Rebel Cowboy (11 page)

“Please.”

Then, like she had the other morning, she let her hand trail down his chest, across his abdomen, to the waistband of his boxers, and he sucked in a breath. He’d said “no” once, and it hadn’t done much of anything.

Was it really such a bad-guy thing to do to say yes? To give her what she asked for? What she’d said “please” for? He was pretty certain he could give her exactly what she wanted, and what he wanted in the process.

So…how could that be wrong?

There was a whole world of emotions going on deep in her gut, but Mel breathed through them. She wouldn’t analyze it—downright refused to—but the warmth of Dan’s chest under her palm was like this center point, a calming force in a sea of frustration, hurt, and anger.

She wanted more of that, more of him. The way simply touching his bare skin made every part of her buzz to attention. She wanted his mouth on hers, his body on hers. She wanted to find the end to this perpetual ache.

She took a deep breath before lifting her gaze to his. He had to say yes, he just had to—

He placed his hand over hers, and for one horrible second, she thought he was going to peel it away and try to be all noble and crap again.

Instead, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm, his eyes never leaving hers.

The bolt of heat and giddy excitement was sharp, quick—a kind of jolt Tyler had never given her in kisses on the actual mouth. Which wasn’t a fair comparison. They’d been young and inexperienced and, well, she hadn’t allowed herself to be attracted to much more than his stability.

It was the way she worked.

Until Dan.

Involuntarily, she jerked her arm back, feeling that this was maybe just a bit too much, but Dan’s grasp on her wrist was firm. His thumb brushed over the inside of her arm, and she shivered. She honest to God shivered from the simplest touch.

“You can stop me anytime,” he said levelly, those eyes of his seeing too much, understanding far too much.

But she didn’t care, not if simple touches could do this. Not if he could erase all the crap in her head, even for just a few minutes. “I don’t want to stop,” she snapped. She’d put on these ridiculous clothes and this ridiculous makeup and told him to take those
ridiculous
glasses off and stay in his underwear.

They were doing this.

“Okay, but I’m putting it out there anyway.”

“Okay, sure.” Whatever. Whatever it took to get him to stop talking and start doing. So she could stop feeling like her nerves were going to cause her to bolt. No. Way.

His grip on her wrist tightened, and he pulled her to him, still keeping space between them, but not much, and it seemed to jump with electricity, like the air during a thunderstorm. Sparking with danger and an unpredictable force of nature.

“You’re going to have to come a little closer, baby,” he said in a low, gravelly voice that was…new. New. No slick lines, no easy jokes. There was a thread of serious intent in his voice, and that was…well, almost hot enough to pretend like he hadn’t called her baby.

But she didn’t like that, even when parts of her did. “Don’t call me baby,” she managed, her voice coming out…breathless. Strange to her own ears.

“Darling? Sugar? Honey?”

She swallowed as his hand traveled up her arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. She stared hard at the column of his throat, the way it curved into those strong, broad shoulders. Muscled. Athletic. Real. This man who didn’t seem totally real was touching her, looking at her like she was something edible.

Which almost made her forget they were talking, but then his hand stopped at her shoulder, and she remembered. “None of that endearment crap. Mel.”

“Mel.”

She forced herself to look at him, to be brave and strong and enjoy the
hell
out of this. “I’m not interchangeable.”

His mouth curved, the sexy smirk of a man who…was going to make her forget. Yes. That.

“No, you’re not interchangeable. You, Mel Shaw, are one heck of a unique woman.”

“Damn straight.”

His palm cupped her neck, thumb brushing the underside of her jaw. The touch shivered through her, gentle, so gentle, but with a hint of a promise for more. Her eyes wanted to flutter closed, but that seemed weak somehow. To not be able to look him dead on when he made her stomach flip to her toes.

He leaned forward, mouth brushing across her temple. “It’s okay to close your eyes.”

“I don’t need to—” Her words stuttered to a stop, her eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his mouth to the spot just beneath her ear, just above her jaw. Everything inside of her seemed to sigh when his mouth lingered there.

“There we are,” he said softly against her ear, the rush of breath making her shiver again. Or was that his other hand on her hip, pushing up her shirt, fingers brushing her side?

She couldn’t decide, mouth or fingers—and then he took her earlobe between his teeth and scraped. Her knees honest-to-God felt weak. It was not just a saying—they all but buckled.

“Oh
God.
” She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but Dan didn’t give her a chance to be embarrassed over it, his mouth crushed to hers. One minute it was all lazy seduction, and now she was being pressed up against a wall.

And,
oh God
, seriously. There was no other phrase that did this justice—the possessive way his hands cradled her face, the hard press of his chest, his erection, the near-growl as he used his tongue, his teeth against her lips.

The desperate excitement, the building heat, it was all new and exactly what she’d been after. She hadn’t been overstating the current that ran between them. There was something here. Something bigger than simple attraction.

No. Not more. Just…different.

His hands moved from her face, down her sides, and then without removing his mouth from hers, he pushed her shirt slowly up her rib cage, then over her breasts. She felt his fingers at the top of the bra cup, and then the cool air against her. Exposed. Exposed to him so that every nerve ending in her body was bracing for impact, all but vibrating with the desperate need to be touched.

When he brushed a finger across her nipple she nearly jumped, a noise escaping her. She couldn’t believe that was a sound coming out of her own mouth, but the little squeak popped out, and it
was
her.

He finally broke the kiss, but his eyes were still so close to hers, his mouth all smiling and amused and sexy.

“Hm.” He brushed his finger against her nipple again, and she tried valiantly not to squeak and shudder, but it was no use. The feeling was too much. The jolt. The pleasure. The way it centered at her breast and sank lower.

When was the last time something had ever felt this good?

“I like that,” he murmured, his eyes rapt on where his hands cupped her breasts. Then his head bent, and her throat caught.

He was going to…

The soft friction of his tongue was so electric, so erotic, her head fell back and hit the wall. She didn’t even care. His mouth on her like that felt so good she didn’t care about anything anymore. This was all she needed, the heat of his tongue, the press of his palms.

Perfect.

“We can just do it here,” she said, her breath coming out in little bursts. Almost panting. Stupid, but she couldn’t help it. The aching edge of desire was so tight, so needy, she couldn’t help anything. And she’d never done anything like that. Just…spur of the moment, let’s do it in the kitchen. Against a wall. That could be done, right?

He paused, straightening to his full height as if he was considering it, then he shook his head. “Maybe next time. Tonight, I am going to see all of you, Mel.”

All of her? Oh, that sounded…scary, actually. Some of the tight spiral of arousal faded. She felt cramped. She didn’t want that. She just wanted some sex. Explosive, actually orgasmic sex.

But he was pulling her through the little hallway to his bedroom, one cup of her bra still askew, her shirt bunched at her armpits. It was hard to think about any of that when his firm, tight athlete’s butt was right in front of her in thin blue cotton boxer shorts.

She wanted her hands on it. Which was so
weird
. She couldn’t ever remember being desperate to have her hands on someone’s ass and—

He stopped, and she all but ran into him. He laughed, low and husky, a strangely light and feathery sensation moving down her spine. When she lifted her eyes, she recognized the expression on his face.

Pleased-with-himself arrogance at catching her ogling.

That might usually irritate the crap out of her, but she found with her hand in his and him all but naked, it was a good look. A yummy look.

“You have a nice ass,” she blurted, trying to play it off as something she ever normally said to
anyone
.

The rumble of his laugh would have made her smile, except he seemed surprised, not just amused. She felt kind of bad for…well, she didn’t feel bad for being hard on him or whatever, but maybe she had a little tiny bit of guilt over one or two of the not-so-nice things she’d said to him out of irritation.

“This isn’t angry sex,” she said.

“Yeah, I put a moratorium on that, remember?” He grinned, tugging her shirt all the way over her head. “Teaching me how to ranch, expanding my vocabulary—this is quite a learning experience.”

Which was fine, but not the point. “I think you’re hot.”

His grin went sly, and he tossed the shirt into the recesses of his messy room. “I know.”

Of course he did. How could he not see the way she wanted to melt into him? The way she all but disintegrated with every illicit touch. “Right, but, what I mean is, it’s not just… I’m not using you, exactly. You are…a person who I don’t… I know I can sometimes come off…”

He gave her ponytail a tug, then cupped the back of her neck, fingertips brushing against every sensitive part. “Spit it out, sweetheart.”

She’d like to, but he kept touching her and looking at her, sending the sparks of attraction and lust so deep, so hot, so intense she had a hard time forming words or thoughts. “I like you, okay?” she said, exasperated and itchy. “You’re not a bad guy.”

His hands stilled, and she realized he was doing all the touching, and she was doing all the letting him touch. She needed to stop that, stop being so passive. Passive was not in her vocabulary. She wanted to touch. She wanted to take as much as she wanted him to take, to give.

“Not a bad guy, huh?”

She forced herself to look him in the eye despite the fact that he was slowly edging the straps of her bra off her shoulders. But she was surprised to find some serious concentration on his face. “I just didn’t want you to think… I mean…you’re not just some random guy.” She’d come here specifically, for him, and yes, it was just temporary, something to do because she wanted to do something on a whim, but it was still… She wasn’t at the Pioneer Spirit getting drunk and hitting on the first guy to cross her path.

“I think I get that.”

“Okay then. I mean, I just, I’m not here to—I…”

He took a step toward her, so his knees pressed to hers, her breasts brushed the front of his chest setting off an electric current that almost made her knees buckle again. “You want to forget,” he said, hands reaching around to unclasp the back of her bra.

“Yes.” Which he was helping her do. All this touching, and she was already forgetting what had brought her here. Because everywhere his fingers touched, she felt revered, she felt things she normally didn’t. Soft and feminine and special.

“Then let’s do that.”

* * *

Dan was trying to take it slow. Not because he thought she particularly needed that, but because he wanted to enjoy this. All of it. For all her “you’re not a bad guy” sentiment, he wasn’t stupid enough to assume there’d be more of this.

This might be a onetime deal, and he was going to make the most of it.

Except, she kept making these noises that made him forget about the slow thing. Like the way she inhaled sharply once he’d gotten rid of her bra, and the way she’d sighed when he palmed each breast.

He wanted to make her sigh a million times, to feel her give, relent. There was nothing he did that wasn’t met with some kind of response, and all those thoughts of going slow dissolved. Dissolved into him nudging her onto the bed and immediately beginning to fumble with the snap and zipper of her shorts.

He wanted all of her. All. Mel, laid out on his bed, wanting him as badly as he had been wanting her. He would find some patience for that. Somewhere.

“Here.” She pushed his hands away, undoing the zipper herself and pushing them down her hips. This time he pushed her hands away, hooking fingers in the waistband of her panties and flattening his palms all the way down her legs until the shorts and panties dropped to the ground.

He kneeled above her, reminding himself to take this in, to remember, and to make it count.

Maybe if he took care, found some way to, it
would
count, at least for a while.

“Mel Shaw naked on my bed.” Not a terrible thing to feel satisfied over, pride in. Even if she wasn’t really here for him, she was here for something he could give her. She could have gone to one of those dumb cops she always laughed with, to the ex she hadn’t loved but had been willing to marry.

So, yeah, this was an accomplishment.

“Yes, are you going to stare all day, or are you going to do something about it?” Her cheeks flushed, but she kept that chin jutted, as if he needed any more proof she was tough and fearless.

But he didn’t say or do anything. Because for a few seconds he wanted to commit to memory the curves of her body, the way the parts of her that saw sun were darker and more freckled than the pale skin of her breasts, her abdomen. The pink tips of her nipples, the white scar on her shoulder.

Every inch.

“What?” she said into the quiet. He supposed she was trying to be demanding, but she came off unsure.

Like there was one inch of her she should be embarrassed over.

“Christ, Mel, do you have any idea…”
He
didn’t have any idea. She was just…like no one else. Not ever.

He pressed a kiss to the spot underneath her belly button, feeling the muscles of her stomach jerk in response. He savored the places she was soft, delicate. Her stomach, the inside of her elbows. He dragged the pads of his fingertips over her rib cage and then repeated the process with his tongue, savoring each intake of breath, each dreamy sigh.

She gasped when his mouth covered her nipple, his tongue circling it until she all but whimpered his name. He’d been meaning to keep his hands in place, centered on her hips so he didn’t forget to go slow, but it was no use.