Seduction (14 page)

Win went to the kitchen and came back with two beers. He handed her one and sat on the couch, propping his booted feet on the coffee table. ‘So, what's this little visit about, Lee? I don't imagine, judging by your Chanel suit and expensive heels, that you've come back to stay. So why are you here?'

She perched on the edge of the chair, afraid to get too comfortable. Afraid to make herself at home, even if it was her home, as he had said.

‘Donna Karan.'

He blinked. ‘What?'

‘The suit is Donna Karan. The heels are Prada. The purse is Kate Spade. The wallet is Gucci and I earned every dollar in it, Win.' She hadn't meant it to sound like an accusation, but it did.

‘Are you happy?'

It was her turn to stare at him. ‘How do you mean?'

His sharp bark of laughter startled her. ‘Happy, Lee. I know that translates as easily for a city girl like yourself as it does a cowboy like me. Happy. Do all these things,' he said, with a dismissive gesture towards her, ‘make you happy?'

‘The work makes me happy,' she said. ‘I was wasting my law degree here. I'm being fast-tracked to make partner and the hours are long and the work is challenging. I'm excited to go to work every day.'

‘I'm glad you found something that excites you.'

She cringed at his bitter tone. ‘You knew what you were getting into when you married me. I told you I'd try – and I
tried, Win – and you said you'd be willing to move if I wasn't happy. I wasn't happy, but you weren't willing.'

‘Willing to do what? Move to some hard-edged city where everything is plastic, including the people?' He made a face like he'd just tasted something foul. ‘That's not who I am. Hell, it's not even who you are.'

‘You don't know who I am. You never did.'

He sat up, slamming his boots on the hardwood floor. ‘All right, now that you've summed up our disaster of a marriage, what do you want?'

She stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. A rancher, a man, her husband. Her husband with a wounded male ego. Men were the same, whether they lived on a ranch or in a condo, but Win's ego was as big as the state of Montana and she had driven a stake through his heart and his ego when she'd walked out.

She tried to smile and shook her head. ‘I missed you.'

That caught him off guard. His chin jerked up as if she'd punched him. He stared at her, looking for the trick. His eyes were flinty bits of stone in his hard-set face. He was so unyielding. It had been what first attracted her to him. Win was a man who wouldn't be moved or cowed by anything or anyone. He was strength incarnate, masculinity in denim and chambray. And, for a brief time, he had been hers. When she indulged her sexual fantasies in those few minutes before sleep claimed her after a fourteen-hour work day, Win was hers again. His body as hard as his resolve – for her. She couldn't tell him any of that for the simple reason that her ego wasn't much smaller than his.

She shook her head again. ‘I don't know why, but I missed you.'

‘You missed the dust and the horse shit and the bugs as big as the palm of your hand and the three television channels and the wind whipping through here in the winter like the walls are made of paper?'

‘No, Win, I missed
you
. Missed you a lot. I thought about calling you a hundred times. Did call you once, on your birthday.' She didn't want to cry. If she cried, he might think she'd changed her mind about divorcing him. ‘I thought you might be around.'

‘The work still has to get done, no matter what day it is.'

It was the answer she expected. ‘Yeah, I know. It's a tough life and I hated it. But I missed you.'

He stood up, crossed the room to stand in front of her. His scent was pure cowboy: sweat and leather, musk and Montana. She resisted the urge to touch him. It would be so easy to reach out and rest a hand on his stomach; tuck her fingers into his waistband and anchor him to her. Instead, she knotted her hands in her lap.

‘You came back because you missed me?'

She wanted to deny it, add a disclaimer to it, but the words needed no embellishment because they were true. ‘Yes.'

As if afraid she would pull away, he reached out slowly and touched her hair. The weight of his fingers was nearly imperceptible and, like a cat, she stretched to meet his gentle touch. How many nights had she touched herself, quickly, efficiently, yearning for Win's hands on her body? Too many nights with only his memory to seduce her into forgetting everything that had made her leave in the first place.

‘Yes,' she whispered again.

His touch was firmer now, both hands running through her salon-styled hair, tumbling the strands through his fingers the way she remembered letting hay tumble through her hands. He massaged her scalp, rubbing her temples until she moaned at the pleasure of even that simple, non-sexual touch. She had closed her eyes as soon as he touched her, but now she opened them, staring at his denim-covered crotch. He was hard, his erection straining at the front of his jeans. Hard from just stroking her hair. It was an incredible feeling – power and
longing all in one. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands to resist the temptation he presented. Just as she knew how firm and taut his body would be from another hard year's work on the ranch, she knew the way his erection would feel if she reached out and ran her hand over the bulge. She closed her eyes again, afraid to give in to temptation. Afraid that if she didn't give in to temptation, she'd regret it forever.

‘Touch me, Lee,' he said hoarsely.

She looked up into his hazel eyes and saw pain, regret and anger. She also saw need. Pure, raw lust mixed with all the negative emotions she had rained down on him. Her voice caught in her throat as she reached up and ran a trembling hand over his crotch. He was hard, so damned hard. As if they had spent hours tangled up in foreplay instead of just moments with his hands on her hair. He still wanted her. The thought sent a thrill of desire coursing through her veins and though her practical mind cautioned against letting this go too far, her body throbbed with the unrequited need of too many nights of unfulfilled fantasies of Win's body, Win's cock.

With manicured fingertips, she traced the length of his erection with a familiarity she hadn't expected. She had thought she'd forgotten him, the feel of him, but she hadn't. Though she still masturbated to memories of things she'd done with Win, those memories had faded to fuzzy images about people she didn't really know, unlike the bad feelings that seemed so much sharper and ran so much deeper. Now, sitting on the chair in the living room of the house she had once shared with him, the memories came rushing back through her to pool in liquid heat between her thighs. Her body remembered everything, every ridge and vein and inch of Win. She felt flushed, sitting here like this with her hand on her husband's crotch. Her husband. He was still her husband, not her ex-husband just yet.

Win groaned and the sound was primal and startling. Leslie jerked her hand away as if she had been burned. He wrapped his long, callused fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand back to his crotch, pressing it firmly against his erection, staring into her eyes. Here was the power she missed and longed for, the raw, physical power that had nothing to do with money or prestige. Here was Win, in all his masculine glory, and heaven help her, she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

‘You want this,' he said, and it wasn't a question.

He had always been able to read her and had used it to his advantage. Teasing her, taunting her until she was out of her mind with lust and desire, a woman in need and only one man to satisfy her need. He knew her, knew her better than anyone, and she hated it – and him – in that moment. Hated him almost enough to get up and walk out and not look back. Almost.

Almost.

She nodded, that small acknowledgment costing her more than he could possibly know. Or maybe he knew that, too, because he pulled her up then, into his strong arms. She settled against his chest as if she had never left. She tucked her head against his shoulder, revelling in the softness of his well-worn shirt and the hardness of his chest as she rubbed her head against him, as if marking him. It felt good and right to be enveloped by him, to have his erection bumping her belly like a calf seeking sustenance. She made a contented sound, halfway between a sigh and a cry as he tilted her head up and kissed her hard.

She whimpered into his mouth as he kissed her, hating herself for being so weak. She tried to remember why she was here, telling herself that she was in control, but none of it mattered as Win teased her with his tongue and promises of so much more. She bit his lower lip, pressing against him and
feeling the full, unyielding breadth of him. She never felt more feminine than when Win was kissing her. Everything she believed she had forgotten – or had wanted to forget – came rushing back as he kissed her senseless.

He anchored her to him by her hips, his erection nudging insistently against her as they rocked against each other in unconscious need. She reached between them, palming the rigid length of his cloth-covered cock. She wanted him. Wanted him so bad she could feel the wetness between her thighs soaking the wispy black silk of her lace-trimmed Agent Provocateur panties. Win wouldn't appreciate the panties, wouldn't know designer panties from a three-for-five special at the discount store, but he would appreciate her wetness. He would enjoy what he had done to her, what he had made her feel.

‘Take me to bed, Win,' she breathed into his mouth. ‘Now.'

She hated herself for sounding so needy, so damned feminine. She wanted to be the seducer, the one who made the calls, but she knew that once she admitted her need Win would be in control. Smug with his power over her even as he gave her everything her aching body desired. She would save the self-loathing for when she was back in LA. She didn't have time for self-recrimination anyway, because Win was picking her up. That swift, familiar motion took her breath away, made her feel helpless and powerful all in one instant. Her expensive pumps clattered to the floor as he swung her around towards the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time, the second and eighth steps creaking just the way she remembered.

She clung to him, running her hands over his shoulders and stroking his hair, as if she couldn't get enough of his body now that she'd been given a taste. He carried her through the bedroom door and tumbled her down on the big feather bed like a pile of clean laundry. She lay there, breathless, staring up at the exposed beams of the ceiling until he climbed on the bed
and his face obscured the view. Then he was kissing her again, deep and hard, as if that short walk up the stairs had been interminable. She wiggled under him, anxious to feel the press of his cock between her legs. It was an ache that would not be denied and she whimpered in frustration because the angle was wrong.

He reared back and hiked her skirt up with one hand before lodging his knee between her thighs. It wasn't as good as having him inside her, but she rubbed against him anyway. She craved him, needing to be filled and fucked the way only Win could fuck her. She moaned and arched against him, digging her nails into his broad back. She didn't care that her clothes were getting wrinkled or that she might break a nail – she would break all ten if it meant having Win inside her.
Control
, her brain reminded her, but her cunt had other ideas.

‘Little bitch in heat, aren't you?'

She moaned again, her head whipping from side to side, though not in denial. She
was
a bitch in heat, so hot she could feel a trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades. She wanted to be naked underneath him.

‘Yes,' she moaned, as he rubbed his hard thigh between her legs. ‘So fucking hot.'

He fumbled awkwardly with the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse. She bit her lip in frustration as he smacked her hand away when she moved to help him. Finally, he got them undone and spread her blouse open, revealing the black lace-trimmed push-up bra that matched her panties. He didn't admire the bra or the way it accentuated her tits, just growled as if it were in his way and then yanked the cups up over her breasts without bothering with the clasp. It was an obscene move, one better suited to new lovers in the back seat of a car than a couple in their marriage bed, but it suited her just fine. She knew every inch of Win's body, but something about this felt new, different. Raw.

Win palmed her breasts, pushing them together and making a valley between them. ‘My cock would look good there,' he rasped, as he pinched her nipples between his fingers.

He twisted the hard nubs of her dusky pink nipples until she whimpered low in her throat. There was a moment of pain before he released her tender flesh, but it was an exquisite feeling that bordered on orgasmic. She put her hands over his and moaned, ‘More.' He obliged her by pinching her nipples again, twisting and pulling them away from her breasts until she was writhing with the pain and pleasure of the sensation. She gasped in disappointment as he released her and sat back on his knees. He didn't touch her; he only looked at her.

She imagined herself as he saw her: blouse open, bra twisted up over her breasts, the nipples dark and hard, her hair a tangled mess from his hands and rolling around on the bed, her expensive skirt bunched up at her hips, thighs spread, a wet spot spreading on the crotch of her panties. She closed her eyes, the image too raw. She felt vulnerable in her half-nakedness, vulnerable and needy. But the darkness behind her eyelids was worse – what if he found her lacking in some way? Decided he didn't want her? The thought was so painful, she opened her eyes and studied his face as he stared at her, looking for some sign that he still wanted her. He looked at her for what seemed like a long time, until his gaze finally lingered between her thighs. She spread her legs wider, offering herself to him like a prize, her need a bone-deep ache of unfulfilled passion.