked between them that jarred them both.
“Wow. Sorry,” he exclaimed and grabbed hold of her forearm with his other big hand.
“It’s okay,” she told him, but she lied. The static that had both of them jumping was the exact opposite of the one that traveled between them every time he touched her in her dreams. In those, he electrified her with fright for how he’d do her in. This jolt between them was simply alluring. But that’s crazy, isn’t it? How could she feel such magnetism toward him if she really didn’t know him?
“This old building began life as a trailer,” he said in explanation for the shock he felt. “Never was very well grounded.”
“Ah, I see,” she declared, still unsteady on her feet. So this current between them was a physical phenomenon, explainable. Not biological. Or sexual.
“I should have warned you.” Reaching out with two hands, he steadied her with a mighty grip that made her wish she could strip off her linen suit. Better yet, he could strip it off.
“Does that happen a lot?” she asked him, aghast at how her thoughts ran to getting naked with him.
“Often enough. Especially when women come in.”
What did that mean? She arched a brow.
And he chuckled, his cheeks flaming in embarrassment. “Silk will do it. Like maybe your br—” He cleared his throat, his lime-green eyes brilliant with horrible confusion. But he glanced down her body—and took his sweet time trailing back up again. Most men, she knew from years of experience, liked her figure. Lithe and long-legged, she worked hard at yoga and jogging to keep her ass toned and her hips tight. And she did not easily give away the goodies at the store, either. She had standards for those few men she had invited to her bed. They had to be kind and considerate, fun and smart. Others declared Chet Stapleton had those qualities and she believed them. Now she also had evidence he liked what he saw of her.
He nodded toward the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat, Miz Carpenter.”
Shana stepped backward, said thank you and sat down with a smile like the top-notch PR consultant she truly was. This was an interview for her firm to do a promotion for his rodeo, not an opportunity to seduce him. But I’m dying to reach out and lick your skin, right there at the hollow of your throat.
“Ah, well, let’s begin,” he offered in a hoarse voice as if he had forgotten why she was here. “Hot in here, I know. Sorry, the air conditioner is broken. Again.” He grinned, fast and tight, his generous mouth making her hungry for a nibble of his lips. “Can I offer you a drink?”
That and anything else you want to give me.
Oh, she really had to take care of business and get the hell out of here. She rarely vibrated with desire. Making love had never quite blown her mind. Not with any man. All three of them she had tried in her young life had been strictly missionary position, slam bam bam bam. The only way that she’d learned there could be more to great jiggy-jiggy
had been by listening to BDSM tales of her best friend Liz, and by watching really good porn. So what makes me think a roll in the hay would be five-star affair with Mr. Rodeo Champ here?
Well, she could dream big, couldn’t she? She smiled again, her willful gaze dropping to his pale denim shirt and low-slung jeans. The view had her biting her lower lip and wondering if his chest was as rock hard as she envisioned and if his cock was as long as she hoped.
She ran a hand over the crown of her hair. I am definitely a crazy woman.
“Miz Carpenter?” He called her from her reverie. “Drink?”
“Ah. Yes, thank you, I will.” She settled herself back into the rickety folding chair, crossed one leg over the other and smoothed her skirt to her knee. Her pussy needed petting, that was for sure, but she couldn’t say, Hey, pardon me while I show you how pink and demanding my little cat is, could she?
She forced herself to look around and noted the nicks in the wooden furniture and the drab paint on the walls. The main office of The Hayward Rodeo was a wreck. If this little Texas town was going to succeed at building this rodeo into an A-number-one national attraction, they would need to spruce up their offerings, then their image. This office décor came in a close third. To do that, she now knew for certain, they needed one more thing badly. Her.
But when she looked back at him, he was focused on her lips. And his tongue was taking a slow journey around his mouth.
Can I just kiss that for you? She pressed her thighs together then shifted in her chair.
He did too.
Rearranging your cock because of me? Shana sat straighter, and her nipples beaded beneath her silk lace bra. He couldn’t see them beneath her jacket, but he definitely zeroed in on her cleavage in the v of her tank top. What the heck? Could she interest this man in sucking her breasts into his mouth? Would he nibble at her big nipples and run his tongue all the way around her diamond-studded bellybutton before he feasted on her pussy? Her core swelled in appreciation at the very hope.
“Miz Carpenter? Ma’am?” Chet Stapleton raised his voice, but he definitely sounded strained, as if he were strangling.
“Hmm?” She lifted her chin and shook back her shoulder-length, platinum curls.
He swallowed, loudly. “What’ll it be? Water? Soda?” He raised a hand to buzz his assistant on the intercom. “We have coffee too, if that’s your poison.”
“No.” You are. My fixation. Ever since, I wrote that article about you in the sports section of the Dallas paper four years ago. Ever since I printed a retraction, resigned for my foolishness and began to plan how I’d make more amends. Now I’m going even nuttier, contemplating how I can take you into my bed and kiss the hurt away.
She squeezed her labia together and felt a trickle of perspiration wend its way between her breasts.
“Water. Cool water. Please.”
“Two waters, Reata,” he told his assistant as he squinted at Shana and looked for all the world like a guy who was trying to concentrate.
Shana would have laughed, but the lure of him had her wiggling forward in her chair to try to massage her pulsing cunt. Four years ago she had been frightened by her response to his languid cowboy sexuality. She’d been young, twenty-two, in her first job at a newspaper and so naïve, both professionally and sexually. Since she’d ruined Chet, she’d corrected both lacks. Now she thoroughly examined whatever she did before she opened her mouth or typed one word. To complement that, she also knew what she liked in men. Honest, forthright, funny. Still no man yet had rung her bells more than a few times. Hunky, jovial Chet Stapleton could definitely compete.
The man was droolworthy. With his bronzed skin, that sun-kissed shock of yellow-gold hair hanging over his forehead, he was the epitome of testosterone. His rock-hewn features with generous lips and a mellow bass voice melted her into a puddle of foolish desire. No past lover could compare. Sometimes when she felt really low and foolish, she put down this lack in her life to a penance for doing him wrong and declaring he was a hothead with the judges.
Once more, regret flooded her, and she reprimanded herself. She was here to use her brains to heal the wounds she’d made. She had not come here to use her body to confuse the issue. She had to stop thinking like a horny lunatic.
Stifling a moan, she bent and dug through her briefcase for her copy of the PR proposal. All thumbs, she couldn’t find the thing.
“Problems?”
His tone was husky. Dark and suggestive. She looked up to see Chet devouring her with those wide green eyes, his look hypnotic, his mouth parting. A vision of him using that mouth to tantalize her sensitive nipples made her groan.
“Chair not comfortable?” he asked, suddenly solicitous.
“Oh. No. No, no. I’m fine. Chair’s fine.” Brain’s dead, but my pussy’s on fire.
“Here’s your water,” he said, sounding relieved when his assistant walked in, handed both to him then shut the door behind her.
He sprang up to give Shana one of the bottles. “Would you like a glass? Ice?”
“No. Thanks.” Shana stuck out her hand. “Water’s good. No glass.”
But when he reached out to give it to her, her fingers touched his, and this time, the shock was electric. Riveting.
She yelped.
He clamped her hand to his rock-hard chest and rubbed her fingers. “Christ, sorry. You okay?”
“Sure.” She stared up at him, automatically reaching out to caress her own burning hand and, in the process, his ribs too. “Are you hurt?”
“Feels like nothing I’ve ever known before.” He put his other hand on top of hers and stroked her from fingertips to forearm as if she were a cat in heat.
“This has never happened to me before either.” I’ve never met a man I wanted within minutes of meeting him. I’m too cerebral, my friend Liz says. Too careful. But you I want soon.
His voice was a rasp when he drew her up. “Let me make it up to you.”
“Oh, yes,” she crooned and stood. “I’d like that.”
He stepped closer now so that their hips touched, her pussy flooded and his erection jutted up against her. His body heat washed over her like a hot river. “I’ll buy you a drink when we’re done,” he promised. “Lunch too, if you want.”
“I want.” I want badly.
“A steak?” he asked, his eyes verdant with hunger. “Or maybe that’s too much for lunch.”
“No, I like steak. Hearty things.” Like you.
“Oh, I do too.” He was nigh unto whispering as his eyes drifted down to her jacket where her breasts chafed to be out and swaying toward his lips. “But, uh, fact is, I’d take you to Joe Dan’s Ice House across the street, but he’s getting a whole new kitchen installed and the place is closed.” Chet grinned, his handsome mouth widening as he added, “I do cook. Want to come home with me? For lunch, that is?”
“I do.” She flowed forward to press her breasts briefly against his chest and wondered where her business manners had fled when she added, “But I’m hungry now.” She struggled to look demure, for god sakes, when all she really wanted to do was move closer into those muscular arms.
“No breakfast?” he asked.
“No.” She licked her lips and looked at his. “I ran out early and wanted to be on time for you. It’s a three hour drive from San Antonio.”
“Not good to starve,” he murmured, sounding far from paternal as he braced her shoulders and pulled her so near they were flush against each other from her rock-hard nipples to his long, steely shaft. “Are you faint? In this heat, you’ve got to be good to yourself.”
She nodded, barely breathing. “I am. I mean…I do.”
“Let me help you take your jacket off.” His eyes sashayed from her lips to her cleavage as his big hands gathered the fabric and slid it down her arms.
She turned to let him have her coat. But when she faced him again, he didn’t move away. Couldn’t, it seemed, as he bit his lower lip and took in the size of her breasts then stepped ba
ckward.
“Drink your water.” He spun away from her, went back to take his chair and examined the folder on his desktop. “Let’s talk about this, shall we, Miz Carpenter?”
“Shana.”
“Shana,” he repeated slowly, squinting at her as if he were determined to look only into her eyes. “Your proposal is a really fine one. Strong. The budget’s good too. You’ve been direct and honest about what you can accomplish with us way out here in no man’s land of west Texas. I like direct and honest.”
Honest. That’s exactly how she told herself she would be with him. If he recognized her, if he asked about how and why she had written what she did about him, she would say her peace, fair and square. Now if honesty were to be served totally, she would have to declare how she wanted him to gather her close, catch her to him like a second skin and pet her. She pressed her cunt to the hard chair, her labia pulsing in pleasure. “Thank you.”
Her reason took flight.
I can’t get enough of you, Chet, she’d tell him if she ever got the chance to fall into bed with him. I have never wanted anyone like I need you.
I need you, too, baby, he’d say while his strong hands splayed against her back and crushed her breasts against his firm chest. We’re not talking about the past. He’d loom above her and bend to kiss his way down her throat to tongue her nipples. He’d pull them into the warm cavern of his lush mouth and make them hard as stones. We’re talking about now. And he’d take her other nipple and give it the same hot blessing. We’re talking about this. He’d flick his tongue over her jeweled bellybutton ring. This rage of mine to be here. He’d groan as he sank to his elbows and, with careful fingertips, traced her seam, curled her heavy labia open and licked her juicy folds with tender devotion. You are so sweet, baby. He’d lave one lip with a slow and careful tongue. Your cream is thick as syrup. He’d love the length of her other lip then slide one blunt finger up inside her cunt. Your pussy tastes like August peaches. And you are all mine. Let me show you. And he’d curl two more fingers up inside her greedy little channel. I’m gonna fuck you now. Long and slow and easy. To prove it to her, he’d lift her hips and press up inside her in one, long glide to ecstasy. He’d set a rhythm, steady and rigid and maddening. He’d tweak her nipples. Circle his thumb over her clit. You’re such a beautiful woman, Shana darlin’. Inside and out.
Do Him Right Page 1
