Trey: Red, Hot & Blue, Book 1 (11 page)
About the Author
As an award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance in genres including military, cowboy, ménage and paranormal, Cat Johnson uses her computer so much she wore the letters off the keyboard within a year. She is known for her creative marketing and research practices. Consequently, Cat owns an entire collection of camouflage shoes for book signings and a fair number of her consultants wear combat and cowboy boots for a living. In her real life, she’s been a marketing manager, professional harpist, bartender, tour guide, radio show host, Junior League president, sponsor of a bull-riding rodeo cowboy, wife and avid animal lover.
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Look for these titles by Cat Johnson
Now Available:
Rough Stock
Studs in Spurs
Unridden
Bucked
The heart wants what it wants…
Rough Stock
© 2009 Cat Johnson
Bronc riders Mason and Clay have shared both good times and bad as best friends, but they never expected to share their boss’s daughter, April. Can two friends love one woman, body and soul, without it destroying them?
The heart wants what it wants. For April that means not choosing between the two cowboys she loves, no matter how wrong it may seem inviting them both into her bed.
Life sends the three lovers in opposite directions, but a devastating injury brings them all together again. Their relationship now is no less bittersweet—or complicated—than before. Once severed, old ties leave scars that are tough to heal…
This book has been previously published and has been revised and expanded from its original release.
Warning: When you choose a man who thinks 8 seconds is a long time, perhaps you need two of them. In other words: Watch out, this book contains hot ménage sex with two cowboys and the woman they love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Rough Stock:
The sudden appearance of pale, silky, feminine stomach stopped Clay Harris dead in his tracks. His greedy eyes devoured the smooth, firm skin shadowed beneath the newfound lushness of her breasts.
He swallowed hard. “April Elizabeth Carson. What do you think you’re doing?”
She paused to look at him, one hand stopped in mid-motion as it tugged the hem of her shirt up over her bra—her white, thin, lacy bra. “What? It’s hot. I’m going swimming.”
Clay’s best friend, Mason Smith, shot him a meaningful glance, a wide-eyed look of fear mingled with anticipation. “Um, shouldn’t you go home and change into a suit first?” Mason suggested.
“Why? The house is so far and I’m hot now.” Her guileless pale blue eyes proved she didn’t have a clue what she was doing to them.
Clay knew exactly what Mason was thinking when he made the suggestion about the swimsuit. Their good old buddy April, who they’d met when they came to work for her father five years ago, was hot all right, but not in the way she’d meant when she said it. She had filled out over the past school year. April had turned eighteen and out of the blue transformed from an underweight, gangly teenage girl whom they had always treated like one of the guys into someone who was all female. One look at her and all of her new shapely curves and there was no denying it.
Clay swallowed hard. She was going to whip off her T-shirt and shorts and dive into that lake in nothing but her bra and underwear, like she had done at least once or twice each summer whenever the heat got unbearable. But this time, unlike the others, his raging eighteen-year-old male hormones would not be able to ignore it. Nor would she be able to ignore his hard-on, which was already starting to wake up just at the thought.
“Shit,” Mason drawled out softly next to him as April did exactly as they feared, and what Clay suspected they both secretly wanted.
Stripped down to white bikini undies and the lace bra that looked nothing like last year’s plain cotton tank-top style one, April pulled the elastic band out of her ponytail to release a tumbling cascade of long blond curls, and then dove into the clear lake water.
Hell, this was way better than sneaking peeks inside the skin magazines when the store clerk wasn’t looking, but April was their friend. Now that she had turned into a woman, enjoying ogling her just seemed wrong, not to mention very weird.
Clay felt the already stifling Oklahoma heat around him ratchet up another notch. He wasn’t convinced it had anything to do with the weather, even though it had never been quite this hot during the last week of the school year before. Now was a hell of a time for the weather to go wonky, Clay thought, as he and Mason watched April’s progress.
She swam beneath the surface, gliding as easily as a fish through the water, before surfacing with a splash and a shake of her long, wet hair. Fish? Hell, she was more like a mermaid, and every man’s wet dream.
“Aren’t you two coming in?”
Hands buried deeply in both pockets, Mason surreptitiously adjusted himself within his jeans and glanced quickly at Clay. “Um, we need to get to the farm and start breaking that green horse your daddy just brought in or he’s gonna tan our hides.”
Barely comprehending Mason’s excuse over his own lusty thoughts, Clay nodded at whatever his friend had just said.
“Fine. I’ll get out. It’s no fun swimming alone.” With a pretty pout worthy of a centerfold, April stood, the water sluicing off satin skin that Clay longed to run his hands over, his tongue too while he was at it.
She began walking toward them, her water-soaked bra and panties so see-through she might as well have been wearing nothing. Though somehow this was more enticing.
Clay swallowed again and nearly choked. He realized he had no spit in his mouth, even though he seemed to have plenty of sweat on his palms. He wiped them on the denim covering his thighs while what he really longed to do was reach down and adjust himself, because the seam of his stiff jeans was not doing his now wide-awake hard-on any good.
Before them, April bent over to grab her clothes off the grass, revealing the tops of two creamy breasts. Clay had barely noticed the plump globes above the scalloped edge of her bra before. He’d been too distracted by the dusky traces of her nipples through the wet material, not to mention the barely visible outline of the pale curls beneath her undies that proved she was a natural blonde.
Mason hissed out a breath next to him. “Crap, Clay. This just ain’t right.”
Clay didn’t take his eyes off April as she dressed, wiggling and jumping to get her clothes on over wet skin. The act was somehow as enticing as a striptease, only in reverse. As April sat on the grass to pull her boots on, Clay asked, “What ain’t right?”
Mason, the dark-haired, brown-eyed compliment to Clay’s paler dirty blond, blue-eyed appearance, glowered. “You know damn well. She’s our friend.”
A quick sideways glance told Clay that in spite of his sudden moral protest, Mason hadn’t taken his eyes off of April either. Clay grinned at him. “Yeah, but now she’s our really hot female friend.”
Mason finally broke his gaze from the sight that consumed them both to look at his buddy. He let out a resolution-filled sigh. “Yeah, she is, but how do you reckon we decide which one of us gets to take a shot at having her?”
This cowboy is looking for more than just an eight-second ride.
Bucked
© 2009 Cat Johnson
Mustang Jackson does two things well—ride bulls and love women. So the injury that takes him out of the arena leaves him only one way to make a living. Unfortunately, getting paid to be a stud in front of the camera isn’t as fun as private conquests. When he catches sight of little Sage Beckett, minus the glasses, braces and pigtails he remembers, doing time in his hometown suddenly gets a lot more interesting.
Sage had a crush on Michael long before he started using that ridiculous nickname “Mustang”. Though from what she’s overheard about his string of buckle bunnies, the man more than lives up to it. In the past he always looked right through her. Now that he’s home again, she’s determined to capture and tame this wild stallion, no matter what it takes.
She intends to satisfy her curiosity and move on, but with every touch she’s less sure she’ll ever purge him from her system. Once corralled in her arms, Mustang finds himself thinking that domestication may not be so bad after all.
Except, once she finds out about his side job, she may not stick for the next go-round.
Warning: Contains one well-hung cowboy riding much more than just bulls, some ménage action in front of and behind the camera, some whips and chains and some red-hot cowboy loving.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Bucked:
Rosemary used to sneak boys into her room after their grandmother had gone to sleep all the time. Sage tried to remember that as she felt guilty about plotting on how best to seduce Mustang under her grandmother’s roof.
She remembered the purpose of his visit and turned on her own TV, grabbing the remote control off the top and carrying it back to the bed. She perched on the other side of the bed, but since it was a twin-size they were still pretty close. For the first time in recent years she was happy the mattress was so narrow.
Finding the right channel, she turned the volume up just enough that they could hear it and set the remote on the bed table. “It looks like it just started.”
“Yup.”
He was in a strange mood. “You look tired.”
“A little.” Mustang shrugged. “Long day.”
Sage jumped on the chance. “Yeah? What did you do?”
“Work.”
Hmm. A one-word answer. It must have been a really bad day. Sage groaned in commiseration. “You have a bad drive with your dad?”
“No. Different work.” His short answers told her he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Oh. Okay.” Sage folded her hands in her lap and pretended to care about what was happening on screen.
She heard Mustang sigh and then his arm was around her shoulder. Luckily, he’d sat on the side that put the good arm, the one not in the sling, next to her.
Sage glanced sideways at Mustang and he answered her unspoken question. “I think I could use a hug.”
Mustang Jackson, the mighty bull rider, asking for a hug. Even in the old days when his father had taken a switch to him for something he’d done, or possibly hadn’t done, he’d never asked anyone for a hug. Not Rosemary or Grams or her. Something was definitely up. Her gaze met his.
“Lucky for you, I’m good at giving hugs.”
Still looking sad, he managed a crooked, half-smile. “I know.”
As she leaned into his arm, he tipped his head down, brushing her forehead with his lips. Tilting her head up, she touched her lips to his chin, then kissed her way to the corner of his mouth. Mustang hesitated but it didn’t take any more coaxing before his lips met hers full-on.
In mid-kiss, he pulled away. “Your grandmother.”
“She’s settled in front of her programs. We won’t see her for the rest of the night.”
He drew in a deep breath and then he was kissing her again. This time deeper and with more energy. He didn’t seem tired anymore. Mustang only stopped kissing her long enough to slip the sling off his neck. His hand came up to cup her breast. He ran a thumb over her nipple through the fabric of her dress. She felt it harden under his touch.
She groaned then broke away. “Is your arm okay?”
“Arm? What arm?” He lowered his head to trail kisses along her neck.
He pushed the top of her dress down with her bra and took her nipple between his lips, torturing her with his teeth and tongue.
Eyes closed, Sage leaned back against the pillows, memorizing every sensation that shot through her. His mouth sent electrical current straight through every part of her body. She wanted more.
Sage guided her hand on a path up Mustang’s thigh toward the long, hard bulge straining the zipper. She’d tasted him, felt what it was like to have the length of him in her mouth. She wanted it elsewhere.
She stroked him through his jeans and he moaned, letting her breast pop out of his mouth.
“We’re not going any further than this.” The warning sounded stern and definite, until she stroked him again, harder. He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath. “You are going to be the death of me, woman.”
“Mmm, but it will be a fun way to go.” Smiling, Sage took advantage of his weakening defenses. She felt for the tab of his zipper until his hand clamped down over hers.