Going Cowboy Crazy (25 page)

Put that way, it didn’t sound so wrong. Especially when there wasn’t a bed or truck seat within ten miles. And when this would probably be the last time they were together. And when just the thought of leaving him made her heart feel like it was breaking.

What could a few more minutes hurt?

Slate continued to sway in a slow, dizzying circle even though the song had switched to one with a faster beat—a beat that mimicked the thumping of Faith’s heart.

“Mmmm,” he hummed against her throat. “You taste good.”

She felt the vibration of his mouth all the way down to her toes, and she stumbled. His hands tightened on her waist, lifting her hips up against the hard press of his rigid heat. And just that quickly, her resistance drowned beneath a tidal wave of uncontrollable desire. His head dipped, and their lips met in a hungry kiss, their tongues greeting in one slick slide. His mouth was hot and tasted of strong alcohol, and she grew light-headed on the intoxicating flavor.

Slipping a hand up her body, he covered her breast, molding and shaping it through the clingy material of her dress before he pushed aside the fabric and cupped her in the warmth of his palm. The strength of his fingers felt good, but she only savored it for a moment before she reached for his shirt.

That night at Bubba’s trailer, Slate had done most of the touching—something she’d come to regret. She didn’t plan on making the same mistake twice.

Especially if this would be her only opportunity.

The buttons proved much more difficult than snaps. Still, Faith stuck with it until the cotton separated to expose all that warm skin to her touch. Spreading her fingers wide, she ran her hands up his flat stomach and over his hard chest—just grazing his nipples before sliding up to his collarbone. Her fingers caught the edges of his shirt, pushing it off smooth shoulders. He released her waist, and the shirt slipped to the floor as her hands sloped down to the defined biceps that had starred in so many of her steamy fantasies. The muscles flexed beneath her fingers, causing her breath to catch and her heart rate to triple.

Leaning in, Faith kissed the indentation at the base of his throat. He tasted of salty sweetness, and craving more, she licked her way down. Beneath her lips, his chest rose and fell. Slowly, she kissed her way over the hard, flat hill of pectoral muscle to the tiny beaded center. She sipped at it, gently at first then harder when he moaned. His excitement urged her on, and she reached for his belt. Once the zipper was down, she slipped her hand inside the opening, surprised to find a pair of cotton briefs. She traced a finger down the double stitching and over the hard length beneath. Slate’s breath halted.

“Damn, Faith,” he croaked as she released him into her hand.

She had thought the skin on his neck was hot, but it was nothing compared to this smooth heat. She stroked him from the base to the very tip and back again. His head fell back, and his hips tipped forward. The more excited he got, the bolder she became. And it wasn’t long before she eased to her knees on the cold cement floor and took him into her mouth.

A hiss came from his lips, but before she could find a good rhythm, he reached down and lifted her to her feet. She started to protest, but it turned into a squeak when his hands slipped under her dress and jerked down her panties. With a flex of muscle, he lifted her and moved over to the plywood counter where he set her down on the jacket. His hands came to rest on her knees, his thumbs tracing tiny circles on the inside of each one as if coaxing them to open.

“Are we still dancing?” she whispered.

The thumbs stopped moving. “Do you still want to?” The question held a trace of the same uncertainty she’d heard when they first arrived at the house. The cautious thing to do would be to say no and get out of there as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, it was already too late for that.

She reached out and ran a finger down the center of his chest. “Yes, I still want to.”

He swallowed hard. “All right then.” He reached for his wallet. A few seconds later, he nudged her knees apart and stepped between them. “I call this the Texas Slide.” Once he was positioned, he thrust his hips and took her breath away.

Faith braced her hands behind her. But instead of rushing things, he took his time—pushing in deep, then pulling out slow. He shoved back the hem of her dress, and his hands grasped the very top of her thighs, his thumbs resting against the spot that throbbed for him. The combination of his rhythmic glide and heated fingers catapulted the slow burn of their lovemaking into a sizzling fuse. But just as she neared orgasm, he lifted his thumbs and slowed the tempo of his thrusts. She started to complain,
but he kissed away her protests and soon resumed the hot strokes and dizzying rhythm. He repeated the sweet torture numerous times, until her legs trembled, and she actually thought she might pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Slate, please.” She tightened her knees and hooked her ankles around his legs, refusing to let him pull out. She waited for his confident chuckle. But all she heard was the ragged sound of his breath and a groaned whisper.

“Thank God.”

Then he hiked her legs up, his hands gripping her calves as he thrust hard and deep. Consumed by the sweet friction, she laid back and allowed her cowboy to control the ride—a ride that ended with simultaneous orgasms that left them both weak and winded.

“Damn.” He collapsed over her, his head nestled in between her shoulder and neck.

Faith waited for the fear to settle back in. Instead all she felt was a warm cocoon of contentment. She knew it wasn’t forever, but for now… it was enough.

Slate lifted his head. “You okay?”

“Besides a few splinters, I think so.” She reached up to brush back the strands of hair off his forehead.

He caught her hand and pressed his lips in the center of her palm. “I didn’t plan this, you know.” His breath felt hot against her skin.

“I know.”

Slate straightened, pulling her up with him. “But I’m not sorry it happened.”

“Me either.”

He released his breath and gathered her close to his chest. “In that case,” he kissed the top of her head, “let’s go back to Bubba’s. My legs are about ready to give out.”

Smiling, she brushed her lips over his chest. “So I guess The Great Slate Calhoun isn’t as great as everyone thinks.”

“Excuse me?” He pulled away and looked down at her. In the dark, she could only imagine his shocked look. “Are you telling me you’re not through dancing, darlin’?”

“I think…” She hooked her hands over his shoulders. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, darlin’.”

“Y
OU’RE LATE.
”

Slate crinkled his eyes against the glare of the early-morning sun and quickly spotted the young kid sitting on the field with his hands dangling over his raised knees.

“Mornin’, Austin.” Slate smoothed down his sleep-rumpled hair and slipped on his baseball cap. “And you’re right, I am late.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Slate thought it was bullshit, too. Bullshit that he was standing there with a sullen-faced kid, instead of back in Bubba’s bed cuddled up next to Faith’s warm little body. And that’s exactly where he would be, if that warm little body wasn’t attached to a kind heart and stubborn mind. Damn fool woman, threatening to withhold sex from him if he didn’t meet with the kid. She needed to be reminded of just who she was messing with.

And he planned to do just that.

Once he finished with the kid.

“Well, bullshit or not, I’m here and you’re here, so let’s get this show on the road.”

Austin gave him another glare before he ambled to his feet. “So what do you want me to do? Run a few laps while you watch?”

Man, he didn’t know if sex with Faith was worth this. Steamy images of the night before popped into his head, and he tossed the football he’d brought out of the locker room to the ground.

“Actually, I need a little exercise myself.” He eyed the kid. “So let’s run a couple miles before we start.”

“You and me?” Austin snorted. “You’re kidding?”

The kid was really starting to piss him off. He nodded at the track. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Beneath the strands of shaggy brown hair, Austin’s forehead knotted. “A race?”

“I was thinking more of a leisurely pace.”

“Fine.” He jerked off his sweatshirt to reveal a gold T-shirt with a navy blue bee on the front.

“You played for the bumblebees?” If he was forced to hang out with the kid, he planned to give as good as he got.

“Hornets.”

“Ooooo, big difference.” Slate jogged toward the track, calling over his shoulder. “All you need is a bigger flyswatter.”

Austin jogged past him. “And I guess an asthmatic dog that slobbers is a better mascot.”

“Much. A bulldog can hit a lot harder than a bee.” Slate sailed by him.

“But a sting hurts more.” Austin breezed around the outside.

“Dogs are loyal.” It took a little work but he overtook the kid. “You ever had a bee for a pet?”

“No, but I’ve never had a dog, either.” Austin easily pulled ahead.

“Are you kidding me?” Slate drew abreast. “You’ve never had a dog?”

“No. My dad doesn’t like animals.” He stayed even with Slate.

“I thought you lived with your mom and grandparents.” Slate’s words were punctuated with heavy breathing. Maybe running hadn’t been such a good idea. Especially after a wild night of sex.

“I do.” The kid didn’t even sound winded.

Slate concentrated on keeping his breath steady. “So how come you can’t have a dog now?”

“I don’t want one.”

“You don’t want a dog?” He turned to stare at him. “What are you, communist?”

“No.” The sullen tone was back. “And I’m not a dumb redneck, either, who lets their poodle wander around without a leash.”

“A poodle?” His breath came out fast and hard. “I wish you Yankees would get it through your heads that Buster isn’t a poodle. He’s a Labrador retriever mix. A hunting dog. And how can a hunting dog hunt on a leash?”

“Whatever.” The kid rolled his eyes. “Look, maybe I just don’t want to get attached to something and then have to leave it when I move back with my dad.”

The resentment Slate felt toward the kid dissipated beneath a much stronger emotion. One he hadn’t felt in a while. Empathy. It may have been a good seventeen years ago but he remembered exactly how it felt when his mother and father divorced. The anger. The resentment.
The hurt. It all came back, leaving Slate chugging like a freight train under a heavy load.

He stopped and bent over at the waist, resting his hands on his knees.

“That was only one lap,” Austin stated as he ran back to him.

“I’m just getting warmed up.” Favoring the stitch in his side, Slate walked off the track and over to the end zone.

“Right.” Austin smirked as he reached down and grabbed up the football to toss it in the air. “Did you do a little too much hick line-dancing last night, Coach?”

He probably had danced a little too much. Of course, the dancing that Austin referred to and the steamy dancing Slate was thinking about were two entirely different things.

“So I guess you struck out with Faith,” Austin said, a joyous note in his voice.

Slate straightened. “Gentlemen don’t discuss ladies.”

Austin grinned. “Yeah, you struck out.”

There was an overwhelming desire to set the smart-ass kid straight, except he wasn’t so sure he was wrong. Slate had gotten Faith back in his bed, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like he’d hit a home run. Probably because he knew the happiness he felt was only temporary. Sooner or later, she’d leave.

The football zinged toward him and would’ve hit him square in the chest if Slate’s reactions hadn’t been quick. It still stung when it smacked into his hands. He lifted his eyebrows at the smirking kid before he threw the ball back with as much, if not more, velocity. The kid caught it, but not before it knocked the wind out of him.

Slate grinned when the next pass was more of a lob. “So you’re going back to live with your dad?”

“Just as soon as the school year is over.”

Slate tossed the ball back. “So explain to me why I should waste a lot of time and energy on a quarterback who isn’t even going to be here next year?”

Austin gripped the leather of the ball, threading his fingers between the laces. “Beats me.”

“Beats me, too.” Slate waited for the ball, but when it didn’t come, he released his breath and placed his hands on his hips. “Of course, when I first got here I didn’t plan on staying, either.”

“You weren’t born here?” Austin pulled back his arm and threw the ball.

Slate caught it and adjusted his grip before tossing it back. “Nope. I was born in Georgia.”

“Same difference,” the kid grumbled.

“I didn’t think so. I was from a big city, so Bramble was like another world.”

“So why did you move here?”

It was strange how hard it still was to talk about. “I was a little hot tempered, and my mother couldn’t handle me after my parents got a divorce, so she dropped me off here to live with her older brother.”