Texas Outlaws: Jesse

by Kimberly Raye

  Below the surface, she’d still been controlled. Restrained. Caged.

  Shoving the undies in his pocket, he grabbed a shirt and his keys. A few minutes later he left the motel behind and headed out to the rodeo arena for the kind of ride that could actually tire him out.

  Otherwise it was going to be one hell of a long night.

  * * *

  IT WAS THE longest night of Gracie Stone’s life.

  She came to that conclusion several hours later as she tossed and turned and tried to forget Jesse and the all-important fact that she’d had the best orgasm of her life.

  She’d known it would be great. That had been the point of going to his motel room in the first place. To experience a little greatness before she doomed herself to the monotony of small-town politics.

  At the same time, she’d sort of secretly hoped that it might be disastrous so that maybe, just maybe, she would want to forget it. Him. The two of them.

  Fat chance.

  Instead of putting tonight behind her, she kept thinking how great it would be to head back over to the motel and do it again. And again.

  Not that she would ever do such a thing. Instead, she was doing anything—everything—to keep her mind off of him and her hands away from the car keys.

  She answered email and cleaned out her refrigerator and watched three back-to-back Bridezillas reruns on cable and even checked her voice mail. Three messages from Trina detailing tomorrow’s schedule and one from her sister.

  “I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” Charlie’s voice carried over the line. “I’ve got study sessions on Friday and Saturday for my economics test on Monday. So I won’t be able to make it down this weekend. Call you later.” Beep.

  “So much for homemade pizzas,” she told Sugar Lips, who wagged her tail frantically before racing for the back door. That made four weeks in a row that Charlie hadn’t been able to make it home.

  Not that Gracie was counting.

  In the two years since her sister had gone away to school, she’d seen her less and less. Which was a good thing. It meant Charlie was growing up, becoming independent, relying on herself instead of clinging to Gracie.

  At the same time, she couldn’t help but feel a little lonely because Charlie was the one making the break, pulling away, getting out of Lost Gun. Meanwhile, Gracie was stuck here. That was the promise she’d made to her sister and she intended to keep it regardless of what direction Charlie took with her life. She wanted her sister to have a home base. A place to come back to when life kicked her a little too hard.

  She wanted Charlie to have the home Gracie herself had never had.

  She finished listening to one more message from Trina reminding her about a meeting with the local library committee and then headed to the kitchen for a chocolate cupcake.

  Okay, so it wasn’t a cupcake.

  If only she’d had a cupcake or a cookie or a candy bar, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t feel so deprived.

  Instead, she scarfed a handful of Wheat Thins and then went after a glass of ice water. Her hands trembled as she turned on the faucet and her gaze shifted to Sugar, who sat nearby, her ragged stuffed animal beneath her. The maltipom wrestled for a few seconds with the worn toy before whimpering when she couldn’t seem to get it beneath her for a little humping action.

  “I know the feeling.” She downed half the glass, but it did nothing to ease the heat swamping her from the inside out.

  She still felt nervous.

  Frazzled.

  Disappointed.

  She ignored the last thought and took another drink. Disappointed? Because Jesse hadn’t come running after her? Begging her for round two?

  A one-night stand, she reminded herself. That was all tonight had been. All it could ever be, because Gracie had an image to protect. She was a leader now. A role model.

  She’d made a promise to the town.

  Just as she’d made a promise to her sister to be there when Charlie needed her.

  Even if Charlie didn’t seem to need her all that much anymore.

  She ditched the thought along with the glass of water and headed back upstairs. She bypassed the bedroom and headed straight for the bathroom. Since a glass of ice water had failed to cool her down, maybe a cold shower would do the trick.

  Hopefully.

  Because the last thing, the very last thing, Gracie intended to do was to climb back into her car and head back over to Jesse’s motel room.

  No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.

  10

  “I KNEW YOU still had it in you,” Trina declared when Gracie walked into City Hall a half hour late the next morning.

  After an endless night spent tossing and turning and trying to forget all about Jesse Chisholm. “What are you talking about?”

  “You and a certain PBR champion.”

  “How did you find out?” She had the sudden vision of her and Jesse spread across the front page of Lost Gun Weekly, all the important body parts blacked out to preserve the newspaper’s reputation.

  But still...

  She fought down a sliver of excitement and held tight to the fear coiling inside her. “The newspaper?”

  “I admit that you gallivanting with anyone is definitely worthy of front-page treatment, but no. Kathy Mulcany heard it from Laura Lou Spencer, who heard it from Mitchell Presley, who said he was just hanging out watching the domino game with the Amberjack twins when he saw you and Jesse in front of Sarah’s Sweets.”

  “The bakery? That’s what the ‘attagirl’ was all about?”

  “I’ll admit I would rather hear that you were getting a little action instead of talking, but a girl has to start somewhere, I s’pose.”

  “We weren’t talking. I mean, we were, but not in a social capacity. Trespassers,” Gracie blurted. “He was worried about trespassers and I told him I would have the sheriff keep an eye on his place.”

  “So he didn’t invite you out?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And you didn’t invite him out?”

  “No.” Technically she’d invited him in. A wave of heat swept through her and she cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Are the, um, painters here yet?”

  “They’re taping up edges right now.” She eyed the cupcake sitting on her desk. “Look what the church ladies dropped off. There were six, but I didn’t have time for breakfast so I scarfed down a few and gave the receptionist next door some. I guess I’ll just save this one for later since you’re always on a diet—”

  “I’ll take it.” She snatched the vanilla goody out of Trina’s hand.

  “Really?”

  Yeah, really?

  “Picking out paint colors can be taxing work.” That and she’d worked up an appetite last night that she’d yet to satisfy, particularly after two pieces of whole wheat toast and a grapefruit for breakfast.

  She needed carbs in the worst way.

  That or another night with Jesse.

  Since option number two was out of the question, she would have to settle for second best. Besides, it was just one teeny tiny cupcake.

  “I’d be happy to get you a bran muffin.” Trina eyed her. “I know how you hate to cheat.”

  “That’s okay, I don’t mind cheating a little. Besides, maybe they’re sugar-free. With whole wheat flour and egg substitute. I heard Myrtle Nell is experimenting with some new Weight Watchers recipes. This is probably the result.”

  “It’s not,” Trina said, snatching the cake out of her hand. “Trust me, I’ve had three. There’s nothing weight conscious about it.” She set the vanilla confection on the far side of her desk. “I’ll get you a bran muffin.”

  Gracie thought about arguing, but Trina was already looking at her as if she’d grown a third eye
. She swallowed against the rising hunger and focused on the stack of papers on the edge of her assistant’s desk. “So what’s on the agenda for today?” She rifled through the papers. “A city council meeting? A water commission hearing?”

  Trina plucked the papers from her hands and returned them to their spot. “The Senior Ladies expect you for their weekly breakfast in the morning, and then there’s the middle school car wash. Then there’s the Daughters of the Republic of Texas bake sale. It’s at three o’clock on Thursday. The local kindergarten is also having their fundraiser on Thursday afternoon. I’ve also got you scheduled to lead the Pledge of Allegiance at the quilting circle on Friday morning. In the meantime, when you’re not playing the goodwill ambassador—” Trina smiled and motioned to the open doorway “—you get to redecorate your new office.”

  Forget getting out and about today to distract herself. She was going to be cooped up all afternoon in her shell of an office. With nothing but flooring samples and furniture catalogs and her own damnable thoughts. Gracie swallowed again. “Now I really need a cupcake.”

  * * *

  “YOUR CONCENTRATION’S for shit,” Eli told Jesse when he finally managed to catch his breath after taking a nosedive off the back of an ornery bull.

  “Stop giving me grief and help me back up, old man.” It was early in the afternoon and his fifth time in the dust in as many hours.

  Eli held out a hand. “I think you’ve had your butt beat enough for one day. Yesterday I could understand. You had that pretty young thing to catch your eye. But today?”

  Today was worse. Yesterday Gracie had just snagged his eye. Today she was under his skin, in his head.

  Why, he couldn’t rightly say.

  Last night had gone just like any other night with any other woman. They’d gotten down to business and then bam, she’d walked away. No talking or cuddling or sleeping over.

  That fact bothered him a helluva lot more than it should have considering he’d gone into last night knowing full well where he stood.

  Sex.

  That was all he’d been interested in. That was all she’d been interested in.

  At the same time, he couldn’t forget the way she’d pressed her lips against the side of his throat and hesitated. As if leaving wasn’t as easy as she’d thought.

  The possibility had eased the throbbing in his shoulders enough so he could close his eyes. Or maybe it had been the swig of whiskey he’d downed the minute he’d walked back into the empty room after causing enough of a distraction for her to slip out unnoticed.

  To preserve his own reputation.

  That was what he told himself. The last thing he needed was the two of them all over the local paper. The Weekly would have them committed and married within a few paragraphs and his image as rodeo’s hottest bad boy would be blown to hell and back.

  He surely hadn’t done it because she’d looked so petrified that he’d wanted—no, needed—to do something to ease the fear.

  So he’d waltzed out of the room for a run-in with a duo from a local news network out of Austin and given her a way out.

  “...if you don’t start paying attention, you’re going to split your head open.”

  He ignored the disappointment churning inside him and focused on Eli and the brand-new bull kicking and spitting across the arena.

  Shitkicker had been delivered first thing that morning from a breeder out of California. He would have had the bull shipped straight to Austin, but the breeder had been ahead of schedule and so he’d arrived in Lost Gun instead. A descendant of two of the most notorious rodeo bulls to ever buck a rider, Kicker was two thousand pounds of pure whup-ass and had cost him a load of money. Well spent, of course. Jesse hadn’t gotten to be the best by training halfway. He went all out in the practice arena, just the way he went all out during any ride.

  Because every ride meant something.

  Every time he climbed onto the back of a bull, he was one step closer to the next championship.

  Another step away from the scared, angry kid he’d been way back when.

  He focused on dusting off and heading back to the bull pen, where Troy and Lonnie, the trespassing duo from the night before, were busy shoveling manure. And complaining every step of the way.

  “Let me use the shovel and you hold the bucket.”

  “I’m on shovel duty for at least fifteen minutes. Stop bellyaching and just hold the bucket steady.”

  Shit plopped over the side and both boys cursed.

  Jesse would have smiled, except he didn’t feel much like smiling. He drank in a deep draft of hay and manure, but instead of smelling either, he smelled Gracie. The clean scent of her skin. The strawberry sweetness of her hair. The ripe, decadent aroma of her sex.

  Gracie had been there for so long in his memories, taunting and teasing and tempting him. One brief encounter wouldn’t be nearly enough to get her out of his system. He needed to overindulge, to satisfy himself over and over until he was sick of her. Gracie was like that overflowing basket of cherries. One night with her wouldn’t be enough to make him swear off her completely.

  He needed more.

  A lot more.

  He bypassed the boys and pushed open the corral gate.

  “Where you going?” Eli called after him.

  “I’ve got business in town.”

  Eli chuckled. “I’ll just bet.”

  Jesse was going after Gracie Stone, all right, and they were going to put out this fire that burned between them once and for all.

  But first...

  First it was going to get hot.

  Very hot.

  * * *

  “I CAN HARDLY BREATHE,” Gracie told Trina as she stood in the middle of the mess that would soon be her new office. The painters had finished two of the walls, but the rest they’d left until tomorrow. She fanned herself with a circle of paint swatches and eyed her assistant. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

  “The electrician had to kill the power to the air conditioner unit supplying this room in order to replace the old ducts.”

  “That explains it.”

  “That and him.” Trina stared past Gracie. “He definitely kicks up the body temp a few degrees.”

  Gracie turned to see the man who filled her open doorway. Faded jeans clung to his muscular legs. A crisp white T-shirt stretched over his hard, broad chest. Stubble shadowed his strong jaw. Her gaze collided with a pair of violet eyes, as rich and lush as crushed velvet. The air stalled in her lungs.

  “If it isn’t the infamous Jesse James Chisholm,” Trina said. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”

  “I’ve got some unfinished business with our new mayor.” Jesse closed the distance between them and stopped just scant inches away.

  “I’m not the mayor,” Gracie heard herself say. “Not yet.” Trina gave her a knowing look and she shrugged. “So, um, what can I do for you?”

  “Actually, it’s about what I can do for you.” He grinned and pulled her black undies from his pocket. The scrap of dark lace dangled from one tanned finger. “You forgot these.”

  Gracie’s heart stopped beating.

  Trina cleared her throat. “I, um, really should get going. It’s ladies’ night over at the saloon and I’ve got to pick up my dry cleaning and get my eyebrows waxed. I always knew you had it in you,” Trina murmured a split second before she hightailed it for the door. “I’ll be leaving now. For good. So you’ll have plenty of privacy to, um, talk, or whatever.” The click of a door punctuated the sentence and then she was gone.

  “We’ve been painting,” Gracie blurted, eager to drown out the thunder of her own traitorous heart. “Sahara Tan.” She eyed one of the finished walls.

  “Tan, huh?” Jesse rubbed the silky material of her underwear between his
two fingers in a sensual caress she felt from her head clear to the tips of her toes.

  Crazy. He wasn’t even close to touching her.

  Not now. But last night? He’d touched. And teased. And seduced. And damned if she didn’t want him to do it all over again.

  Heat uncoiled in her stomach, followed by a slow burning embarrassment that washed through her. She came so close to snatching the panties from his hand, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was right about her. That she was different now. Stiff and uptight and good.

  “I like tan.”

  “Seems to me like you’ve got a hankering for black.” He eyed the panties. “Me, too.” He stuffed them into his shirt pocket and glanced around. “Tan’s a little boring. I’d go with something a little bolder. Maybe yellow. Brighten the place up.”

  “I don’t need brighter. I need reliable.” Her gaze narrowed. “Is that why you stopped by? To offer decorating advice?”

  “Actually—” his voice took on a softer note “—I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s over and done with.”

  “That’s the point.” His mouth crooked in the faintest grin. “It’s not.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I want you and you still want me.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  His gaze caught and held hers. “So you haven’t been thinking about me kissing you or you touching me or me sliding deep, deep inside?” His eyes darkened as he reached out to finger the collar of her charcoal blouse. “One night isn’t enough.” His fingertip dipped beneath the neck and traced her collar bone. “We need to do it again. And again. However many times it takes.”

  “For what?”

  “For me to stop thinking about me kissing you and you touching me and me sliding deep, deep inside. For you to forget, too.”

  “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

  “Because your cheeks are flushed and your pulse is erratic.” He pressed a fingertip to the side of her neck in a slow sweeping gesture that sent goose bumps chasing up and down her arms. “And you look a little faint.”