Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys (23 page)

“Who wants to play medical assistant?” Dr. Ann asked as she pulled out a tray of
instruments.

“I will.” Ava went to wash her hands.

Cameron, Harper, Saint, and Declan crowded around to watch Dr. Ann stitch Trace up.

“No one sews like the doc,” Saint said. “Her quilts ribbon often at the State Fair.”

Trace's wound wasn't quite as bad as it had looked in the car, to Ava's immense relief. “What happened, anyway?”

“I caught the wrong side of a bottle, courtesy of Buck,” Trace said, his gaze finding hers. “It's okay. He's going to limp for about a week.”

Dr. Ann laughed. “I'll probably see him tomorrow.”

Then she was silent, and five minutes later, Trace had five stitches in his forearm and a bandage to cover it.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Keep it clean,” she said, “don't take the stitches out yourself like you did last time, and don't lift anything or put any weight on it for a few days. Make these guys do something for a change. That deadener will wear off in a little bit, and you're going to feel it.”

She gave him a tetanus injection for good measure, and handed him a bottle of antibiotics she kept in a locked cabinet. “Thank you,” she told Ava. “I do have a medical assistant, but I don't call her in for routine visits.”

“Routine?” Ava said.

They all laughed. “I've been seeing these boys since they were little. They're trouble.”

Dr. Ann walked them to the door, and Trace kissed her cheek, as did Saint, and then Declan. They treated her like a favored grandmother, and Ava was charmed. The Outlaws were like big, overgrown, affectionate boys, and it was clear that the fabric of Hell was knit from true caring.

They all piled into the truck again, Cameron and Harper found their way to the right laps this time, and Ava drove to Trace's house as he asked.

She parked the truck, then switched it off.

“We're going to head out, dude,” Saint said, “let you enjoy that anesthetic for a
little bit.”

“Yeah. 'Night,” Declan said, hauling after Harper as she walked away.

“You coming, Ava?” Cameron asked.

She opened her mouth to say yes, but Trace put his hand over hers.

“Stay a minute. We should discuss your fight skills.”

She shook her head. “I better go home with my team.” They were piling into Saint's truck—all of them.

She'd be odd woman out.

But she had no business being alone with Trace. No matter how much she wanted to be.

His warm fingers tightened on hers.

“Stay,” he said. “I could use some companionship. Prince is good, but he doesn't have your flair for getting me into trouble.”

She shook her head wryly. “I didn't have anything to do with what happened tonight.”

“We should discuss that,” Trace said, “but if you come sit with me for a minute or two, I'm going to pretend you're my Friday night date. Maybe we can even play doctor. I noticed you were taking pretty intense notes from Dr. Ann.”

She looked at him. “Why would you want to pretend that I'm your Friday night date?”

“Because I haven't had one in a long time.” He leaned over and kissed her, convincing her with his mouth. Ava felt herself melting, melting into a
yes
as she moved closer to his big, strong body. It had been a stressful night—she couldn't believe she'd been witness to a fight—and the whole thing had been so wild she didn't think she'd sleep anyway. But she'd have to get used to it, because apparently this was life in Hell, and nobody thought two things about it, except for Judy, who was probably still boiling mad that a huge chunk of her beautiful blonde hair had been snipped off.

“I don't know,” she murmured, but Trace kissed her again, stealing the excuse from her lips.

“All right,” she said, “just for a minute.”

* * *

Trace hadn't meant to kiss Ava the minute he got her through his doorway, but he was on an adrenaline rush and she'd scared him to death at the Honky-tonk—had he really expected her to stay where he'd told her to? He had to kiss her, had to hold her.

Incredibly, she put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him like she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Which wasn't possible, but he wished it was, and he wanted it to be, so he dragged her to the sofa, not about to let her out of his arms.

She climbed up into his lap, kissing him like she was afraid he was going to disappear.

There was no danger of that.

He pulled her back so he could stare into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. He thought he saw a little hesitation, so he took the plunge. “Why are you kissing me?”

“Because that's what people do on dates?”

Reasonable—and yet, he recognized a deflection when he heard it. “What's going on with you, gorgeous?”

“Nothing.”

“Not true.”

She sighed. “You're not entirely the bastard I thought you were, for starters. But you're still dumb.”

“Why?” He studied her for a second, comprehension dawning. “Oh. You're upset about my arm.” He grinned. “That's cute.”

“Don't be silly. I'm not upset at all, and certainly not about your arm.”

He noticed she didn't move to get out of his lap, and though he willed it not to, his body began to react. “It's just a scratch—”

“I don't care what it is.”

He kissed her, taking his sweet time about it, then flipped her over on her stomach, lightly spanking those deliciously tight buns. Then sat her back in his lap, and kissed her hard. “That's for leaving when I told you to stay put.”

“It's never going to work. You're a male chauvinist pig, straight out of the glory
days of chauvinism,” Ava said, “and you and your arm can go straight to—”

He had an erection the size of Texas, so he kissed the words right off her lips. “For what it's worth,” he said, bearing her to the sofa, hovering over her, “you nearly gave me a heart attack when I saw you jump in to protect Judy. Please don't ever go after a pair of scissors like that again. I may not survive it.”

She stared up at him. “I had to. That girl was going to get the rest of Judy's hair—or try to. And I'm beginning to realize that in Hell, a woman's hair is her crowning glory. At least it is to Ivy and Judy.”

He smiled, lowered his face to hers. “For a city girl, you sure figure things out fast.”

She put her palms against his chest. “This is just a kiss, and we're only doing it because we're both upset about what happened tonight.”

He grinned. “Whatever you say, beautiful.”

That was permission if he'd ever heard it. Trace lowered his mouth to hers, trying not to eat her, consume her, inhale her. He wanted so much more from Ava than she wanted to give him—and somehow, that made him want her even more. She moaned, pulled him closer, wrapping her hands in his hair, and Trace let himself fall into the comfort that was Ava.

“Maybe it's more than a kiss,” Ava murmured, arching against him.

Trace hesitated, stunned when she wrapped her legs around his, drawing him toward her. “How much more?”

“I don't know.”

She kissed him, running her tongue along his bottom lip, then pulling his inside her mouth. It was sweet and sexy, and he could have kissed her all night.

“Dr. Ann told you to stay off your arm, not put weight on it,” she said, pushing him off of her.

That sounded like an excuse, a true stop sign, so Trace pulled back. Disappointment quickly turned to heat when Ava wriggled into his lap, right against the monster hard-on he had. He thought he might explode from the pleasure.

“Better?”

“Oh, yes. My arm feels so much better now.”

She pulled off her top, and he studied the delicate lacy bra encompassing two delightfully pert breasts, rosy nipples peaking through pink lace. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“You didn't die the first time we made love, cowboy. Pretty certain you'll survive. But let's find out.”

He stared at her. Read the intention in her eyes.

Hell, no, he wouldn't die if he made love to her—he'd die if he
didn't
. If he was a hero he'd turn down this sexy pleasure. He'd realize that this wasn't Ava, not really—she wasn't a daring seductress. She was upset about tonight, and she wanted someone to hold her.

He was no hero.

Trace cupped her breasts, kissing her nipples through the lace, licking at them, teasing them into hardness, then sucking them, lightly biting them. She moaned, pushed against his heat. Slowly, he pulled off her bra, filling his mouth with a sweet nipple. Moved to the other one, pushing her up against his mouth. Sank his hands into the back of her jeans so he could cup her butt. She held his head, whimpering softly.

When he undid the button on her jeans, she did the same to his—and then they couldn't get each other's clothes off fast enough.

“Condom in the bedroom,” he said. “Be right back.”

She didn't let him go, wrapping her legs around him. He carried her to his room. Fell onto the bed with her. Kissed her lips, then her breasts; slid her jeans off. Sighed at the V of pink lace that barely hid her sexiness, kissing her there the same way he'd kissed her breasts. The lace didn't provide much of a barrier, and he kissed her where he knew it would please her most, peaking his tongue against her sweetness. Gently drew down her thong, and like he was at the gateway to heaven, slid his tongue inside, nearly coming then, stunned by the sheer sweetness of Ava. Teased her with his tongue, drinking her in. When she arched against him, moaning, he sank his tongue inside her again, tasting her, capturing her.

“Trace,” she said, her voice a cry, and he murmured, “I've got you,” kissing her soft opening gently, revering the moist slickness that he knew was just for him. He suckled her clitoris, and she gasped, cried out.

“Trace, come to me,” she said, pleading, and it was the sweetest invitation he'd ever heard. He found the condom, slid it on, and then Ava guided him inside her, eyes huge as she stared up at him.

When he parted her and slid inside, he had to stop, stare into her eyes. It took him beyond heaven, to a mind-blowing place in his soul. She felt better even than in his wildest dreams, tight and wet and hot. “Damn, Ava,” he said, and she pulled his face down to hers, kissing him, squeezing him as she silently begged him
harder, faster
.

The explosion roared upon him far sooner than he wanted. She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him in deeper. He felt her tense up again, her gaze open to his.

“You're beautiful,” he told her. “You drive me absolutely wild.”

He stroked harder, faster, wanting all of her that he could get. “God, Ava, I'm going to—”

She tightened up on him hard and he lost control, blinded by pleasure, collapsing against her, trying not to crush her as the blood literally seemed to leave his head.

“Dr. Ann said no weight on your arm,” Ava said, and giggled, a very seductive giggle, well-pleased with herself at what she'd just done to him.

“I can't think about my arm right now. All I can think about is my—”

Ava pushed him onto his back. Straddled him, then lay against his chest, right over his heart.

He was pretty certain he'd just blown a fuse but Ava's moistness was against him, and she was tugging the condom from him, her fingers so cool and delicate that he felt himself going right up again, the same flagpole situation he'd had ever since he'd first laid eyes on her.

She looked at him. Reached for a condom, brushing his chest with her breasts.

“Ava—”

“It's okay. I'll be careful of your arm.”

She slid onto him, rocking him gently, back and forth in a gentle teasing motion. Her tiny waist, her swaying peach-sized breasts mesmerized him. He felt her wetness taking him in, massaging him. “What arm?” he said, pulling her down so that he could kiss her, so he could wrap her ass with his hands, squeeze her hard against him. Bright light seemed to explode behind his eyes. “Ava,” he said, groaning, moving his fingers
down to feel her slickness, parting her, gently smoothing his finger over her lush peak before sliding inside. She tightened up on him, and he took one of her breasts into his mouth, sucking on the tight, hard nipple. She rocked harder, faster, gasping, crying out. Suddenly she went limp in his arms, and Trace caught her to him, kissing her, harder still because of how hot she was, her moisture suddenly drenching him.

It was so hot, so sexy it was blinding. Trace felt himself losing control, spinning far away from any control he'd ever had as he came, and this time it was
Ava
who held
him
, kissing him, begging him to come inside her. He crushed her soft fanny against him, that sweet fanny he'd watched too many times to count—and yes, it was as shapely and fit and sexy as he'd always known it would be.

“Come inside me,” she said. “This time I've got you.”

Did she ever.

Trace came so hard he thought he might have stripped a gear. Ava rocked him until he couldn't come any more. He pulled her against his chest, his heart hammering. He stroked her hair, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Sex. That had just happened. Twice.

More than he'd gotten in … he couldn't remember how long.

But better than that, amazing sex.

With the woman whom he'd kicked out of his training. Who thought he was a rat.

He
was
a rat.

And this couldn't happen again.

It happened again the next morning when Ava snuggled up under his chin. He jumped to life, springing up hard and straight, hoping she didn't notice.

She noticed, and wrapped her small, cool hand around him. Groaning, he closed his eyes, realizing he was pretty much her slave at this point, and that all the arguments he'd had for why this just couldn't happen again weren't even logical when she was gently massaging him the way she was.