What a Texas Girl Dreams (Crimson Romance)
Read What a Texas Girl Dreams (Crimson Romance) Online
Authors: Kristina Knight
Tags: #romance, #contemporary
What a Texas Girl Dreams
Kristina Knight, author of
What a Texas Girl Wants
and
What a Texas Girl Needs
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2013 by Kristina Knight
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5572-9
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5572-5
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5573-7
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5573-2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © Istockphoto.com/Shelly Perry
For Jennifer, thank you for believing in this series when two of the books were still just ideas in my head. Kathleen, Vanessa, and Monica salute you! (And so do I.)
Contents
Prologue
Seven Weeks Ago
Monica Witte’s hands shook as she negotiated the hairpin curve leading from the main road to Trick Samuels’s private lane. A chicken-shaped mailbox appeared a few hundred yards down the road, and she slowed, took a deep breath, and turned into the driveway.
No cars waited inside the open garage door. Damn, he wasn’t home.
But, no, there were a few lights burning in the deepening dusk. Maybe he’d run out for groceries? Or maybe he’d loaned out his truck? Either way, this had been mistake number four hundred fifty-seven: coming to Trick’s house to soothe her wounded pride after a really bad run at the rodeo in New Mexico.
It was all because of that stupid kiss when she was home for the bull sale in February. She’d been feeling lonely. Out of place, like she always did when she came home, but worse. Seeing Super-Sister Kathleen happily settling in to life with her new husband, Jackson, started it. Monica was happy Kathleen found her New York cowboy, she was. When Vanessa and Mat, the ranch foreman, let their relationship out of the closet, Monica didn’t have a twinge of jealousy. Two sisters, who each swore they would never fall in love, and look at them now. Happy as clams and with babies on the way.
Monica liked things to be in order. She lived in Austin, where she trained her horses. Kathleen lived at the Double Diamond ranch, training her racers. Sometimes she flitted off with her new husband on one of his photography assignments. Van was supposed to be the city girl, but she now lived on a property adjoining the ranch and rarely went to San Antonio or Austin. Monica didn’t know where she fit in this new order, especially when the ranch felt more like home and more claustrophobic at the same time. Slipping into Trick’s arms for a dance at the ball following the bull sale seemed harmless enough. A distraction.
Kissing the town veterinarian should have been a one-off but ever since the man just wouldn’t be put into that comfortable box where they flirted with one another and then went their separate ways. The single kiss should have been forgotten in the six weeks since. Instead, here she was, showing up on his doorstep.
She most definitely was not jealous of her older sisters. It was unsettling, that was all.
Monica needed to get away from his house. Showing up here would give Trickett Samuels the entirely wrong impression. Before she could think twice, Monica shoved the gearshift into reverse and backed slowly down the lane.
Directly into Trick’s big, blue truck.
Sweet God, she had to be batting about three thousand by now. First, her inability to control her attraction to him. Then, that kiss that she should have seen coming and cut off at the bull sale. Now, backing in to his truck in the dwindling light. She caught Trick’s incredulous expression in her rearview mirror: surprise first, and then as realization dawned, that hungry look that hadn’t left his eyes for a moment since that kiss on the makeshift dance floor.
Through two thousand pounds of metal and the dwindling daylight, the power of his lust and her own rekindled the fire in her belly.
Maybe it isn’t just lust.
The traitorous words echoed in her mind as her eyes remained locked with Trick’s in the mirror. It had to be lust. Only lust. Easy to deal with. Mercifully, the sun sank below the horizon, and darkness broke the connection between them. Monica drew in a shaky breath, pushed the gear shift back into drive, and pulled forward, so they could inspect the vehicles. Since she was driving an SUV, Monica was fairly certain most of the damage would be superficial.
After putting the SUV in park, she joined him at the rear of her vehicle. She couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be only the tiniest of scratches on her bumper. A mirror image marked his bumper, too.
Way to be unobtrusive, Monica.
“You know, there are better ways to get my attention.” His deep voice rumbled along her nerve endings and tickled her skin. The small hairs on her arms stood up straight.
“I wasn’t trying to get your attention, only to drop off some papers from Kathleen.” Of course, her sister didn’t know Monica had snatched them off her desk earlier that evening. But kudos for not sounding like a wanton prom date hoping for a little more than an after-dance kiss.
Trick tut-tutted as he looked over the damage. Tight Wranglers accentuated his tight butt, and his boots were dusty. He wore a polo with the vet office logo on one side. Trick took off his cowboy hat and ran his hands through his light brown hair. “Mmm-hmm. Kathleen would have just messengered the papers over tomorrow morning. Nothing that crucial going on. Also, she would have sent them to Dr. Vance, since I’m technically still a resident.”
Crap, she’d hoped he wouldn’t think of that.
“So your sister sent you, did she?” he continued, without giving her time for rebuttal. Fine by her. The less she spoke, the better off she’d be. Probably. Monica nodded her head. “And the papers?”
“On the passenger seat.”
“You were leaving without dropping them off?”
Caught. Monica’s heart beat sped up. “I didn’t want to leave anything on your doorstep.”
“Anything?” he echoed.
“Well, bills. Information.”
He smiled in the darkening evening. “Then, by all means, grab those oh-so-important papers, and let’s go inside and get started on the busywork.”
“No need to go inside, I can just … ” She was losing her nerve. With every second they stood by the vehicles, Monica wanted to run. Away to Austin. Back into a rodeo-arena spotlight. Anywhere but here, where Trick was seeing right through her.
“So we shouldn’t go inside?”
No, they shouldn’t. But, God, yes, she wanted to. Inside the house, alone with Trick, she could forget about her horrible performance in New Mexico. Block out everything else and just feel. Lord, her emotions were such a mess. Lately, she couldn’t do anything without thinking of Trick. Wanting to be near him. She’d jacked up that ride because she was thinking of him and not the barrels.
He tilted his head to the side and motioned to the front porch. “Mon?”
“Maybe. Just for a second. I really do have papers for you.” Monica followed him inside, Trick’s hand at the small of her back urging her forward, into the living area filled with black leather furniture, a native-stone fireplace, and glass-topped tables.
“Welcome to my home.” He turned to her, passion burning hot in his eyes. “Now why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”
Monica reminded herself for the hundredth time that sex with Trick was a mistake waiting to happen. It didn’t serve any purpose except physical release. Nothing she couldn’t get from battery powered devices. She was a grown woman, for crying out loud; she could imagine an orgasm as powerful as any a man could provide her.
And yet, she wanted Trick.
He reached for her, his index finger tracing an invisible line down her jaw, sending a wave of pleasure down her spine. Leaning her head into his hand, Monica opened her eyes, looked into his, and exhaled. Their gazes caught for a long moment, and the fire between them burned hotter, pushing the room to inferno level.
“Monica Witte,” he whispered. “You aren’t running away this time.” He reached around to gently release the elastic in her hair, allowing the dirty-blond waves to fall past her shoulders. At just over six feet, he was only a few inches taller than Monica’s five-feet-seven inches, but she felt positively tiny next to him. Feminine.
She could only shake her head. His thumb found her lip and pressed, the gentle move at odds with the fire in his touch and the wanting in his eyes. The ranch papers fell from her grasp, scattering across the hardwood floor.
“Who said I wanted to run away?”
“It was just a reminder,” he said and locked his lips to hers. He tossed his hat onto a leather chair, freeing his hands to tangle in her hair.
The kiss was an inferno unto itself, blazing a path from her lips to her belly and beyond, settling between her thighs, making her wish they weren’t standing up.
And then they weren’t. Trick pushed her onto the sofa, positioning his body above hers as he memorized every centimeter of her mouth. Nibbling here. Caressing there. Tasting and tasting and tasting, as if she were the most decadent dessert available. Monica could have stayed wrapped up in that kiss for hours, and maybe she did. After only a moment or two, everything ceased to exist except the gentle heat of Trick’s lips against hers, his insistent tongue tangling with her own.
The hint of beer on his breath and the slight musk of cigarette smoke on his clothing made her wonder where he’d been earlier. She knew he didn’t smoke, not even after the most stressful day at the clinic. His tongue found the sensitive spot behind her ear, and his hands slid under the soft cotton of her tee, and all thoughts faded into a haze of want. He played with her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Torturing her with the rough lace of her bra a barrier between his hand and her breast. She wanted his skin against hers. Wanted to feel those rippling muscles. His rigid erection. She wanted her hands on him the way his hands were now exploring her.
There was a tug at her waist, and then his hand delved beneath the waistband of her jeans. His mouth sucked against the pounding pulse in her neck.
Monica shook with need. She told herself it was need of release, but a small voice inside mocked her. Whatever pushed her to this point, she didn’t care, Monica realized. She wanted Trick for as long as she could have him, and all this mental jousting with her conscience was only serving to distract her from his delectable body. Finally she shoved everything except the feel of his body on hers from her mind.
His hands scorched her skin, but it wasn’t enough to be touched. She wanted, no, she needed, to touch, as well.
Shaking uncontrollably, her hands memorized the definition in his arms, felt the pounding of his heart beneath the strength of his pecs, and she gave herself over to the taste of his skin.
But he didn’t stop or even pause much. His hands worked her jeans over her hips while she pulled his tee over his head. She traced his collarbone with her mouth, teasing the skin with her tongue until he shivered.
“Monica, you’re killing me,” he said, his face buried in her hair. And then they reversed the process with Monica pushing his jeans down his legs.
“You go commando.” The words slipped from her lips as his cock sprung free of the stiff denim.