Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys (29 page)

She stroked his back, wrapped her legs around him, pulling him all the way inside. “Funny, but I feel the same way.”

He kissed her, taking his time with her sweet lips. She tasted like something grape, and then he remembered he'd put grape wine coolers in the fridge by the pond. “I missed the hell out of you,” he said, rocking into her, taking his time but afraid he might lose control any second.

“Just make love to me,” she said.

Something was off, something he couldn't put his finger on. But the pleasure was screaming, tearing him past the point of reason, and her soft warmth was waiting, a haven he'd never had in his life, not like this. Trace heard her whispering something sweet that
sounded like, “Come inside me,” and he did, falling into her arms as fiery release burst through him.

He lay in Ava's arms panting, gasping, wondering if he'd died and gone to heaven. She stroked his back. It was never going to be enough, never.

He pulled her up, carried her into the bathroom, shooed Prince out. Discarded the condom, set her in the shower. Ran the shower hose all over her, teased her delicate mound with it, just a little, just enough to hear her gasp. Soaped her, washed her hair, loving the fact that she let him. Kissed her breasts, suckling them to his heart's content. Finally getting to have her, after dreaming of her all week.

Kissing her lips, he gently toweled her off, licking between her legs as he did, teasing her so she'd know what was coming. He carried her to bed, put her on her stomach so he could kiss her butt cheeks the way he'd wanted to all night. “You just about killed me in that bikini. I wanted to do this to you,” he said, running his tongue along the curves he encountered. Then he turned her over. “And this.” He licked her into tight hardness, spread her with his tongue. Kissed her over and over again, finally satisfying himself with every kiss. Every day away from her had been an eternity.

When she came, she came hard, covering her face with her pillow and flooding him with sweet passion. Then, he took his time entering her, wanting to hear her gasp his name, beg him. “Slow, baby,” he said. “I'm not rushing this.” Stroking her, filling her, he held Ava close, feeling her shudder and shiver as another wave of pleasure hit her.

“Trace,” she said, sounding like she was finally where he was, desperate for release, so he buried deep inside her, kissing her, whispering to her, encouraging her to come with him inside her, because he wanted to feel her pleasure. He stroked her passion-tightened bud and she grabbed his shoulders, clenching hard everywhere, crying out her pleasure. She held him tight, so tight, and Trace let himself finally find the release he'd been aching for since the day he'd met her.

I'm never going to get over her
.

It was all wrong—and maybe that's why he wanted her so much.

* * *

“That's just the way it goes with women,” Steel said when Trace went around to his office on the square Monday morning. “You can't live with 'em, you can't live without 'em. You don't even want to try to live without 'em.”

“She'd just told me she didn't want to be a Saturday Night Special.” Trace shook his head. “She's not cut out for a casual relationship.”

“And yet—”

“Probably the liquor. Or maybe some misplaced gratitude toward me for looking out for them. I'm no hero, as I've tried to tell her.”

Steel grinned. “You're going to fall right into Judy's trap. You already have. Before you know it, you'll be altar-bound.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Through the wood mini-blind slats, he saw Eli Larson walking across the square. “I'll be right back.”

He caught up to him. “Eli, I need to talk to you.”

“Talking's overrated, dude.”

“Yeah. Sometimes. Anyway, I saw you getting out of Ava Buchanan's truck last night.”

Eli looked perplexed. “So? A man's got to have a ride.”

“True, but I think Ava would have been a bit surprised to see you in her truck without your asking permission.”

“How else am I supposed to get around? I always hitch rides.”

“You have to ask,” Trace said, explaining slowly and gently. The man was a Vietnam vet; he deserved respect. But he also had to understand that not everybody was as tolerant as they'd long been in Hell.

And that was a bit of the problem. In a town of less than two hundred people, counting the far county, they'd grown accustomed to Eli. Considered it their duty to allow him to live his life the way he needed to.

Trace shook his head. “Eli, do you know anything about white chicken feathers at Judy's?”

Eli smiled, and Trace was a bit pained to see the two newly missing teeth. “I put them there. It's a gift for Miss Judy. The lady who gave them to me said they were real special.”

Trace nodded. “And they are real special. Who was the lady?”

“I don't know.” Eli furrowed his brow. “All I know is that they were real pretty, like Miss Judy. And white, like her hair.”

“Yes. Would you happen to know anything about chickens at the judge's ranch?”

Eli's brow furrowed again as Steel caught up to them, glancing from Eli to Trace quizzically.

“No. Don't know about chickens at Judge Rory's place.” Eli shook his head. “Are they white and pretty?”

“No. They're black. Pretty, but not the same as Miss Judy's hair.” Trace sighed. “Thank you, Eli.” He pressed a ten-dollar bill into the man's hand. “I want you to take this and go into Miss Hattie's and get something good to eat. Give this money only to Miss Hattie, okay?”

Eli nodded as he headed into the Rolling Thunder.

“What's going on?” Steel asked.

“Eli put the white feathers on Judy's porch. It was a ‘special gift.' ”

“Oh,” Steel said. “Judy will be relieved it was Eli who left them.”

“Yeah. And I saw him sneaking a ride in Ava's truck last night. I'm not sure he quite has the concept of asking someone if he can hitch a ride, so I'll just mention to Ava that she might want to check her truck bed when she's going places.”

“And the other ladies. They're not used to our ways here.”

“Tell me about it. See you tonight at Redfeathers, Sheriff.” He got in his truck and headed back to the training center, thinking about Ava. When did he ever think about anything but Ava? Talking to Steel had been comforting but not useful. She'd simply gotten under his skin and burrowed into his heart.

And he wasn't sure how to get her out.

Just when he'd thought he was going to have to accept losing her, she'd walked back in and shattered his resolve.

As his friends had noted, he'd done everything possible to set himself free. And only ended up driving himself mad.

But something had to give. She wasn't getting the one thing she'd come to Hell for, and eventually, that was going to be a problem.

He slumped in his desk chair, staring at the miles of paperwork that had built up since Declan and Saint had deserted him. Traitors, that's what they were. Watching him suffer with glee, plotting to help him fall for Ava, and then hotfooting it far away from Judy's plans.

Her tentacles, more like.

The fan, sitting at the top of the horse stalls, blew a nice breeze overhead. An occasional whicker could be heard from the horses, but now that it was afternoon, they'd settled into a sort of quiet siesta. In this heat, they were perkiest in the mornings. Afternoons and nights in Texas were too darn hot to be perky.

Though Ava had been so perky last night. He'd never seen that coming.

And then, this morning, he'd awakened to find his bed empty, with only Prince grinning up at him. Prince wasn't telling any of Ava's secrets, but Trace figured she'd hustled out before dawn to work her horse out at Steel's. He could have asked around, but frankly, he'd just wanted Steel's advice on the whole Saturday Night Special problem.

It worked for Steel and Judy, but he completely understood why Ava didn't want a casual relationship. Hell, he didn't want a casual relationship.

He didn't want any relationship at all.

That was such a lie he rejected it without his subconscious having to call him out. The thing was, he hadn't planned for this. Knew very well why he didn't want a woman in his life. And yet, he couldn't stop thinking about Ava.

It was troubling. And fun as hell. Put a lot of spice and kick into a life that had become a bit routine.

Humdrum.

He'd had more excitement in his life since Ava had come to town than he could handle. So he was at a crossroads: He could fall into the trap that Judy had so neatly laid, or he could close his doors and his heart and keep from losing his mind.

There was no in-between.

Ava walked into his office, closed the door behind her. Locked it.

“Hello,” he said, his spirits picking up just looking at her. She had on a pink tank top and a white flouncy skirt, and the hot pink boots she'd gotten to match Judy's. Or which Judy had probably given to her—hell, to all her team, if he knew Judy.

“Steel's taking me to Montana. Saint and Declan asked him to drive me up to the rodeo. They've gotten permission for me to take a barrel spot.”

He studied her. “Why are you telling me?”

“Thought you'd want to know.”

He did. He wanted to know everything about her. “Where'd you go this morning?”

“I didn't want the girls to know I'd spent the night in your bed. I pretended like I'd slept on the sofa.”

So she was hiding their relationship. “Why?”

“Because you like it that way.” She shrugged. “All of Hell doesn't have to be in my business.”

For some reason, he hated that. He wanted the whole world to know she was his.

Except she wasn't—because he'd wanted it that way. “So when do you leave?”

“Tonight.”

He nodded, wishing he wasn't so locked into his plans and his routine, and the past. He thought about their deployments, and how all he and Declan and Saint had wanted to do was come home, open the training center, and sit in their black cracked leather booth at Redfeathers. That had been the dream that had kept them alive, kept their spirits up. Coming back to Hell.

It no longer seemed like enough, but he didn't know what to do about it. He really couldn't train her to do what she wanted to do—not while he felt the way he did about her. It would one hundred percent kill him dead to see her in a ring with enormous bulls that had been chosen to be the rankest, toughest around. He knew—he helped Rory with the bulls. This soft, petite woman belonged anywhere but in a ring with bulls, even if she did have the heart to protect cowboys.

“Okay,” Trace said slowly. “Thanks for letting me know. Good luck in Montana. Tell my brothers they suck the big one.” He looked at the pile of papers on his desk. “Really suck.”

They did truly suck. How dare they decide to send his girl to Montana? Why didn't they choose one of theirs? Cameron and Harper—take your pick—either of them had more bullfighting ability than this little lady did.

Actually, you know that's not true. You've just never wanted to see it because you're afraid something will happen to her. Just like you had to bring Prince home—would have ripped your heart out to leave him behind. It was the one good thing you could bring home. Just like everything else you could save or protect, you tried to make her your mission
.

Except she didn't want you protecting her. And you couldn't handle that
.

It's pretty much speak now or forever STFU
.

He was caught on Ava's gaze. God, he was going to miss her. Once she figured out she could bullfight, was in fact probably really talented at it, he'd never see her again. She'd travel the country, hired because she was good and a novelty for having broken through the male ranks.

Shit. He was so lost.

* * *

Ava could feel the war going on inside Trace. Even if she hadn't been able to read his expression, tension knotted his shoulders. He tried to appear relaxed, but she knew him well enough by now to know he wasn't.

This was not the same man who'd made love to her last night. He looked miserable.

“You deserve this chance,” he said, leaning back in the old leather desk chair. “When you find out you're really good at this, and whatever you put your mind to, there'll be no stopping you.”

That would have been sweet, except it sounded like he was surrendering, giving up. She understood, because neither of them had wanted this. What was this, anyway?

He didn't want her falling in love with him.

Which was too damn bad, because she already had.

But it was nice of him to admit the truth: that she could learn bullfighting. She'd just needed someone to show her the ropes, which he could have done, but didn't want to.

It was a man's world, after all, and Trace was all about drawing lines between men and women.

She loved him in spite of his stubbornness. He believed in her, and maybe it had just taken his friends forcing him to admit that she could do it.

“Why didn't you want to train me?”

He looked hung. “Because it would kill me if you got hurt.”

“That's not a good reason. Women are in the military now. Anyone can get hurt, Trace. Even you.” She walked over, checked the bandage on his arm. “You'll notice you were the only one at the fight, besides Judy, who came up with an injury. And all she got hurt was her pride.”

He took her fingers from his arm, kissed them. “The irony hadn't escaped me.” She smiled. “You're sexy when you're humble.”

“I am never humble. Humble is for nice guys.”

He kissed her fingertips, not in a sexual way, just sweetly and romantically. “Rationally, I know you're all wrong for me,” Ava said.

“Rationally, I agree like hell.”