Cowboy Crazy (14 page)

Sarah watched Lane’s finger trace the curves of her body, moving up over her belly, between her breasts, and over her throat. When it lit on her lips she opened them and sucked it inside, gazing brazenly into his eyes while she swirled her tongue up and down and around.

God, she was naked in the back of his truck, giving him a pretty obvious prelude to a skill she’d actually never performed. She’d had an old boyfriend who always wanted her to use her mouth, but it seemed dirty somehow with him and she’d never done it, distracting him by offering the rest of her body. He’d been perfectly happy to settle for straight sex, and she’d been perfectly happy to endure it.

But the thought of doing something different with Lane made her salivate.
Salivate
, for God’s sake. She’d never drooled over a man before.

He pulled his finger from her mouth and moved it down to her breasts, tracing a wet trail around each nipple. A faint night breeze and the thought of what might happen later had raised them both into aching, pleading pebbles. His lips followed his finger and he licked, sucked, and swirled, squeezing her breasts together to make the tips even more full and sensitive.

She tugged at his shirt and he pulled it off, his lips never leaving her breast. Tugging at his belt, she struggled with the zipper to his jeans and finally slipped two fingers into the waistband, gasping when she felt the bead of liquid swelling at the tip of him.

“Sarah.” He’d been on his hands and knees, bending over her, but now he reared up and fumbled at his jeans with shaking hands, finally managing to pull down the zipper and strip them off.

He was wearing briefs. Brief briefs, the briefest imaginable. Most guys looked ridiculous in tight underwear, but Lane looked like a pinup, especially since he was so ready for her that the tip of his cock had slipped past the waistband. He stood to shed the jeans and she rose to her knees, tugging the fabric down to set him free and running her palm up the length of him before she closed her hand around him and stroked. Once, twice, and then he pulled her hand away and grabbed for his jeans, fishing in the pocket and finally pulling out a condom.

Tearing the packet open, he slipped it on quickly, then fell to his hands and knees and pushed her down with him, straddling her and looking into her eyes. His eyes were intense, focusing on her with the rapacity of a predator, and his biceps bulged as he bent to kiss her.

It was a kiss that changed everything. She wasn’t Sarah Landon anymore; she was barely human. She was a tight bundle of nerves and sensation that had no thoughts beyond giving herself to this man so she could take what she needed. Stripping off the Speedo or whatever the hell it was, she slid down the hay bale until she was sprawled beneath him and he was poised at her entrance, a breath away from sliding inside her.

His face was inches away from hers, their noses and lips almost touching. He closed his eyes.

“I can wait,” he said. “I can wait and make it last.”

“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to wait.” She reached down and put her hands on his hips, pulling him into her, and he slid inside and she confirmed what she’d discovered the night before: He fit her. He was made for her. He filled her like a missing piece.

***

Lane closed his eyes and gave himself up to the sensation. Sarah was rippling beneath him like water, moving with an unexpected grace. She wasn’t the stiff little professional anymore, that was for sure. She’d pulled down all her barriers and let him in.

And tonight she looked him in the eyes without being asked. He felt that joining of minds again, a union that went way beyond the physical act. Tenderness swept over him in a wave, and gratitude for the generosity of her trust.

He moved slowly, holding his breath, watching her face to gauge her reaction. He was watching and waiting and testing and
thinking
, but she had completely given herself up to feeling. Her brows tensed for a moment, dipping downward. That little crease between them appeared and he thought he’d hurt her, but she grabbed his hips and pulled him into her.

“More,” she said. “
More.
Let go.”

He wanted to—God, he wanted to—but he couldn’t help remembering what she’d said:
just
one
more
time
. He wanted more than one time. He wanted all time. Forever—so he needed to make this as good for her as he could.

The crease between her brows deepened and she reached up, pulling his head down to hers and pressing her lips to his, flicking her tongue out to tease him, advancing and retreating until he forgot all his resolutions and let loose, plunging into her. He’d reached a crossroads between tenderness and animal instinct he’d never experienced before. Every nerve ending in his body crackled to life and demanded more, more sliding, more friction, harder, faster,
deeper
. He wanted to be inside her, surrounded by her warmth, the slick sweetness at her core.

This was more than sex. Sex was detached, controlled. You took pleasure and gave it, thinking about what your partner wanted, but not who she was, or who she would be tomorrow.

But he had to think about who Sarah would be tomorrow. Because somehow, some way, she needed to still be his.

***

Sarah woke to see the moon through a lacy network of pine boughs. It took her a minute to remember where she was, what had happened.

Oh, yeah. She’d slept with her boss’s brother. Again.

Lane lay beside her, the moonlight casting deep blue shadows that defined his muscles. His eyes were closed, his expression serious—more serious than she’d ever seen him. When he opened his eyes, the playful gleam she’d come to expect had given way to something deeper.

Uh-oh.

He took her hand and held it in his, then spread his fingers and set them palm to palm so his brown, rugged hand contrasted with her small, white one.

“You’re so tiny,” he said, a note of tenderness in his voice.

For a minute, she felt like leaning into that tenderness. It would be so nice to have someone to depend on.

But Lane Carrigan didn’t seem like a likely candidate. He cared about her now, in the aftermath of their lovemaking. But tomorrow or the next day, he’d hit the road again. He’d be gone, and she’d be here dealing with the fallout from her dumb decisions.

“I might be little, but I’m tough,” she said. “Tougher than I look.”

“I know.” He brushed her hair back from her face and she almost looked away. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was behind the intimacy of his gaze. “I know you’re not looking for somebody to take care of you.”

“No, I’m not.” She laid back on the blanket, staring up at the sky. “I take care of myself. Counting on other people doesn’t work.”

“You sound like you know that from experience.”

She nodded as he crooked one arm behind his head.

“Who left you, Sarah?”

She surprised herself by answering. “My dad. My stepdad, actually, but he was the best father. Really the best. My mom—she wasn’t a bad person, but she wasn’t very well equipped for life. He saved us. And then he died.”

Because of me.
The image of her stepfather’s face flashed across her mind, pale and drawn on the gurney as they slid him into the Two Shot’s one and only ambulance, a battered old thing that should have been a collector’s item, not a working emergency vehicle. He hadn’t survived the long trip to the hospital.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” He threw his other arm over her waist, pulling her close. “We don’t have to talk.” He nuzzled the curve of her neck, and she brushed her lips over his hair. “We have other ways to communicate.”

“I need to get home. I have a lot to do.”

Like getting a good night’s sleep. And going to work in the morning, pretending she hadn’t spent most of the night naked with the boss’s brother.

She sat up and scanned the truck bed for her clothes. Her panties were draped over the tailgate, her dress hooked on a branch above her head. She reached up and pulled it down, tugging it over her head, shoving her arms through the straps. Lane watched like she was putting on a show.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

She tossed the wrap over her shoulders and clutched it at her throat, a look of horror crossing her face. “You’re not thinking of staying, are you?”

“Not at your place.” He slid off the tailgate and put his jeans back on. “I was thinking you could come home with me.”

He held out a hand to help her down, but she ignored it, resting one hand on the side of the pickup while she jumped lightly from the tailgate. She hurried around the side of the truck and climbed into the passenger’s seat, trying to pretend she hadn’t heard his answer.

Staring out the window, she avoided his eyes as he slid behind the wheel and shoved the keys in the ignition.

“Lane, I told you. We can’t do this. It was good, it was really good, but you’re leaving, and I’m not one of those clingy types.”

“It was beyond good. And it’ll be even better next time.” He reached over and flipped her hair back over her shoulder, forcing her to look at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t take as much time as I should have.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Trust me, it’s not a matter of the performance. It’s just—we need to get back to reality now.”

“That was real. That was as real as anything could be.”

“My job is real. I work for your brother.”

He stared through the windshield, his jaw working as if he was trying to keep from getting angry. He cranked the keys in the ignition and the truck started up, the engine throbbing like an angry animal that couldn’t wait to get moving. “I can’t believe this.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe I’m competing against my brother for a woman and losing. You care more about what he thinks than you do about me. And I don’t have much left in my arsenal of charms. I kind of shot off every weapon I had.”

“It’s not just that. It’s—I don’t want a relationship right now.” She gave him a rueful smile, the closest she could come to throwing him a bone. “Not even with you.”

“So you’ve made your choice.”

“I have to choose my job. Eric can help me survive.”

“Yeah, but I can help you
live.
”

“I’ll take survival,” she said. “Please, Lane. Take me home.”

***

Lane kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel, but his mind was on the woman who sat stiff and silent beside him. Was this the real Sarah—the woman in the little black dress? He didn’t think so. He’d seen the real Sarah in the back of the truck. It was like the moonlight was magic, releasing a luminous secret goddess from the buttoned-up businesswoman.

Or maybe the magic worked the other way. It was obvious something had happened in Sarah’s life that imprisoned her in a hard, brittle shell. Tonight, something had broken through it and set her free, but now she was closed up tight again like a princess in a tower.

Well, he was going to storm the ramparts. Somehow, he was going to figure out how to open the castle door.

No. Scratch that. He wasn’t just going to open the door; he was going to tear down the damn castle.

“What is it you’re so afraid of?”

She shot him a hard glare. He wasn’t sure if he’d struck a nerve or simply struck out.

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Then come home with me.”

“I’m not saying no because I’m afraid. I’m going home because I don’t want a relationship with you.”

“Look, I have no idea what flipped your switch, and I’m not going to chase after you. But it’s a hell of a way to treat a guy. If a man treated a woman this way, you and your girlfriends would tear him to pieces.”

She brought a hand to her forehead and for a moment he thought she was going to cry, but she sucked in a deep breath and steeled herself. He had a feeling she did that a lot.

“You’re right. Lane, I’m sorry. I let my—my needs get away from me. I shouldn’t have let that happen.” She breathed in a shuddering breath and let it out. “You can let me out here.”

“I’m not leaving you on the street.”

“That’s my apartment.” She pointed to a three-story brick building that looked like it had once housed a bank or maybe a law office. It was one of those buildings someone had bought and renovated back when the oil boom hit, filling it with high-class loft apartments that were ugly, overpriced, and mostly empty.

He pulled to the curb and parked under a streetlight that cast deep shadows on her face, making her look drawn and haunted.

“I’ll walk you up,” he said, shoving the gearshift into park.

“No need.”

He looked past her at the darkened building. The place looked practically abandoned. “Don’t you have a doorman or anything?”

“Of course not. This is Casper.” She floundered for the door handle, her hand shaking. “And I’ll be fine. I’m used to being on my own, Lane, and I’m staying that way. I can’t continue to be in any kind of relationship with you, and I hope you’ll be a gentleman and let it go.”

He leaned over and opened the door for her, but his arm blocked her exit.

“You of all people know I’m not a gentleman. ‘Gentlemen’ are those shysters in suits that sat across the table at dinner. And I don’t know what makes you think any kind of man would let this go.” He eased back, letting her slide out of the car, but the hem of her dress caught on the door handle and she tugged at it, frowning.

“Don’t worry, princess. Your secrets are safe with me.” He reached over and pulled her dress free, brushing her thigh in the process. “I just wonder what they’re doing to you.”

Sarah clutched her purse close to her body as she headed for the front door of the condo building. Fishing for her keys, she glanced back at the curb where Lane’s big diesel idled, growling like a monster in a kid’s nightmare. He’d parked at a slant to light her way. It was a nice thing to do, but in her agitated mental state, its lights seemed mercilessly bright, blinding her view of the man in the driver’s seat.

Which was just as well. She’d be better off if she never saw Lane Carrigan again. Somehow, he’d turned her from a dutiful, rational publicity executive into a wild woman with all the poise and judgment of a rabid squirrel.

She found her key ring and fumbled to find the front door key. Somehow they slipped from her fingers, and she bobbled them frantically before dropping them on the doorstep. She bent to pick them up, angling her body and stooping so she wouldn’t flash her panties at Lane. As she shoved the key in the lock, she turned and gave him a dismissive wave.

The truck stared back, its lights bright, its broad grill grim and threatening. Turning, she jerked the door open, eager to escape into the sanctuary of her apartment.

Whap
.

She’d jerked the door right into her forehead. The impact knocked her backward and her heel hit the edge of the step. Flailing for balance and cursing her own clumsiness, she grabbed the door and dodged inside, hastily turning the dead bolt.

As she climbed the steps, harsh white light from Lane’s headlamps still lit the hallway. She couldn’t believe he’d asked if she had a doorman. How much did he think the company was paying her?

Of course, he couldn’t know she gave half her money to her sister, which was why she’d had to give up her paid parking space in the well-lit lot next door. Lane would really freak out if he saw her usual nighttime arrival, dodging in the back door from the dark alley, hoping no late-night drunks or homeless vagrants happened by.

Wearily, she crossed the second floor landing and traipsed up the final flight to her apartment. She should have been home hours ago. She had to work tomorrow, then make the two-hour drive to Two Shot in time to get there before Katie’s bedtime. Kelsey managed to play happy housewife without a husband from Monday to Friday, but working in Katie’s preschool, shuttling her to half-a-dozen after-school activities, and then chairing PTO meetings in the evenings took everything she had. By Saturday, she was a basket case. When Sarah found out Katie was spending entire weekends in front of the TV while her mom lay half comatose on the sofa with a migraine, she started going home to help out every Friday night. She played with Katie on Saturdays, giving Kelsey a break, and drove home Sunday morning. Two Shot wasn’t exactly her dream destination for weekend vacations, but so far she’d been able to hide out in Kelsey’s battered single-wide.

Flicking the light switch on the third floor landing, she peeked out the window to see Lane’s truck pulling away from the curb. She sorted through her keys, then tripped on the top step and dropped them again. Was she drunk or just tired?

A little bit of both, maybe, plus weak in the knees over Lane. She yawned as she found the apartment key and swung the door open. Dim light spilled into the hallway. Gloria must have left a light on for her. That was thoughtful. A light and…

Music?

Something soft and new-agey filled the air. That was odd. Gloria usually listened to bouncier stuff—Lady Gaga and Duffy. Stuff like that. Unless she was with somebody. Sometimes she played soft music when she had a boyfriend over and they were…

Oh, God. What was that on the sofa?

Gloria.

Gloria naked.

Oh, shit.
Sarah’s roommate was lying on the sofa in a tangle of naked limbs—too many limbs for one woman to have. She was using her body to shield the rightful owner of the extra arms and legs.

“I thought you’d be late,” Gloria babbled. “What are you doing home? I left you there with that holy-shit-mother-of-God stud, and I figured you’d have more sense than to come back here.” She stood, totally unembarrassed by her nakedness as a pale figure darted off the sofa and scampered down the hall, dodging into a doorway. Sarah had done her best not to watch, but she was pretty sure Gloria’s man-toy had just run into the closet. A thump and the sound of hangers clanging confirmed her theory.

She looked back at Gloria, who was trying to cover herself with her guest’s jacket, which was a dark, distinguished charcoal gray. Perfectly cut. Armani.

Eric’s.

Holy crap, she’d just seen her boss’s naked backside. Suddenly, she wished she was back in the truck with Lane, speeding to his place for another round of holy-shit-mother-of-God sex. Because sleeping with her boss’s brother suddenly seemed like the least of her worries.

She strode down the hallway without a word, passing the closet and turning into her own room. Grabbing her overnight case, she shoved bras, panty hose, and underwear inside. She flung open her closet and grabbed an armful of hanging suits and skirts, and then ran across the hall to the bathroom. It didn’t take long to toss her makeup and toiletries into the case. Hefting the overnight case on one arm and the hanging clothes on the other, she stomped down the hallway and out the door.

“Sarah, wait!”

“No.” Sarah spun to face Gloria, so mad she could hardly see. “I told you there was one rule, Gloria. Just one. And you went ahead and did it anyway.”

She clutched at a pair of panties that was slipping out of the bundle of clothes in her arms and slammed out of the apartment, almost running down the steps.

Opening the building’s back door, she looked both ways. No drunks. No vagrants. She hit the beeper on her keys and started across the alley as the light inside the Malibu glowed to life. Just as she started to cross the alley, a deafening rumble filled the air.

A truck sped directly toward her, lights blazing, dust billowing from its tires. Skittering backward, she dropped the clothes in the dirt and flattened herself against the brick wall by the door. She let out a squeak of alarm as the vehicle skidded to a stop right in front of her, but then she realized who it was.

“Lane,” she said. “Lane?” The night’s event whirled in her brain, and before she had time to think she stepped up to the pickup and smacked the hood. “What the hell are you doing here?”

***

Lane winced as Sarah punched the pickup. Most women screamed when they were scared, or fainted. Sarah stepped up and smacked something.

He hadn’t meant to scare her. He’d watched her unlock the dark apartment building and his protective instinct had gone into overdrive, making him wonder what she did when he wasn’t there. He’d been just about to go around to the back and see if that was where she parked when he spotted Eric’s car parked out front.

Shit. What the hell was his brother doing there? Waiting for Sarah?

Maybe there really was something going on between them. He’d thought that at the start, but had he listened to his gut? No. He’d wanted to believe Sarah was his, only his. That she couldn’t resist him.

When really, she was playing him for a fool.

“What the hell am
I
doing? Maybe I should ask
you
that.” He leaned across the seat and swung the door open. “What’s my brother doing here?”

“What do you think he’s doing here?” She backed away from the truck. “You think… oh my God. What do you think I am?”

“No, I…” He opened the truck door and slid down from the seat, but she was already scooping up the clothes she’d dropped and crossing the alley, her keys clenched in her fist.

Her hands were shaking as she tossed the clothes in the car and slammed the door shut. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she shoved the key in the ignition and revved the engine.

She shouldn’t be driving. She was way too upset—and no wonder. He’d practically accused her of sleeping with his brother.

He didn’t know why Eric was here, but he knew that wasn’t the reason. Sarah would never do that. He was a jerk to even consider it.

Running to the car, he rapped on her window, but she looked over her shoulder and backed away at top speed, running over a few scraps of clothing she’d missed. She tore out of the alley, back tires spitting gravel, and he watched her taillights disappear.