The Cowboy and the Princess (19 page)

“Just let it unfold, darlin’,” he drawled.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Only because I want it as much as you do.”

“You could not have wanted it all
that
much,” she said, more petulant than she intended. “It took you five days to ask me out again.”

“All part of my evil plan to get you hot and bothered.” He scooted closer, closing the gap between them.

“I am bothered all right.” She pretended to be mad. “You have wasted precious time.”

“No you’re not. I’ve whet your interest.”

“And you have a big ego.”

“It’s one of the things you like best about me.”

“It is not. What I like best about you is your . . .”

“What?”

Her cheeks heated. She was no good at this flirting stuff.

“What,” he persisted.

“Your backside,” she blurted, when what she really wanted to say was
Your kindness, your compassion, your spirit for life
, but saying that would make her too vulnerable.

“You can say ‘butt.’ It won’t kill you.” He leaned over to run two fingers up her arm, and then he kissed her on the neck right below her earlobe.

Annie shivered and her breath grew shallow. She was warm all over. Warm enough to rip off her clothes and jump in the creek to cool down. “Um . . . are we going to . . . um . . .”

“What?” he murmured.

“Make love out here?” she whispered.

“There’s no one around but you and me and nature.”

“And the dogs.”

Brady waved a hand in the direction of Trampas and Lady Astor. They were lying side by side, sound asleep. “Jackrabbit chasing tuckered them all out.”

“What about the horses?”

“Buttercup, they ain’t gonna talk, I promise.” The heat in his eyes dissolved her.

“It feels so . . .” She lowered her voice even further. “Decadent.”

“Just trust me.” His hands went to the snap of her blue jeans at the same time his mouth came down on hers.

His kiss felt like the whole world. Big and full and complex. He cradled one arm behind her and leaned her back, while his other hand lowered her zipper.

Annie reached up to run her fingers through his unruly dark hair. He tasted salty and warm. The spot behind her knees went mushy and she was very glad she was not standing up. Her stomach fluttered, rippled.

His hot fingers slipped beneath her waistband and she stopped breathing.

“Wh-what are you doing,” she whispered around his lips.

“Trust me,” he crooned.

Sunlight wobbled through the leaves of the elm tree. She breathed in the earthy scent of the creek. Felt the crush of crinkly grass poking underneath the blanket.

His entire palm was flat against her lower belly, sliding down underneath the elastic of her panties. The material of her jeans tugged against her hips at the addition of his hand. He looked down into her eyes and she looked up into his. A soft, welcoming smile curled his lips.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week,” he said.

“I have as well. Thinking of you, that is. Not me. Well, I have been thinking of me, but in the context of being with you. I mean . . . It is just that . . .”

“You chatter when you get nervous,” he observed.

“I do?”

“You do.”

“Well, you do have your hand down my pants.”

“Uh-huh.”

Annie gulped.

“You’ve got a full head of hair down there.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not everyone. Not these days. Many ladies like to keep a trim lawn.”

“Oh dear. Is that bad? Should I have . . . um . . . shaved or waxed or something?”

“No ma’am. I like you just the way you are.”

That distressed her instead of soothing as she was sure he meant it to do. He didn’t know who she truly was and she couldn’t tell him. The minute he found out that she was the Princess of Monesta, the game would be over.

“Do you have any idea how impossibly beautiful you are?” he asked, his hand slipping lower.

Annie tensed, never once taking her eyes off his. Her breath was coming and going like a light switch. On one minute. Off the next.

Then his index finger touched a spot that had rivers of pleasure running in ribbons up and down her nerve endings. Meanwhile, his mouth burned hot kisses down her throat.

“Brady,” she whimpered.

He smelled so good—all sunshine and horsey. His fingers were doing things to her. Unbelievable things that had her writhing and gasping.

“I want you so bad,” he said. “But I’m going to keep waiting.”

“Wh-wh . . .” She couldn’t even form a word.

“You, on the other hand . . .”

Then he did something so incredible she could not even begin to describe it. Something that sent a hot gush of moist warmth bathing her feminine center. All she knew was that she was trembling and tears were sliding down her cheeks and she experienced the most bone-shaking, physical inner release.

She clung to him. Shaking and sobbing. “What”—she swallowed, chest heaving—“was that?”

“Why, Buttercup,” Brady said, his voice puffed with pride, “I believe you just had your first orgasm.”

Chapter Twelve

You might be a princess if . . . a lonesome cowboy changes his life for you.

F
or the next three weeks, Brady had the time of his life. Being with Annie made him feel stimulated in a way he’d never felt stimulated before. Sexually, sure. You betcha. Of course. No doubt. But basically he could get that with any pretty girl who caught his attention.

But Annie? Well, she brought so much more to the table that he ever imagined any woman could or would. Around her, he felt dazzled, hypnotized, charmed. She had a way of walking—all high and mighty—that stirred his blood. And whenever she looked at him with those wide gray-blue eyes, hell, he instantly got hard.

By day, he worked with Miracle, coaxing the horse back to himself. He did his job well. Maybe too well. The quicker the stallion healed, the sooner he’d be on the road again, but for the first time ever, the allure of the road did not call to him. The old wanderlust that usually got under his skin after a few weeks in one place, and itched like a chigger bite, never even made a welt.

While he worked with Joe’s prize cutting horse, Annie quickly picked up on the ins and outs of the wedding planning business. When she talked of her work, her face lit up like a movie marquee—animated, excited. He loved to hear her speak of tulle and jacquard and pomander. He had no idea what any of it meant and he didn’t care. He lay in bed and listened to her voice and planted kisses over her bare belly. She wouldn’t tell him her secrets, so he would take whatever conversation he could get.

By night, they did everything
but
fully consummate their attraction. They kissed and cuddled. They fondled and snuggled. They watched romantic movies and indulged in some window-fogging petting sessions. They canoodled and nuzzled. They did very daring things with food. They made each other come with their clothes on.

Brady created a playlist representing their time together. Everything from “Build Me Up Buttercup” to “Wrangler Butts” to “Werewolves of London.” She laughed out loud when she heard “Wrangler Butts” for the first time. He picked a bouquet of Indian paintbrushes for her and she graced him with a beatific smile that lit a fire inside him. She spoke to him in all the foreign languages she knew and read cowboy poetry aloud.

He took her boot scooting, and on the dance floor, she was a peacock plume on his arms, light, graceful, dazzling. The woman possessed serious dance moves. They went on couples dates. Bowling with Prissy and Paul. Shooting pool at the Silver Spur with Ila and Cordy. Playing cards with Mariah and Joe at their house.

For their intimate dates, Annie lit scented candles—vanilla, pineapple, mocha—and poured champagne and they took long baths together in the claw-footed tub in her little cabin. He rubbed her feet; she rubbed his back. They took Trampas and Lady Astor for long moonlight walks and held hands while the warm wind whispered through the willows.

By very late night, he lay in his bed in his trailer, touching himself to relieve the tension, and dreamed of Annie’s sweet, hot body. He held off from going all the way because he wanted her first time to be special. But it was more than that. He was enjoying this too, and prolonging their complete joining heightened the brilliant agony. When they finally came together, it would be the ultimate.

But toward the end of the third week of dating, it was clear something had to give. His mind was fogged, his brain clogged. He spent every waking minute thinking about Annie and every wild, erotic thing he wanted to do to her. He was hanging on by a thread. Ninety percent of the time when he was around her, he was so hard it hurt. And when he wasn’t with her, he couldn’t sleep. Insomnia nibbled at him, insistent and relentless. He’d never been so horny in his life.

On Thursday, the same morning Brady took Trampas to the vet for neutering, he got a phone call. A cutter in Wyoming had rescued some abused and neglected horses and needed his help. A typical call, one that would usually have him hitching up the trailer and putting gas in his tank. Miracle was almost back to his old self. Joe could continue the rehabilitation on his own. It was time to leave Jubilee.

Except Brady did not want to go.

Tomorrow it was four weeks to the day that he had picked up Annie hitchhiking on the side of the road. How could things have changed so much in four short weeks?

Tonight, he was cooking dinner for her in her cabin. His specialty, spaghetti and meatballs.

He’d been thinking that maybe tonight was the night. The culmination of four weeks of priming and prepping, yet there was a part of him that was afraid to take that last step. Afraid that if he did, it might mean something more to her than it should. He didn’t want her getting emotional over him. He had to make it clear to her that it was nothing more than lust and hormones driving this attraction. He wasn’t a forever kind of guy, and even though she claimed she wasn’t looking for promises, he was scared of hurting her.

Liar. You’re scared of hurting yourself.

Okay, that was true. He’d spent his whole life avoiding entanglements and he was damn afraid that if he crossed that last line with her, he’d become too entangled to get out.

But his damn dick wanted her so badly he could barely think.

Maybe he would wait until Sunday. Tomorrow was the start of the Fourth of July weekend and for once Mariah did not have a wedding scheduled. Instead, she and Joe were hosting a barbecue cookout and fireworks display on Sunday. Sunday might be a better night for seduction.

He turned the dilemma over in his mind as he picked up Trampas and installed the groggy dog in a pet carrier in the backseat of his pickup. On the way home, he passed by the post office and it occurred to him that he hadn’t checked his post office box since he’d been back in town. He used the post office box in Jubilee as his permanent address. He did most of his banking and bill paying online so there wasn’t much of a need for the P.O. box, and in all honesty, he’d forgotten about it until now.

He pulled into the post office parking lot, left the engine chugging so Trampas could have air conditioning while he ran in and grabbed his mail. He hurried back out, tossed the mass of correspondence in the front seat beside the groceries he’d picked up before swinging by the vet’s office.

Once back at the ranch, he let Lady Astor out of the house. Whenever Annie was working in town, he’d started routinely checking up on the Yorkie, letting the dog out two or three times a day. He carried Trampas, carrier and all, into the cabin, and then went back for the groceries and mail.

He tossed the mail and grocery sacks on the bar, let Lady Astor back inside, opened the door to Trampas’s crate in case the dog wanted to come out. He turned the small television set in the living room on for noise. A celebrity entertainment show was on and he barely paid any attention to the current topic, speculation on the health of the Princess Annabella of Monesta, who hadn’t been seen in public since taking ill at Echo Glover’s wedding a month earlier. It was assumed she was still recovering at the presidential compound and there was much speculation whether she would be well enough for her own wedding to the Prince of Dubinstein in three weeks’ time. Then the topic shifted to Charlie Sheen’s latest antics.

After washing up at the kitchen sink, he set about making the spaghetti sauce. While he formed meatballs, Lady Astor danced around his feet. Trampas came moping over and lay down on the cool kitchen tile, staring at the Yorkie with moony eyes.

“You’re stone cold in love aren’t you, buddy?” Brady asked him.

Trampas sighed.

“It’s got to be hard. Loving a girl who is so out of your league.”

Lady Astor sat on her haunches, put her paws up in begging mode. Brady cast a glance down at her. “Yes, you are a beauty, but I’ve been giving you too many treats. You’re starting to get a little pudgy.”

The Yorkie barked.

“What’s that? You don’t care about a little extra weight? Trampas is madly in love with you just the way you are?”

Lady Astor cocked her head as if trying to figure out what he was talking about.

“Heartbreaker.” He slipped her a small chunk of meatball.

Trampas thumped his tail, but didn’t bother getting up.

“Sorry, buddy, vet said nothing but water for you until the morning.”

At that moment, Annie walked through the door. “What smells so completely heavenly?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Mmm, sounds yummy.”

Brady couldn’t help noticing how her silky top hugged breasts twice as mouthwatering as any spaghetti and meatballs on the planet. And the way those dark wash blue jeans cupped her sweet ass in a denim sling, well
damn.
No matter how many times he stared at her delectable ass, he couldn’t get enough of seeing it. “How was your day?”

“Great. Busy, but fun.” She reached down to pet Lady Astor, who ran over for attention, and then she went over to scratch poor Trampas’s ears. “How are you feeling, buddy?”

The dog gave a halfhearted wriggle.

Brady turned down the heat on the meatballs, wiped his hands on a cup towel, and went across the room to scoop her into his arms.

The second her soft breasts touched his chest, he felt like a powder keg with a short fuse—quick, hot, and ready to go off. Her hair smelled of flowers and he pulled the scent down deep into his lungs. He hugged her tighter, caging her in his embrace, and nuzzled her neck. She twined her arms around his neck, pulled his head down to hers.

Annie pressed her forehead flat against his, their noses touching. “Tonight is the night.” She said it as a statement, not a question.

He saw the heat in her eyes, knew she was as hungry for sex as he was. Her desire lit fire to his short, powder keg fuse, and it was all he could do to keep from scooping her up into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom. “Tonight,” he confirmed.

She quivered in his arms. The rapid hammering of her heart vibrating from her body into his. The edge of his erection pressed hard against her belly. He threaded his fingers through her hair, tilted her head back, devoured her. These possessive urges were new to him, but he did not fight against the dominating need to claim her as his own.

“Something is sizzling on the stove,” Annie said, finally breaking through his fog of sexual starvation.

“Buttercup, that’s me sizzling for you.”

Annie laughed. “I am not making light, Brady, you are burning your meatballs.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, reluctantly pulling away.

“Go on, investigate the food.” She waved him off. “I am going to take a shower.”

His gaze hugged her butt as she walked away, tracking the elegant sway of her hips, the way those Wranglers clung to her thighs. The thought of her naked body underneath the shower spray had him closing his eyes, clenching his fists, and breathing hard through his mouth.

Soon enough. Just hang on a while longer. Get through dinner and then you’ve got the entire night.

She bent to pick something off up the floor and he just about came undone. God, but she was sizzling hot and she seemed completely clueless to the power of her appeal. Her guilelessness only made her hotter.

He had the spaghetti put together and he was tossing the salad when Annie came back in the room smelling of soap, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. She was wrapped in a bathrobe. He immediately wondered if she had anything on underneath it.

His gaze hooked on hers as his fingers shredded Bibb lettuce into a bowl. She meandered to the bar. Her feet were bare. Her toenails were painted a pretty pearlescent pink. Completely lickable, those toes.

“I bought a bottle of wine. It’s chilling in the refrigerator. But maybe that’s wrong. Can you have white wine with spaghetti? Is it supposed to be red wine instead?” He crinkled his nose. “I don’t really like red wine.”

“Whatever wine you purchased is fine,” she reassured him and it wasn’t until she smiled that he realized just how nervous he was. He wanted this dinner to be perfect. Wanted this night to be the best either one of them had ever had. She padded to the fridge, Brady tracked her every step. She moved with such grace and style. By just walking she made him feel like a clumsy dullard.

She took out the wine. “Chardonnay is always appropriate, no matter what the dish.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“You sell yourself short, Brady Talmadge and I have to wonder why.”

“Hey, you’re holding on to your secrets, I’m hanging on to mine.” Surprise washed over him. He didn’t like keeping secrets and yet here he was taunting her with his because she wouldn’t tell him hers.

Real mature, Talmadge.

And yet, he wasn’t ready to tell her why he’d made his five unbreakable rules for living an uncomplicated life, because, well . . . she
was
the complication that broke them all. If he told her everything and she told him nothing, she would have the upper hand.

Oh, who are you kidding. She’s had the upper hand from the first minute you laid eyes on her.

She opened the wine and then searched the cupboard. “No wineglasses in here,” she said, pulling out two mismatched juice tumblers. “These will do.”

Her delicate fingers hoisted the bottle, tippled a few ounces of Chardonnay into each glass; she leaned her back against the counter, passed him the glass. Brady grappled blindly for the wine, his gaze hung on the fold of her robe where he could see the creamy swell of the tops of her breasts. She did not have anything on underneath that robe.

He licked his lips. She looked as sexually harried as he felt. And he was more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

So was she.

Okay, that sounded too chuffed, but her nipples were so hard he could see them poking against the thick terry cloth.

“Tonight,” she said. “We are going all the way.”

“All the way,” he echoed, his knees fluid as water, and touched the rim of his tumbler to hers.

Her gaze held his for the longest moment, then she tilted back her head and took a sip. She swallowed the wine down with the softest of movements, all refinement and poise.