A Cowboy's Woman (13 page)

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Authors: Cathy Gillen Thacker

BOOK: A Cowboy's Woman
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“Pretty much what's happening now with us, more or less.” Greta made a face. “Everything changed once we were actually going to get married. I'd already spent two years with the Cowboys cheerleaders and I was ready to quit. Walter wanted me to continue with them as long as I possibly could.”
Shane's eyes darkened knowingly. “Let me guess. He liked having a beautiful blond-haired trophy on his arm.”
Greta confirmed this was so with a nod. She grimaced unhappily. “You know what a big deal the cheerleaders are in Dallas.”
“Sex in a uniform,” Shane quipped wryly.
Which had been, Greta thought, all too true. “Yeah, and as much as I loved dancing and performing for such enthusiastic crowds, I was a little tired of being an object of lust for so many men.”
“And that broke Walter's heart, I bet.” Shane
chugged the rest of his drink, then crumpled the can in his hand.
“Still he was game,” Greta continued, unable to help the wry edge of bitterness that crept into her voice. “He would've married me if only I'd cooperated a little more.”
“Cooperated...how?” Shane frowned, clearly not liking the sound of this, either.
Greta rested her elbow on the table and propped her head on her upturned palm. “Been the perfect little woman. You know, stopped working and made my career being Mrs. Walter Erring. Before I knew it he was telling me how to dress, think, act, walk. Plus, he was very jealous and possessive. I was like this object that he had added to his mass collection of things. So I broke it off.” Greta straightened abruptly, recalling that awful scene. “My parents were hysterical. They didn't understand. I knew they wanted me to try to patch things up with Walter. And I just got tired of explaining why I couldn't, or as my mother put it,
wouldn't
. So I headed to California, where my best friend from high school, Dani Lockhart, was already working, moved into her apartment with her, got a job teaching dance lessons in Beverly Hills.”
“And didn't become a Raiders cheerleader there.”
“Right. I did get some jobs as the dancing raisin or banana in commercials, and danced in the occasional musical-variety show out there, and I met Bucklehead Chamberwaist, as you so quaintly put it.”
“But your life out there was empty, wasn't it?”
Greta nodded slowly as their glances collided across the table. “How did you know?” she asked quietly, aware she hadn't told
anyone
that.
Shane shrugged. “It was the same for me, when I was
winning all those rodeos. The excitement, the glamour, is great at first. But after a while you just want some place where you belong and something to call your own.”
Greta smiled, finding it odd but somehow magical they had bonded over this. “Like your horse ranch and my dance hall,” she guessed quietly, taking another small sip of soda.
“Right.” Shane reached across the table and touched her hand lightly.
Feeling suddenly unbearably restless, Greta pushed back her chair and stood. She carried her now-empty can to the recycling container under the kitchen sink. “Anyway, when Walter and I broke up, I decided never again would I be a trophy babe for some guy or let any man tell me how to think, act or behave by virtue of me being the love interest in his life.” She rinsed the can, and tossed it in the bin. “Anyone who loves me has to love me for me—he has to take me just the way I am, no changes.”
Shane studied her as she shut the cabinet door with a snap. Slowly he got to his feet. “Is that what you think I was doing to you tonight?” Amusement tugged at the corners of his lips. “Trying to tease you into being the perfect little McCabe wife?”
The kitchen suddenly seemed awfully small. Greta crossed her arms in front of her. “Weren't you?”
Shane shook his head slowly. His smile faded. “Cooking is not what I want from you, Greta, and you know it.”
 
GRETA'S BREATH CAUGHT at the sensual intent in his eyes. “Now you really are dreaming.” Greta stopped him from coming any closer by holding up a palm. “Because
there is no way on this earth we are sharing the same bed tonight,” she stated bluntly.
Shane raked a hand through his rumpled sun-streaked hair. “Well, I sure as hell am not sleeping in a chair or on the floor.”
“You're right. You shouldn't sleep in a chair or on the floor. You should sleep in the barn.” Greta took him by the shoulders and propelled him in that direction.
Strangely enough, though, he didn't resist as she guided him through the kitchen to the back door. In fact as he swung around to face her he seemed to really like the idea. “You really mean that?” Shane asked cheerfully.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, after the way he had treated her at the McCabe family get-together, he deserved it. Greta stomped her foot for emphasis. “Hell, yes, I mean it.”
“Works for me.” Before she could so much as draw a breath, Shane dropped his shoulder, pushed it gently against her middle, whisked her up off her feet and slung her over his shoulder.
Just that quickly Greta viewed the world upside down, from the vantage point of his waist. “What are you doing?” Greta demanded, grabbing frantically onto his belt.
Shane shoved open the door and shouldered his way through it, being very careful not to bump either of them against the frame. “What does it look like I'm doing, Greta, honey? I'm making your wish my command.” He started across the moonlit yard to the big building behind them.
Greta decided it was her turn to give his butt a censuring smack. “I didn't say I wanted to sleep in the
barn.” She wiggled and kicked her legs frantically, to no avail.
 
SHANE JUST HELD ON TO HER legs and waist all the tighter. “You know what they say about married couples, Greta, darlin',” Shane told her good-humoredly as he reached the stables in no time and flipped on the interior lights. “Whither thou goest, I go. So where I sleep, you sleep.” As cheerful as could be, he stalked down the center aisle. Still carting her about as if she weighed no more than a sack of feathers, he grabbed some clean new blankets from the tack room, headed for the first stall and tossed them onto the new straw that had been spread out across the cement floor.
It was amazing, the difference that his new pressure cleaner, a wealth of pleasant-smelling disinfectant and a good mucking and airing out had made. “Put me down,” Greta demanded bravely.
“Gladly.” Shane set her down—almost too gently—just inside the stall door. The two of them were bathed in warm yellow light.
“Let me go,” Greta demanded, feeling a little dizzy and out of breath now that she'd been set upright again.
“Can't do that, sweetheart.” Shane shook his head, shut the door and pulled the latch, trapping them inside the varnished wood stall.
Greta didn't for one minute trust the way his gray eyes were twinkling. She swallowed hard around the sudden dryness in her throat and did her best to look as if she had zero interest in his little game. “I mean it, Shane,” she instructed him, wishing she had on something a little more substantial than the thin cotton sundress and strappy sandals. “Move aside.”
“Not—” he said smugly “—until you kiss me.”
Refusing to encourage him in the slightest, Greta frowned. “You're setting conditions for my release?”
He shoved his fingers in the back pockets of his jeans and appeared perfectly content to wait the night away. He gave her lips a long, thorough once-over that swiftly had her body tingling, let his gaze drop to her breasts, hips and thighs for a leisurely survey before returning ever so slowly, ever so deliberately, to her eyes. “Appears that way, yeah,” he said very very softly.
She ignored his baiting as her heart began to race. “What if I say no?”
He shifted his weight and, not the least deterred, only appeared to make himself more comfortable. “Guess it'll be a long night.”
She drew herself up to her full five foot ten inches and glared at him. “You son of a—”
Shane lounged against the stall door even as she told herself she was not going to sink to his level. “Greta, sweetheart—” he shook his head at her in mocking censure “—I thought you would come up with something more original than that.”
Well, she hadn't expected this. “You're saying one kiss?” Greta asked, aware her knees were already trembling at just the thought. This was a bad idea. So why was she getting so excited just thinking about it? “Then I can go?”
Shane shrugged his broad shoulders lazily, looking impossibly handsome and impossibly determined in the soft light. His lips took on a tempting half curve. “Unless you want to make it two.”
Her heart pounded and her body pulsed with need. “I'm not afraid of you, Shane McCabe.”
Shane pushed himself forward and closed the distance between them, bringing an even higher level of excitement
and adventure into her life. “Good,” he murmured in a low, sexy voice that stirred her senses. “Because I don't want you to be. Ever.”
Anchoring an arm around her waist, he dipped his head and caught her lips between his own. And for the first time all day, Greta realized, she was exactly where she wanted to be, doing exactly what she wanted to do. His arms were strong, insistent, cocooning her in sensual pleasure, his lips firm and warm and smooth. And just like before, he knew with damning accuracy, exactly how to get to her. Her senses spun as he sucked at her bottom lip and touched the tip of her tongue with his own. A melting warmth raced through her.
Unable to help herself, Greta began to return his kiss, reluctantly at first, then with growing pleasure. Clamping an arm possessively about her waist, he dragged her even nearer, so close their bodies were almost one. That, too, felt incredibly good, incredibly right. Greta moaned low in her throat and moved closer yet. Shane murmured his pleasure, then drew back a little, altering the angle, increasing the depth and torridness of their kiss. Her excitement mounted, fueled by the rasp of their breathing and the feel of his hands moving up and down her back. Greta trembled in his arms. Shane lifted his head, regarded her with questioning silver-gray eyes.
Not caring he'd been right, after all—she did want to make it two!—she looked at him playfully. Took his head between her hands and guided his lips slowly, confidently back down to hers. “Let's try that again.”
“I was hoping you'd say that,” Shane said.
Longing swept through her with disabling force. The next thing Greta knew he'd lifted her off her feet, swung her around. The desire he felt for her clear, he stepped between her spread thighs, and braced her against the
side of the varnished wood stall. His lips moved down her neck, eliciting tingles of fire wherever they touched. Greta closed her eyes and arched against him, the gentle eroticism of his touch flowing over her in warm, wonderful waves. Her passion ignited his own. His hands cupped her breasts, and she pressed her body against his, pulling him against her, hard and urgent, instinctively urging him on. And then there was no more holding back.
His mouth slanted across hers in a fierce, burning kiss that propelled her to answer his passion with her own. Their tongues mated in an erotic dance unlike anything she'd ever imagined. Groaning he reached behind her, and undid the straps holding up the bodice of her dress. Peeling it down, he ran his fingers over the swelling tops of her breasts, and the lacy edge of her bra, still kissing her passionately all the while. Then that too was dispensed with. His manhood pressed against her inner thighs, hot and hard through the rough denim fabric of his jeans, as he molded her breasts with his hands, circled the aching crowns, teased the nipples into tight buds of awareness.
The kiss ended, and his lips forged a burning trail down her neck, across her collarbone, the slope of one breast, then the other. Greta cried out as his mouth circled each nipple, bringing them to taut aching peaks. But he didn't stop there. Engaging every sense, he made his way down her body, slowly, lovingly, until he had dropped to his knees in front of her like a knight, pledging himself to his queen. Aware this was the fulfillment of every fantasy she'd ever had, she hitched in a trembling breath. “Shane—”
He looked up at her, his silver-gray eyes dark with a
passion, want and a need that matched her own. “Let me.”
His command was low and earnest. She couldn't deny him any more than she could deny herself. The world dwindled to just the two of them as he lifted the long swirling fabric of her dress, pushing it past her knees, then to her waist. He kissed his way up her thigh, past the thin scrap of lace, to her tummy. Up to her navel, down again. Trembling from head to toe at the long, sensual strokes of his lips and tongue, she caught his head in her hands, tangled her fingers in his hair. She moaned soft and low, knowing she wanted him, wanted this, as she had never wanted before and never would again. “Shane,” she whispered hoarsely, and this time it was an entreaty, a plea.
Knowing exactly what she needed, he hooked his thumbs in the elastic of her panties, tugged them down as far as her knees. And then his hands swept back up, parting the folds of moist, tender flesh. Cradling her hips and thighs as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him, he found her with his lips. His tongue plunged inside her and her head fell back. Her body shivered with need. New sensations spiraled—and then blossomed—inside her. And then she came apart in his hands, pleasure ricocheting inside her.

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