Texas Kissing (2 page)

But this wasn’t a normal man. His hulking body actually made the bull look small. He hauled on the bull’s horns, steering it away from me. The two of them missed me by inches and came skidding to a halt a few feet away.

“Now
you,”
the man told the bull, “cool your damn heels!”

The bull glared at him and snorted. I caught my breath, expecting it to charge him. But, as the two of them faced off, the bull seemed to lose confidence. And no wonder—the guy was
massive.
He looked as if he was ready to wrestle the thing to the ground, if he had to.

“Go on!” the guy told it. “
Get!
” With his accent, it sounded more like
git!

The bull snorted a final time...and sulkily plodded away.

The man turned to face me and I looked up...up...
up
into his face. A black cowboy hat threw a shadow over his hair, but I could just make out that the curls were very dark brown, not black. His eyes were the same clear blue as the Texas sky, stunningly bright against his tanned face. He was breaking into a broad grin and those lips above that roughly-stubbled jaw looked...dangerously enticing.
Oh Christ, he’s gorgeous.

“Well,” he said. “Lookee what we have here.” His accent was as broad as a prairie and as hard and unyielding as a cliff. It seemed to make my whole body vibrate and sing, as if I’d been crafted specifically to react to it.

I just...
stared
at him. There was a lot to stare at. He was a full head taller than me, well over six feet. And he was wide enough that I could barely see the retreating bull behind him—he blocked out the world. But it was all muscle. His pecs were like tanned, curving footballs, his abs a series of hard, smooth-edged ridges. And all of it was the same golden-brown tan.

I could see all this because he was—
ulp—
stripped to the waist. Black cowboy boots, tight jeans with a broad leather belt and then...just all this
man,
tanned and hard. My brain kept trying to process it but the sheer
maleness
of him kept overpowering it. He was too big, too close. Trying to study him from that distance was as impossible as studying a hurricane close up.

And yet...I didn’t move back. Couldn’t move back, even though he was so big and so close. You know that feeling you get when a guy invades your space and you get antsy and uncomfortable and you want to step back?

This was the opposite of that.

I was caught in his gravity, somehow, actually
affected
by his nearness. His presence was moving things inside me, sending energy twisting and spiraling down to my groin.

“They call me Bull,” said the man. Damn, that
voice!
Like gold-flecked molasses invading my brain. “And who, lovely lady, are
you?”

Bull

Three goddamn minutes earlier

I was talking to a horse.

Don’t look at me like that. You’re
goddamn straight
I talk to horses, especially the ones I’m going to ride. If you’re going to put on a show with a partner, and that partner is going to spend most of it doing its best to kill you, wouldn’t you want to develop a rapport?

Besides, they make a lot more sense than people, most of the time. Especially the females.

When I heard Max snort I turned around, puzzled. I’d been around that bull for the best part of a year and he only got mad when there was a stranger around. But there was no one backstage except me, Max and the bronco I was talking to.

I hopped the fence and wandered across the enclosure towards Max. That’s when I saw her. She was standing dead still in Max’s area, her white blouse all lit up from the overhead lights. Her skin was creamily, richly white and it was set off by her long black hair. It hung right down her back, wavy and thick and glossy. The sort of hair you want to plunge your fingers into and wrap around your hands as you bring it up to your face. Somehow, I knew it was going to smell good.

Her skin was so pale and her hair so dark, and that white blouse she was wearing was glowing so much from the overhead lights, that she would have looked like a ghost...except that, as my eyes tracked down, I could see she was deliciously solid. Tight blue jeans hugged curving hips—ones that made me want to spin her around,
now,
to get a look at the incredible ass they promised. She wasn’t like most of the girls who hung around the rodeo, their shirts peeking open to show stomachs as taut as trampolines. She looked gorgeously soft and feminine, and that was before my eyes even got to her tits.

Oh, holy mother of Jesus, her tits.

Pressing out the front of her blouse were two full cantaloupes of womanly delight. When God sculpted her, he’d blessed her with generous scoops, firm and weighty, the sort you immediately want to stroke your hands up under and lift and just enjoy for a moment before you even touch the nipples. I didn’t even have her clothes off yet and I could already imagine how they’d feel under my palms. God
damn!

This girl
had
to be mine.

And then the sound of Max pawing at the ground woke me from my little trance. Aw, hell.

I raced over there, trying my damndest not to get distracted by the way her breasts bounced as she ran. She hadn’t seen me yet, too focused on fleeing. But she wasn’t going to reach the fence in time. It was all over, unless—

I pulled Max away from her and hustled him out of there. Then I slowly turned around, savoring the moment. When it comes to getting a girl’s panties off, you can keep your billionaire yachts and your fancy champagne because there ain’t nothing better than saving her life.

I couldn’t stop myself taking a deep breath in when I saw her. I figured she was a couple of years younger than me: twenty-three, or so and
damn,
she was even better up close. She had big, dark brown eyes you could just fall right into, a slender, elegant nose that made me want to kiss my way down it and big, sensuous lips. That mouth was made for long, hungry kisses...or even filthier things.

“Well,” I said “Lookee what we have here.” And I gave her the Bull grin, which is certified to make any girl giggle and melt. I was already thinking about the table where we put the saddles and reins for the shows. It was just the right height to fuck her on, with those creamy thighs wrapped around my waist. A couple of minutes, a little of the old Bull charm and—

But she just stood there, open-mouthed.

“They call me Bull,” I said, a little thrown. I stuck my thumbs into my belt as I said it. “And who, lovely lady, are
you?”

She didn’t flush or simper or throw her arms around me. She just sort of gaped at me.
Maybe she’s foreign. That’d explain it.

She seemed to be checking out my body, which I was used to, but it wasn’t accompanied by any of the normal flirting or smiles. I felt like I was trying to play tennis with myself. Eventually, she sort of shook her head as if to clear it and said, “I have to go.”

And then she turned and started to walk away.

What?
Did she not understand we were meant to be having sex, now? I let her get about six paces before I reacted, partly because I was so shocked and partly because I got distracted by my first glimpse of her gorgeous, curvy rump.

“Now hold on a minute!” I said, jogging after her and catching her just as she reached the fence. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to say thank you?”
You know, maybe on your knees, shaking all that dark hair back over your shoulders as you…

Except...that wasn’t the only thing I was thinking. It was the
main
thing I was thinking but, underneath it, something else was disturbing the dark depths, something I wasn’t used to. I felt a little...
hurt,
that she’d walk off so easily. That I didn’t seem to matter to her at all. It bothered me. And that made no sense. Plenty of women fuck me, but I don’t much care if they
like
me.

She turned around. “Oh. Sorry. Thank you.” It sounded genuine but she didn’t seem to want to look at me and, when she did, she was blinking as if confused. The combination of those deep brown eyes and her long lashes raised something like a mini-tornado inside my head, scattering my thoughts. She was goddamn beautiful.
Gorgeous.
And between those eyes, those lips, those tits—damn, she was the most
feminine
woman I’d ever met. I almost got tongue-tied.

Almost.
I mean, this is
me.

“I saved your damn life,” I said, folding my arms. “You owe me a drink. Lucky Pete’s, at eight.”

She shook her head, looking at her feet. “I don’t go to bars.”

Who doesn’t go to
bars?!

“Eight,” I said firmly, and just stared her down. The Bull stare has been known to make women spontaneously drop their panties.

But she didn’t melt like she was supposed to. She sighed, almost like she was annoyed. And her eyes were going everywhere except on my face, as if she was afraid to look at me. But when we did lock eyes, I caught just a glimpse of the need inside her and
goddamn,
it was bubbling hot like lava.

Finally, she nodded. “Eight,” she muttered and turned away again. This time, I let her leave. I watched her climb the fence, which was a whole epic movie of denim stretching tight over perfect, rounded ass and breasts bobbing under her tight blouse. My cock had been hard for her ever since I’d first seen her. Now it was swelling almost painfully against my thigh.
Damn!

“What’s your name?” I called after her as she headed for the stairs.

She looked back at me, just a quick glance—but when our eyes met, they locked and neither of us could look away. She was wide-eyed and almost panting.
Helpless.
“Lily,” she mumbled. And then she was gone, almost running up the stairs.

I swept my hat off my head and stared at the spot where I’d last seen her. I’m very seldom lost for words, but that was one of those times. “Well, goddamn,” I said at last.

Lily

I barreled up out of the stairwell and hurried over to Francisco. My mind was whirling with what had just happened. I felt almost drunk with it, overwhelmed with sensation, and that’s a bad way to go into this kind of a meeting. I let the sun blast the memories from my mind and tried to focus.
Later.
I’d think about the whole thing later.

By now, the rodeo was getting started. There was a lot of shouting from an over-enthusiastic announcer and cowboys on horseback were rounding up cows. I surreptitiously checked, but none of the cowboys were Bull.

I slumped down in the empty seat beside Francisco. He took one look at me and said, straight-faced, “You look hot.”

If I was some svelte beauty, it might have been flirting. But he was right—I
did
look hot. The run through the arena and up all those steps had left me red-faced and sweating, my hair sticking to my forehead. And...okay, yes, getting up close and personal with Bull had reduced me to a hot mess, too.