Rough Rider

by Victoria Vane

  “So you came here. How’d you do that with no wheels?”

  “Walked.”

  “Three miles in the pouring rain? No wonder you look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “Can I crash for a coupla hours? Maybe just camp out in the backseat of your dually? All I need is to get warm and dry again.”

  Janice’s mouth went dry as sawdust. Dirk Knowlton. Cold. Wet. Here. Now. Wanting a bed? She’d give her right arm to warm him up. Heck yeah.

  Misreading her silence he mumbled a curse. “Sorry, Janice. It’s my damned head. I’m not thinkin’ right. It’s still throbbing like hell. Haven’t been myself all night. M’pologies for being such a dumb-ass and imposing on you—” He turned to the door.

  “No! Wait. It’s not that.” She grabbed his sleeve. “I was just thinking of your injuries. You don’t need to make matters worse by sleeping all cramped up in the truck.” She gnawed her lower lip and then blurted. “Y-you wanna just stay here instead?”

  “Here? That’s mighty generous but there isn’t a whole lot of room for both of us.” He glanced up at the gooseneck with a frown. “If you’ll just gimme a blanket, I’ll take the floor.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” she said. “The bench here flips down over the table and converts into a single. It’s really narrow and not very comfortable, but still better than the truck. Warmer anyway. Besides you need to get dry.”

  “You sure about this?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “What are friends for? I’m sure I’ve got a shirt for you too.”

  “Thanks, Red. That would be great.”

  Red? The single syllable rippled warm and tingly, all the way to her toes. He followed up with a lopsided grin that stopped her in her tracks. She turned to the small cabinet that served a dual function as dresser and closet and shut her eyes on a sigh—but the same air stuck in her throat the minute she turned back around.

  He’d shed the denim jacket. And the black tee. His bare torso with well-developed pecs and a mouthwatering six-pack greeted her. He was drying his face with his discarded shirt. Janice tore her gaze away and cleared her throat. “Here.” She thrust an extra-large Dixie Chicks T-shirt into his hands, a souvenir from their Top of the World Tour. “I—I can get you a towel too.”

  He eyed the shirt skeptically. “No thanks.”

  “What? You don’t like female musicians?”

  “Don’t like their politics. Natalie should just shut up and sing.”

  “Ah.” She nodded slowly. The shirt was from the tour that caused the “incident.” A lot of her friends had since thrown out their Dixie Chicks CDs, but Janice still loved their music. “I Can Love You Better” was her favorite. The lyrics—“she’s got you wrapped up in her satin and lace. Tied around her little finger…but I can love you better”—perfectly summed up all the heartbreak and frustrations of unrequited love; all her secret feelings for Dirk. She only wished she could show him now that he was here. In the flesh. A big, strong, blue-lipped, and teeth-chattering fantasy come true.

  “You’re shivering,” she argued. “It’s a silly time for political statements.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “But I never compromise my core principles. I support the war. Wholeheartedly. Somebody’s gotta make those sons of bitches pay for what they did. If we don’t defend our country, our freedom, who will?”

  “There’s other ways than war,” she argued. “Like the UN—”

  He made a choking sound. “Don’t get me started there, Red.”

  “But—”

  He raised a hand. “Look, it’s already clear we don’t see eye to eye, and nothing you say can change my views, so don’t you think the conversation is kinda pointless?”

  “All right,” she conceded. “I suppose we can just agree to disagree.”

  He gave her a curt nod. “I’d say that’s fair enough.”

  Janice pulled out another shirt and offered it to him with a twinge of embarrassment. “How ’bout SpongeBob? Is he politically safe?”

  “SpongeBob’s my man.” He chuckled and took the shirt. Their fingers brushed. Their eyes met. She shivered. His gaze drifted southward. “You cold too?” he asked.

  She tracked the direction of his eyes and swiftly crossed her arms over her chest to hide her hardening nipples. “Yeah, I must be cold.” She turned away, briskly chafing her arms. “I don’t have any jeans that will fit you, but maybe some sweatpants?

  “Would you be offended to see me in my boxers?” he asked.

  Janice pursed her mouth and shook her head, unable to form a coherent response.

  Hell no, her brain screamed. “Offended” was the very last word that came to mind.

  * * *

  “Damn!” Dirk toed off his boots with a mumbled curse. “Is there anything worse than trying to peel off wet jeans?” His clothes were stuck to him and his bum left hand and shoulder didn’t make it any easier.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  Before he could protest, Janice had squatted down in front of him. She went right to work tugging the bottom half of his pant legs—a position that put her face level with his crotch.

  Instinctively, Dirk’s gaze drifted to her mouth. It was a pretty mouth, maybe not as full and overtly sensual as Rachel’s, but nicely shaped. It was also too damned close to his dick. Down boy! She glanced up at him wide-eyed, which only made matters worse.

  Far worse.

  He shut his eyes on a muffled groan trying to banish his lewd thoughts and will away the stirrings his imagination had invoked, but he was getting a hard-on, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. Panic set in.

  Fearing she’d notice, or worse yet, his dick would poke her in the eye, he tried to back away. With wet jeans tangled around his ankles, he lost his balance, and crashed backward, striking his head on the table before hitting the floor. “Goddamn sonofabitch!”

  “Dirk!” Janice cried. “Are you OK?” She knelt beside him, pulling his head onto her lap to palpate his scalp. “There’s no blood. Thank God. Does it hurt?”

  The pain in his head was blinding. “Hell yeah. It hurts!”

  She bit her lip. “Is it worse on the inside or the outside?”

  “Both,” he snapped. “It was mostly on the inside until this last dumb-ass maneuver. I’m wondering if I’ve developed some kind of subliminal death wish. Got a sledgehammer?”

  “What for?” she asked.

  “To finish the job and put me out of my misery.”

  She shook her head with a sympathetic smile. “I don’t but maybe I can make it better?”

  “You sure as hell can’t make it any worse,” he said.

  “Hang on.” She softly lowered his head to the floor, then stood up to grab a pillow from the gooseneck. She then wet a dish towel at the sink and returned to sit cross-legged beside him with the pillow on her lap. “Head. Here.” She patted the pillow.

  Dirk complied without protest, easing his head into the marshmallow softness. She folded the wet dish towel and placed it over his eyes. “Trust me and try to relax. I do this for Mama whenever she gets migraines,” she explained in a voice as soft and soothing as her touch.

  She had magical fingers, he decided, after only a few seconds of her temple massage. She didn’t smell half bad either. His nose was badly swollen but he could still detect the subtle scent of vanilla. Vanilla was unfairly maligned in his estimation. He particularly liked vanilla. He breathed it in.

  Though his eyes were covered, he could see through a small gap alongside his nose. A gap that gave a very fine view of her breasts. They weren’t overly large, but perfectly shaped—nicely rounded and full. They jiggled slightly with the movements of her arms. He also noticed her nipples were still hard, much like his prick. His boxers were loose, but couldn’t camouflage his hard-on if she looked. He hoped she wouldn’t.r />
  A moment later, the abrupt pause of her fingers and sharp intake of breath told him she likely had. He held his own breath, waiting. Would she think him a complete perv, drop his head to the floor, and kick his ass out the door? To his relief, the scalp massage continued.

  “Feeling any better?” she asked after a bit.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You’ve got great hands, Red. Feel free to put them on my body anytime.”

  “Yeah?” Pause. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Real stiff.” Like my dick. His early words of warning to Janice came back to haunt him with an erection-sustaining vengeance. Soft, warm, and vanilla-smelling Janice sure as hell wasn’t a troll.

  “Oh?” He detected the smile in her voice. “Want me to try and work the kinks out for you?”

  She took the cloth away and their eyes met. He’d never given Janice’s eyes a good look before. Couldn’t even have said what color they were—until now. Warm brown with tiny flecks of gold. Her cheeks colored. They had tiny flecks too. Freckles. Sun kisses, his grandma used to call them.

  She broke eye contact first. “Can you sit up?”

  “Yeah, I can sit,” he replied.

  She opened her legs and crooked her fingers, gesturing that he should position himself between them. He hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to put his ass that close to her soft, bare thighs.

  She regarded him with a wrinkled brow. “Do you want me to try that shoulder? Or not?”

  “Yeah.” He moved into position, figuring the case would be a lot worse if she positioned her ass between his thighs, but changed his mind a minute later. No matter whose ass or thighs went where, the position was pretty damned intimate.

  Her hands began at his neck, her thumbs circling firm but gentle over his spine. He let his head drop to his chest with a groan. Holy shit, that felt good. Damned good.

  She slid her hands a bit lower, her fingers probing deeper into his shoulder muscles. Her hands were strong, and confident, delivering a medicinal mix of pleasure and pain. He’d never had anyone touch him like this—not even Rachel. And his body responded to it.

  “You’d better stop that now, Red.” Standing up would only make his condition more evident so he scooted forward, away from her reach.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied tightly. “I just don’t want it to end up the other way around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you, a man and woman can’t be friends. Sooner or later he’ll want to get into her jeans. Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you got me achin’ to do just that.”

  “Aching?” she repeated dumbly.

  “Yeah, Red…as in blue balls.” He shifted in growing discomfort knowing he’d get no relief tonight. “Maybe you should climb up into that gooseneck now.”

  “Is that what you want me to do?”

  “What I want?” He gave a deprecating laugh. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that, sweetheart. You’ll never get the truth out of a man with a hard-on.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I can hardly deny what’s staring you right in the face.”

  Her gaze dropped. Her brown eyes widened.

  He covered his face and blew out a long breath. Maybe it was the injury that had his head all screwed up, or the alcohol he shouldn’t have drunk. Or more likely, it was pent-up frustration from long-term abstinence. Whatever it was, his resistance was crumbling to dust with vanilla-scented Janice staring at his dick.

  “Shit, Janice. You’re not making this easy on me. I’m trying my damnedest to act like a gentleman.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her gaze flickering back to his face. “What did I do?”

  “Hell, you don’t have to do anything when you’re looking at me that way.”

  “What way?” she asked, her soft brown eyes searching his.

  Her whole demeanor was a provocative mix of earthy innocence. Her hands were strong and gentle. Her eyes, honest, and guileless. Everything about Janice felt so warm and inviting, in stark contrast to Rachel who ran hot and cold with nothing in between. For almost five years Rachel had strung him along, teasing with promises and vacillations. Now here was Janice—warm, welcoming, and smelling good enough to eat. His gaze dropped to her mouth, to lips that softly parted. Her unspoken invitation was the straw that broke the cowboy’s back.

  * * *

  Janice knew what she was doing—at least she told herself she did. She’d never dreamed of anyone but Dirk. It seemed like she’d waited half her life hoping he’d notice her—and now here he was—and he’d definitely noticed. Maybe she was taking unfair advantage of the situation. He was on the rebound. Though he’d never admit it, he was hurting bad and not just on the outside. She knew he and Rachel would eventually patch things up. Her eyes were open on that score, but right here, right now, none of that mattered. This was Dirk.

  Her breath came in rapid puffs. She shut her eyes in anticipation, waiting and willing him to commit himself.

  His fingers cupped her chin, firm and gentle at the same time. Her body tensed and stomach tightened as inch by devastating inch he lowered his head toward hers until his mouth hovered only a hair’s breadth from hers.

  Her heartbeat accelerated, her lips parted.

  His warm breath caressed her face, teasing her with its scent while the yearned for kiss hung between them—a sweet promise suspended in time.

  Please. She sent a silent supplication to the heavens.

  A heartbeat later, her prayer was answered as his lips brushed over hers—soft, warm, sweet. The stuff of her girlhood fantasies. She wanted to melt into him, to throw her whole being into her response, but he stiffened and drew back, as if ready to abort what they’d started.

  Her breathing stilled. Her eyes opened. Her heart squeezed with the fear of rejection, but rejection wasn’t what she saw reflected back at her in pools of crystal blue. His gaze was searching hers as if silently seeking confirmation that she wanted what he wanted.

  Now or never, Janice. Time to cowgirl up.

  She took a breath, and then the dive. Stepping into him, she snaked her arms around his neck, until they stood chest to chest, thigh to thigh, separated by only thin layers of cotton. His erection surged between them, pressing hot and hard against her lower belly. Threading her trembling fingers through the hair at his nape, she pulled his head back down to hers for another kiss.

  Like the flip of a switch, everything shifted. Transformed.

  His hands tightened on her face as he claimed her mouth again, but this kiss wasn’t soft and tender. It was hungry. Fierce. His mouth melded with hers with an urgency that made her chest tighten. He licked across the seam of her mouth and she parted her lips on a soft moan, welcoming his exploration, and the slick, swirling strokes of his tongue.

  His hands dropped to her shoulders and his mouth to her neck. Sucking, licking, gently biting. Her mind emptied of everything but Dirk. It was him. Only him. His mouth. His hands. His soft words murmured against her skin. The deliciously abrasive bristle of his whisker stubble. His fingers pushing her camisole strap aside. His mouth replacing it, moving over her shoulder in a hot wet trail across her collar bone.

  The sensations of his mouth, his hands, and hot tongue robbed her of breath. Her nipples were swollen, almost painfully erect. Her breasts ached for his touch. She clutched his hair with a soft sound—a plea for relief that he didn’t ignore. Yes. Sweet Jesus. Yes.

  His mouth came down, kissing, gently biting, and then suckling her breasts. He teased, strummed, and plucked her nipples, inducing a sudden surge of wetness between her thighs and transferring the ache to a different place.

  She slid her hands down his neck, over his broad shoulders, to the wide, smooth plane of his back. He brought his hands lower too. Her body rippled under his fingers tracing gently down her spine until they
rested on the small of her back. His callused thumbs located the hollowed dimples. Circling, stroking. Every touch, kiss, breath, and heartbeat wrested a response, ramping her need to a fever pitch. She’d never felt like this before, on fire and burning up with want. She whimpered and ground herself against him. The friction of his erection created a blinding rush of pleasure. He ran a hand up her thigh, reaching inside the leg of her shorts to stroke his fingers through her damp curls. He kissed her again. Slow and deep. He also probed further. Deeper.

  She clutched him tighter, her body quivering.

  “You nervous, Red?”

  “Well, yeah,” she confessed.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed. “I won’t be rough and I’ll take care of you first.”

  Before she realized what he meant by that, he’d dropped to his knees. Caressing the length of her legs, his mouth trailed up the wake of gooseflesh created by his hands. He nuzzled her through her shorts. She gasped at the mind-reeling jolt of pleasure.

  His gaze shot up to hers. “You like that?”

  “I—I—I don’t know,” she answered back. “I think so.”

  “What’re you saying, Red? No one’s ever gone down on you before?”

  A flood of heat invaded her face. Her gaze dropped from his. “Ah…well…ah…no.”

  He grinned. “Hell, sweetheart, I consider it an honor to be the first.”

  Her body tensed with apprehension. She squeezed her thighs tightly together. “Y-you really don’t have to do that.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He laughed. “Maybe you aren’t certain about it, but I promise you I am. You just gotta trust me on this one, Red. I swear you’ll like it…a lot.”

  Before she could protest again, he smoothed his hands up to her hips. Anchoring them there, he buried his face fully into her, licking and nibbling through her shorts. She bucked against him but he held her firm and strong against his mouth until she swayed drunkenly on her feet.