Tex Appeal (5 page)

Starting right now.

D
AYNE
B
RANSON
was nowhere in sight.

Cheryl reminded herself that she was thankful for that as she walked around the kitchen and noted the new cabinets and flooring. Even though the stainless-steel appliances had yet to be installed and still sat packaged in the far corner, the room looked a lot more put together than the last time she’d seen it.

Except for the roof, that is.

The overhead opening had been framed with two-by-fours, the edges taped and ready for the new solar window that sat propped against the far wall. She ran her hand over the granite countertop, the surface smooth and clean.

Hard. Cold.

She ditched the thoughts and walked into the living room. The walls had been painted a vibrant pink, so different from the crisp vanilla she’d seen in the latest issue of
House & Home.
But even so, it was nice. Sort of. The old hardwood floors had been polished to a fine gleam. She headed into the bedroom and saw more of the same. Freshly painted walls and polished floors, but nothing else. No furniture or wall decorations.

The bathroom, however, had been completely finished.

Shock bolted through her, along with a surge of delight as she stood in the doorway and stared at what had once been her dated powder room. The old tub and shower had been ripped out, along with the sink and countertops. A wall had been knocked out, turning the bathroom from moderate into gigantic. A whirlpool tub filled one corner and a gray marbled vanity occupied the full length of the opposite wall. Mirrored tiles ran from floor-to-ceiling, making the space seem even larger.

Her gaze went to the focal point of the room—a huge, triangular shower area in the far corner. It was one of those walk-in types with no shower door, just a small step down and lots of tile. There were two shower heads on either wall and a fancy swirl knob with a digital temperature read-out on the shiny handle.

Her sandals click-clicked on the tile and the sound bounced off the walls around her as she crossed the room. She stepped down into the shower and trailed a hand along the tiled wall. Her fingers played over the knob and a surge of excitement went through her. A vision pushed into her head and she saw herself standing under the warm stream of water.

One second she was alone, and the next, she saw large, strong hands reaching for her, trailing over her slick flesh. Dayne ducked his head beneath the spray and water sluiced over his deeply tanned skin. His body pressed against hers and—

Water blasted from the shower heads and killed the dangerous thought. She squealed and groped for the handle. Before she could twist, the water stopped and that’s when she realized that the sudden spray hadn’t been caused by the knob.

“What the hell?”

The drip, drip echoed in her head, along with a slow, warm rumble of laughter that slid into her ears and sent electricity skimming along her nerve endings.

She stiffened against the delicious sensation that rushed through her body, shoved the wet hair from her eyes and turned to find Dayne looking every bit as hot as he’d looked in her vision only seconds before. He wasn’t naked, however, and he didn’t look ready to gobble her whole.

Rather, he stood in the bathroom doorway, a grin on his handsome face and a remote control in his hand. Excitement rushed through her and pumped her heart that much faster.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she sputtered, wiping a hand over her face.

He held up the remote and amusement glittered in his aqua eyes. “Making you wet.” The words were ripe with sexual innuendo and her stomach hollowed out.

A feeling she’d had many times where he was concerned. At the same time, there was something different…

She blinked and swept her gaze over him, and suddenly everything crystallized. Gone were his usual polo shirt and crisp Wranglers. His white T-shirt was soft and worn, the black lettering—Cowboys Do It Better—faded from too many washings. Soft, frayed denim jeans cupped his crotch and his strong, sinewy thighs. His boots were brown and comfortable, the toes scuffed from toeing the clutch on his motorcycle—

Wait a second.

He didn’t
have
a motorcycle. He’d given up the bike just like he’d given up calf-roping and road trips and anything spontaneous. Even so, she couldn’t deny the familiar boots.

Or the hat.

Her gaze shifted to the straw Resistol tipped low on his forehead, the brim worn and curved in the front. Familiar sponsor patches dotted the outside.

Surprise bolted through her, followed by a rush of
Oh, no.
Because the last thing, the very last thing she needed was to be reminded of the man he’d once been, and what they’d shared that night down by the river.

What they’d yet to share since.

She tried to keep her voice calm and indifferent. “What’s up with you?” she asked as he stepped toward her.

“About eight inches thanks to the view.” His voice was deep and teasing and her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

His gaze zeroed in on her chest and she glanced down to see the transparent material of her pink tank top molded to her modest breasts. Her nipples were perfectly outlined, the tips hard and ripe and throbbing.

“If you peel that shirt off, we can make it nine,” he added, closing the distance between them.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She tried to cross her arms over her chest, but he reached out, one strong hand closing over her forearm.

“Don’t.” His smile faded and his eyes grew brighter. “I want to look at you.”

“I don’t…” she started, but suddenly, she couldn’t seem to find any words. She swallowed and tried to ignore the heat of his fingertips that sank into her flesh, warming her chilled body from the inside out.

“You feel soft. And slick.” His gaze darkened. “Do you remember the first time I touched you? You were wet like this.”

The images rushed at her and just like that, she was standing on the river bank, the moonlight spilling down around her.

“And naked.”

“I’m not naked now,” she managed.

“Not yet.” He reached for her and her heart pounded with uncontrollable excitement.

His hand went to the shower knob. The water sprayed from all angles, instantly warm and stirring as it rushed over her upper body.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“This, darlin’, is the best idea I’ve had in a long time.” The water doused him, too, trailing in rivers over his head and down the handsome planes of his face, his corded neck, to soak his clothes. His T-shirt clung to his body, outlining the hard surface of his chest and his dark nipples. She swallowed against the sudden urge to dip her head and suckle him through the material.

As if he’d read her mind, he dropped his attention to her breasts. Before she could open her mouth to protest, he pulled her up against him.

His arms encircled her. His hands spanned her waist, then cupped her buttocks to pull her flush against his erection. He lifted her, urging her legs up on either side of him.

He slid her up the hard ridge of his groin until he was eye-level with her chest. Hot breath puffed against one throbbing nipple, then his tongue flicked out. Heat licked the tip of the sensitive peak and a burst of electricity sizzled to her brain. She grasped at his shoulders, holding on as he sucked her through the transparent material.

He drew on her and her legs quivered. The pressure of his mouth increased, his tongue stroking her, his lips suckling. Each pull on her nipple sent an echoing thrum between her legs. She clutched at his shoulders, wanting more.

He held her steady, his large hands scorching her through the denim of her jeans, nestling her crotch against his belly. Then he moved her, brushing her sex up and down the muscled ridges of his abdomen before he let her slide all the way to her feet. Her legs trembled as he pulled the jeans off her. Her lacy thong followed. Rough fingertips brushed here and there and her heart pounded that much faster. He urged her back against the smooth marble tile and dropped to his knees in front of her.

Before she knew what was happening, he dipped his head and placed a kiss on the sensitive crease where leg met thigh, and her body temperature went through the roof. Her memories stirred and she felt the cool grass at her back, the moon hanging full and bright overhead, the young man between her legs.

They were all grown up now, she tried to remind herself. But he felt so good and it had been so long. Too long.

He parted her legs, fingertips sliding over the soft skin of her thighs, up and around until his large hands cupped her buttocks. He drew her to him, lifting one of her legs and hooking it up over his shoulder. He rasped her clitoris with his thumb, just a casual flick, but it felt more like a lightning bolt. Her body zapped to awareness, her head fell back and her back arched.

He stroked her, sliding his rough fingers over the slick folds before plunging one deep inside her. The pleasure almost shattered her, and she fought to drag air into her lungs. He stroked and explored until she writhed and whimpered and then his lips replaced his hands.

He’d put his mouth on her many times over the years, but none had ever rivaled that first time down by the river.

Until now.

There was none of his usual tight restraint. No subtle kisses and careful nibbles. At the same time, there was just something about him…

He was still holding back. Still thinking.

She braced her hands on his shoulders to push him away, but then he sucked her clit into his mouth and her knees went weak. She clutched at his head. Her fingers threaded through the dark silk of his hair, holding him closer, urging him on all the while her mind screamed for him to stop.

For her to stop.

She was the culprit here. Weak. Gullible. She’d careened down this path many times before and the end result was always the same. Disappointment with a great big fat
D.
She
knew
that.

But it had been
ten
years. Ten long years spent wanting and fantasizing and hoping for a repeat of their first night together.

She spread her legs wider and held him closer.

He tasted and savored, his tongue stroking, plunging, driving her mindless until she came apart in his arms. Her orgasm was hot and fierce, slamming over her and sucking her down for a long, breathless moment.

When she finally managed to float back to reality, he stood in front of her, staring at her. Her heart drummed and her body ached and she longed for him to press her up against the wall and start kissing her. Wildly. Passionately.

No holding back. No second thoughts. Nothing but the two of them, feeling and touching and working each other into a frenzy.

His gaze gleamed hot and bright with passion, but he didn’t act on it. Rather, he stared at her, into her, as if searching for something.

“So?” he finally said.

“So…?” She licked her lips again.

“Tell me that wasn’t great.” The words held a hint of challenge and she knew then and there that while he’d acted out of character, he hadn’t been merely acting. He’d planned everything tonight. “That it was stale.”

“It wasn’t.” She licked her lips again and fought for her voice. “It was…” She swallowed. “It was nice.” Just as the surprise registered in his gaze, she eased from in front of him and bent to retrieve her sopping tank top.

“What?”
He turned, his gaze following her as she struggled into her shirt and snatched up her jeans.

“You know.” She struggled with the wet denim, pulling and tugging.
“Nice.”
The material scraped up her calves. “As in pleasant.” Over her knees. “Pleasurable.” Her thighs and hips. “Enjoyable.” She slid the button into place.
“Okay.”
She turned and faced him. “It was pretty okay.” She tamped down her disappointment, turned and walked away.

Because as much as Dayne had veered from his usual routine, he was still holding back. Still planning each and every move. Still playing it safe.

And Cheryl Anne Cash was through playing it safe.

No matter how delicious Dayne looked soaking wet.

D
AYNE WATCHED
Cheryl’s taillights disappear before he walked back into the house and headed for the giant toolbox sitting in the kitchen. His hands shook as he reached inside for the change of clothes he’d packed away when he’d cooked up tonight’s seductive surprise.

Okay?
He’d worked his ass off all evening to finish the bathroom in time for tonight. And he’d rescheduled the nightly walk-through with the
Star
staff so there would be no danger of interruptions. And he’d turned off both his cell phone and pager and…

The tirade faded to an abrupt halt as his hand closed around the soft, fluffy towel he’d brought with him. The truth crystallized.

She was right.

In terms of spontaneity, tonight had been just
okay.
Not great. Not off-the-charts. Because it hadn’t been spontaneous at all. He hadn’t said to hell with anything and simply gone for it with no thought to the contrary. No, he’d worked and rescheduled and planned, desperate to keep that damned foundation solid for the nice little proverbial house. But if it wasn’t solid enough after ten years, it would never be. Not as long as he let his fear of being hurt keep him from taking a chance with Cheryl Anne. That was why he’d yet to give her the engagement ring. Why it was still sitting in his office safe, and not in its rightful place on her finger.

Shit.

He peeled off his wet clothes and toweled off his skin. She was right. They were “stale.” Hell,
he
was stale.

No more.

He no longer wanted the nice little house. Hell, no. He wanted a full twenty-acre spread. He wanted it
all
—a strong relationship
and
great sex. Wild sex.

His mind raced as he thought of all the wild and crazy things he’d wanted to do with Cheryl Anne. And then he stopped thinking completely, hauled on his clothes and headed for the door.

Because now was the time to act.