Cowboy Tough (16 page)

Mack stood on the threshold of his childhood bedroom and wished he hadn't opened the door. He'd pictured Cat looking sad, but she just looked pissed off.

And no wonder. He'd beaten the crap out of one of her clients. He'd shown a side of himself that probably didn't fit into the rarefied world of gallery openings and cocktail parties. He'd accused her of failing to protect her niece. And then he'd made a promise that affected her niece without asking her.

Of course, she didn't know that last part yet. And looking at her clenched fists and belligerent stance, he wasn't about to tell her.

He wasn't going to apologize, either. Not for anything. Trevor Maines was a danger to the group. Mack had felt it the moment he met the man. He hadn't just been protecting his daughter; he'd been protecting Cat, too. And if Dora didn't want to paint, nobody was going to make her do it. If Cat wasn't comfortable with that, it was her problem, not his.

What
was
his problem was the way he felt about her. The two of them were a total mismatch. It was like Little Red Riding Hood cozying up to the Big Bad Wolf.

But he wanted her. Wanted her now, in his arms, wanted to wipe that scowl off her face and kiss her until she softened in his arms and forgot what she was so all-fired mad about.

Maybe she sensed what he was thinking, because she seemed to wilt as he watched her. The shoulders rounded, the scowl softened, and when he stepped back from the door she walked into the room as if he'd invited her.

“Hey.” She didn't sound happy to see him, but she didn't sound mad, either.

She sounded numb.

He really couldn't blame her. She'd had a hell of a night. So had he, for that matter. Maybe she'd let him comfort her. At least then he'd have something to hang onto.

Because nothing felt solid anymore. The ranch was starting to feel like a roadside attraction he'd seen once on the way to a rodeo—“The Wonder Spot.” The “spot” had been a rickety little house set back in some trees. It looked like a perfectly normal building from the outside, but when you stepped in the door it was like entering a fun-house mirror. The floors slanted, the walls tilted, and you lost your sense of which way was up and where the floor was.

He felt that way now, as if someone had altered the reality he'd always depended on. As if the ranch's subtle, soothing gravity had been replaced by a world with no laws and no safe place to stand. Not even here, in his old room. Still decorated with all the trappings of boyhood, it had always been his safe place.

Suddenly, he was acutely conscious of those trappings. This room might be full of happy memories, but it was hardly an appropriate place to entertain a woman. It had hardly been an appropriate place for his mother to install Trevor Maines either, but he hadn't had any say in that.

He looked around at the bedding, an old-fashioned print with tiny cowboys on bucking horses scattered amid hats, boots, and saddles. On the wall above it, 4-H prize ribbons vied for space with old photos of his boyhood triumphs. There was a photo of him with his first horse, the obliging and ever-patient Smoky. Another of him as a gangling teen, kneeling beside the high-dollar steer he'd raised for a long-ago state fair. On the opposite wall were rodeo photos, ranging from his first bronc ride to a more recent picture of him standing at the rail at Frontier Days with Bobby Mote and Kelly Timberman.

The furniture, as well as the decoration, was unabashedly masculine. And just inside the door, looking as dainty as a princess, was Cat.

She still looked pissed off. Without thinking, he stepped close and wrapped his fingers around her upper arms.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Where
the
hell
had
that
come
from?

“You are?” She looked skeptical.

“Probably not for any of the right things,” he said. “I'm sorry you're angry with me. Sorry you had to see that side of me. Protecting Viv is—well, it's what I do.”

She shrugged him off and scanned the room, taking in the old-fashioned decor. At least the place was clean.

“What happened, happened,” she said. “It's over and done.”

“I was protecting you too.”

She stared at him a long time—a hard, cold stare. He returned her gaze as honestly as he could, willing her to understand, and gradually her stiff posture relaxed and her eyes went sweet and soft again.

“I know you don't need it,” he said. “But it's what I do.”

“You're right. I don't need it.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don't need it, but sometimes—sometimes I want it.”

He wrapped his arms around her and she rested her head against his chest, tucking her hands into his back pockets. He held her a moment, then reached back with one hand and swung the bedroom door shut.

“Good,” he said. “Let me show you what
I
want.”

***

Cat couldn't believe she was here in Mack's childhood home, necking in the bedroom like a teenager. The ridiculous bucking horse decor was a not-so-subtle reminder that he'd been a boy here. A rough-and-tumble kid by the look of things, obsessed with horses and ranching even then.

Well, he wasn't a boy anymore. He'd proven that just moments ago, when he'd punched Trevor into unconsciousness.

She didn't like violence, or violent men. She went for brains, not brawn. But right now, pressed up against all that brawn, she was starting to rethink her priorities. Mack Boyd wasn't a master painter or a hotshot intellectual like Ames, but being with him made her dizzy and breathless and confused and weirdly, ecstatically happy—as long as she didn't ruin the feeling by thinking too hard.

Because feeling was better than thinking. She needed to shut out her problems with Dora and her worries about her career. She needed to just
be
, here with Mack.

Be
here
now. Zen cowgirl
.

Hard as she tried, though, the thought that Viv was right next door kept her from surrendering to the moment.

“Viv,” she said. “We can't…”

“It's an old house. Thick walls.” He'd clearly thought this through, probably before opening the door. “We'll just have to be quiet,” he whispered, running his hands up her arms and over her shoulders. “Very, very quiet.”

Grabbing the collar of her shirt, he tugged her face to his and kissed her.

The touch of his lips set off something desperate in her, something primal and basic and real. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, she bunched it in her fists and yanked it up over his chest. She wanted his bare skin under her hands. She wanted to feel the flex of his muscles as he embraced her. She wanted to feel his skin warm under her touch.

She wanted everything, all over again. And again. And again.

The shirt was up and over his head in one breathless moment, and they kept on kissing while his fingers worked at the buttons on her shirt. He'd only made it halfway down the front before he shoved it off her shoulders, briefly trapping her in the fabric with her arms pinned to her side. She writhed and twisted, then shrugged it away. The cool cotton slid down over her hips and pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before him in just a bra and jeans.

She felt a quick flash of self-consciousness, a jolt of worry about her belly being a little soft, her breasts a little small. But when he looked down at her, his eyes ate her up. Clearly, he liked what he saw.

His rough hands slid around her waist, skimming up her rib cage and slipping into her bra, squeezing and teasing and making her crazy. His touch left a trail of sweet sensation in its wake as he slid one hand to her back and unhooked her bra with an expertise that could only come from experience.

“You've done that a few times before,” she murmured, smiling into his neck.

“I have.”

“Here?” she asked. “In this room?”

He paused and she wondered if he was going to lie.

“Yes.”

She felt a whoosh of relief. She liked his frankness, the way he couldn't help but tell the truth. It was one of the things that separated him from all the other men she knew. With Mack, the truth deep inside things seemed to matter more than the surface.

“It was never like this, though.” His whisper was hushed, almost reverent as his lips skimmed the curve between her shoulder and neck. “Never anything like this.”

She glanced at the door. “Does that lock?”

In answer, he leaned over and pushed a button in the doorknob with a satisfying click.

They sank down on the side of the small bed as if they'd agreed on the timing, both of them fumbling with belt buckles, snaps, and zippers. And then they were naked, gloriously naked, facing each other in the dim light that glowed through the curtains. The moonlight was warmed by a yellow lamp at the corner of the eaves that lit the whole front yard, and the combination created an ethereal, enchanted space. She could see all of him. Not just his body, but his heart, shining in his eyes.

This was what she needed. Not protection, but feeling. Warmth. Love.

She chased that last thought away, wiping it out of her mind like a wayward streak of paint on an otherwise perfect canvas. Not love. Just lust. Sex.

They stretched out on the bed, facing each other, and he stroked her hair, letting his palm drift under her jaw and cup her chin so he could look into her eyes. There was a question there, and she answered it by pulling closer and closing her eyes. Love, lust, want, need—the words just didn't matter anymore. Neither did her job or her future.

She lifted her hands over her head and felt the current they'd created tug her away from reality. She was floating like a leaf on flowing water, riding swift, unstoppable waves as his hands ran over her body. He paused and she swirled in an eddy, then caught the current and the two of them were swept away.

His hands moved swiftly over her body, stroking the wings of her collarbones, smoothing her shoulders, shaping her breasts. Then his rough thumbs scraped her nipples and he kissed her, greedy and hard. Hands, lips, tongue—it all blended together as he moved down her body, his fingers tracing her ribs, trailing down her side, teasing with soft touches that almost, almost went where she wanted them.

And then he found the heart of her and set loose a flood of need and emotion she couldn't contain. She heard a small cry and didn't realize it had been her until he put his mouth over hers to stifle the sound.

“Shhhh.”

“I can't help it. We have to stop. I'm going to…”

She broke off and bit her lip to keep from moaning as he kissed her again and stroked her center, immersing her in sensation and then lifting her slowly up, up, up—until she broke the surface and gasped. The air around her warmed and hummed. Incredibly, she kept on rising, floating impossibly high, flying on the invisible edge between dreams and reality.

***

Cat blinked her way back to reality to find herself resting against his chest. His heart pumped under her cheek, the sound seeming to fill the room with a slow, steady drumbeat.

Across the room, his face looked out at her from a half-dozen framed photos, years younger. Mack riding a wild horse. Mack with his buddies, grinning like the troublemaker he was. Mack with some kind of enormous cow on a leash.

She knew the pictures held clues to his past, to who he was, but it was a childhood so foreign to her he might as well have grown up in India. She should study them sometime, look for clues.

But what did that matter, really? He was whoever she wanted him to be. They wouldn't be together long enough for his past to matter. Or his future.

The thought made her suddenly sad, but she knew what would make her happy. Sitting up, she straddled him and reached for the nightstand, feeling for the drawer pull. Hopefully he had protection somewhere.

“Already got that.” He held up a shiny square of foil and tore it open. He put it on with quick, efficient motions and she reminded herself he'd done this before—who knew how many times, with how many women in rodeo towns all across the West.

She felt herself shrink with the thought, as if she mattered less in the world if she didn't matter to him.

But that wasn't what this was about. She was making her own choice here, finding her own satisfaction. She wasn't like the women that hung around rodeos, hoping to bag a champion. She was herself, Cat Crandall, taking all the experiences life had to offer. Looking for beauty in every corner of the world, and finding it here, in the dark, in this man's bed.

***

Mack watched Cat's face, searching for any trace of doubt. He'd never expected to have this chance again. They'd spent the past few hours proving how incompatible they were, and here they were, blending like they were born to be together. It didn't make any sense, but he wasn't about to question her, or remind her that she'd written him off three times that day.

She smiled and those blue eyes glowed with a shimmering heat.

“Go,” she said.

She straddled him and bent to kiss him as she rubbed herself against him. Her hair fell forward, creating a tangled curtain, and he watched her face as those blue eyes darkened, then turned soft and met his so honestly that it felt like the boundary between them blurred.

He'd expected heat from Cat since the day he'd first met her. He'd known she'd be incredible in bed. She had a light, bright energy about her that was full of promise, but he hadn't expected to bond on this level.

This obviously wasn't a one-night stand. It wasn't a two-night stand either. He didn't know how two people could create a relationship when they lived worlds apart. But somehow, he had to hold onto her beyond this brief summer romance.

Looking into her eyes, he felt like she could read his thoughts. She had to know he was falling for her. For a moment, she seemed to look through him, but then their gazes met and he knew, as surely as if she'd said it aloud, that she was falling too.