The Last Real Cowboy

by Caitlin Crews

  “Seems that way,” Brady agreed.

  And made himself sound friendly and unbothered. It hurt.

  Gray didn’t look convinced. “The thing is, Brady, the last thing I want is to force you to do something you really don’t want to do.”

  “The past year would suggest otherwise.”

  Ty laughed from beside him. Across the table, Gray’s lips twitched, but his gaze remained stern.

  “My honest belief was that if you stayed here and worked the land, if you got back in touch with the Everett legacy, you’d feel differently. Maybe I was kidding myself.”

  “Or maybe,” Ty drawled, “you’re not the only hardheaded, stubborn-for-stubborn’s-sake Everett sitting around this table tonight.”

  “How come stubbornness is a virtue when it’s you all?” Becca asked then. “But a problem when it’s me?”

  “Because you’re a girl, sugar,” Hannah drawled, a glint in her eyes. “And girls don’t choose their virtues. Guess who does?”

  Abby nodded sagely, flashing a similar glint from beside Gray. “Stubborn men like stubborn men, and pretty much only stubborn men.”

  “Because you’re sixteen,” Gray corrected them. “You have your entire adult life to be as hardheaded as you like. And about two more years to learn how to compromise.”

  “Is that what this is?” Brady asked. “Is there about to be a compromise? Llama lattes out in the barn?”

  Gray didn’t actually make a face, though he managed to convey his horror, even so. “We’re going to carve off a piece of the land. You can do what you want with it. And I’m really hoping it’s not llamas. Or lattes. Or whatever a llama latte might be.”

  After all the arguments, all the fights, all the months he’d spent hammering away at Gray for exactly this … Brady didn’t know what to say. He hardly knew how to process it.

  “I’m not going to lie,” Ty drawled. “I was expecting more of a reaction.”

  “I’m waiting for the catch.” Brady hoped he sounded less unsteady than he felt.

  “Diversify your face off,” Gray retorted. “That’s what you said you wanted.”

  “It is.”

  It was. It always had been.

  “You have what you want,” Gray said again, and he pushed back from the table. And then there it was. That shrewd, considering, older brother look that put Brady’s teeth on edge. “I won’t fight you. Now you have to ask yourself, what do you plan to do without an enemy? Without anyone to blame?”

  Brady felt that question with all the force of the blow Gray didn’t throw.

  “I don’t need an enemy,” he managed to say.

  “Are you sure about that?” Gray didn’t quite smile. “I guess we’ll see.”

  13

  When her buzzer rang, ten minutes after she turned out all her lights and climbed into bed, Amanda’s weariness after a long day of shifts in both the coffeehouse and the bar disappeared in a flash.

  Because she could think of only one person who would come calling at three in the morning.

  She threw back her covers and catapulted herself out of bed. Then she raced across the length of the apartment to slam her fingers on the button that released the outside door at the top of the stairs.

  Amanda fumbled with her lock, then opened her front door, and Brady was there.

  Right there.

  Like the dreams she’d been having since she moved in here, but better. Much better, because this time she knew she wasn’t asleep.

  He stalked down the short hallway toward her, scowling and male and beautiful. Far too beautiful for this hour. Especially as he brought the smell of rain with him from outside.

  Like he was his own storm.

  Amanda probably could have taken a moment or two to do something about her own appearance. She was wearing a set of cozy plaid pajama bottoms, a tank top, and her hair was everywhere in what she imagined was probably a terrible snarl. But with Brady bearing down on her, it was hard to focus on anything else.

  “You didn’t ask who it was,” he growled at her, not breaking his stride.

  “I knew who it was.”

  “It could have been anyone.”

  He was right there. Amanda had gone to such trouble to give him her number, then basically dared him to call her, and he hadn’t. She could have called him, of course, but she was the one who’d asked him to have sex with her. Not coyly either. She’d come right out and asked him.

  Amanda had extended herself by any measure—and she’d been wondering how long she was supposed to wait. What sort of manners were involved in potential sex arrangements between people who weren’t in any kind of relationship? Were there any? The internet had a lot of competing ideas, clearly based on the somewhat hair-raising dating habits of people who lived in places where there was both a huge selection and a whole lot of anonymity. People who were attempting to seduce strangers, not their older brother’s best friend.

  She’d thought a lot about the fact that Brady probably preferred strangers after all those years down in Denver. Not to mention his nights at the Coyote. Who knew what a man like him considered normal dating and/or sexual behavior?

  It was possible he’d never call her at all. Or even talk to her again. She’d read about that too, and had almost made herself laugh trying to imagine what a day in Cold River would be like if everyone avoided all the people who bothered them, for whatever reason. This valley was too small. A lot of miles, but too few people. It was far better to smile politely and keep a respectful distance than to make a bigger scene by trying to avoid another person when that was impossible.

  But now Brady was here at her door, and that was much better than trying to puzzle out Denver dating conventions.

  “I knew it was you,” she told him. And she felt far giddier than anyone should after working a long shift in high heels. “And look at that. I was right.”

  Brady stared down her, something raw on his face, and hot intent in his gaze. Amanda’s stomach flipped over. She felt as if she were doing cartwheels up and down the hallway when she knew she hadn’t moved.

  But he did. He hauled her into his arms, stepped through her apartment door, and kicked it shut behind him. All in a single, smooth sort of movement that made her feel like dancing for joy.

  “Always ask who it is,” he growled, right there against her mouth.

  Amanda didn’t know if she meant to promise him she would, or vow she wouldn’t, because then he was kissing her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and crossed her legs around his back, and let him worry about holding her up against him with those strong arms of his. And he did, while the world seemed to shimmer and spin around them. Then he turned, propping her against the wall inside the door, and pressing against her.

  And he devoured her.

  Or she devoured him.

  It tasted like fire either way.

  Everything was hot, wild. His hands were in her hair, hers were in his. His jaw was rough, and she loved the scrape of it against her palms, her cheek.

  Then the long, deliriously slow sweep of his tongue against hers, until they both groaned.

  He kissed her again and again, until she lost track of her own name, and when he pulled away, she wanted to punch him. So she did.

  Her reward was his low, marvelously male laugh. It spun around inside her, filling her up and making her long for more, all at once.

  “Settle down there, killer,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Brady shifted her against his body, and Amanda wanted to stop time and marinate in how strange and wondrous that felt. His chest was so hard. His jacket smelled good, like fall and the ranch, man and a hint of woodsmoke, and he was beneath it, smelling even better. His arms were around her, tough and sure. And her legs were tight around him, so it should have been awkward when he started to move—but it wasn’t.

  Amanda doubted there was an awkward bone in Brady’s body.

  He carried her farther into the apartment
, then back toward the kitchen where he’d kissed her the first time. He propped her up on the counter on the kitchen island again, then he leaned in and got his mouth on her. He traced an impossible line of sensation down her neck, and she let her head fall back to give him better access.

  Her breath left her on a kind of a sigh when he bent lower still and found her breasts beneath her tank top. And then he rocked her through and through when he took one needy tip into his mouth.

  As if the fabric of her tank top didn’t matter at all.

  He played with one, then the other, then he pulled himself back up. Amanda held her breath, there between his arms with her legs hooked over his hips. But he only leaned down and rested his forehead against hers.

  For a long moment, there was only breath. Heat. That bright, wild need, so sharp that she was almost happy to take some space from it. To collect herself a little.

  Just a little.

  “Hi,” Amanda whispered, unable to keep herself from grinning.

  It was dark in her apartment. Still, she could tell when his mouth curved. “I was going to call. It’s the polite thing to do.”

  “This is better. This way, I’ll never be sure if it was a dream or not.”

  He moved then, dragging himself against that place where she ached the most, and she shuddered so hard, she thought she might break apart.

  “Don’t worry, Amanda,” Brady said, his voice laced with promise and amusement in equal measure. “You’ll know.”

  He took her mouth again, and for another long while there was only that slick, hot, wet glory. He buried his hands in her hair once more. And there was something about it that made every breath a shivering sweetness that threatened to tug her overboard. Those strong hands, rough and callused, holding her right where he wanted her. His strong jaw and wicked mouth. Him.

  Amanda had never been truly drunk, but she had no doubt whatsoever that alcohol would fade next to the intoxication that was Brady Everett kissing her silly in her own kitchen.

  He pulled away again and dropped his head lower this time, as if he was fighting himself.

  “I needed a taste of you,” he said, in that low almost-growl that made her light up and hum inside. “But don’t worry, that’s all I’m going to take.”

  “I’m not sure that’s up to you.”

  He lifted his head. And her eyes had adjusted sufficiently that she could see the expression there. He wasn’t kidding. Really. He had every intention of walking out again.

  But it was after three in the morning. And Amanda was fed up.

  “I’ve had this dream a million times,” she told him. “Appearances in the middle of the night. Wild kisses that build up to something, then go nowhere. It’s time for a new dream, don’t you think?”

  “Amanda—” he began, and she could already hear it in his voice. The distance. That obnoxious I know better tone.

  She was more fed up with that than she could articulate.

  But there was something she could do that was much better than arguing. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her tank top, then peeled it up over her head. She tossed it aside and stared at the man in front of her to gauge his reaction.

  It was epic.

  If quiet.

  Brady looked like he’d turned to stone.

  Amanda kept going, pressing her advantage. She rocked back on the counter so she could shove her pajama bottoms and her underwear off, then kicked them aside too.

  She’d always wondered what it would be like to be naked in front of another person. She assumed that it would be … bizarre. She would feel embarrassed, surely. Overly exposed, because, of course, she would be. Literally.

  In her head, she’d imagined it like someone walking in on her changing in a dressing room.

  But it wasn’t like that at all. It wasn’t mortifying. It was magnificent.

  Brady was staring at her, hunger and astonishment stamped all over him. And something else that if she didn’t know any better, Amanda would have called almost … sacred.

  She didn’t feel diminished. She felt alive and deeply splendid, even brighter and hotter than before.

  “Amanda, I already told you that I was going to be—”

  “In control, yes.” She waved a hand, noting how it made her breasts sway slightly. He noticed too.

  “But you’re blowing that off?”

  “I’m tired of waiting, Brady.”

  He let out a sigh that didn’t seem to make it into the rest of his body, so tense and hard and beautiful there before her. “You’re too young to be tired of waiting. For anything.”

  “It’s been twenty-two years.” She was naked and that should have been the end of it. But this was Brady, so of course she had to mount a defense. She was close to him now, so close she could feel the heat coming off of him, and his taste was in her mouth. “Kissing you made me feel alive, and I like it. I want more of it. I don’t want to waste another second waiting for my real life to start. I told you I wanted it to be you. I still do. And I want it to be now.”

  Amanda watched as different expressions rolled over him, through him. She felt humbled and exalted at once when he reached forward and took her face in his hands. Carefully, as if she was fragile.

  Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss against her lips.

  This time, it wasn’t about the heat or the wildness. This time, it felt like a promise.

  “You amaze me,” he told her, gruff and low. “I don’t deserve this gift.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, and grinned. “But I do.”

  Then he kissed her again, but this time, it was less about gifts and vows, and more of that spiraling fire that burned its way into every part of her. He kissed her and he kissed her, and he let his hands roam up and down her naked back, compounding the sensation. Making her feel like silk. Making her need.

  When he pulled back again, she didn’t have time to protest, because he was lifting her into his arms. This time, he held her high against his chest as he turned. Then he made his way across her darkened living room into the bedroom.

  Her heart was beating low and long. And hard enough that she thought it might have knocked her over if she’d been standing on her own two feet. Thank God she wasn’t.

  Brady laid her down on the bed, and she thought she ought to do things, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move. Or do anything but stare at him—the man standing there beside her bed who also happened to be Brady freaking Everett—and wonder if all that clatter from inside her chest was maybe a heart attack. Not that she cared, because he was kicking off his boots and shrugging out of his jacket.

  Then, even better, he was following her down.

  “Why are you wearing clothes?” she demanded.

  “Amanda.” His voice was stern, but there was a light in his dark eyes that made her stomach flip-flop. “You decided when. I’ll decide how.”

  “I guess that’s fair.”

  “Thank you for throwing me that small bone,” he said dryly.

  She was naked on her bed with a man.

  Naked. On her bed.

  With Brady Everett.

  That was impossible to take on board or even to keep in her head as a full thought, so she reached out instead. She brushed back that dark hair of his, marveling at how crisp and thick it was. How hot his skin was. She didn’t think she’d ever been this close to anyone in her life. Ever.

  And they were about to get a whole lot closer.

  She’d read a whole lot about that, too, over the years. She’d also interrogated all her friends who’d crossed that threshold. None of it had answered her primary question to her satisfaction.

  “Will it hurt?” she asked him.

  Brady propped himself up on one arm and rested his other hand, strong and faintly rough from all the work he did, there on her belly. It made her jolt, then heat up. And it also steadied her. The warmth of his palm felt like he was teasing her and taking care of her, all at once.

  “It might.” He didn�
�t look away when he said that, as if it, too, was a part of a vow he was making. “Sometimes it hurts a lot, from what I hear. But you have a couple of things going for you.”

  “I didn’t realize I was supposed to have things going for me. Is that one more thing everybody knows that I don’t?”

  Her voice was too high and too quick, and she could almost hear Brady drawl easy, killer, though he didn’t. All he did was smile. And the reassuring weight of his hand on her belly made it easier to breathe. And to smile back.

  “There’s no secret list of action items.” His voice was solemn as he said that, his gaze serious. Amanda didn’t realize until that moment how crucial that was. That if he’d laughed at her, she might have simply crumbled. “You’ve been riding horses your whole life. That’s supposed to help. It could be you feel no pain at all. Just as many women do as don’t.”

  “How many women’s virginity have you…?”

  He moved his hand then, almost absently. Amanda caught her breath as Brady began to trace complicated, distracting patterns across her skin, leaving shivers of goose bumps in his wake.

  “One. That I’m aware of. When we were both in high school.”

  Another time, she might have interrogated him about which high school girlfriend he meant. And if that was his first time too. But not tonight.

  Amanda had bigger concerns. “Did she cry?”

  “She certainly did not.” And he was grinning, then. “I can’t tell if you want it to hurt or you don’t.”

  “I can’t tell either.” She heard herself giggle, and that struck her as absurd, especially when it happened again. “I always thought it was supposed to hurt. A full-on sacrifice upon an altar, or something. Like I’ll be less than a real woman if there isn’t blood and pain and maybe even screaming.”

  “You’re always surprising, I’ll give you that.” Brady’s drawl was still appropriately serious, though his eyes were bright. “As an alternative plan, we could also just see what happens.”