Cowboy Player: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 3 (3 page)

“You know, I really am glad we’re working together, Mel,” he said. “Having you around—it’s going to be a big help once Lucky’s on the road.”

She grimaced, remembering the sight of her sister riding her way to glory. “Ah, God. Lucky. Why’d my sister have to choose Lucky? Have you seen that boy tie down a calf? He’s got the fastest hands in the county.”

“I know you care about Harmony, but I wouldn’t worry about it too much. They’re both adults. Sometimes these things happen.”

Spoken like a true player.
Melody took another drink as she felt her heart hardening in her chest. For a moment, she wondered if Clark were the kind of man who could walk away from a woman the way her ex-boyfriend had walked away from her. “Sometimes these things happen,” he’d say, riding off into the sunset and leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

The image annoyed her enough to make her rude. “So that yoga goddess at the market today—was she something that happened to you?”

Clark looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “I’m a gentleman, Mel. I don’t kiss and tell.”

Melody blinked. “You did, didn’t you?”

He shook his head with a smile. “You’re too much.”

“Was she good?” Another sip. “She looked like she’d be…limber.”

Clark took his first sip of the drink sweating in his hand. “She was,” he said quietly. “But that was the only thing she had going for her, unfortunately.”

“I knew it!” Melody exclaimed. “What about the fisherman’s daughter? Or the lady who sells flowers? And the coffee chick with the nose ring? Or that pastry chef who buys all those flats of berries?”

Clark let out a sigh.

“Come on. Just tell me,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “We’re friends.”

“All right. Fine. Don’t repeat this to anyone.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Yes, yes, she likes you not me, and yes.”

“The coffee chick likes me?”

“A lot. Huge crush.”

“Huh.” Melody looked up at Clark. “Jesus. It’s like there’s this whole world of sex going on beneath the surface. Is there a secret portal or password or some kind of key I can get hold of?

“You want in, Santos?” He smirked at her. “I got your key right here.”

Jesus Christ, that smirk should be illegal.
“I’m immune to your charms, MacKinnon.”

“That so?”

Her cheeks were warm. From the flirting or the gin? “Yup,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Like a little clownfish in the gooey tentacles of a sea anemone.”

“Really? Let’s test that theory out.” He put his glass down on the coffee table, wiped his hands on his jeans, and climbed on top of her. Straddling her legs with his thick thighs, he put on a duck face and began to do a goofy lap dance, gyrating his hips like a stripper.

She couldn’t help it. She began to laugh. “Oh my God. Cut it out, you perv.”

He put both hands behind his head and began to undulate his torso. “Feeling tingly yet? Has paralysis set in?”

Giggling, she tried to push him away without spilling her drink. “No, but you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

“I fuckin’ love it when you talk like my nana, Mel. It’s so sexy in a deeply twisted, Freudian way.” He began to hump her knee. “Tell me you’re wearing granny panties. Whisper it in my ear.”

She put her hand on his chest and tried to wiggle away, laughing too hard to be turned on. “I can’t imagine how other women resist you.”

“Me neither. It’s never happened before.” Grinning, he put his big hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. On the record player, the next track started. Guitar licks, drums, a little fiddle—Melody knew the song at once.

“Oh man,” said Clark. “‘Troubadour’. This a good one. Dance with me, Mel.”

He pulled her off the sofa before she could say anything. Wrapped up in the arms of a big cowboy was not a terrible place to be, so Melody danced with him, barefoot in her parents’ living room, the slow two-step a song both their bodies knew the words to. Her laughter died away, giving way to a quiet sense of vulnerability. The verses slid by like a dream, erasing the burden of loneliness she’d been carrying for so long. It had been months since she’d been this close to a man. It had been years since she’d
felt
this close to one.

Clark could read her mind. “So what was his name again?” he asked softly. “Scott?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“A slow-motion disaster, that’s what happened.” She rested her cheek against the hard, hot wall of Clark’s chest. “He was a musician. Fun. Exciting. He said I meant the world to him. But I suppose the world wasn’t enough.”

“What do you mean?”

It was still hard to say aloud. “He cheated on me. It had been going on for months. When I found out and confronted him about it, he broke down said he was sorry. We tried to put it past us. We even went to therapy. But it was all a lie. He left me when my mom passed away.” At first, the pain had been excruciating, dulled only by grief and the weight of her new responsibilities. “Eight years, down the drain.”

“That’s a long time. Did you ever talk about getting married?”

“He said he didn’t like labels.” She sighed. “Which was also a lie, because he married the other woman in Vegas in February.”

“Jesus Christ. I’m sorry.” Clark gave her a squeeze. “You know, if you were mine, I’d hold on to you for good.”

“Sure. Until the next piece of ass came along.”

“Never seen a piece of ass like yours.”

“That’s the friend talking. Your dick might say otherwise.”

“My dick, huh?” Clark laughed quietly. “You’re welcome to check with my dick yourself. He doesn’t talk loud, so you’ll have to get down on your knees to hear him.”

“Jackass.”

“Seriously, Mel. You don’t know what you’ve got going on. Smart as all get-out. Hell, you run circles around me, and I’m a genius. And you’re funny too. Ain’t many women who can make me laugh. You’re one of them.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aw shucks, Ma. Next the cowboy told me I was real purty.”

“Fuck pretty. You’re beautiful.”

It was too much.
Danger.
“Clark—”

“So beautiful. I always thought so.” He gave her a sad smile. “Honest to God.”

The heat rising between them cooked her brain. She was at a loss for words. “Thanks.”

“No thanks needed. Just stating the obvious.” They danced until the song ended on a ribbon of steel guitar. Clark leaned down and pressed his lips to her temple.

Melody gasped.

Instead of pulling away, he traced a slow, agonizing trail of kisses along her hairline until he was kissing her neck just behind her ear.

Pleasure overloaded her nervous system, but her brain wouldn’t let her enjoy it. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long, long time.”

“Oh God.” She gripped his rigid arms. Complicated feelings cascaded through her so quickly, she couldn’t identify one from the other.

Still holding her, he looked into her eyes. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

For the first time in twenty-eight years, she realized Clark’s eyes were brown. No—not brown. Swirled mahogany and gold, like bird’s-eye maple, with irises rimmed in dark chocolate. Her body ached under his warm gaze, ravenous for what he offered her but terrified of what they’d lose if she took it.

“We’re friends,” she said. “I don’t want to throw that away.”

“Nothing will change that.” He searched her face. “Do you think I’d hurt you?”

“Not intentionally.” Loneliness welled up inside her. Her heart was a broken bucket at the bottom of a deep well. “And I know what it’s like when you think you know someone, and then you discover…” She trailed off.

“But you know me,” he said. “I’m not hiding anything. You know me better than anyone, right?”

She nodded.

He was quiet for a moment. “One night’s not forever, Mel.” The expression on his face was unreadable. “We’re adults.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me no.”

She closed her eyes. Could she? Should she? Lust flooded her bloodstream. “What if…I don’t want to tell you no?” she whispered.

He pressed his body against hers. At once she felt his desire for her, hard and real and burning against her belly.

“Then tell me yes,” he murmured.

Desire trumped fear. She wanted this. She wanted him. Melody took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Yes.”

Clark had big hands. One big hand cupped the back of Melody’s neck. He put two fingers under her chin and raised her head to meet his gaze. With a touch as gentle as his voice, he stroked her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb.

“Just to be clear, Melody,” he whispered, “I’m asking to take you to bed. Is the answer still yes?”

If the devil looked at her like that and asked for her immortal soul, she would still give the same answer: “Yes. God, yes.”

Then Clark kissed her.

Six foot two, hard edges and curves, thick limbs and broad shoulders and big muscles—it seemed odd that he’d have lips as soft and full as the ones he pressed to hers. Melody’s eyes fluttered closed as the man she saw as the definitive player kissed her as shyly as a teenager. The shape of his mouth melded sweetly to hers as his fingertips massaged her nape. Bit by bit, her conscious mind surrendered to the sensations. The warmth of his skin. The faint smell of gin on his breath. The sweet flavor of his mouth when, after what seemed like an eternity, he parted his lips and stroked the tip of her tongue with his.

And all was lost.

Melody reached up and ran her hands through his dark, soft hair as Clark slid his hands down her back. At once the gentle kiss became wild. She could feel him breathing hard as she opened her mouth wider to let him in. Their tongues entangled, Melody began to tremble, unable to process the tremendous intimacy of what they were doing. When she gripped his shoulders, he broke their kiss at last and with a sharp intake of breath, kissed her neck, sending delicious shivers up and down her spine. Her body felt at once both tight and loose—a bundle of tension, slowly warming and softening like molten metal under his touch.

His hands slid down lower. His cupped her ass in his enormous hands and pulled her hard against him. She heard a low groan in his chest that reverberated against her solar plexus.

“Christ,” he whispered against her throat. “Up. Get up.”

She reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck and, when he grabbed the backs of her thighs, hopped into his arms. Short but by no means tiny, Melody felt self-conscious for only a moment until she realized that Clark was a milk-fed farm boy. She’d seen him wrestle his brothers. She’d seen him pick up and throw down two-hundred-and-fifty-pound calves. The man was as strong as an ox, and in his arms, she felt safe. He gave no indication that she weighed anything at all.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he said.

She did. Every part of him was hard and lean. Between her thighs his torso was rigid as concrete. As he looked up at her, the words tumbled out before she could censor herself.

“You’re one handsome motherfucker, you know that?”

“Glad you think so.”

He carried her to the sofa and let her down gently. As he knelt between her legs, Clark pressed soft kisses on her cheeks, her closed eyelids and her forehead. Then his kisses grew more wicked. He covered her neck with long, hot breathy kisses until Melody was sure her blood had turned to lava in her veins. He kissed her throat as he grazed the insides of her bare thighs with his fingers. He French-kissed her madly, eyes wide open and filled with gleeful challenge. And Melody, ignited with lust, had to face a strange fact—making out with Clark MacKinnon was not only taboo and hot as hell, it was fun.

She leaned back. “Take off your shirt,” she whispered.

Slowly, he grabbed the neck of his T-shirt and drew it over his head.

Jesus Christ on a motorbike.

Melody was sure she’d seen him shirtless before. Probably at the lake, on someone’s houseboat. At a barbecue, pitching horseshoes. Maybe on the ranch. But the difference between seeing and
seeing
couldn’t have been more real than it was in this moment. Clark was like a beautiful book that had sat on her shelf for years that she’d never bothered to take down and read.

Broad shoulders capped with muscle. Rounded pecs and pale-brown nipples. His brothers were all big hairy bears, but Clark’s chest was nearly smooth, with just a light dusting of soft hair that trailed down between the aggressively carved muscles of his six-pack. His shallow belly button—almost an outie—made Melody smile. At the waistband of his jeans, deep lines of muscle peeked out above his hips. Constellations of tiny moles and freckles covered his ripped torso, beautiful imperfections.

Captivated, she reached forward and touched him. His skin was hot. When her fingertips grazed his abs, he took her hand before she could go any lower.

“Not yet.”

He grabbed her by the waist and drew her down lower on the sofa until her hips were flush with the edge of the cushions. As he kissed her again, Melody felt his fingers pressing against the under curve of her breasts as his thumbs slowly, agonizingly circled her nipples through the fabric of her dress and bra.

“God, I need to see you,” he said against her lips.

He slid his hands underneath her dress and pulled the fabric up. Melody sat up as he removed the dress from her body, reached behind her and unhooked her bra. He set her back down and looked at her almost naked beneath him, his eyes wide and his jaw tight.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered.

More kisses. Her lips grew swollen and tender. His five-o’clock shadow abraded her chin and cheeks. Clark kissed a wicked trail down her throat between her breasts as he stroked her areola with the warm pads of his fingers. Just as she began to squirm, his hot mouth closed over her right nipple. As he suckled her, she threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling gently as a long, low moan escaped from her throat. Then he moved to her other nipple and did the same thing. When he rubbed the heel of his hand against her through her panties, bright pleasure swirled in her brain. When he slipped his fingers behind the lace and ran his fingers over her wet, slick flesh, her eyes shot open and she gasped.