Texas Kissing (39 page)

I yelped in delight as he scooped me up into his arms and carried me towards the bedroom. It was exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for.

And if red underwear had that effect...well, wait until he found out that what I’d done just before we left Gold Lake for the final time. I’d contacted the photographer from the fair and bought the saloon girl outfit.

One Year Later

Bull

“Are you sure about this?” l asked. “We’re taking a risk.”

“If you try to control everything,” said Lily wisely, “you won’t have any fun.”

I stared at my fake passport for the seventeenth time. “
Cletus?”
I asked. “You couldn’t resist, huh?” I scratched at my stuck-on beard. “This itches like all hell.” I ran a hand through my newly-blond hair. “And I think the bleach has done something to my scalp...”

“Quit complaining,” said Lily. She tossed her long, auburn hair. “Do you see me complaining?”

I forgot my gripes and just stared at her. She did look
very, very good
as a redhead.

“You sure it’s okay?” I asked. “I don’t want to put them in danger. That rule about no contact—it’s there for a reason.”

“Most witnesses don’t have access to
me,”
she said. “They can’t make whole new identities like I can. As long as we’re discreet and it’s only once a year and we use different identities each time...I think it’s okay.”

I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this.” And I knocked on the door.

When my mom opened it a few seconds later, Christmas music spilled out around her. In the background, I could see my dad, brother and sister dressing the tree.

My mom stared blankly at the two strangers in her doorway. And then she took a second look.

Lily and I leaned our head together. “Surprise!”

Lily

“Wait, really?” I asked. Bull’s mom kept ladling out more of the Christmas punch and I was already tipsy, but this revelation had me suddenly alert. “Bull’s real name is
Bull?”

She nodded at me happily. I don’t think she’d stopped grinning since we walked through the door. She looked across at her son. “It just always seemed appropriate. Stubborn, strong and impossible to control.”

I stood up, walked over to my cowboy, and slid my arm around his waist. Then I leaned in and laid my cheek against his chest. Bull reached down and stroked my hair. Behind me, out of sight of his folks, he slid his other hand down to my ass and gave it a squeeze through my jeans. I tilted my head up and gave him a
stop
look. Then a
don’t stop
look. And then he kissed me.

Stubborn, strong and impossible to control. It was true.

And it was exactly the way I liked him.

<<<<>>>>

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Texas Kissing,
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Want more? The story of Luka, the Russian Mafia bad boy, and Arianna, the newbie CIA agent who falls for him, is told in
Lying and Kissing
.
Or turn the page for an extract from
Punching and Kissing
.
All my “Kissing” books are standalones so you can read them in any order.

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An Extract From

When Sylvie’s brother is injured in an illegal underground boxing match, she makes a desperate bargain to save his life: in one month, she’ll get into the ring and fight in his place. A fight that’s likely to cost her her life.

She has one chance: Aedan O’Harra, the blue-eyed Irish beast of a man who everyone fears. If she can persuade him to train her, she might just stand a chance.

But training together means getting close…

I yelped and staggered back, tripped over my own feet and went down. I landed with a
whump
on the mat, arms and legs everywhere. I instinctively glanced around the gym. Everyone else there looked like they belonged. No one was actually laughing at me, but I could feel it in their looks.
What's
she
doing here?

"Don't mind them," said Aedan. He put out his hand for me to take. "You've got as much right to be here as them."

I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. His warm grip felt amazing. As if he could have easily lifted me right up into the air one-handed.

I wound up standing very close to him, our toes almost touching. For just a second, everything seemed to stop. My breathing quickened. We were close enough that the tips of my breasts were almost brushing his chest—

He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. "You can't hit," he said. "You've got no feckin’ power. You've got no idea how to stand or move or guard."

I stared at him, open-mouthed. "Well...
thanks."

But he hadn't finished. "You've got no balance," he said, shaking his head. "You've got no
presence
."

"What the hell does
that
mean?" I asked angrily.

"You intimidate too easily. I got in your face and you jumped back."

I felt like I should deny it, but I knew he was right. "Is there anything
good?"
I asked at last.

He stared at me for much longer than the question deserved. His eyes roamed down my body from head to toe and I felt it as a hot wave again, sluicing deep down into me and finishing with a tightening at my groin. The air seemed to thicken and crackle between us.

"You're small," he said at last, looking at the floor. "That makes you harder to hit."

He lifted his eyes and we stared at one another.

"Well, that's something," I whispered.

He stared at me for three more beats of my racing heart...and then he sighed and glanced away. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s start with your stance.”

He came around to stand behind me, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck. His big, warm hands landed on my shoulders and he started to guide me into the position he wanted me in.

The position he wanted me in.
A shudder went through me.
Oh, quit that you moron! He doesn’t even like you!
Or if he did, he was shying away from it for some reason.

None of which stopped his hands feeling absolutely amazing.

“You’re right-handed, yeah?” he asked. I nodded. “Okay. Turn sideways a little. Makes you a smaller target. Left hand up like this—no, other way around.” He gently turned my forearm. His big paws encircled it completely. “Other hand up like
this.”
Then his hands were sweeping down my sides to my hips. “The power has to come from here—understand?
Twist.”

He left his hands there, the heat of him throbbing into me. I realized he was waiting for me to try it. I twisted, lashing out with my right hand, and felt my muscles move under his palms. Much like I was riding him and he was holding onto me as I writhed.

I nodded. “Got it,” I said shakily.

He released his hands. But he seemed to do it almost reluctantly.

We practiced the boxer’s shuffle, dancing back and forth with my weight over my back foot in case someone tried to kick the front one out from under me. I quickly learned how tiring just moving around the ring non-stop is—all those fast little movements add up. Then he put gloves on me for the very first time. I stared down at my hands with their huge, comedy padding. I felt like a mascot at Disneyland who’d forgotten the rest of her costume.

He showed me how to jab and cross and hook. After an hour, I felt like it was actually beginning to come together. I looked, if you squinted hard, kind of like a boxer. But he was looking at me with concern. It started to drive me crazy.

“What?” I demanded at last.

“You’re too mechanical. Like a puppet with someone yanking your strings. You’re just repeating what I’ve shown you.”

“Of course I am! That’s what you said to do!”

“But it’s too...
stilted.
You’re punching and moving. You’re not
fighting.”

I looked at the bag we were hitting. “That’s because I’m hitting a bag,” I said, a little defensively.

“But in your head, you’re not fighting. It’s not coming from the heart.”

I’d had enough. I was hot. I was exhausted. I was irrationally pissed off with him because I’d mistakenly thought I’d felt something between us. I remembered how I’d agonized over my clothes that morning and I wanted to shoot myself in the head. As if he’d even notice what I was wearing.

My hands were sweating in the gloves. I went to take one of them off so that I could hurl it down on the mat in frustration and discovered that it’s almost impossible to un-velcro one glove while the other one’s still on. “Goddamnit!” I yelled. “I’m trying! How about some positivity?”

His foot suddenly hooked under my ankle—I’d forgotten to keep my weight off of it. I fell backwards onto the mat for the second time that day, landing with a surprised grunt. Then he was on top of me, his hands pinning my shoulders to the mat.

“
Do you think
she’s
going to go easy on you?”
he yelled. “Do you think she’s going to care that you’re a girl and a rookie? She’s going to treat you like any other fighter!”

I looked up at him with huge eyes. It suddenly clicked that I hadn’t been the only one getting frustrated over the last hour. He’d just been hiding it better. And now I could see the worry in his eyes. That was where the frustration was coming from: concern.

Concern for
me.

“Sorry,” I said quietly.

We stared at each other for a moment longer, and then the reality of our situation sank in. His knee was between my legs, pushing up against my groin through a few layers of cotton. His palms were resting on my bare shoulders and my breasts were heaving from the shock of falling. The air seemed as thick as honey. I could feel the sweat on my skin, making it glossy and slick under his hands.

I saw his eyes flick down to...my lips?
God, is he about to—

Punching and Kissing
is available now.