The Hard-to-Get Cowboy

by Crystal Green

  Afraid of how close she was to losing all control with him.

  Sanity was just within her reach, and as he ran his lips over her neck, she had enough time to tell herself to put a halt to this before it was too late.

  She had never been “that kind of girl”…

  …But when he found the erogenous zone behind her ear with his mouth, she sure wanted to be.

  Just a little bit more, she thought to herself while she turned to liquid. Just a few more minutes…?.

  But her common sense dissipated in the steam of her craving for him, the chugging of her pulse.

  She tugged his shirt out of his jeans, slipping her hands to his waist.

  Warm. So warm. And hard with muscle, too.

  Her thumbs whisked over the lines of his stomach, and he leaned his forehead against hers.

  “What’re you asking for, Laila?”

  He was warning her, but she didn’t care. She just went on and on, smoothing her palms upward, over his ribs, then to his muscle-corded back.

  She probably should have heeded his caution, because it was as if she had switched on something inside him.

  With another groan, he insinuated his hands under Laila’s sweater, mapping her waist with his fingers, with tickling strokes that made her bite her bottom lip. And when he cupped her breasts, she arched away from the wall, urging him on.

  He didn’t hesitate, unfastening her bra as if he was an expert in hooks and lace. While using his thumbs to circle her nipples, he whispered roughly into her ear.

  “Is this what you want?”

  She could barely say yes, but she heard the whispering echo of that particular answer inside her, and it came out of her mouth like a gasp. He heard that, because he lifted her higher, so that her legs were around his hips now, her sweater bunched so that she could feel the cool air on her skin, her breasts.

  When he lowered his head to her, the heat of his mouth took over.

  He laved one breast while palming the other. A kiss, a suck, a nip, every motion stabbing her with heat until she felt as if she was being punctured by a feeling so strong, so good that she wanted more lovely pain, more adrenalized hurt.

  The ache came to settle between her legs, beating, pulsing, as he took more of her breast into his mouth.

  And, still, she wanted him to go on.

  He lifted his mouth from her, panting.

  Like a wanton thing, she grasped her skirt, pulling on it, inching it up. Asking him without any words.

  He laughed softly, understanding what she needed.

  He let her slide down the wall a bit, just until she was standing again, held up only by one of his hands while he eased the other under her skirt, between her legs.

  With a touch, she nearly exploded.

  She gasped as he pressed his fingers against her, then whispered to her again.

  “Laila…”

  He sounded just as far gone as she was, and that gave her another jolt. A stimulated one.

  His passion was the most powerful aphrodisiac of all—better than succeeding in her job. Better than winning the affections of any other man.

  Jackson was all that existed for Laila right now.

  But then it ended just as quickly as it had begun.

  With a long exhalation, Jackson removed his hand, pulling down her skirt without a word, making sure her bra and her sweater were in place.

  Confused, Laila stayed against the wall, still pounding with lust.

  Had she done something wrong?

  He had to have noticed the question in her expression, because he leaned forward, bracing his hand against the wall just over her shoulder.

  “The rain stopped,” he said.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, and she hated that her voice sounded shaky.

  Had he merely wanted to prove a point to her?

  Dammit, how dumb was she? Falling into the trap set by this well-known scoundrel? He’d probably just wanted to get a piece of the town golden girl.

  And he’d sure done it.

  “Well, Laila,” he said, backing away, tucking his shirt into his jeans. “The rain stopped, and it’s a good time to go back outside.”

  What?

  “Jerk,” she said, pushing past him toward the boathouse door.

  “Laila,” he said, sounding truly sorry. “Wait…”

  “Stuff it.”

  “Hey.” Then his tone changed back to a scalawag’s tease, just as it always did whenever things got a little too serious with him. “I don’t want you to think I’m easy, is all.”

  Now she wasn’t just confused, she was mortified as she exited the boathouse, rushing onto the dock, back toward the place where he had parked the truck.

  She barely noticed the wet ground, the rain-fresh air and its added chill that slapped her cheeks. She was still too heated-up, too…

  Turned on.

  Damn him, she thought, walking ever faster, as if she could outpace him…

  …as well as what had emerged inside her during their time in that boathouse.

  As Jackson followed the path that Laila was blazing back to the pickup, he gave her all the room she needed.

  Things had gotten way out of hand back there. He hadn’t meant to do much more than kiss her, but…

  Well, then the woman he had thought was so prim and proper had just up and disappeared, bringing out a Laila who wasn’t an ice princess as much as a fire-brand.

  But what was even more shocking to Jackson was what she had brought out in him—a protective side, of all things.

  A gentleman who hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her?

  He was still trying to figure that out. With any other woman, he would have taken full grasp of the situation, but there was just something about Laila that made him want to slow everything down.

  To savor every moment he would have with her before he left town.

  And thank God he would be leaving, because he didn’t know how long this side of him would last.

  In the near distance, he saw Laila quickly approaching his pickup truck only to come to a full stop, shaking her head, putting her hands on her hips.

  She must have just realized that the only ride home she had was with him.

  Thinking they could both use a few extra minutes to cool off, Jackson took his time getting to the truck. Chances were that he came off as being just as arrogant and teasing as usual, but that wasn’t the case this time.

  He didn’t dare poke fun at the situation, so he went straight to the passenger’s door and opened it for her, then walked over to his side.

  Without a word, they settled into their seats. From the way she was staring straight ahead through the rain-dotted windshield, he had no doubt that he should be glad that he was out of her line of vision. She could’ve probably cut him in two with just a look right now.

  He started the engine, then activated the windshield wipers. They whined across the glass, filling the fraught silence.

  Dammit, he couldn’t stand this anymore.

  “Believe it or not,” he said, “you’re probably going to thank me later for calling a halt to things.”

  He should have phrased it differently.

  “I doubt I’ll be thanking you for putting the ultimate whammy on me, Jackson.”

  “I wasn’t putting a whammy on you.”

  He wanted to tell her that he had gotten just as carried away as she had, but she had already crossed her arms over her chest and, in Woman Language, that meant she wasn’t open to a damn word he might have to say from there on out.

  Still, as Jackson drove away from their picnic spot, he didn’t let this setback faze him.

  To get her this riled up…it meant she actually liked him, right? Laila Cates definitely wasn’t one of those women who accepted a date with a man just because she had a carnal itch to scratch. She also wasn’t the kind who had dollar signs in her eyes and wanted to get a piece of the action from someone like an oil man with money to burn.

  She w
as genuine.

  And he actually liked that about her.

  It was a real quiet ride home as all those notions swirled around in Jackson’s head; the silence was made even more obvious as the shroud of evening fell around them.

  By the time he pulled up to her Old Town apartment building—a quaint redbrick structure with window boxes and garden paths—she had obviously had enough time to stew. And from the way she was clutching the handle of the door, he could tell that she was ready to explode out of the cab the second he pulled into a parking space.

  When he parked and cut the engine it didn’t take her but a second to bust out of the truck door, slam it, then make a beeline for her apartment.

  Suddenly, Jackson realized how empty the cab felt without her in it.

  Rashly, he got out and followed her down the flower-lined path. He got to her door just in time for her to shut it in his face.

  All right. Just a little obstacle.

  “Laila,” he said through the wood. He would take the chance that she might be right on the other side, just waiting for him to leave.

  Hell, he could almost feel her there, and he leaned against the doorframe, as if that may bring him closer to her. “You might think that this is the end of it, but it’s not.”

  Next door, a light went on, filtering through the window and onto the damp sidewalk.

  Neighbors. Nosy ones at that.

  “I aim to change your mind about today, Laila,” he said softly. “You’re gonna see sure enough that I meant no disrespect to you. That…”

  What else could he say?

  That I’m smitten with you…?

  As if she would believe that. He hardly even believed it himself, knowing it would just be something temporary.

  But those were hardly sentiments with which to woo a lady.

  He eased nearer to the door, lowering his voice. “If you’re there on the other side, listening, hear this—I’m going to win you over before I leave town, Laila. You can bet on that.”

  Thinking no more was necessary, Jackson sauntered back to his truck, nodding to Laila’s elderly neighbor, who was watching through her window.

  She pulled back from sight just as Jackson got to his truck, hoping that Laila had heard him.

  And that she had taken his promise to heart.

  Laila had certainly heard every word, and when she went to bed that night, it was with the certainty that she wouldn’t be getting much sleep.

  She didn’t, because she couldn’t stop thinking about why Jackson had put on the brakes and, minutes later, told her that he was going to win her over….

  Worse yet, when she woke up near the crack of dawn the next morning, it wasn’t because her mind was still racing with all the contrary thoughts Jackson had put there. It was because her body was being run through with restless, electric sensations—physical memories of what Jackson had done to her yesterday.

  Throwing off her covers, she went to wash up, put on some sweats and read the Sunday morning paper, which she found on her stoop wrapped in plastic, protected from more rain during the night.

  “Good morning, Laila,” said a voice from the stoop next door.

  Laila looked up to find Mrs. Haverly in her quilted yellow housecoat, her gray hair tousled.

  “Morning,” Laila said.

  “Had a bit of excitement last night?”

  Oh, man. Her neighbor had apparently been watching the big drama.

  “Just a date,” Laila said. “That’s about it.”

  “He’s cute. I remember back when I could’ve had a stud like him come courting.”

  Laila merely laughed, even though Mrs. Haverly had just offered way too much information. Then she held up her paper and wished Mrs. Haverly a good day.

  As she closed the door behind her, she thought that it was good to have neighbors—they kept watch when you were gone; they could be like an extended family.

  But, darn, they could put their noses where they didn’t belong.

  The central heating kicked on, and Laila plopped onto her beige faux-leather couch. It matched the rest of the room, which she’d decorated with the restrained hand of someone who liked paintings by Renoir, fake green plants and a sleek home-theater unit.

  Next to her, on an end table, was the only thing in life that Laila needed to take care of—Lord Vader, whose goldfish colors weren’t exactly reminiscent of a dark villain. But when Laila had purchased a tiny Death Star model to go inside the fishbowl, she couldn’t resist the name.

  She laid her head on the back of the couch, watching Vader swim around. “What do you think?” she asked. Of course, her fish wouldn’t answer, but talking to her pet was better than talking to herself. “Should I give Jackson Traub a chance to explain himself?”

  Vader went on swimming, hardly giving a hoot.

  “I know—why should I be fretting about this when he’s going to be gone soon enough, anyway? And why should I even care about that when I’m not even looking for someone to keep on dating?”

  Laila sighed because she already had her answer, even without talking to Vader. She enjoyed being with Jackson. More than enjoyed, actually, based on how she had reacted to him in the boathouse.

  Vader disappeared behind the Death Star, and Laila raised her head from the couch, thinking that this flagrant lack of concern from her pet was not a good sign. Or maybe she was just listening to her better instincts now.

  Would she do well to cut her losses with Jackson immediately, avoiding any more entanglements?

  Yeah, that was probably the safest way to go about this. She’d had her one date with the cowboy and wasn’t beholden to him to go on another.

  Ignoring the knot that had formed in her stomach, she finished reading the paper. After that, when she was just leaving her apartment to take her usual jog to the market for Football Day bean dip and chips, she told herself that she was already feeling better without Jackson. It could even be that Cade would soon hear about her date with the Texan, since Mrs. Haverly was known to be a gossip, and Laila’s purpose for going out with Jackson in the first place would have come to fruition.

  She put on a pair of sneakers, grabbed a tote bag, then went outside to brave the cloudy morning. She never listened to music while she jogged on the way to the market then walked back—the distraction seemed sacrilegious here in Thunder Canyon, where there was so much to appreciate: the song of birds, the stillness of the air, the trees all around her.

  It was a quick trip to the market, and as she started her walk back to her apartment, she hardly even minded that she looked a tad disheveled in her sweats with her hair in a messy ponytail and wearing very little makeup.

  At least, she didn’t mind until she walked out of the parking lot and onto the road, where, after a few minutes, she heard the purr of an engine behind her.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she recognized the blue pickup immediately.

  Her heart just about rammed out of her chest.

  Jackson?

  She resisted the temptation to sprint. Good heavens, she had almost forgotten how she had told him about her normal Football Day morning run yesterday during their picnic.

  But she still remembered what he had said just before he had left her alone last night.

  I’m going to win you over before I leave town, Laila. You can bet on that.

  As her pulse jigged, his truck pulled up alongside her, but she kept from looking over at him.

  Her body hummed, remembering.

  Wanting.

  “Need a ride?” he asked through the open passenger-side window. He was as friendly as could be, as if there had never been any hard feelings between them.

  “I’m fine.” She started to walk faster, but realized it wouldn’t do any good.

  Then she became ultra-aware that she was in sweats—and that she hardly looked like a beauty queen.

  But wasn’t that a good thing? Maybe she would scare him off.

  As usual, he was persistent. “Are you sure you do
n’t need a lift? It’s not out of my way.”

  Laila couldn’t stand another half hour of him dogging her.

  She halted, hands on her hips, and he stopped the truck. Behind him, the road was empty.

  “Jackson, what’re you doing?”

  He seemed bewildered at so simple a question. “I’m offering you a ride.”

  She blew out a breath. “Why are you on this road, first thing in the morning, on my side of town?”

  She knew that he was staying in a condo up at the resort. Renting, naturally.

  He offered her a maddening, charming grin. “I know this is your Sunday routine, so I took the chance that I might catch you here.”

  “Were you waiting in the market parking lot for me?”

  “Yeah, but I stayed occupied. Brought the paper with me.” Another grin, telling her that he was aware that he had skirted her main point.

  She would have liked to smack that grin right off his face if it wasn’t so…

  Endearing?

  Great.

  Then his grin mellowed. “I just want to talk to you, Laila, clear the air. I don’t like the way we left things last night.”

  A flutter of excitement in her belly made her put a hand there, yet she took it away before he could notice.

  But she might have been too late on that, based on the way his gaze had followed her gesture.

  In spite of what her body was doing to her, she was damn sure going to keep to what she had vowed this morning—that she wouldn’t have anything more to do with trouble.

  “We don’t suit each other, Jackson,” she said, hoping that would put him off once and for all. “And I’m sorry you had to hang around the market all morning to hear that.”

  He seemed to fight a smile. Was he remembering just how well they suited in the boathouse?

  “What I mean,” she said, “is that you’re a playboy. Your lifestyle doesn’t mesh with mine in general.”

  “This, from a woman who’s had suitors since she first learned to bat her lashes.”

  She was just about to offer her next retort when he delivered the capper.

  “Aren’t you something of a playgirl?”

  His reasoning tied up her tongue.

  Was she just that—a playgirl? She had never thought of herself that way before, but if she was applying a certain definition of the term to him, why wasn’t it good enough for her, too?