The Cowboy's Thirty-Day Fling

by Jenna Jacob

  “I’m not totally alone, am I? You’ll protect me from all the dipshits in the world who don’t know how to fill an ice tray, won’t you, boy?”

  The dog cocked his head and looked at her as if she were crazy.

  Yeah, she probably was.

  Haven was a safe and quiet little town. As long as she didn’t don a Bigfoot costume and prowl the streets at night, Brea would be perfectly safe. Poor Emmett. The man was a few dates short of a fruitcake, but everyone had at least one demon to conquer; she’d simply steer clear of the old man’s shotgun.

  Draining the last of her tea, she rinsed the cup and tucked it into the dishwasher. Sensing his bedtime, Ozzie trudged to his doggie mattress once again and stretched out. Bidding the mischievous mutt a good night, Brea extinguished the lights in the kitchen, grabbed the steamy novel off the coffee table, and headed upstairs.

  After completing her nightly beauty regimen, she crawled beneath the covers and opened the book. Only a few pages into the juicy love story, she had to flip back the covers to cool her scorching hormones. The nasty things the hero Ramón was doing to Natasha had Brea’s pulse racing and her body throbbing. Rolling out of bed, she retrieved her vibe before climbing onto the mattress again. After peeling off her shirt, she dragged off her thong and settled back on the pillows to read.

  The story was raw and wicked. But Brea’s mind was no longer filled with images of a swarthy Spaniard and a blonde, blue-blooded heiress. She envisioned the sexy, dark-haired cowboy next door. Growing wetter by the second, Brea cupped her breasts, then rubbed her nipples…pinching and plucking each taut, sensitive tip. She pretended Sawyer’s fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue were the ones driving her demand.

  Heat enveloped her body. Her pulse quickened, and her empty tunnel hungrily clutched at her humming vibe while she fantasized of Sawyer’s hard shaft stretching and filling her slippery core. Dreamed of him driving inside her with deep, steady strokes. Back and forth, dragging the crest over her inflamed and throbbing nerve endings.

  Panting, she rocked her hips in slow, restless motions and closed her eyes, the story now long forgotten as Brea’s own creative imagination took over. Sawyer’s hands and lips were touching, licking, and sucking every inch of her flesh. His scent—that intoxicating mix of leather, sweet grass, and springtime—filled her senses. Dizzy with need, her mind unfurled in passion so real, so hot, feral, and raw, Brea whimpered and moaned.

  As she moved the vibe to her clit, thunder rolled across her body. Lightning exploded behind her eyes. Her limbs tingled. An animalistic roar of ecstasy tore from her throat. Her body jerked and muscles tensed. Spasms quaked her pussy. Brea rolled beneath a wave of ecstasy as the forceful orgasm consumed her. As she rode the rippling aftershocks, the sounds of her soft mewls, panted breaths, and clamoring heartbeat echoed in her ears. And as she slowly floated back to earth, quivering and covered in a light sheen f sweat, tears—for what she could never have—stung her eyes.

  Chapter Five

  Sawyer

  * * *

  Returning to his house alone was the single hardest thing Sawyer had ever done. The sexually tormented cells in his body snarled, screamed, and begged him to turn around and push his way inside the house, the bedroom, and Brea’s warm, silky body.

  And that’s what’s known as rape in a court of law!

  While he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison, his rock-hard appendage was more than willing to trade incarceration for a night of wicked pleasure with Brea.

  But he’d seen the gambit of emotions play across her face. She’d gone from embarrassment to want and desire before unknown fear and anxiety had her slapping up walls of sarcasm. Oh, she wanted the things he could give her, but she clearly wasn’t ready. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something or someone had hurt her. He knew fresh, raw wounds when he saw them.

  After climbing the stairs to his bedroom, Sawyer scrubbed a hand over his face. Sleep would be hard-won knowing Brea was next door, probably naked and splayed out on her mattress.

  “I had to go there, didn’t I?” he groused.

  Why the hell does she have me tied in knots?

  That was the million-dollar question.

  His all-consuming attraction toward her made no sense. Sawyer was no stranger to bedroom games. Hell, he slaked his lust with women in ways most men only dreamed about. But Brea stirred something deeper. He didn’t want to just fuck her—though it might quench his obsession—Sawyer wanted to make love to her until they were both turned inside out.

  His heart sputtered.

  Make love? Jesus.

  “I’m not a make love kind of man…not anymore.”

  Sawyer plopped down on his bed and raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t know a thing about Brea. Hell, he’d only talked to Brea last night at Toot’s, today on the street, and tonight in Barbara’s backyard.

  Like that matters? You’ve dragged women beneath you without knowing their damn name.

  “Once…one time,” Sawyer defended against the mocking voice in his head. “Besides, Brea is different.”

  She haunted him…resurrected pipe dreams he’d given up on long ago.

  But mostly she intrigued him. Like the facets of a diamond, there was much more to her than met the eye.

  Last night at Toot’s, Brea had been quiet, polite, and shy. Sawyer could still see the pretty blush staining her cheeks. Then mere minutes ago, she had cursed like a sailor and lashed out in a level of defiance that took him by surprise. Though he had no proof, Sawyer sensed there was a fragile, sensitive woman inside Brea’s soul. One he ached to draw out and claim in every way.

  Or maybe he was simply imagining it.

  Maybe he was crazy.

  Maybe she was, too.

  Maybe Brea Lacking Dignity—or whatever her last name was—suffered from a personality disorder.

  Or maybe she was simply the most complicated woman he’d ever met.

  “Complicated, nothing. She’s like a damn Rubik’s Cube.”

  Which really sucked, because Sawyer never could solve that stupid puzzle. But unlike the toy, he wouldn’t give up on Brea. He’d find a way to align the colors of her soul, because his gut told him her inner beauty would be just as dazzling.

  Standing, Sawyer stripped off his clothes. His cock, having finally accepted the fact there wasn’t a happy ending in its future, hung toward the floor in mourning. He climbed into bed and closed his eyes, but all he could see behind his lids was Brea, teetering on the windowsill. Her ivory butt cheeks had been so fucking tempting. Sawyer had wanted to caress, squeeze, and knead her supple flesh…wanted to kiss, lave, and scrape his teeth over each luscious, glowing orb.

  Like a bloodhound on the scent of an escaped convict, his cock jerked to life.

  Great.

  He tried to force himself to fall asleep, but minutes they’d shared in Barbara’s backyard wouldn’t stop rolling through his brain.

  Brea’s smartassed Here’s your sign had him fighting like mad to keep from laughing. While he loved her wit and her sassy comebacks, Sawyer knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He was at the top of her shit list right now. He’d unintentionally embarrassed her and would be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. It would probably be best to dismiss his ridiculous attraction…no, his obsession with her. After all, Brea would only live next door to him for a month.

  “Yeah, but there’s a lot I could do for and with her in that month.”

  His cock lurched, liking that idea, and sadly, Sawyer knew he’d get no sleep with his dick straining and throbbing for relief. With a frustrated sigh, he whipped back the sheet and gripped his swollen erection. In a steady, even tempo, he stroked himself from stem to tip.

  His fist felt foreign and clumsy.

  I haven’t had to jack off since eighth grade.

  With a growl, Sawyer released his aching dick and vaulted out of bed. After impatiently throwing on his clothes, he shoved into his boots and snagged his k
eys. Minutes later, he gunned the engine of his quarter-ton duely—leaving a trail of smoking rubber on the pavement—and steered the truck toward the Hangover.

  He couldn’t get the need worked out of him by the woman he wanted, but Sawyer knew he’d have no trouble finding someone who would.

  When he entered the bar, Gina flashed him an overly enthusiastic smile. “Two nights in a row? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were aiming to be a regular customer.”

  “No. I just wanted a nightcap before bed,” he lied.

  Skimming a gaze over the crowd, he spied the familiar trio of women—who’d been enthusiastically taking care of his needs for the past few months—sitting at a table. Sylvia, a divorced mother of three who ran the thrift/liquor store, Gretchen, a single dental assistant, and Annette, the high school secretary, were laughing and tossing back shots.

  Sawyer had lost a fair amount of sleep discovering ways to satiate all kinds of kinky curiosities with the open-minded women. He’d also gone to great lengths to keep their three-on-one sexploits a secret, to prevent the gossip guild from buzzing about the debauchery that played out in his bed. But as he stared at the inebriated trio, the pent-up pressure in his jeans deflated. He didn’t want to play with any of them…he wanted Brea.

  That revelation only reinforced what he feared most—he was already in over his head.

  “Hey, Sawyer,” slurred Annette. “Wanna join us for a little fun?”

  “Not tonight, sugar. Y’all go ahead and knock yourselves out.”

  All three ladies’ hopeful expressions dimmed as he sat down at the bar.

  Gina set a mug of beer down in front of him and smiled.

  “Has LaCroix been in to give you more shit tonight?”

  “Nope. Haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

  “Good.” Sawyer took a gulp of the cold brew before glancing toward the back of the bar. “I’m surprised the twins aren’t here playing pool.”

  “They were in earlier.”

  He took another swallow of brew and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “They didn’t cause you any grief while they were here, did they?”

  “No. Of course not. You Grayson boys never cause trouble.” She smirked and glanced at the trio at the other table. “At least not in here.”

  Fuck. He hadn’t been as careful consorting with Sylvia, Gretchen, and Annette in public as he should have been. Thankfully, Gina wasn’t one to engage in idle gossip, she only listened to the stories exchanged at her bar.

  “Just checking.” Sawyer shrugged, dismissing Gina’s innuendo. Tipping back his glass, he emptied the contents in another long swallow.

  “Want another?”

  “Nah. I’m good. If LaCroix comes back and you need any help, call me.”

  “Sure thing. Thanks, Sawyer. Have a good night.”

  He strolled outside, climbed into his truck, and stared at the neon beer sign flashing in the bar window. Confused and frustrated, Sawyer closed his eyes and dragged in a ragged breath. All the promises he’d made to himself after his divorce…to never date, never wake up with a woman, never get too involved, never fall in love, and never recite wedding vows, were coming unraveled.

  Well, most of them.

  He wanted to take Brea to Denton for a nice dinner and a movie.

  He wanted to wake up with her warm, lush body curled against him.

  He wanted to know everything about her, all her hopes, dreams, fears, and regrets.

  He wanted to be involved in every aspect of her life, not outside her walls.

  “Jesus,” he whispered. “What the fuck is happening to me?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, started his truck, and drove home.

  After grabbing a beer from the fridge, he strolled outside and sat down on the porch. Next door, the light in Barbara’s guest room was on, and Sawyer wondered what Brea was doing, alone, inside those four walls.

  Was she reading a book or talking on the phone with someone? Was she naked and pleasuring herself…maybe thinking of him and mentally moaning his name?

  His cock vaulted to attention as his zipper bit into his flesh.

  “Stop dreaming, asshole. You’re only torturing yourself. It’s nothing but lust…pure and simple lust,” he bit out to his overactive imagination, then drained his beer.

  Seconds later, the light went out. Sawyer stood, went inside, and stripped out of his clothes. Then he stepped into a cold shower and pressed his head against the wet tile until his cock wilted again.

  Brea

  * * *

  The morning sun bathed the room in a hue of golden corn silk. Brea’s covers were wrapped around her legs, and a low groan of irritation vibrated the back of her throat. Even after BOB had taken the edge off, she’d still had a screaming good time with Sawyer in her dreams. Not only had the man invaded her every waking thought but he’d also cloyed his way into her sleeping subconscious. She was in a world of trouble.

  Closing her eyes, she focused on clearing her mind and appreciating the fact that she’d awakened to blissful silence. It was a welcome reprieve from the usual barrage of Weed’s head-banging metal music blaring from the living room.

  Brea didn’t miss that, or him, one bit.

  “If only life came with a do-over button, I’d be hitting that sucker like a slot machine,” she murmured aloud. “Starting with last night. Ugh!”

  An excruciating slide show of humiliating images along with Sawyer’s cocky grin flashed through her brain. No matter how badly Brea wanted to, she couldn’t scrub her embarrassment away. All Brea could do was avoid the hunky cowboy next door and chalk up her mortifying window escapade as another derailment of her train wreck of a life.

  After rolling out of bed and tossing on her clothes, Brea met Ozzie at the bottom of the stairs. He danced around for a couple of seconds before racing to the back door. Sending him a look of warning, she waggled her finger at his muzzle. “No more chasing bunnies. Are we clear?”

  Ozzie whined and wagged his nubby tail. Brea opened the door and let him out. Not only did she disengage the auto-lock mechanism, but she also propped the sucker open with a heavy cast-iron stopper before stepping out and onto the deck.

  “Wanna join me for breakfast?” Sawyer called out to her.

  Blanching, Brea turned to see the sexy stud seated at a glass-and-wrought-iron patio table before a plate piled with pancakes.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Aw, come on,” he cajoled. “You’re not still pissed about last night, are you?”

  “Why would I be pissed? You unlocked the door and kept me from climbing in the window like a cat burglar.”

  Sawyer nodded. “I thought maybe I’d embarrassed you.”

  “No. I embarrassed myself.”

  Rising from his chair, Sawyer strode toward the chain-link fence. Brea tried but failed to ignore the muscles of his thighs bunching and flexing beneath his jeans, the morning sun glimmering in his sapphire eyes, and hues of red highlighting his hair. Butterflies dipped lower than they should have, and she had to fight the urge to squeeze her legs together to quell the flutter.

  Ozzie let out a welcoming bark and raced toward the man, who reached over the fence and rubbed the dog’s head.

  Wearing a cocky smile, Sawyer winked. “No need to be embarrassed, darlin’. I’m not a monk. I’ve seen—”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen and done all sorts of things. But I’d rather you spare me the lurid details.”

  A look of challenge twinkled in Sawyer’s eyes. “Trust me. I’m not the kiss and tell kind.”

  “I’m sure your bounty of bed bunnies appreciates your chivalry.”

  Sawyer’s brows slashed as he pursed his lips. “Are you always this grouchy with everyone, or is it just me?”

  Grouchy? You haven’t seen grouchy yet, mister.

  “Just you.”

  “What’s it going to take to sweeten you up?”

  A year in your bed.

  “I don’t need sweete
ning up and I don’t need you pestering me.”

  “Pestering you? When have I ever done that?” His whiskey-smooth voice dripped over her like warm syrup.

  He was testing her will, looking for a weak point of entry. Brea had to stay strong.

  “Look, Neville.”

  “Ah, ah, ah. Call me Sawyer, remember?”

  The man was so frustrating and unnerving, Brea bit her lips together to keep from unleashing a litany of insults. Instead, she nodded curtly, dragging her eyes to the snug-fitting T-shirt clinging to his wide chest.

  “I appreciate your help last night, Sawyer, but I’d rather be left alone.”

  Liar.

  “Oh, right. Your man ban. Some fool must have hurt you bad to make you shove all men in the doghouse.” The fact that Sawyer could read her so easily irked Brea even more. “Do I get a free pass for helping you out last night, or am I in the doghouse too simply because I have a penis?”

  Don’t look at his dick…don’t do it.

  Struggling to maintain eye contact, she sent him a tight smile. “All men, including you.” Then Brea glanced down at the dog. “Come, Ozzie. It’s time for breakfast.”

  As the dog charged to the porch, Brea followed, and just as she stepped into the house, Sawyer called out, “I’m going to remove that pesky man ban, darlin’. You wait and see.”

  A tremor slid through her.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured under her breath and closed the door.

  Filling Ozzie’s bowl with fresh water, she peered out the window above the sink. Sawyer was still standing at the fence, staring at Barbara’s house, and wearing a cocky grin that screamed: let the games begin.

  Dammit.

  Brea didn’t want a war. She was barely winning the battle to keep her willpower in check. Clearly, Sawyer was bound and determined to break her down and be the victor.

  While Ozzie chomped his breakfast, Brea started opening up the windows. It was a beautiful morning, and she welcomed the breeze. By the afternoon she’d have to close up the house so the air conditioner could save her from the blistering Texas heat.