She sighed too, dropping her arms, draping them around Ridge’s neck as he eased her gently onto the bed. With that long, slow sigh she released what little was left of the old, cautious Sierra. The new Sierra reached up and grasped the vertical posts of the big wooden headboard as he pulled off her boots then watched as he worked her belt loose and slipped off her jeans. The denim hung forgotten from his fingers as he stared down at her, his hot gaze licking up her body like flames, setting every nerve alight.
Just when she’d started to feel self-conscious, he sat down on the side of the bed and ran a cautious finger down the strap of her lacy bra with a touch so tender it soothed her fears.
“I had a Victoria’s Secret catalog under my mattress when I was a kid,” he said in his low, gravelly voice. “Maybe that’s why I like a pretty woman in pretty lingerie so much.” His voice dropped to a low murmur as he traced the edge of the fabric that cupped her breasts. “Pretty woman… in pretty… clothes…” He ran his fingertips down into the V of her cleavage then up the other side. “You’re a fantasy come true.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him it was hardly lingerie, just underwear, bought from some regular place like Target or maybe Walmart. It matched, of course, but it wasn’t up to her usual standards. She’d worn Hanes Her Way on purpose, thinking it might keep her out of his bed if she were to lose her mind and end up at the ranch tonight.
She said a silent farewell to her mind and let go of the headboard to reach for him, but he caught her hands in his and brought them back to the headboard.
“I like you this way.” He smiled a slow smile, and she felt pinned there, bound by his gaze as if soft rawhide tied her to the bed. Twining her fingers around the posts, she felt like a sacrificial virgin. She wasn’t sure what it meant that he liked that, but she liked it too. As long as she kept her hands tight around those turned oak posts, she was at his mercy. None of this was her fault. It was him—either him or the devil—that made her do it.
Ridge was evidently dead set on becoming an expert on lingerie in one easy lesson. He took his time appreciating every seam and slip of lace. He traced the elastic of her low-cut bikini and her skin shivered as he swept over the soft dips by her hip bone.
She wanted him to take them off.
She wanted that even more as he traced the high line of her sternum and stroked the arch of each rib. Why did she have so many ribs, anyway? She made a mew of impatience but he kept moving slowly, journeying up over her breasts again and taking a slow dip into her cleavage. She shivered and twisted, still gripping the headboard.
Then he threw a leg over her and pinned her to the bed. Bending down, he kissed her, deep and wild, and suddenly his hands were everywhere, cupping her breasts, squeezing and teasing and moving, always moving, to her hips, to her thighs, to the V between her legs. He caressed her through the fabric until the panties he’d so admired were damp and she wished they would burn right off her body. She was smoldering inside, the heat of her body warming the room as she simmered with a desperate desire to give him everything—her body, her breasts, her bones, her lips, her heart.
No, wait. Not her heart. No.
The heat rushed out and panic coursed in to replace it, panic that left her fluttering and breathless. She let go of the headboard, pulling her legs up under her so she could kneel and put a hand to her heaving chest while she struggled to catch her breath.
“Sorry,” she said. “Wait—just—I don’t know… Wait.”
Ridge sat up too, the heavy heat of his gaze telling her she’d caught him just in time. Another second and he couldn’t have stopped. As it was, his eyes were wary, and he wasn’t smiling. Not even close.
“What happened?” His hot gaze cooled to warm as he took in her panic—a warmth she remembered, the warmth of the man she knew. For a moment, their need had been so strong it was like they’d been two strangers.
He skimmed his hand down her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I—I just need a break.” She was breathing like she’d just run a marathon. What the hell was wrong with her?
“What kind of break? You hungry? Tired?”
“Just—just a break.” What could she tell him? That she was overwhelmed? That he made her feel too much, too fast?
This was supposed to be a fling. They weren’t supposed to mean anything to each other. But one minute she’d been herself, savoring the pleasure of his touch, and the next she’d melted, and they’d blended together into one, like honey stirred into ginger tea or cream billowing into coffee and blending, inseparable.
If she let that happen, she’d be part of him, and she’d be something less than whole when she left. Jumping fences was fine as long as the racehorse remembered where she belonged when the wild run was over.
And Sierra didn’t belong with this cowboy who sat patiently beside her, watching her for signs of skittishness, wondering if she’d try to bolt. She didn’t belong in this room, spare and masculine, infused with the scent of cedar and leather and that indescribable blend of clean linen, candle wax, and dust that defined old houses.
She belonged—she belonged…
Had she ever belonged anywhere?
She hadn’t. Not really. She’d always been so set on creating her future, she’d never paid attention to the present. She’d never made herself the kind of home she was so set on creating for the boys. Maybe she needed a hometown too.
Funny, she’d never thought of that. But it would have to wait, because tonight she couldn’t think.
She’d lost her mind, after all.
Ridge lifted one hand slowly to her face, as if he was afraid she’d shy and run, and gently traced her hairline. That forced her to look at him, and looking at him—well, looking at him forced her to kiss him.
He kissed her tenderly, coaxing her out of her panic. His tongue tangled with hers and they sparred; sometimes he was winning, sometimes it was her, but there was a sweet humor to it that made her rise on her knees and kiss him harder, deeper, and he answered with a kiss that rocked her right out of all that foolishness about running and belonging and what she should and shouldn’t do.
***
Ridge didn’t know why Sierra had needed a break, but she’d evidently gotten the rest she needed to think things through because she went from willing to wanton in 3.5 seconds. A moment ago she’d been lying there, letting him touch her, responding and reacting. Now she was taking things into her own hands, literally tearing at his shirt and laughing when a button flew off and pinged against the wall. She was throwing off sparks like tinder struck by lightning, and he stood and shed his clothes quickly, before she burned them off.
Then it was his turn. Victoria’s Secret be damned; the lacy bra was off in seconds, the panties even faster, and then she was naked, rolling beneath him, twisting against him like she was a cat and he was catnip. The first time they’d made love they’d barely known each other, but now he knew what she liked and he put every bit of that knowledge to use, stroking the secret spots that made her moan and kissing her full on the way she liked it, giving and taking, tangling tongues with no reservations.
But he wasn’t fully in charge.
She’d learned a few things herself, and when she reached between his legs and stroked him there, right there, he thought he’d die if he didn’t take her right that moment. But he closed his eyes. He held back.
The words he planned to write formed in his head: Find partner. He was surprised he was capable of conscious thought, but the words were as clear as if plan B were pasted to the headboard of his bed.
Equally clear was the knowledge that he could cross the words off his list because he’d found her. Now he had to win her.
He was winning her body, but he wasn’t sure that was supposed to be the first step. He was supposed to win her heart first, but he didn’t know a darned thing about women’s hearts.
Hell, he wasn’t even sure he had one of his own.
Chapter 33
; Sierra reached up and cupped Ridge’s face in her hands. He looked down into puzzled green eyes and realized, with a jolt of panic, that they’d lost that playful spark.
“Ridge?” She started to sit up. “Do you need a break?”
“No.” He wanted to tell her why he’d stopped. What if he told her he’d seen the future, and the two of them were together in every part of it, for years to come? What if she knew what he was thinking?
She’d run away screaming, that’s what. She’d scramble off the bed and throw her clothes on, tossing off some vague excuse while she ran for the door, for her car, for some future that didn’t keep her here, with him.
She wasn’t ready. And anyway, lists and goals had no place in the bedroom.
“No, darlin’. I’m fine.”
He looked straight into her eyes, and she probably saw a piece of his thoughts there, but she let him ease closer, let him kiss her, and then they were lost in lovemaking again.
Lovemaking. That’s what they called it, right? And that meant that sex made love. So he was doing it right after all.
Now that he’d shut down the whirling tornado in his brain, his confidence came back. His hands stroked her skin, rough on smooth, and his tongue and lips followed, kissing what he’d just caressed. He memorized the gentle geography of her curves and swells, an explorer advancing into new terrain.
Easing her legs apart, he found her sweet and swollen, glistening with her want for him. As he licked and teased, she threw her head back and moaned, erasing everything from his mind but desire.
But she hadn’t reached the heights yet. He gripped her hips as she writhed and rose; he kissed and licked, but it was when he said her name that she tensed and lifted her hips as she cried out, formless cries at first and then his name, over and over and over.
When he stopped, she was breathing hard, like a racehorse pushed to the edge of endurance, but rather than roll away, she reached for him for comfort.
Lovemaking.
He lay beside her and held her while she calmed, stroked her hair and kissed her cheek, her ear, her neck while she trembled through the aftershocks.
He could feel her coming back to the real world, leaving the world they’d made together. He hoped they’d truly made love, and she wouldn’t pull away when she returned to reality.
But she did.
***
Sierra scrambled up to a sitting position and stared at Ridge. What the hell had he done? She’d had sex before, good sex, but the feelings he’d filled her with were something new. She had been completely out of control, utterly at his mercy, and yet she felt empowered, not diminished.
Empowered.
How could that be? She’d called his name over and over, wanting him, needing him with a desperation she’d never experienced before. And yet, she felt stronger than she’d ever felt before.
It was her turn now.
Putting one palm on his chest, she pushed him onto his back. She straddled his thighs with her hands on his shoulders and rocked her hips, slowly at first, slip-sliding her center along the length of him, leaving him glistening with her wetness and groaning with desire.
He reached up to grab her hips, but she wasn’t letting him take charge again. Not that she’d minded, but it was her turn now. Catching his hands, she laced her fingers into his and pushed them down on the mattress at his shoulders while she lowered herself onto him, just a little, barely letting him inside before she stopped and rocked again. All the while, she watched frustration war with ecstasy on his face, inches below her own.
She thought she might lose it again if she kept playing, so she lowered herself a little more then pulled away, then gave him more, then more, then more, until she had to reach up and grab the top of the headboard so she could hang on and close her eyes and go, just go, riding, riding to sweet oblivion.
He filled her. He warmed her. And he touched all the right places inside her, as if he’d been made to fit her. He felt perfect, so perfect…
She thought about hanging on to sanity, but then she lost her grip on everything, everything but him. Her body tightened, tensed, and broke all over again. She rose on a dizzy tide of sensation as he thrust one more time and clenched his fists and she knew he’d broken too.
***
Ridge held Sierra as she slept, but he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He was too busy sorting out the conflicting ideas that were running through his mind like a bunch of ornery bull calves, knocking stuff over and trampling his sensible plan into an unrecognizable mess.
Hell, Sierra had done some trampling of her own. He hadn’t had this much taken out of him since his last rodeo ride. Their lovemaking had been anything but gentle, and he felt bruised and battered and worn right down to the bone—in a good way.
For the most part, his plan hadn’t changed. He still wanted Sierra to be his partner in plan B. But he wanted her in another way too—a way that had nothing to do with plans or partnerships. She’d suddenly become a whole lot more than an item on a list.
She stirred in her sleep and muttered something he couldn’t understand. He closed his eyes and pulled her closer, but instead of snuggling up, she bolted from her pillow like a vampire popping up from a coffin.
“No,” she said.
He chuckled as she glanced wildly around the room, as if she wasn’t sure where she was.
“You having a dream, sweetheart?”
She fixed her eyes on him, and her look of horror made him feel like he was the vampire.
“No.” She groaned and fell back onto the bed so hard she bounced. “I wish I was.”
She said it under her breath, and he knew he wasn’t meant to hear it—but he did, and he felt his own dream shattering like crystal hitting concrete.
What was he thinking? There was no happily ever after in Wynott for Sierra. She’d made it clear from day one that her goal was to view Wynott in her rearview mirror as soon as possible. If he wasn’t careful, she’d run him over on her way out, leave him lying in the dust while she zoomed off to better things in bigger places.
***
Sierra turned her head to see the numbers on Ridge’s ancient clock radio glowing red in the darkness.
Midnight. Great. She’d be returning to her apartment above Phoenix House around one.
Gil and Jessie wouldn’t ask her to explain where she’d been, though Jessie would smile knowingly. Riley was spending the night in Denver, so Sierra wouldn’t have to face her. But her neighbors on Main Street would hear the van pull up. The whole town would be talking by daybreak.
She scrambled out of bed and started gathering her clothes. Where were her panties? What was it about this guy that had her flinging her underclothes in all directions?
“Hey.” Ridge sat up against the headboard, the rumpled sheets barely hiding the fact that he was ready for another go-round. “Take it easy.”
She had her jeans half on, and when she turned to look at him, her foot got stuck. She hopped twice and fell sideways on the bed. Scrambling up quickly so he wouldn’t have a chance to seduce her again, she made another attempt at pushing her foot through the leg of her jeans and fell again, this time on her back. There was that ceiling again. She closed her eyes tight and wished the world would just stop spinning.
“Breathe,” Ridge said.
That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t looking at himself naked and wishing he could start the whole rumpus all over again. Nor did he know what a bad idea said rumpus was.
No, he was looking at her. Not at her breasts, barely hidden by the lacy bra, but at her face. And his expression scared her to death. It was—it was tender.
Lustful would have been okay; even leering was all right. But tenderness set off warning bells that made her want to get in her car and drive to some far corner of the earth where there were no cowboys to look at her like that and make her feel this way. This much.
Because he made her want to stay. She had things to do, places to go. She’d always been defined by her fie
rce ambition, but he made her want to chuck it all and keep her job in Wynott, so she could stay with her little boys and her cowboy, and enjoy a normal, happy life. He made her feel like she didn’t have to change the world, like she could let somebody else do that.
And what if everybody felt that way?
“Breathe,” he said again.
She did, but it came in short, shallow breaths that sounded like the Tweedles panting. Fortunately, he let go of her arm and didn’t make any attempt to touch her again, so she eventually regained her self-control and managed to get the rest of her clothes on without falling down.
He didn’t say much as she readied herself to leave, just followed her out of the bedroom and down the hall. He’d put on a pair of jeans and nothing else, so when she turned to say good-bye, she didn’t know where to look. She couldn’t look at his chest, because it was naked and might get her thoughts spinning back to the bedroom. So she looked at his pants, but that wasn’t any better since apparently he’d really enjoyed watching her dress. That left his face, and the minute she met his eyes, she realized that was a mistake too.
The tender expression was still there.
“Thank you,” he said.
What was she supposed to say now? You’re welcome seemed to invite a second showing, and she wasn’t about to offer that. But she’d better figure out her exit line soon, because the longer she stood there, the longer he could work his magic on her.
She’d been relieved when this job in the back of beyond turned out to be temporary. But now she felt like she’d stepped into a quagmire of love and attraction. She was crazy about the kids, every one of them, and loved them almost as if they were her own. She was crazy about this cowboy too, and by the looks of things, he felt the same way.
But in four weeks—one short month—she was leaving Wynott forever. She was starting to worry she’d be leaving her heart behind.
The light from the hallway spilled out the door, highlighting the uneven floor of the porch and making the white railing stand in sharp relief to the pure, deep dark of the country night. She looked out into black velvet and felt her heartbeat steady to the chirping of the crickets’ faint chorus. The distant call of a night bird added a touch of mystery to the scene, and the grass whispered, stroked and soothed by a gentle breeze.
How to Handle a Cowboy Page 21
