The Cowboy and the Princess (9 page)

“Sort of, yeah. You’ve got this regal tilt to your head and a way of looking down your nose that can make a guy feel put in his place.”

That bothered her. She didn’t want to come across as condescending or dismissive. Her mother had been like that and it bothered her to think she had absorbed those traits. “I apologize if I have done anything to cause you to feel that way.”

“It’s my problem. Not yours.”

“What do you mean?” Intrigued, she rolled over on her side to face him and tucked her hands under her cheek just as he had done. They stared into each other’s eyes.

“The thing that makes me so in tune with horses is the same thing that makes me thin-skinned with people.”

“Thin-skinned? What does that mean?”

“I read too much into peoples’ motivations. I have a tendency to take things personally even when they’re not intended that way.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well,” he said, “like now for instance.”

“Yes?”

“I’m picking up on the vibe that you’re conflicted.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“Your body is rigid, tight. You’re nervous.”

“Who wouldn’t be? I am in bed with a stranger.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said. “Some people like being in bed with a stranger. They seek it out. For the thrill.”

“Do you go to bed with a lot of strangers?” she asked, feeling suddenly, inexplicably jealous. She pursed her lips, crossed her arms over her chest.

“Not a lot, but a few,” he admitted.

“What do you like about sleeping with strangers?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Do you . . .” She cleared her throat. She didn’t know how to ask this next part, but she sorely needed to know if this was to end up the way she was hoping it would end up. “Practice safe sex?”

“I do,” he said. “But to be honest, it’s been a long while since I did anything like this.”

“Like what?”

“Picking up a stranger. Offering her a place to bunk.”

“But you
have
done it.”

His guilty grin said it all. He was perfect as he was. Flaws and all. He was just what she needed. He’d confirmed it. She was looking for an adventure. A casual fling with a man who would not fall in love with her.

“Except not lately?” she ventured.

“There was this woman, about two years ago. I thought we might have something going.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged. “We didn’t have anything going.”

“Did she break it off or did you?”

“She left. Took my Jack LaLanne juicer with her. For her new bodybuilder fiancé.”

“She broke your heart.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he drawled. “But she confirmed an old lesson.”

“What was that?”

“Never trust someone with a secret.”

“She really hurt you.”

“No biggie. I’m not the settling-down type. And the juicer? Way too much trouble. Just buy the juice at the store and be done with it.”

Annie touched his forearm. “I’m out of my element.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He reached up to ensnare her wrist with his thumb and index finger. “Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Touch me like that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m hanging on by a thread here. You really have no idea what your touch does to me, do you?”

“Should I?”

“You’re a gorgeous woman in the prime of life. You figure it out.”

“I . . .” Her stomach stumbled. “Do I turn you on?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you want to make love to me?”

He took her hand and guided it under the covers. She touched something hard. “Oh my.”

“Yeah, oh my.”

She gulped. She had never touched a man’s erection before. She had heard about it. Felt it when she had danced close with Teddy, but she never put her fingers to one, even one cloaked behind a pair of cotton underwear. It felt like hot velvet steel.

Abruptly, he let go of her wrist.

Her eyes met his. He stared at her.

Into her.

“Annie.”

“Brady.” She breathed.

“This isn’t going to work. Lying here beside you. Not touching you. You’re too much woman for that.”

“What are you going to do?” She hauled in a deep breath. Her pulse hammered so hard she heard it rushing blood through her ears.

“I’m going to go sleep in the backseat of my truck.” He sat up.

“No.” She put a restraining hand to his bare chest, marveled at the strong, hard strata of muscles. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay.” He shook his head. “If I stay—”

“What?” she whispered, scarcely breathing.

“I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

“What if I do not want you to be held accountable for your actions.”

“Do you even know what the hell you’re saying?” His voice hissed like sizzling hot coals splashed with ice-cold water.

Did she? Probably not.

All she knew was that she ached deep inside. An ache that caught fire the moment he’d picked her up on the side of the road, an ache that had built steadily from the kiss in the restaurant to culminate here in his bed.

She craved him in a wholly physical way. Hungry need bit into her. Below her waist she felt a demanding stirring. She had never experienced such a strong sexual sensation. To date, her desires had been sedate stirrings. Mild interest. Academic curiosity. Nothing like this full-bore yearning that made her heedless to everything sensible and right.

“Annie,” he whispered hoarsely, and the next thing she knew he was pulling her to him.

His arms encircled her. It felt good. It felt right. She pursed her lips, waiting for his kiss.

When it came, the kiss was light, seductive. A sweet tease. She moaned softly and burrowed closer.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, slipped his mouth from hers to slide slowly to her neck. When he got to the underside of her jaw, his kisses turned to tender nibbles. Erotic sensation swamped her entire body, skipping from nerve ending to nerve ending, a joyous warning of what was in store.

She wanted this. Wanted it more than she could say. But she worried that if she made love with him, she would be forever changed. That she couldn’t go back to her well-ordered, well-planned life. That once she tasted of the cowboy myth she would discover it was not myth at all, but a way of life she could no longer live without.

She made a soft noise, a high reedy sound, half protest, half plea. She wanted him to take the reins, to leave her helpless and breathless. Pleasure, unlike anything she’d ever experienced addled her brain, left her witless.

“Tell me,” Brady said, his hands skimming over the silky material of her peignoir. “What do you like?”

“What do
you
like?” she said, using her fall-back technique of answering a question with a question. She had learned that answering a question with a question gave her time to gather her thoughts and formulate a plan. The delaying tactic offered her some small measure of control, and as a woman whose life was not her own, she took a great deal of comfort in it.

“I’m a pretty simple guy,” he said. “The basics work for me. I don’t need anything fancy, but I’m not opposed to it if that’s what you’re into. A little light bondage? Role-playing? Sex toys?”

“Goodness.” She had not expected that.

“But I’m very satisfied with regular sex. I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”

“Meat and potatoes.” She laughed. “What does that mean?”

“Just you and me and the equipment God gave us.”

“My.” She giggled. “Do you have protection?”

“I’ve got condoms. How about you? Are you on the pill?”

“The pill has been taken care of.” The royal physician had started her on birth control pills to control irregular periods.

“So why are we still talking?” he asked gruffly. “I want you, you want me.”

Yes, she did want him. Very much. But this was her first time. She didn’t know how to tell him that. She knew well enough that an almost twenty-five-year-old virgin was an anomaly in this day and age. “I . . . well . . . Can we take this slowly?”

“Buttercup, slow is my modus operandi,” he drawled in a sultry, dark voice that sent delighted shivers through her.

“That’s good,” she said, relieved.

“Now, let’s stop talking and start kissing.”

Chapter Five

You might be a princess if . . . you’re a twenty-five-year-old virgin.

E
very sensible bone in Brady’s body was telling him that this was not a good idea. He knew better than to get involved with a secret-keeping woman. He had the self-control to turn her down. Or at least he thought he did until he started kissing the sweet underside of her jaw and heard her soft purr of pleasure.

You’ve just been too long without sex.

That was true enough. He’d been busy. On the road. And while he did have a reputation as something of a ladies’ man, he was not—tonight exempted—much one for one-night stands. He did like light, casual relationships with women who were in the same frame as mind as he was, and that certainly seemed to be Annie, but her secretiveness gave him pause. She was in some kind of trouble and she was using him as the fall-back guy. It wasn’t the first time a woman had used him in such a manner and he figured it wouldn’t be the last, but Annie was different somehow.

For one thing, she seemed so damn fragile while at the same time she exuded a toughness that belied her cultured air. He had to admit he was intrigued. He wanted to know more.

And he wanted more of her kisses.

His body heated up quickly. His erection tightened and surged. His dick was clear on the subject. Sex would be a nice way to take the edge off the aching wound on the right side of his face.

Normally, he wasn’t a man much troubled by excess contemplation. He was a sensual guy. He liked things tactile—the feel of a horse beneath him, leather reins in his hands, boots on his feet. Most men were more visual than anything else, and while Brady enjoyed seeing a naked woman as much as the next guy, he also had a powerful need to run his hands over things, to touch and feel, textures, shapes, temperature. His palms and fingertips absorbed sensory input far more acutely than either his eyes or his ears.

As a kid, he never missed an opportunity to pocket a fascinating found object—a bumpy tortoise shell, fuzzy caterpillars, prickly pieces of twine. When they got their summer haircuts, he loved to run the flat of his palm over his brothers’ buzz cuts even though it usually ended up getting him punched. When he lost a baby tooth, he couldn’t resist poking his tongue through the gap, exploring the strange terrain. And he had loved nothing more than walking barefoot in the sand, curling his toes in the fine grit.

His fingers traced Annie’s rose petal skin, detecting the heat of her veins. He pressed his lips to the pulse point at her throat, felt her heart flutter. She was excited.

So was he.

He tasted her. All part of the tactile experience. Beneath the sweet caramel lay a deeper, more womanly flavor, salty and satisfying. He licked lightly, familiarizing himself with her flavor, letting it roll over his taste buds.

He couldn’t seem to get enough of tasting her. He took his time and she seemed to like his leisurely approach, even though she was a bit hesitant. Touching him lightly, then moving her hand away as if she was shy. He’d been with a few shy girls. On the whole, they turned out to be quite wild in bed. It was true. You had to watch out for the quiet ones. They were usually making up for lost time.

Who was she really? Where had she come from? What kind of trouble was she dragging with her?

She kissed him back, her lips yielding, but her body was still tense. She was nervous. He reached up to knead her shoulder muscles. “Relax, Annie.”

“I am trying . . . I . . .”

“Uh-huh,” he murmured. “What is it?”

“I . . . have not . . . I am . . .”

“A bit rusty at this?” he guessed.

“Yes—”

“Don’t worry, Buttercup. You’re in good hands. I’ve got the wheel.”

“I want . . .”

His fingers went to the silk tie holding her skimpy lingerie closed at the neck and he deftly untied it. “I’m listening,” he said, exposing her creamy white flesh. He pressed his lips in the center of her chest.

She wriggled beneath his touch. “That . . .”

“Yes?”

“Tickles.” She giggled.

“Let’s try more pressure.” He kissed his way over to her left breast. Her breasts were the perfect size. Not too big, not too small. He loved the weight of them in his palm as he cupped them. The size of navel oranges.

Her nipples beaded tight and she arched her back. “Please . . .”

“You want me to suck your nipple?”

She nodded mutely.

He grinned and lowered his head, pulled that saucy nipple into his mouth, ran his tongue over the tight bud.

Annie went wild. She gasped and jammed her fingers through his hair. Her breath shot out hot and raspy. He increased the pressure and she squirmed against him.

“Ooh, ooh.”

“Now for the other one.” He moved to the other side, parting her nightie out of the way to find the nipple of her right breast just as eager and hungry as the other.

“I . . . I . . . I . . .”

“What is it, Buttercup?”

Her head thrashed against the pillow. “I never knew. I never knew.”

“Never knew what?”

“It could feel . . . I could feel . . . Oh, Brady, I can
feel
.”

He smirked against her nipple. Yeah, okay, he was proud of himself. He knew his way around the female body. If that made him a braggart, then so be it. But pleasing her pleased him. He liked making her feel good.

Romantic. He was making this romantic. It wasn’t romantic. Just scratching an itch. Fun. They were having fun. Nothing wrong with that as long as they both had their eyes wide open and their hearts closed up tight, because he did not know her. She was on the run. A smart cowboy would not be here, but Brady, well, no one had ever accused him of being Einstein.

Annie’s slender fingers traced his rib cage hesitantly. “I want . . .”

“Yes?”

“More. I want more.”

“I can handle that.” He went to work in earnest. Taking his time, but moving things along, heating her up. Hands touched. Lips kissed. Breath intermingled.

Annie was responsive, but underneath it all she seemed inexperienced. Was she really twenty-four? That gave him pause.

“You sure you’re over eighteen,” he said.

“I am.”

“You sure this is what you want to do?”

“Certain.”

“You can back out now. Things haven’t gone too far.”

“I want you,” she confirmed.

Brady swallowed and asked himself the same questions. Was this what he wanted to do? Did he want to back out before things had gone too far? Before he had time to fully process the repercussions, Annie raised his T-shirt and started planting kisses along his belly.

His body responded. Going harder than he thought possible. He tensed, waiting to see where her hand would travel.

She stopped short at the waistband of his underwear. In the darkness, her eyes met his. The glow of the nightlight over the sink cast faint illumination throughout the trailer.

They deadlocked there. Gazes fused. Neither moving. Simply breathing.

Her lips parted and he claimed her mouth again. He always enjoyed kissing, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of those lips. Many guys he knew didn’t like kissing or even foreplay very much. They got straight to the action. Poor dumb slobs. Look at all the great tension they lost out on.

You’re losing out too. Going at this so soon. Where’s the teasing and the banter and the flirting?
He liked the buildup, the thrill of the chase; by tumbling into bed with her so quickly they were missing out on a lot of fun.
Where the hell is your self-control?

It was shot, busted, gone. The buildup between him and Annie had been condensed into a few short hours and came on hard and strong. Stronger than any attraction he had felt in a very long time, and Brady couldn’t say why. But there was something about her that he couldn’t resist. Something more than the wild-eyed, vulnerable, beauty-in-distress thing she had going on. Although he had to confess, he did find that appealing. Why did he have this need to rescue women?

Maybe because no one had rescued him?

That wasn’t fair. His brothers tried to rescue him. But he’d been a lost cause.

No, there was something about Annie that you didn’t find in most modern women. Perhaps it was because she was a contradiction in terms—on the one hand innocent and naive, on the other, unexpected, bold, and self-confident. Maybe it was because she was secretive. But if that were the case, shouldn’t her secrets turn him off? Secretive women had always been a deal breaker before, but with Annie her furtiveness only seemed to fuel his arousal and make him determined to find out what she was hiding.

She is not going to tell you. Not tonight. And then tomorrow, she’ll probably be on her way, back on the road, thumbing for the next ride.

A sheaf of loneliness fell against him. Why did he suddenly feel so lonely? It wasn’t loneliness. It was disappointment, regret that he would never know her full story.

Pillow talk. After they made love and were lying in each other’s arms drifting off to sleep, her guard would be down and he could more easily elicit answers to the questions he ached to ask.

Except Annie had no notion of his plans and apparently, she had some plans of her own, licking his skin with her wicked little tongue. “Make love to me, Brady. Please.”

What cowboy could resist a request like that from a good-looking filly?

In that moment, biology was in the driver’s seat and caution lay in the rearview mirror. He pawed off the rest of her nightgown, and then stripped off his own underwear. He reached into the drawer at the head of the bed, fumbled for a condom.

Annie was nibbling his nipple now. Turning the tables. Paying him back.

He got the condom on. Barely. His hands shook with anticipation, excitement, fear.

Fear? What was he afraid of? He had nothing to be afraid of. Right?

She lay on her back. Brady posed over her. His erection pressed hard against her hipbone. He cradled her head between his forearms, positioned on the bed to bear his weight, looked deeply into her eyes, and fell all the way to a clear bottom pool.

“Annie.”

She smiled up at him.

He edged her knees apart. She was barely breathing now, but her gaze never left his face. Her legs parted. Her hands went around his neck. Urging him forward, pulling him in.

The tip of his shaft pressed against her feminine doorway, and slowly, he pushed forward, muscles quivering, excitement racing along his nerve endings, anticipating the soft sink into her succulent folds.

Except that he met with tight resistance. No easy slip. No sweet glide.

What was this?

Then it hit him all at once and the realization staggered him.

Annie Coste was a virgin.

R
ight in the middle of everything, just when Annie was on the edge of having the experience of a lifetime, Brady stopped. He levered himself up on his arms, stared into her eyes, his face darkening with confusion.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“You . . . you’re a virgin,” Brady stammered.

Annie brought a palm to her chest. Oh dear, did this mean he was not going forward? She reached up, twined her arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, but he kept his body rigid, unmoving.

“Annie?” he chided.

“Yes,” she admitted. “But that does not have to ruin the moment.”

“I disagree.”

Annie caught her bottom lip up between her teeth. Maybe it was a good thing he backed off. She did not know if she was really ready for this. She loosened her grip from around his neck. “You no longer want me.”

“Oh, I want you very, very much, but this isn’t the way. Not the right time. Not the right place. I’m not the right man.”

“You are,” she insisted. “I have been a virgin long enough.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin,” he said. “It’s a good thing. But man, twenty-four? Seriously, you’re twenty-four and still a virgin?”

She notched her chin up. “I am almost twenty-five. So what if I am?”

“Nothing . . . it’s just that . . . where are you from? In America most girls lose their virginity at a much younger age.”

“I have . . .” How to explain it without giving herself away? “I have led a sheltered life.”

“I’ll say.”

“I do not understand why being a virgin is a problem. Make love to me and I will be a virgin no more. Problem solved.”

“You’ve waited this long for a reason and for some other reason you’ve decided to give your virginity to the stranger who picked you up on the roadside? That doesn’t feel right to me. You’re acting out and I’m not going to be the fall guy.”

“You do not want my virginity?”

“No.” Brady pulled a palm down his face, but he looked sorry to have to say it. “I do not.”

Rejection tasted salty in the back of her throat, like tears. Her chest constricted and she couldn’t catch her breath. She bit down on her bottom lip. “You do not find me sexy?”

“Yes, God yes. I find you very sexy. That’s the problem. You deserve to give your virginity to someone who loves you, someone that you love. You’ve waited this long, why not wait for the right guy?”

She considered that. It sounded good but she didn’t really have enough time to find someone to fall in love with, and besides, if she fell in love she would just have to leave him. There would be no fairy-tale happily-ever-after for Princess Annabella. Hot sex with a good-looking cowboy was as close as she was ever going to get. “Did you give your virginity to someone you loved who also loved you?”

“It’s different for guys.”

“Why is that?”

“Men can separate love from sex.”

That irritated her. She came from a country that put the needs and desires of men above those of women. In Monesta, a male heir usurped a female heir. Always. Just because a person was born with a penis did not give them more rights. Not in Annie’s opinion.

She knew things were different in America. She read books, and Echo Glover was her best friend. Echo had taught her a lot on that score.

In fact, Echo had been the one to hatch the plot to get her out of the presidential compound during the wedding rehearsal. She wondered what was happening there now. She wished she could talk to her friend. Echo had a very matter-of-fact view of sex and love and men and marriage. Her husband-to-be, Abel Escabedo, worshipped the ground she walked on, and Echo told Annie that was the way it was supposed to be. The man should love the woman more. If the man loved her more, the woman had all the power.