Just a Cowboy and His Baby (Spikes & Spurs) (8 page)

His hands rested on her slim waist, but she wanted them to travel. Up! Down! It didn’t matter as long as they went somewhere. She moved back enough that she could tug at the top snap on his shirt and little popping sounds opened it up. She ran her fingertips down the soft hair on his chest and he groaned.

Good! I’m glad my touch makes you as hot as yours does me.

He eased a hand up her back, unfastened her bra, and gently massaged her back from neck to waist. His rough hands felt so good on her skin that she didn’t want him to quit the gentle massage on her back, and yet she wanted his hands to move on to touch more and more, to see how many blazes he could start all at once on her body.

It had been months since Gemma had had sex. It was as if the whole scene was being played out in slow motion and she loved every moment of the foreplay. Trace tensed and pulled back, asking with his eyes if he should stop or go on. She pulled his shirttail from his jeans and unbuckled his belt.

He moved his hands around to touch her breasts. She unzipped his jeans and slipped a hand down inside them. She bit back the gasp when she realized the size and readiness of his erection.

Damn! That old wives tale about foot size is true.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered softly in her ear.

His hot breath mixed with the deep drawl of his voice added gasoline to the raging fire inside her.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she whispered back.

He picked her up and laid her on the bed, carried Sugar into the other part of the trailer, and pulled the door shut. He removed his clothing and boots while she watched. His eyes never left hers, and she couldn’t have blinked if it had meant going blind for the rest of her life. He was even more magnificent without all the trappings of clothing than he was in those tight jeans. His chest was broad with fine hair traveling down the V of his body to an erection all ready and willing. His thigh muscles were taut and chiseled, his calves were muscled, and his biceps looked like those of a weight lifter. The whole package was even more than she’d wished for when she’d sat on Santa’s lap and asked him for a cowboy. Evidently, Santa or fate, or maybe both, had a really big sense of humor.

When he stretched out fully naked beside her, she ran her hands down his chest.

“God, your cool hands feel like silk,” he mumbled.

“And yours feel like coals of fire on my skin,” she said.

“It’s been a while, darlin’. I won’t be running a marathon this first time,” he whispered.

“It’s been a helluva long time in my world too. I was thinking a nice sprint.”

He tugged her shorts down over her hips, removed her silk panties in one long sweep, and then flipped her shirt up over her head. The shirt and bra landed somewhere near the door when he tossed them over his shoulder.

“Ready?”

She gulped and nodded.

The first thrust made her gasp, but he leaned close, nibbled on her ear as he began a slow, steady rhythm, and said, “You are delicious.”

She couldn’t argue with that line because he was just as tasty. She tangled her fingers in his hair and brought his mouth to hers in a series of sizzling hot kisses as she rocked with him, urging him to increase the rhythm. He slipped his hands under her and cupped her hips.

She’d never experienced such raw deep need nor never known such depths of want. When she couldn’t take anymore, she pleaded with him to join her in the climax. He covered her mouth in deep, passionate kisses and she forgot all about wanting it to end. And then he muttered her name and she could feel the tension draining from his body.

“Oh!” she said.

“Yes!” he answered.

Trace buried his face in her hair and all the sun rays in the world were trapped in the bedroom. The romance books lying around her beauty shop talked about sex like that, but she’d thought it was fiction right up until that moment. She’d experienced afterglow, but she’d never experienced it in living Technicolor like what was surrounding her right then.

She nuzzled her lips into his neck. “Is that real or is it the aftereffects?”

“Both!”

“Fan-damn-tastic,” she said.

“No, darlin’. It was magic,” he stammered.

She put a finger over his lips. “If that was a sprint, I’m not sure we could stand a marathon.”

Gemma ran her hand down his muscular back and the scalding hot feeling was still there wanting another round.

Dear Lord, she’d opened Pandora’s box. What did she do now?

Trace reached across Gemma’s naked body and pulled the cord to raise the mini blinds. She turned over, used his arm for a pillow, and pulled the sheet up over them. A burst of color filled the whole window in dazzling sparkles. Before it had time to fall to the earth in slow motion, the next shower came with a loud pop and an array of red, white, and blue. It wasn’t completely dissolved when another crack brought about a purple, pink, and lime green display even bigger than the one before.

“This is the way to watch the fireworks. Lying in bed with a beautiful woman in my arms,” Trace whispered.

Gemma looked over her shoulder into his eyes. “Fireworks inside the trailer and now fireworks outside.”

A loud sizzling noise took her attention back to the window. “Oh! Look at that one. It filled the whole window.”

“I’d rather look at you,” he said huskily.

She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Do you tell that to all the girls who watch fireworks naked with you?” she asked.

Trace removed his arm and sat up. “It was not a line, and I meant it. And for your information, smart-ass, I’ve never watched fireworks with another naked woman. You are the first one.”

She popped up and drew the sheet tighter around her body. “Hey, don’t go all pouty.”

“I do not pout, and FYI, I meant what I said.”

“Well, on that note, I’m going home. Thank you.”

It had been wonderful, even better than wonderful, but now she was angry at herself for allowing it to happen. Having sex with him had not put out the desire but made it even more acute and it simply could not go on another minute.

“Don’t thank me for the sex,” he said.

“I didn’t. I was thanking you for everything else today. And FYI, I don’t thank men for sex,” she said.

She slung her legs over the side of the bed and gathered up her clothing. Trace propped up on an elbow with the bedsheet covering the lower half of his body and watched her. She was a spitfire when she wasn’t mad; angry, she was a force resembling a pissed off tornado.

Her butt wiggled into cute little black underpants that weren’t even an inch wide on the side. Watching her slide them up her legs caused a stirring that he didn’t think was possible after that bout of sex. She reached around behind her back and fastened her bra and then bent over to shake her breasts down into the black lace cups. His fingers itched to touch them one more time before she put them away. Then she pulled on jean shorts and a shirt.

He sighed.

His toys were all put away and suddenly he wanted to get them out again and play until morning.

“Stay with me, Gemma. The fireworks aren’t even over and you could spend the night right here,” he said.

“I’ve had all the fireworks I’d better have for one night,” she said.

“Then just snuggle with me,” he said.

She bent over the bed and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, Trace. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Breakfast is at seven in my kitchen. Wagon train leaves at eight,” he said.

“My wagon might leave earlier than that.”

“And you called me pouty?”

She turned quickly and shot him a drop-graveyard-dead look. “I do not pout and I’ll be here for breakfast. What can I bring?”

“A healthy appetite for food and for anything else you might have in mind.”

“In your dreams! Good night.”

When she opened the door Sugar bounded into the room, up her special stairs, and landed on Gemma’s pillow where she turned around several times and then plopped down to sleep.

Trace turned over and watched out the other bedroom window until he saw her lights come on. In a few minutes they went off again. There she was no more than twenty feet from him and yet she might as well be across the whole state. He turned over to see another bright flash of sparkles in the other window and hugged a pillow.

“Sugar, I should put an end to this, but I can’t.”

The Chihuahua’s tail thumped against the pillow.

“Nothing permanent can ever come of it.”

Sugar shut her eyes and sighed.

“That’s just the way I feel too, girl,” Trace said.

***

He dreamed of Gemma again that night. She’d wrecked in the final ride in Vegas and he’d won the prize. Then he dropped down on one knee and proposed to her. She looked at him the same way she had when they were arguing and walked off with a foggy mist closing around her. When he awoke the next morning, he was hugging a pillow and frantically calling out her name.

Sugar was standing on her pillow staring at him as if he’d lost his mind.

He kicked the sheet off and slung his legs over the side of the bed. “She’s going to be the death of me and I’ve only known her a few weeks.”

Sugar meandered down the bed and onto the floor.

“She might be playing me yet, even after last night. She might just be messing with me until I can’t ride for thinking about her and then laugh when I lose everything.”

Sugar barked at the front door.

“Okay, I’ll stop thinking about her and take you out for a walk. And I don’t think she’s that kind of woman either, Sugar. I’m just damn confused and I hate this feeling.”

Trace pulled on his jeans and a shirt, slipped his feet into flip-flops, and took down the dog leash from the hook beside the door.

The dog danced around so much he had trouble getting the leash hooked.

“Dammit! Stand still. I swear all women are trouble, no matter what the species. Can’t live with them and it’s against the law to shoot ’em,” he groused.

He finally clasped the leash on her collar and slung the door open to find Gemma standing there with her hand up, ready to knock.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

As if she hadn’t been surly the night before. As if she hadn’t accused him of pouting. Point proven about his tirade against all females, no matter what the species. She wore a white sundress and matching white sandals. The sun peeking over the horizon behind her parked a halolike aura above her head, and big white fluffy clouds in the sky behind her looked like angel wings. But the night before Gemma had proven that she was not an angel. She was all hot, desirable woman in bed and hot, mad woman when she was angry.

“You are beautiful this morning,” he said.

“Thank you. You just getting up?” she asked.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Time-wise or otherwise.”

“You know what I mean,” she stammered.

“Time-wise, yes. But otherwise, it could be arranged.”

“Your mind is in the gutter again!”

He held the door open for her, but she didn’t come inside. “You bring out the worst in me. Come on in. We’ll have breakfast in a few minutes.”

“We could do fast food,” she suggested.

He shook his head. “We have time to cook. I’ll start coffee if you’ll take Sugar out for her walk.”

***

Dreams of Trace had haunted Gemma all night. In the last one he had fallen off a bronc, and the way he was going from horse to ground in slow motion, she was sure he would break his neck. Before he hit the earth, she awoke with start and sat straight up in bed. The whole thing with him had to end or she’d be crazy by the time the circuit was finished. The best way to do it was cut it off cold turkey so she would simply back her rig out and be on her way. She’d be sure not to stop at the same campgrounds and double sure not to park beside him at the rodeos.

But if the tables were turned and he was about to leave with no explanation… well, she had to talk to him just to be able to live with herself. She owed him more than just running away, for the friendship on the road and all they’d shared—and especially since he’d saved her from the sorry bastard who drugged her. She didn’t like having to explain, but she couldn’t leave without talking to him. So she marched right up to his door and knocked.

She planned to tell him that any kind of relationship complicated matters too much and that this was good-bye. Then he opened the door and his dark hair was all mussed up and he said she was beautiful. She sucked up the drool and opened her mouth to tell him what she had to say and it wouldn’t come out.

Sugar stopped to squat in a bed of clover, and Gemma looked out toward the horizon. The sun was an orange and yellow ball sitting more than halfway up on the horizon. She should be seeing it in her rearview mirror, not holding onto a leash with a Chihuahua at the other end smelling every single blade of grass.

After breakfast she was determined to have a heart-to-heart with Trace Coleman, even if she had to shut her eyes so she couldn’t see him. No matter who won, this wasn’t something that could last. Like Chopper said, it was like two wild grass fires that sent shooting flames halfway to heaven when they collide, but soon they burn themselves out and there’s nothing left but dead grass, dead trees, and lots of black ash. If she won she could take a huge belt buckle, enough money to buy her own place, and get out of Dewar’s house, get the title she wanted, and take a broken heart with her back to Ringgold. If she didn’t, she could take home a broken heart. It was a lose-lose situation.

Sugar chased a grasshopper, checked out a spider, made another wet spot on the grass, and ran back to Gemma with her tongue hanging out. Gemma started back toward Trace’s trailer, but Sugar didn’t move. She tugged on the leash and the dog still didn’t budge.

“You lazy girl. You want me to carry you home, don’t you?”

It was the word
home
that finally lit up the lightbulb in her head.

Gemma needed to go home. She couldn’t make a sensible decision as long as Trace Coleman was right in front of her, but she could figure things out in Ringgold, Texas. And she could easily be on her way in just a few days. There was a whole week between the next two rodeos, plenty of time for a trip to Ringgold where she could put Trace out of her mind and heart.

She picked Sugar up and carried her toward the smell of sausage and coffee. The mixed aromas made her even more homesick. Her Granny O’Malley would be bustling around in her kitchen that morning and there would be coffee brewing, and possibly sausage since Grandpa liked it so well. Gemma often stopped in when she was exercising the horses in the early morning. If she went home to her regular routine, everything would be just fine; she just knew it!

She opened the trailer door and Sugar bounded inside.

“Smells good in here,” she said.

She bent down on one knee to undo the leash and when she stood up, Trace was in front of her. He extended a hand and she took it. His eyes locked on hers and he drew her close to his chest. She had intended to use that moment to explain to him what was on her mind, but she could not force herself to move. The back of his hand inched its way down her cheek and her breath caught. His eyes were soft and unfocused, and he brushed sweet kisses on her eyelids.

Her whole body hummed. The night before his kisses had been fervent, passionate, and hot enough to scald the hair out of the devil’s ears. That morning they were soft, gentle, and left her aching for more. Finally, he worked his way to her mouth and ran his tongue around her lips, teasing them open for a kiss so full of passion that it made her gasp.

“Good morning. I wanted to do that before, but watermelon wine does not make for decent morning breath,” he whispered.

She was breathless, but she managed to say, “Good morning to you.”

Dammit anyway! He was everything she’d always wanted. Why did fate have to put him in her pathway at the wrong time?

He took a step back and motioned toward the table. “Have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready. Sausage gravy and canned biscuits. I can’t get the hang of biscuits. I can do toast real good, but biscuits in my house come out of a can. The only time I ever made them Uncle Teamer said that I’d best put them in the trash because the government men might come haul me away for making weapons of mass destruction.”

She swallowed a giggle. Trace was a weapon of mass destruction. He could destroy a heart and paralyze a brain with his long, slow kisses.

“I’ll get the juice and coffee.” She busied herself.

The way the air crackled around her and Trace every time they touched, they needed a kitchen the size of a football field. If the kiss hadn’t solidified her decision to go home for a week, preparing breakfast in a trailer dang sure finalized her plans. He definitely was a WMD!

Yes, sir, she was going home between the Colorado Springs and Cheyenne rodeos and nothing could change her mind. Maybe her sister-in-law, Liz, would read the tarot cards for her again and tell her that Trace Coleman was evil and she should stay away from him. Or maybe Austin, her other sister-in-law, who had a famous gut that always got in a twist when something wasn’t right, would have some words of wisdom for her. Something or someone at home would put her back on the right track, one in which she was in total and complete control. Of that, she was sure.

Trace put the food on the table and sat down. “Did you sleep well?”

“Just fine,” she lied. “How about you?”

“Like a baby,” he answered.

She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“People say that, but a baby doesn’t sleep well,” Gemma told him.

“Then, yes, ma’am, Sugar and I slept very well. You got plans between the Colorado Springs and Cheyenne rodeos?”

“Why?” she asked and wanted to bite her tongue. It was the perfect opportunity to tell him that she was going home, and then with a week’s distance between them, it would be much easier to rearrange her plans so that they weren’t constantly thrown together.

“My cousin in Colorado Springs called this morning while you were out with Sugar. There’s a week between that rodeo and the one in Cheyenne. He wants me to help him with kid week on his dude ranch. There’s a bunch of city kids coming to the ranch They’ll learn all about ranching and spend a lot of time outdoors. I’ll be the boys’ cabin sponsor, but he needs a lady to be in the girls’ cabin. He pays really well for the week. Want a job?”

She really meant to say that she was going home for a few days, but what came out of her mouth was, “Sure! That sounds like fun.”

The words were out.

Trace was grinning like he’d won the lottery.