Open Invitation? (13 page)

What was she going to do when the time came? She vaguely remembered Shannon teasing her about this,
too. Lil didn't know. Was it disgusting, or was it perfectly natural?

“I'm losing it,” he gasped. “I'm going to come, honey, you're killing me. I don't want to choke you, I'm gonna pull out—”

Even in the blindness of passion, her rough cowboy was a true gentleman. Lil's heart turned over as she continued to slide her fist over him and he jerked and spasmed uncontrollably.

His seed spilled between her fingers and she didn't find it disgusting. It was part of him, an expression of the pleasure she'd brought him.

“You're amazing,” he whispered, as she pressed her face into his thigh and inhaled the scent of expensive wool.

Was she amazing? Really? On her first time? She'd never been tempted to do it for Li. Not once. But Dan Granger was different. And once again, she'd left her lady persona behind in order to find the woman inside her. A woman of appetites she'd never suspected.

S
HE AWOKE NAKED
in bed with him, her head pillowed on his warm, furry chest. He smelled wonderful: of male skin, something piney, tinges of laundry detergent and a waft of sporty deodorant.

She blinked the night's blur from her eyes but didn't move.

“That tickles,” he complained sleepily. He opened his own eyes and looked at her. “You have the longest lashes I've ever seen. Gorgeous, but ticklish against a man's bare skin.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't apologize. It's a very nice way to be woken up.” He stroked a hand over her hair, sending delicious shivers through her scalp. Then he moved to her neck and back, and she almost purred. His touch on her…it was heaven. Now his hand cupped her buttocks, rubbed over them, began to inch between her legs.

His fingers fluttered against her mons, his palm still nudged firmly against her backside, and it felt incredibly erotic as he played with her. Lil moaned and raised her bottom shamelessly to give him better access.

“Will you do something for me, Lilia?”

Lost to lust, she nodded without reservations.

“Okay, then. Come 'ere.” He pulled her up onto his chest so she straddled it, but when she tried to lower herself onto him, he cupped her bottom and hauled her all the way up to his neck. “I want you to sit on my face.”

She blinked at him in shock. “You what?”

“You heard me. Come on, darlin'. Sit right here.” He pointed to his mouth.

She stayed right where she was, frozen. Then she shook her head. “I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“I just can't. It's too…dirty.”

He laughed. “What's the difference between you sittin' here and me goin' down on you?”

“It's just different.” She swung her leg over him and backed off the bed, still tingling from his fingers but alarmed at where he was trying to take her. She crossed one arm over her breasts and the other over her sex.

She had to draw a line somewhere. She didn't know this man well at all. He was a client. He was taking advantage of her need to walk on the wild side a little. It's not like this was turning into a relationship.

Sit on his…? Oh, no, I don't think so.
That seemed to cross over from pleasurable to…to…filthy.

Dan sat up. “Where're you going?”

“I have to shower. You have to take me home. We've got a riding lesson for you in two hours.”

“Come 'ere. Two hours is a long time. Let's have breakfast in bed.”

She shook her head. Besides the fact that he'd
shocked her, she felt disgusting. She hadn't been able to brush her teeth last night, she hadn't washed her face, and her whole body smelled like sex. And he wanted her to…? Out of the question!

He sighed. “Do I have to come and get you?” And he started to get out of bed, too.

“No! I said no.” Her legs were shaking now. “I mean it. I'm going to take a shower now. Alone.”

His face was the picture of disappointment. “You are failing Uncivilization 101, Lil.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that.” She turned and walked into the bathroom, shut the door and turned on the water. Why did she feel like a witch? She had her boundaries.

Last night, in the darkness after a half-bottle of wine—anything had been possible. She blushed under the shower spray thinking about her mouth on his cock.

Have you ever given a blow job, Lil?

Yes. A damn fine one, thank you very much.

But you won't—

No!

Something about climbing onto a man and grinding her…her…her
self
into his face—it just didn't bear thinking about.

Then why is it making you so hot?

It's not that, it's the soap.
She was soaping herself between the legs, and the stimulation was accidental, just as it was on her breasts.

They ached and her nipples were taut under the shower spray. Lil propped one leg up on the tub and let
the water rinse away all the soap in various crevices. She wasn't going to touch herself anymore—that, too, was somehow dirty.

Oh, and a man's face between your legs while you're on your back isn't?

Stop it! Lil closed her eyes and focused on the one thing that would make all of this sexual torment go away: her grandmother.

She used one of the tiny bottles of shampoo, and massaged it into her hair, remembering how when she was little, Nana had carefully done this for her. She'd been so gentle, making sure not to get any in Lil's eyes.

Nana had raised her to be a nice girl. Someone with her values in the right place, and gracious manners.

It wasn't at all nice or gracious to be thinking about touching herself or riding some cowboy's dirty mouth.

And something else bothered her, too: Dan had gone straight to playing with her goodies, so to speak. He hadn't tried to kiss her on the mouth. Didn't that say something? Loud and clear?

Yes. It was a reminder that this thing between her and the cowboy was all about sex, and it had no future—which made her feel dirty all over again.

Nana would be so disappointed in her, if she knew. Before she'd died, she'd already been putting linens aside for Lil's hope chest; her wedding to Li Wong. She'd collected silver for her since she was born.

And now her granddaughter was having sex in parking lots and cars and hotels—and worse: on her mahog
any dining table…with a man who barely knew how to use a fork.

Nice, Lilia. Very nice.

 

D
AN TOOK ONE LOOK
at the idiotic black riding boots that darling, uptight Lilia not only thought he'd pay for, but wear. “No. And I'm not wearing the velvet hat, and don't even think about the bun-hugger britches. Ain't nothin' wrong with my Western boots and a pair of jeans.”

She sighed. “Dan, you may as well get used to the boots because you have to wear them in order to participate in the steeplechase the day after the wedding. The pants, too. As for the hat, that one's for the chase and offers you little protection. You'll be wearing a different one, even uglier, today. It's a safety helmet, somewhat like what bicyclists use. And yes, you will wear it, or you're not legally able to get on a horse at Central Pines Stables. It has to do with their insurance policy.”

Lilia had washed any shared intimacy down the shower drain this morning, and was back to being her annoyingly polished, professional self. She behaved as if she hadn't taken him into her mouth last night, hadn't ridden him like she had in the open air on the seat of the Mustang. It really pissed him off.

She'd sat primly without speaking on the ride back to her house and given him a polite thank-you, but no kiss or any hint that she considered him anything but a tool to get her off. Was he being punished for trying to bring her pleasure?

He knew he'd shocked her, but he was damned if he understood why. Women! He guessed it was a good thing he hadn't asked her to sixty-nine with him. She would have thought he was Satan, and run screaming out of the hotel.

Dan gave the polished, black, knee-high boots another disgusted glance. “Fine. I'll put 'em on with my jeans. I'll wear the blasted helmet. But you can return those britches or put 'em through the shredder, because I'm just not the kind of guy who wears spandex. Got it?”

Her mouth tightened. “Fine. But I'll warn you that they'll feel different in the saddle than your jeans. They're slicker, and you should think about getting used to them before they cause you to break your neck over an English hedge.”

He shot her an amused glance. “I haven't been unseated on a horse since I was about fifteen.”

“Maybe that's because you had a nice big saddle horn to hang on to. English saddles don't have them, so good luck.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth and poked it into one cheek. “I don't need your luck, Lil. And I don't appreciate you questioning my riding ability. What do you think I do all day, sweet pea?”

Hostility shimmered in the air between them, and again, he didn't understand why. Had he insulted Ms. London by asking her to do something unladylike? Well, too bad. If she was that uptight, then she was doomed to her narrow life, getting old before her time.

Or was it that she'd finished with him, now that he'd
gotten her off a few times? Had she decided, like his own mama, that he wasn't good enough for her?

The thought burned like acid in his belly. Goddamn pretentious, shallow, uptight women.

Dan sat in her fussy wing chair and eased off his Ropers. Then he wrapped the legs of his jeans around his ankles and jammed his feet into the stupid English riding boots. He was Dansy the Pansy again, for Christ's sake, and he just couldn't wait to learn how to “post” in a bloody, sodding English saddle to please bloody, sodding English Nigel and Mama and Claire.

“Fine, let's get this over with,” he growled at Lilia. She followed him as he stomped out of her office and out to the Mustang.

Was that a snort he heard, coming from the evil blond Amazon's office?

 

A
T
C
ENTRAL
P
INES
Stables, a pleasant, green farm outside Avon, Dan swung himself into the ridiculously small saddle on a seventeen-hand gelding named Tricks. The instructor was a middle-aged woman with graying hair named Dorothy, who showed him how to hold the reins English style: one in each hand instead of both in one hand.

The saddle just felt plain weird. But he could actually feel the horse between his legs instead of just a lot of leather and blanket.

“Don't kick Tricks to urge him forward,” Dorothy warned. “He'll take off like a bat out of hell. Remember, you're going to gently squeeze with your calves when
you want to urge him on. You don't need a crop with him—he doesn't like them and won't respond well.”

Dan nodded and walked Tricks along side her until they got to a covered riding ring with a floor of sand.

“I understand that you're an experienced horseman,” Dorothy continued.

“Yeah.”

“But to ride English style, we're going to do some things differently. First, we'll teach you how to post.”

Dan grimaced. The only way to live through this was to think about all the kids he'd give real riding lessons to next summer. He might be forced to the dark side for now, but he'd get his revenge. None of his boys would post or sit in a sissy English saddle.

“Then we'll warm up a little more and start taking some small fences.” She looked at him. “Jumps,” she clarified. “We'll start with that little in-and-out over there. Remember that you'll lean forward in the saddle, poised over the horse's withers.

“You're going to move your hands forward on Tricks' neck and do
not
pop him in the mouth when you take the jump. In other words, don't yank back on the reins in reflex. Keep your hands steady and easy, move with him as he jumps. Okay?”

“Yep.”

“Go ahead and trot him around the ring, then. And post. By that I mean get your heels down in the stirrups. Then, using both your knees and your feet in the stirrups, raise your seat with every other step, then sit. You'll get the feel for it. Pelvis forward, then back.
Keep your lower back soft, to move with the horse, but your shoulders straight.”

After a little practice, Dan decided that the rhythm of posting was not unlike the rhythm of sex. Forward, back, forward, back.

“Heels down! And your legs are swinging,” Dorothy called.

Except that during sex nobody critiqued his posture or his form. His partner generally vocalized things along the lines of, “Oh, yes!” instead of snorting and drooling green foam. Of course, he generally didn't have his women harnessed, with a bit in the mouth, either.

Miz Lilia sat in the small bleachers outside the ring, glancing up occasionally from her laptop to check on his progress.

He felt like a damned fool in the boots and the helmet, wiggling his butt around for all to see.
The bloody English strike again.
He should show up in London with a chaw of tobacco in his mouth and his Western saddle. He'd teach the pasty-faced snots how to ride like real men.
Maybe I'll rope and tie Lovely Nigel and toss him in a pile of manure. I'd really enjoy that.

They warmed up the horse—and him—for a few more minutes and then Dorothy directed him over the two jumps that she'd called an “in-and-out.”

“Lean forward,” she called. “Hands higher on his neck, heels down!”

Tricks sailed over it, Dan flying with him. It was real fun, until he lost his balance slightly and popped himself in the balls on the forward edge of the saddle.

“Gyaaahooow!”
Dan reflexively pulled back on the reins. Tricks didn't know quite what to make of the sound or the signal, so he stopped dead, right before the second jump. Dan, now clutching his balls with one hand and holding the reins in the other, sailed right over his neck, bounced off the rail of the jump and landed ignominiously in the sand of the ring.

Tricks backed up a step, twitched his sizable nostrils and then snorted smelly green spit-foam onto his rider.

Dan scrambled up and shot a glance toward Lil to see if she'd noticed. Great. She was running toward him, laptop left on the bleachers.

“Are you all right?”

Dorothy ran over, too.

Dan wiped the green horse-spit off his shoulder and chest and wished he could wipe the red off his face, too. “I'm fine,” he growled. “I haven't lost my seat on a horse since I was—”

“Fifteen years old.” Lil nodded.

“You popped him in the mouth,” said Dorothy, shaking her head.

“Yeah, well, the saddle caught me in the— Never mind.” Furious with himself and embarrassed as hell, he could barely speak.

Even the damn horse seemed to look at him sideways, the equine message loud and clear.
And you call yourself a horseman?