Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys (24 page)

“Ava, babe,” Trace said, “you're driving me mad.”

He wrapped his arms around her, finding a breast, stroking the soft flesh into a tight bud, wishing it was in his mouth, promising himself it would be as soon as possible. As soon as she let him go.

She seemed to have no intention of letting him go. Her hand was working magic, stroking him to a white-hot agony of desire.

“How's your arm?”

“Screw my arm.” She had to quit worrying about it. He was fine. Pain was nothing new.

The pain in his heart he'd been suffering lately had been. “Hang on.”

He rolled her over onto her back, and to her credit, she managed to keep a hold on him.

She smiled a sweet smile up at him. “You're supposed to keep your weight—”

“I know, I know. Ava, what are we doing?”

“Having sex?”

“What are we doing?” he repeated. “Because I sure as hell don't know.”

“Pretty sure we're having sex. But if you don't like it …,” she said, tugging him, teasing him.

Pleasure shot all the way through him. She had him, and she knew it.

“I don't want a casual hand job,” he said, moving over her. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

He parted her legs, sank inside her. She gasped, wrapping her legs around his back, pressing him urgently inside her.

“I'm not much of a screamer, I don't think,” Ava said, and tightened up on him hard, wrapping him in so much velvety heat he nearly blacked out.

“I might be the screamer in this relationship, then.” He stroked inside her, growing harder and harder, glad he'd stocked up on condoms at some point. She was tight and wetter than anything he'd ever felt, and his mind was bending, screaming with desire. “Yeah, I'm probably the screamer.”

She giggled, cupped his balls in her hand.

“No fair,” he said, flipping her over, kissing her bare bottom the way he desperately needed to, had needed to for so long. He'd watched that ass bounce up and down above a saddle for weeks now, practically cursed with a hard-on that wouldn't quit. Now those cheeks were right here, bare to his mouth, and he licked the curves of her ass, kissing skin that goose-pimpled as he sucked at it. She groaned and he slipped one finger inside her wetness, kissing her as her legs quivered and she moved against his finger. He kissed her butt, sinking his teeth into the soft skin, giving her a tiny hickey just to mark her. He stroked her clitoris until it peaked, hardened—and when she cried his name, almost as loudly as he'd hoped, certainly loud enough to make him smile and get rock-hard, he slipped inside her wet lips to the hilt, holding her bare bottom against him, riding her until she finally did scream his name.

He came—hard—collapsing against her as she whimpered, tiny cries he could feel reverberating throughout his body. He held her, weak against his chest, her sweet fanny backed against his crotch, right where he wanted her to be. Teased a breast lazily with his hand, thinking she was absolutely the most amazing woman he'd ever met.

But this is the last time. The very last
.

Because if I do this again, if I take her the way I want to, a thousand ways from sundown, I'm going to be lost
.

And I'll never find my way back
.

* * *

As soon as Trace fell asleep, Ava got in Judy's truck and drove to the bungalow.

“Where were you?” Cameron asked when she came in. “We were a little worried, except Declan and Saint said not to worry.”

“They certainly don't look worried,” Ava said. “Why are they crashed on our sofas?”

Harper smiled. “They said they were guarding us.”

The girls followed her into the kitchen, where Ava started the coffeepot. “Protect us from what?”

“A surprise revenge attack.” Cameron looked at her. “I don't think Ivy's girls would do that, though. They seem more interested in men than catfighting. How was Trace, by the way?”

Ava coughed, then realized Cameron meant his arm. She got out three delicate floral coffee cups. “It stopped bleeding. If he rests it today, that would help.”

“Rest it.” Harper nodded. “Could he do that when you spent the night at his place?”

Ava shot them a wry glance. “How long are they staying?” she asked, looking out at the two huge slumbering men. Maybe they didn't make her pulse race like Trace did, but they weren't hard on the eyes, either.

“They said just until they made sure nothing happened last night. Then they said they'd wait until you came home. Said they didn't want to bother Trace, and that hopefully you were taking real good care of his arm. Finally.”

They laughed, and Ava shook her head. Clearly, life in Hell meant that everyone was in your business, all the time. “I'm going to shower. Give the guys a mug of coffee, and tell them Trace's house is now clear for crashing if they want.”

She took the longest shower, reliving everything he'd done to her, how sweetly he'd kissed her.

Nothing good could come of this.

She wasn't cut out for rowdy Friday nights at Ivy's. She wasn't like Cameron, looking to walk on the wild side, or even Harper, who was coloring outside her own lines until her son arrived.

Once out of the shower and dressed in a soft chamois skirt and a white spaghetti
strap top, she called her favorite person in the world to talk to: her brother Callum.

“Ava! We were beginning to wonder when you were going to call us again. Do you love Hell? Hey, everybody, Ava's on the phone!”

Clearly her family wasn't so different from the social structure prevalent in Hell—everyone wanted in on the latest news. “Callum, do you have a second?”

“Sure. What's up? How's the riding?”

“The riding is good, and Mack's awesome. He's settled in real well.” She looked around her room, pulled out some red toenail polish. “I think I'm going to come home.”

“Home! You're not happy there?”

“I'm happy,” she said carefully, and Callum said, “Oh, you've met a man.”

He knew her too well. “I have, but it's not like that.”

“You can't quit and come home just because of a dude. You want me to come there and kick his ass?”

She smiled. “No, thank you.” Callum was a huge, brawny policeman. The women loved him, but he never settled with one, saying that cop work was too dangerous for him to settle down while he was young, that it wouldn't be fair to a family. “He hasn't done anything wrong.”

“I can still come kick him around, just to make myself feel better. I don't like anybody upsetting you.”

“I think I like him, and that's what upsets me.”

“You've had serious relationships before.”

“This isn't quite like that.” Those had been the starry-eyed crushes of a young girl. What she felt for Trace was so entirely different she felt like she finally knew what it was to fall deeply, truly in love.

She couldn't be in love.

That would be so dumb.

“You don't want to come back just because of some guy. Trust me, you'll always regret it. Now talk to Mom. She wants to send you some chocolate chip cookies. She's just sure they don't have any food where you are.”

Her mother got on the phone, then her father, then the rest of her brothers, and by the time Ava had talked to every single member of her family, she felt better. More in
control.

The facts were the facts, and she'd fallen for a man who had no interest in anything beyond himself. He'd kicked her out of training, and even though he claimed he'd take her back, she knew too well that had been a pity offer borne out of his embarrassment that Saint and Declan had picked up her training. Besides which, Trace would do anything for Judy—he'd had a freak-out about bullfighting, but he was also a control nut, and once he'd realized she was serious, he didn't want anybody else training the team.

Thankfully, she knew all this. Last night had been a strange aberration: Tension and worry left over after the bar brawl at Ivy's. Trace's injured arm. The wild night on the town.

The fact that she was truly crazy about him.

But that was then and this was now.
And I'm very good at knowing my limits
.

She went to find her team. They were on the sofa, waiting for her.

“Where'd the couch potatoes go?”

“They left,” Cameron said.

“Oh. They'll be back, I'm pretty sure.” She picked up her keys. It was time to head into town and check on her horse.

“They won't be back,” Harper said, her voice quiet. “They said they were leaving town.”

Ava's gaze went to Cameron, who looked miserable as she nodded. “They said it was time to get some air.”

“They wouldn't leave Hell. They have a business here—not that Trace couldn't run it in their absence, I'm sure. But he's got a bad arm.” Ava shook her head. “They would never leave him, or the mayor, or any of their small-town busybodying buddies.”

“They said it was time for Trace to grow. And that he can't grow with them around to coddle him and lean on,” Cameron said.

“He's twenty-eight. He was a platoon leader.”

Harper shrugged, sipped her coffee. “They said they know Trace best, and right now, Trace needs to be on his own in order to grow. Whatever that means.”

“Well, those buttheads,” Ava said. “Saint trains me. He didn't even give me
notice.” Surely they hadn't meant it. Those guys were totally loyal to Trace, not to mention that they seemed to have a thing for her teammates that didn't seem entirely a “just friends” kind of thing.

“He said Trace was taking over your training,” Harper said. “And they also said they wanted you to take real good care of their buddy while they're gone. The best care, because Trace can't take care of himself, even if he thinks he can. And make sure he doesn't take his stitches out himself. Last time he did it, he made a mess of everything, at least according to them.”

Great. Just great. The sexiest cowboy she'd ever laid eyes on, and she was supposed to take care of him?

What could possibly go wrong with that plan?

* * *

Ava went to Redfeathers on Saturday night to meet Judy, who claimed that this dinner was going to be something special. Cameron and Harper went with her, drooping a bit now that the Outlaws had left town.

Ava was dying to get Judy's perspective on that. The mayor walked in, tall and beautiful as ever, stealing every eye in the joint, seemingly wearing her shorn half-hair like a badge of honor. No one would have dared mention the half-hair Judy was rocking, courtesy of Ivy Peters.

“Saint and Declan are gone?” Judy said when she learned what had transpired. She didn't seem the least bit apologetic for having been the instigator of the event that had apparently changed everything in Hell. She looked at Trace, who'd belatedly joined them, sliding into the booth with a nod at Ava.

Like last night had never happened. Ava glanced back at Judy, waiting for her instructor's assessment.

“Those wienies,” Judy declared. “Well, if you can't take the heat, get out of Hell's kitchen, I'd say.” She looked at the steaming chicken breast on a bed of brown rice and colorful vegetables on the side Stephen Redfeathers placed in front of her. A fruit salad accompanied that, so fresh Ava could smell the watermelon balls and summery mint.

Trace received the same, which seemed to puzzle him.

“No meat loaf surprise?” Trace asked.

Stephen glowered at him.

“This looks delicious,” Trace quickly said. “Thank you, Stephen.”

The tall Native American went on his way, seemingly appeased. Judy looked at Trace.

“If you want to keep eating dinners here, you'll eat what's put in front of you with a smile and without comment, just like you do at your parents' house.”

Ava perked up. “Where do your parents live?”

“Right here.” Trace shrugged.

So he wasn't a total loner. Saint and Declan had been exaggerating just a bit about Trace's need to be nursed.

“How's the arm?” Ava asked.

“What's the matter with your arm?” Judy peered at him. “What'd you do, pull Prince out of a catfight?”

“It was a catfight, but not necessarily one Prince participated in,” Trace said.

Judy looked at his arm closely, went back to perusing her dinner. “I'd recognize Dr. Ann's stitches anywhere. By the way, you don't want to take your stitches out yourself—”

“I know, I know.” He glanced at Ava, shook his head.

“Trace got caught with a bottle last night at Ivy's,” Ava said. If Trace wasn't going to tell Judy the truth, someone had to. The whole thing had been ridiculous and obviously dangerous, not an event to be repeated.

Judy looked at Trace. “That's not like you. You're usually the one causing trouble.”

Trace waved his fork, dug into his meal.

“Judy,” Ava said, “where's Steel?”

“How would I know?” Judy looked at her oddly.

Ava sighed. “I guess what I really don't understand is why you bother to go out to Ivy's to raise hell—”

“Ava,” Trace said, his tone low and a little “don't-go-there.”

It just egged her on. “I mean, it was dangerous. And foolish. Trace got hurt, and Saint and Declan are gone. You don't even seem to know where Steel is, but you wouldn't have gone out to Ivy's if you weren't trying to keep him from another woman.”

Everyone at the table stared at her. “All I'm saying is that you brought us here on a ruse, Judy. You didn't have a team; you didn't have a training program in place. Last night changed a lot of things in Hell. A lot. And you don't seem to notice.”

Judy's eyes narrowed. “If you don't like it here, Ava, you have the return ticket that I gave each of you when you came here.” She looked at Cameron and Harper. “All of you.”