Texas Kissing (8 page)

It wasn’t Bull. Or it wasn’t
just
him. Yes, he’d been cocky and presumptuous and annoying as hell. But that was
him—
that was what he did, every day. Judging by what I’d seen at Lucky Pete’s, his brand of dim-witted, over-muscled arrogance was exactly what the local girls wanted. I couldn’t blame him for being
him
. The person acting out of character was me.

And
dim-witted
wasn’t fair. The slow talking and that broad accent were misleading—I’d seen the sharp intelligence in his eyes. He wasn’t dumb...just stubborn as hell.
Simple,
in the good sense of the word. Uncomplicated.

Pretty much the polar opposite of me. One of the many reasons we’d never work.

Why the hell had I gone there in the first place? What had possessed me to sit with him and drink with him and—
Dear God!—
ride a freaking bull in front of him? I leaned against the counter, put my palms over my eyes, and groaned at the memory.

It was an infatuation. That’s all it was. It was just because I’d been sleeping alone for so long. A simple maintenance problem that could be taken care of with a long bath and a vibrator. In the morning, I’d feel much better.

I decided that I’d finish off two more passports. They were Russian ones, for Luka, the arms dealer, and Russian ones were easy—it wouldn’t take more than a few hours.

Luka.
I’d met him a handful of times over the last few years. With his chiseled jaw and his sharp suits and that accent... Not my type, but he was gorgeous in his own way. I hadn’t seen him in months—he was probably busy bedding one of his Russian blondes. Life seemed to be one long party, over in Moscow.
I bet
he’s
never had to go on the run,
I thought miserably.

Yes. A few more hours of work and then I’d get in the tub. I’d hit my...ahem,
reset switch
and everything would be just fine.

When I sat down again, though, I found I couldn’t concentrate. The caffeine hadn’t really kicked in yet and the combination of tiredness and frustration had me frowning at the little bits of paper and rubbing my eyes. Even with my magnifying glass, I couldn’t seem to align things quite straight. Nothing would stay in its proper place.

I rested my head on my forearms and gave a silent scream. I knew that this was coming from somewhere deeper down. This wasn’t just about Lucky Pete’s or a stupid bull—
either
bull. It was about the limitations I’d placed on my life, that night in New York when I’d made my decision. It was about the path I’d chosen to keep everyone else safe.

I had to convince myself that I didn’t really like him. That it wouldn’t work. That the whole thing was stupid. Because the alternative—that I wanted him and could never have him—that was too painful to think about.

I only intended to close my eyes for a few seconds. But sleep dived on me from a thousand feet, plunging me down into the depths.

Sleep is the time when the memories of New York sometimes stirred, uncoiling and lunging up at me as nightmares. But I’d cried all my guilt and pain out, for tonight. So something else took their place, something deeper, warmer and more primal.

As the caffeine finally kicked in, stirring up the day’s memories to swim around me, I dreamed.

Lily

“Oh, Mary. You have such a lovely home,” said Peggy-Sue.

I smiled at our little homestead. I’d always liked it here. Close enough to town that I could easily ride in to see friends or attend my quilting circle, yet far enough away that we were private. Green fields and a river and a couple of horses. Everything we needed. “Come inside,” I told Peggy Sue. “I’ll fix us some iced tea. And then you must help me package up the slates and chalk for the start of school tomorrow. Those children won’t teach themselves.”

Just as we sat down, though, the door crashed open. “Woman!” bawled Bull. “I’m going to root you like you’re a mare in heat.

“Husband!” I squeaked. “We have company!”

“Oh my!” yelped Peggy-Sue.

Bull ignored us both. He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, carrying me towards the bedroom. Then he kicked the door closed behind us and tossed me on the bed. My long skirts flew up around my hips revealing all sorts of complicated petticoats and bloomers. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to get them off.

Bull filled his fists with lace and cotton. With one heave of his powerful shoulders, I was bared.

I stared up at my husband, panting. He was shucking his pants down his thighs and brandishing himself in one hand, moving towards me. The hot press of his manhood parted my sex and—

Lily

“Heavens!” I said and opened my eyes.

Reality slowly oozed back. But my mind was still awash with a safe, snug little house and a big, strong....
husband?!

My groin ached with the remembered stretch of that first penetration, his cock thickly hard. I could still feel the heat of him inside me.

I groaned and sat upright. I had a horrible feeling that—yep, I’d been drooling.

I stumbled to the mirror. I had a Department of Homeland Security hologram stuck to my forehead. The tamperproof kind, where it leaves a mess behind when you peel it off.
Great.

What the
hell
had all that been about?

Me, in the old west? Why was I called
Mary?
Why was I a schoolmarm, in some kind of domestic bliss? That wasn’t me!

All that was avoiding the main issue, though. I’d dreamt of him. I could feel my face reddening, hologram and all. I’d never dreamed about a guy before. I mean, movie stars occasionally but not a
real
guy. Not someone I knew.

And in the dream, I’d wanted him. Wanted him so hard that I’d let him take me even though it was inappropriate and bad timing and
wrong.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out at the night. This was getting completely out of control.

Antonio

Erico was playing golf. That meant he was in a shitty mood, but then he was in a shitty mood most days, since the rumors of the trial started. When he saw that I’d arrived, he slapped the guy he was playing against on the shoulder and told him to go ahead without him. We walked out of earshot and then stood pretending to watch as the guy teed off or teed up or whatever the fuck it is you do in golf.

“I got a job for you,” said Erico. “I want you to find Tessa.”

I blinked and fought the urge to say
what?
because that’s one of the many things that annoys Erico. “How?” I said at last.

“I don’t care how. Just find her. I got the FB
-fucking-
I crawling up my ass. The house is probably bugged. The trial isn’t just a rumor, any more. I got word this morning—it’s happening.”

My chest tightened. If the Feds were really going to move against Erico, I was probably on the list, too. “I looked for her when she left,” I reminded him gently. “We couldn’t find her then.”

“Well, try fucking harder. You want the Feds to find her first?”

I thought back to the little bitch’s friend, the one we’d suicided. “No.”

“Then get to work.”

Bull

She was beautiful—long legs, gorgeous dark eyes. Getting on top of her was going to be amazing.

I spoke right into her ear. “Now I know you don’t know me,” I told her. “But all your friends do. You ask any of them and they’ll tell you. I’m real gentle, ‘long as you behave yourself.”

She gave me an uncertain look. Her eyes grew even bigger when she saw what I had in my hands.

“Don’t you worry about the rope,” I said. “That’s only there if we need it. But we don’t need it, do we? You’re going to be real sweet with me, aren’t you?” I ran my hand over her neck. “Don’t be scared,” I said. “I’ve done this with all your friends.”

And I mounted her.

For a moment, I thought I’d judged it right because she was passive and willing under me. But then I was flying through the air, barely hanging onto my hat as I cleared the fence and landed, sprawling, in the hay.

“Well
goddamn,”
I said mildly. “I thought we had a connection.”

The horse put her nose through the fence and snorted disparagingly at me. I clambered to my feet to try again.

I know where I am, with animals. Always have. Animals are simple creatures and I don’t say that in the sense of looking down at them.
I’m
a simple creature. That’s why we get on so well.

Animals are driven by instincts and needs: food, shelter, safety. People, though—they’re just a mess of contradictions and women are the worst of all. Trying to work out what a woman’s going to do next is like trying to predict the path of a paper dart in a tornado.

Case in point: Lily.

One minute, she was into me, the next she was running. One minute she seemed to hate me, the next she was wrapped around me, soft and eager. She was the most frustrating woman I’d ever met…