One Hot Cowboy (11 page)

delicious little ass all cherry pink while he

heated her backside just a bit. Just before

he kissed it all better.

Getting out of the truck, he came around

the side. Now she was waiting, her hand

on the edge of the door. Not for him to

open it but for him to take charge of the

moment. Which was fine with him. He was

damned tired of being two steps behind

her. First time he’d seen her looking

hesitant, though. Usually, Rose moved

through life like she knew precisely where

she was going and what she wanted.

Maybe she realized that these sensations,

the heat building between them, meant that

things were going to change yet again.

His Rose had weathered more than her

fair share of changes.

So he’d just have to convince her that

this
change was a good one. Once he had

her in his arms and in his bed, he’d show

her precisely how things had changed for

the better between them. He’d show her

just how good they could be together.

Pulling open her door and reaching in

for her, he swung her up into his arms.

The first time she’d seen the ranch house

a few days ago, she’d thought it both was

and wasn’t what she’d expected of Cabe

Dawson. He’d finished building it after

she’d gone, and the result was an

impressive,

adobe-style

ranch

that

screamed costly Southwestern design. It

was four thousand square feet of high-end

construction. A fireplace made with stones

from the creek dominated the main space

that stretched the length of the building.

He’d clearly wanted a home that would

last. It was the house of a man with plenty

of money, a man who didn’t need to be

standing ankle-deep in dust, fixing a

watering trough. That was Cabe Dawson,

though. He’d never sat back and waited for

what he wanted. He’d gone out and

worked his ass off. The current success of

the ranch was due in no small part to his

efforts. It was an open secret in Lonesome

that his father had just about run the place

into the ground. His wife’s aristocratic

family had never thought much of him, and

he’d lived down to their expectations.

“A girl could get used to this.” She slid

her arms around his neck, pressing her face

against his skin. Each breath dragged the

scent of him deeper into her. Man and

outdoors, leather and sage. God, he

smelled good.

He pushed the truck door shut with one

booted foot. They went into the house like

that, him carrying her as if she was the

bride in a story. She turned her face into

his shirt collar. She wasn’t shy, but she

didn’t want to share this moment with

anyone else. And Cabe Dawson came with

a lot of someone elses, including those

brothers of his.

“I think we’re going to make it,” he said,

voicing her unspoken fears. Maybe neither

of them was ready to share this change

with the world just yet. He moved

confidently through the ranch house,

headed for his bedroom.

He took the stairs quickly and got her

into his very masculine, neatly appointed

room, shutting the door behind them. As he

strode for the big bed, she slipped the

Stetson from his head and tossed it over

his shoulder.

“That’s better,” she said. “Strip for me.”

The hat’s brim hid his eyes, and she

wanted to see him now, all hard and hot

for her. Maybe things were changing for

the better between them, or maybe, by

tomorrow, the distance would be back

between them, and all she’d have would be

the memories.

“Stay put a moment and I’ll give you

whatever you want.” He set her down on

the bed, and she was content to roll onto

her side and watch him undress, his sure

hands pulling his T-shirt over his head. He

toed off his boots, and when his hands

went to his belt buckle, the heat in the

room ratcheted up.

This wasn’t at all familiar. This was

where they stopped being neighbors,

stopped being “friends.” Where they

became lovers. He stood, shoving jeans

and underwear down his legs.

God, he was impossibly beautiful. He

was all hard muscles and chiseled strength.

He might own the ranch and everyone on it,

but he worked as hard as any of his men.

He settled down on the bed beside her.

One arm slid back around her waist as he

pulled her up to his big, hard body and

came up over her. He smelled warm, like

California sunshine and heat.

Right. He smelled right.

“Cabe Dawson,” she whispered.

His familiar face watched hers. “Rose

Jordan,” he responded. “Don’t get cold

feet on me now.” That was pure plea she

heard in his voice, but he didn’t need to

worry. Her arousal was a sweet ache she

had no intention of ignoring.

“You walk out that door, Cabe Dawson,

and I’ll come after you. Your brothers will

be getting an eyeful.”

“We can’t have that.”

“Wouldn’t be a wise move,” she gasped

as his hand found her breast. “Not unless

those stories I’ve heard are true, about you

boys liking to share any and everything.”

A spike of bright pleasure shot through

her as his work-hardened hand found her

nipple and did something impossibly

sweet.

“I’m not sharing you,” he promised.

She’d never been one of the girls who

watched the Dawson boys, naughtily

wondering if the rumors were true that,

sometimes, the brothers shared everything.

“I’m not sharing you, either.” Threading

her fingers through his hair, she learned the

shape of his head, her fingertips making the

big man in her arms shiver. God. She liked

that. Liked that she could make him every

bit as hot as he made her. Cabe Dawson

had always been so in control of every

situation. Right now, he was just a little bit

undone, and she wanted more of him.

What would happen if he let go of all

that careful control of his?

When,
she promised herself. Right now,

he was all hers.

“So I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Yes, Cabe.”

“Good,” he growled, and he kissed her.

The raw hunger of that kiss had her arching

into his touch. His mouth parted hers, his

tongue stroking inside to tangle with hers.

God, he tasted so good. She wanted more.

Wanted to crawl right inside him.

His thumb nudged the straps of her top

down, revealing the wicked little strapless

push-up bra. She’d bought the bra on

impulse, the barest scrap of white lace and

cording. He liked it, though, she could tell.

He inhaled sharply, his fingers tracing the

lacing between the valley of her breasts.

“This is nice.”

“Think of these as a very belated

birthday present.” She covered his hands

with hers, tracing the curves pushed above

the bralette. “A little something for you to

finally unwrap, Cabe.”

For whatever reason, against all the

odds, they were here, together. Maybe

because it just wasn’t possible to deny the

heat building between them any longer.

Maybe because she’d wondered about

Cabe Dawson so many years ago, and

maybe, from what he’d said, he’d

wondered about her, too. Now, she

couldn’t stop saying his name, trying to

make herself believe that this was really

happening. That they were here, in his bed,

together
, even if it was only for a handful

of stolen hours.

His big hands cupped and stroked her

breasts, those work-roughened fingers of

his tracing wicked, knowing,
slow
patterns

against her skin. She’d watched those

capable hands rope a calf or hold the

wheel steady as he took the truck off-road.

Those hands knew long days and

sometimes longer nights of work, but right

now all they gave was pure pleasure. Each

rough-gentle brush of his skin against hers

stoked the fire burning inside her, teased

her higher.

Despite his own hoarse breathing, he

moved

slowly,

deliberately,

as

he

explored her body. There was no rushing

him. Not now. Other parts of her burned

for his touch, impatient, but he was not to

be hurried. Would he make her wait to

come?

Unhooking the bralette, he put it aside

and made short work of her shorts and

panties. She was finally, deliciously,

naked.

“Touch me, Cabe,” she demanded,

lifting herself into his touch, until his hands

cupped her breasts fully.

“Like this?” he whispered roughly, his

fingers finding her nipples, stroking and

teasing the greedy nubs. That was what she

wanted. That and more. She stroked her

hands up his arms and over his shoulders,

tracing the muscles of his back as his

fingers caressed her breasts. He was so

hard and unyielding, his legs tangled with

hers as he pressed her down into his bed.

She needed to touch him, couldn’t deny

herself that pleasure anymore. She wanted

to know what every inch of Cabe Dawson

felt like. Looking up at him, she palmed his

erection, wrapping her fingers around the

hot length of him.

“You still want to wait, cowboy?”

He’d believed he was ready for this, but

nothing could have prepared him for the

sheer erotic jolt of Rose’s hand palming

his erection. He wanted more. He wanted

to freeze the moment forever and live it

over and over. The heat of her hand

surrounded him, stroking gently, softly

upward, as the palm of her other hand

cupped his balls. Up and then down, her

clasp an erotic pressure when she reached

the tip of him. He was about to come out of

his skin, and then her fingers danced down

the hard length again, pressing teasingly

against him. Gentle and then firmer,

keeping him off-balance, that wicked touch

as unpredictable and delicious as the

woman in his arms.

Her hand closed over the tip of him

again and then stroked down the hard shaft

in one long, luxurious stroke, and he

pressed into her touch, wanting more. The

soft, slick sound was an erotic precursor of

what was going to happen real soon, a hint

of the sweet in-and-out to come. The

fingers of her left hand ringed him, her

index and thumb forming a wicked circle

that squeezed pleasurably while her other

hand stroked down his shaft. God, he was

going to come, just like this, if he wasn’t

careful.

“Your turn to wait,” he whispered

hoarsely against her skin.

His fingers found her center. The sweet,

creamy scent of her arousal filled the small

space between them, and a primitive

satisfaction filled him. This was his Rose,

spread out in his bed. In his house. He’d

show her just how well he could take care

of her. She’d let him in, and he wasn’t

going anywhere. He had her exactly where

he wanted her.

In his arms. In his bed.