Second Chance Cowboy

by A. J. Pine

  “I guess I’m still reconciling the girl I knew with the woman you are now.”

  He took her into his mouth, and she arched her back as he licked and kissed up her bare flesh until he was nipping at her neck, her earlobe.

  “Same,” she said, though she was nearly breathless. She wasn’t even sure how she was still standing because surely she’d just dissolved into a puddle.

  His teeth relinquished her earlobe so he could speak. “Does this new Ava,” he started, his voice so low and sexy she thought he might simply talk her into orgasm, “still like to make love under the stars?” He kissed her neck again, then lifted his head. “It’s still your call,” he reminded her.

  She tipped her head back and glanced at the glorious night sky sprinkled with tiny, flickering diamonds. She’d been with Jack before—even slept with him beneath the night sky. But they had been eighteen. Kids. She’d never done anything like this in her adult life before, but she’d also never wanted a man like she wanted Jack, so she found herself answering, “Yes.”

  He lifted her in his arms, and she crossed her legs over his ass—that perfect ass she’d stared at more than once as he’d pruned the vines and tilled the cover crop. For a man who’d spent the past several years in an office behind a desk, he was a natural in the outdoors, strong and capable.

  He deposited her onto a pillowed lawn chair, and she couldn’t help but writhe in anticipation.

  He untied the belt at her waist, then quickly found the zipper that ran down the side of her dress. In seconds the garment was gone, and he hummed with what sounded like satisfaction to see her laid out beneath him in nothing but her white lace panties.

  He sat on the side of the chair, silent as he ran a hand from her cheek, down her neck, over her breast, and onto her stomach, where he traced soft circles around her belly button—and then along the faded scar that signified Owen’s entrance into their lives.

  She wasn’t self-conscious. She wanted him to explore every inch of her, and that’s exactly what he was doing in his perfect, silent reverence that she felt not only with his touch but with that intense gaze—the one thing about him that hadn’t changed.

  As he pulled her panties down, each of his hands explored her hips, her thighs, his thumbs rubbing over her sensitive skin.

  Goose bumps covered her flesh, but they had nothing to do with the chill of the night air. Every sensation was Jack. All Jack.

  Once they reached her ankles, her panties were no more. His hands skimmed their way back up her legs, stopping only when his thumbs were close enough to tease another sensation from her—one of pure, primal need.

  One thumb explored her crease, and he hissed in a breath when he felt how wet she was.

  Ava whimpered and squirmed. “Please,” she said. “Jack, please.”

  That same thumb found her swollen center and pressed softly against her.

  Words wouldn’t come. She could only gasp and hope he understood that what she meant was More. God. Please. More.

  He slid a finger inside her, then another, and she was sure she was seconds away from coming completely undone. He moved so slowly, with such control, holding her at the edge without letting her teeter over.

  He leaned down to kiss her, his lips as gentle and careful as his movements inside her. They’d been virtual strangers for ten years, yet the way he touched her, kissed her, even looked at her—it was as if he knew her better than anyone else.

  He was her first love, the father of her child, and the incredible man she’d always known he’d become. And she was falling harder for the man than she’d ever thought possible.

  Could he see that, too?

  She wanted him, not only like this but with her whole heart.

  He pulled back, and she opened her eyes to find him gazing at her. He pulled back, and she opened her eyes to find him gazing at her, transfixed.

  She reached for his face, her thumb stroking the stubble he hadn’t shaved, as if he knew how sexy he looked like this.

  “You’re staring,” she said, then gasped as his thumb swirled around her clit.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said matter-of-factly. “So damn beautiful. And I get to touch you like this. I get to kiss those perfect pink lips.” Then he did. “And I get to look at you bathed in moonlight and stars.”

  He slid his fingers out, achingly slow as heat coiled in her belly. Then, filling her with the same sweet agony, they sank back inside, pulsing, reaching just the right place until she feared she wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

  She cried out, dropping her hand from his cheek and grabbing the wooden frame of the chair above her head.

  “Oh my God!” She bucked against his palm. “You can’t”—she gasped for breath—“be all strong and silent”—another gasp—“and then say things like that.” She grabbed his wrist to hold his hand still so she could talk. “‘Bathed in moonlight and stars’? That’s like freaking poetry.”

  He grinned and tried to peel her fingers from his wrist, but she shook her head. “You make it sound like it’s some privilege to touch me.”

  He tilted his head to the side, his eyes intent on her form again. “Isn’t it?” he asked.

  She didn’t know what to say to that. Because she wanted to read into it and at the same time was afraid it meant nothing more than how he felt right now. In the moment.

  “I was supposed to take care of you tonight,” she said finally.

  He shrugged and dipped his head toward the obvious bulge in his jeans. “I think it’s safe to say I’m enjoying what I’m doing right now.”

  His fingers pumped inside her, and she gave his wrist an admonishing squeeze even as she writhed.

  “My call. You—you said whatever happened between us here was my call, right?”

  “Yep,” he said and slowed his movement.

  She tugged at his wrist, forcing his hand from her, as much as she hated to do it. “I want to see you bathed in moonlight,” she told him. “I want to kiss and explore every inch of you, too.”

  He didn’t protest. So she sat up and unbuttoned his flannel shirt, her fingers skimming his shoulders as she pushed it over his arms. She kissed his neck and the dusting of hair on his chest.

  “Stand up,” she ordered, though her tone was more playful than authoritative.

  He obliged, and she got to work unbuttoning his jeans. They’d both been barefoot, so he kicked them off easily. Then she took her time lowering his boxer briefs as he had with her panties, relishing the feel of his skin beneath her own. Her finger ran along the scar on his shin where the bone had been broken and repaired with surgery. They’d been too frenzied that day in the bathroom, when he’d pulled her into the shower, for her to see it. She’d known the scar was there, but time had let her forget. It was only visible on close inspection. And now they were as close as two people could get with the whole night laid before them to explore.

  An unexpected tear leaked from the corner of her eye as she imagined the boy he was, what he’d gone through, and why she always knew he’d have to leave.

  Then there they were, the two of them bare beneath the moon and stars. Her breath caught in her throat as she stood to meet his gaze. “You’re beautiful,” she said, her voice breaking on that last word.

  He pulled her to him, his erection firm against her, and she buried her face in his chest. “Is this the part where I ask you what’s wrong?” He kissed the top of her head, and she could feel him inhale against her hair.

  She tilted her head up, not trying to hide the other tears that had sprung free. “You lost so much before I’d even met you,” she said. “I need you to understand that I kept Owen from you not because I saw you as unfit or unworthy but because I loved you too much to make you stay.”

  It was the same reason why she thought she couldn’t ask him to stay now. He had to want it. He had to want her and Owen.

  “And when I went to L.A.—I got scared. You had built this life for yourself with someone else. I thou
ght I’d just be taking away what you’d left to find in the first place.”

  He swiped at her tears with his thumbs, then cradled her face in his palms. “I didn’t go through with it,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “It wasn’t right between me and her. I could never put my finger on it. She wanted exactly what I wanted—no family—just work. We got along great—”

  Ava cleared her throat. “Umm, I know I broke the rules and brought up the past, but I’m not sure I’m past the past enough to hear about how great you got along with your ex-fiancée.”

  And how much you don’t want a family.

  He laughed softly. “You didn’t let me finish. I couldn’t put my finger on what was missing then.” He let out a breath. “Or at least, I wouldn’t admit it to myself.”

  “Jack, you don’t have to…” Her heart raced.

  “I know,” he said softly, then kissed her. “But I want to.” He kissed her again, soft, sweet nibbles against her lips, teasing not only her body, but her heart. “She wasn’t you.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, then cupped his face in her palms. “I messed up twice,” she admitted. “I should have given you a choice.”

  “And I should have fought harder for you when you pushed me away. But—” He shook his head. “Shit.”

  “You didn’t have any fight left,” she said, finishing his thought. “And I shouldn’t have let you leave thinking I was afraid of you. That couldn’t have been any further from the truth.”

  He ran has hands through her hair and down her back. “Okay, Red. Your call.”

  “Fight for me now,” she said, then kissed him. “You can start by making love to me.”

  In a couple of quick movements, he’d pulled the long pillows from two of the chairs and laid them side-by-side on the floor of the deck. He lowered her down to the makeshift bed, kissing her neck and shoulders as he covered her body with his own.

  Then his hand fumbled on the ground toward his jeans.

  “We don’t need—” she blurted. “I mean, I’ve been on the pill for a couple of years. I understand, though, if you’re worried about…you know…what happened before.”

  Not like it mattered. He’d worn a condom when Owen was conceived.

  He stopped reaching and stilled above her. “I’m not worried.” He said the words with such certainty. “As long as you’re sure this is what you want.”

  She nodded and let her legs part, a silent invitation as she marveled at his long, thick length.

  He nudged her slick opening, and she sucked in a breath. Then he sank inside her to the hilt, filling her so completely that she cried out with total and utter abandon. A growl tore from his throat as he slid out and in again, harder and deeper than she’d thought he could go.

  Ava hooked her legs around him and arched into his chest. She wanted him closer. She needed there to be no more distance. But only Jack could bridge that gap by letting her in.

  “I loved you too,” he said, echoing her words, and her eyes opened to find him staring intently once again. “But I also hurt you without even knowing I had.”

  She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.

  “If I could take back what I said to you while you stood there with Owen growing inside you—if I could erase what it must have felt like for you to hear me say I never wanted to be a father—I would.”

  The muscle in his jaw pulsed, and she leaned up to kiss him.

  “You’re not your father. No matter what similarities you think you share, you’re not him.”

  His movement inside her was slow, controlled. Just like his words. Like everything he seemed to do. But he was opening up to her now more than he ever had, and as much as she ached with what felt like an insatiable need, she didn’t want him to stop talking. Not when they were so close to—something.

  He kissed her softly, rocking into her.

  “More,” she whispered.

  He slid out and back into her with such aching tenderness. How had she been without this for the past decade? How was it possible to want anyone else like she wanted him?

  She skimmed her fingers through his already disheveled blond waves. He wanted her, too. She knew he did. Maybe they were done walking the tightrope, done fearing that any second they could lose their delicate balance and fall hard to the unforgiving ground of New York versus California, of will he or won’t he be a real presence in Owen’s life—or even hers. Maybe she didn’t need to protect her heart from Jack Everett. Maybe the pie-in-the-sky fairy tale of school, a career, and her, Jack, and Owen being a family could actually come true.

  He kissed her, soft and achingly sweet. “When I left here, I didn’t just run from my past. I ran from the best part of my life. You.” He cupped her cheek as a tear slid toward his palm. “And Owen, too.”

  Well, damn it if her vision wasn’t completely blurred with tears now. She opened her mouth to respond, but he silenced her with a kiss as he thrust inside her, rocking her to her core. Maybe it was better like this. She wouldn’t have to ask him what that meant. Because he could say all that and stay—or he could say it and still leave. Right now, though, as they both teetered on that brink together, she wouldn’t be able to form a coherent word even if she tried. But every time she arched against him, she thought the words she wanted to say.

  Choose us.

  Stay.

  I love you.

  He’d let this week be her call. She had to let the rest of his life be his. She’d made it clear she wanted him to fight for her. He’d have to decide what that meant because it wasn’t her right to ask him to give up something as huge as his career.

  At that moment he slid his hand between them, rubbing her wet, swollen center, and even when she called out his name, eyes closed in heartbreaking ecstasy, she still saw stars.

  He followed her with his own release, a primal sound tearing from his chest that spoke nothing of the quiet control he wore like a mask for everyone else.

  For her he had let go.

  He collapsed beside her. Still in her. His forehead resting against hers.

  She stroked her fingers through his hair. The strands at the nape of his neck were damp with sweat. His eyes were closed, but a soft smile rested on his face. As if he knew she was wondering whether or not he’d fallen asleep, he flexed inside her, and she gasped.

  “Sorry,” he said, one eye blinking open.

  “You are not.” She retaliated by clenching around his still-solid shaft.

  He swore through his teeth, then kissed her hungrily.

  “I can’t seem to get enough of you,” he said.

  She knew they’d have to disconnect from one another eventually, but she couldn’t bring herself to initiate. Not yet. Instead she hooked her leg over his as he traced lazy circles on her shoulder.

  “It might take me some time to explore each and every one of these freckles. Are you sure you and Owen have to go home tomorrow?”

  Her heart sank. Their five days were up. But he’d said she was the best part of his life. Owen too. Maybe not wanting them to leave meant he was ready to stay.

  “Tomorrow,” she said with a nervous smile. “You looking forward to the game?”

  He grinned and kissed tenderly along the line of her jaw. “Watching Owen play ball? Hell yes. You know…Jenna and Luke seem to have taken a liking to him as well. I even think Walker tolerates him.”

  She laughed. “Invite them. Please. It would mean the world to him if you were all there, but after the game…”

  “After the game—” He paused and stroked her cheek, then tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear.

  She shivered.

  “You’re cold,” he said.

  “No. I mean yes, but—” There was a chill in the night air, and she was completely naked. But it was also the anticipation of what tomorrow meant.

  He did the unthinkable and slid out of her. She gasped, her sensitive nerves still reacting to him.

  “We should prob
ably clean up, put some clothes on. The rodeo doesn’t go all night.” He kissed her forehead. “There’s a towel on the bench if you need and a sweatshirt of mine on the chair in the office, the room right next to yours. You’re welcome to it if you want.”

  Jack Everett—ever the planner. She chuckled.

  “Have you worn this sweatshirt you speak of recently?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  “So it smells like you?”

  He laughed. “I suppose it does.”

  “Sold. I’m gonna go freshen up and change. We’ll put a plan in order for after the game. Then, if it’s all right with you, I’m gonna grab those amazing paint supplies you bought and paint that sky.”

  She felt so light, buoyant. Something had surely shifted between them.

  He rolled onto his back, resting his head on his hands. Good God, the man was a specimen. Simply looking at him made her want to do what they just did all over again. But he was right. Owen, his brothers, and Jenna would be home soon enough. There’d be another chance for round two. She hoped.

  “You know, I never really noticed this sky you speak of before tonight. It’s not too bad.”

  He grinned. He obviously knew she was watching. How could she not? He was beautiful.

  She’d cleaned up and thrown on a tank and yoga pants, then padded into the office for Jack’s sweatshirt. It was right where he’d said it would be, hanging over the chair. She held it up for inspection. It was a navy hoodie with UCLA embroidered in yellow and LAW in white.

  She brought it to her nose, breathed in—breathed Jack in—and smiled. He was never getting this sweatshirt back. Tugging it over her head was like having his body wrapped around hers all over again.

  She glanced down at the desk, which was maybe a little nosy. He’d been doing double duty all week—working in the vineyard and then catching up on legal work whenever he found spare time. This was his private space.

  She should have grabbed the sweatshirt and walked away, but on the top of a pile of folders was one that bore a sticky note that simply read: VINEYARD: OFFER OF SALE.