Texas Outlaws: Billy (8 page)

“But I thought we were going to do it—”

“We are,” he cut in, closing the distance between them, his lips finding hers. “But not here. I don’t want to risk another distraction.”

Neither did she. She wanted him all to herself.

For sex, that is. And information. And that was it.

At least that’s what she was telling herself.

She nodded, and then she grabbed her purse and followed him out to his pickup truck.

11

B
ILLY
MEANT
TO
get busy at the motel.

At least that was the idea that had been cooking in his head since they’d first agreed to get together again. A nice, neutral room at the local motel just like the one they’d used during their first encounter.

But then Cole had shown up. And a bunch of reporters. And he’d found himself stuck in the lobby for way too long since Curt Calhoun had insisted on walking down memory lane and bugging him about his dad.

No comment
.

That was his standard response. While Billy had no problem talking about the past, he didn’t want to give the media any more fuel for gossip than they already had. And for whatever reason, Curt Calhoun had a bug up his butt.

The man should have left last week like all the others who’d gathered in Lost Gun for the “Where Are They Now?” episode. Instead, he was hanging around, asking more questions, as if he knew that something was up.

As if he knew about the money.

Like hell.

Nobody knew except Billy and his brothers, and Big Earl and his great granddaughter, Casey. And Big Earl surely wasn’t talking. He could barely remember his name half the time now. And Casey? She wasn’t the social type. Even more, Jesse had promised her a sizable reward if she helped them uncover the money while keeping her mouth shut.

Billy pushed the thoughts out of his head and concentrated on the task at hand—finding some much-needed privacy with Sabrina.

He was too preoccupied. Too uptight. Too damn tired.

He needed some sleep.

But first he needed her.

Now.

So he’d opted for the quickest solution instead of hauling butt all the way out to the interstate and over to the next county. He’d turned off the main road and driven here.

For convenience’ sake, of course.

It wasn’t because he wanted her to see his cabin, to actually like it. And no way was it because he’d been fantasizing about seeing her in his bed for the past few days. And nights. And every moment in between.

This, he told himself again as he stared at the newly built cabin visible just beyond the break between two towering Texas pines, was nothing more than pure convenience.

“This isn’t a motel,” she said, her gaze following his.

“What was your first clue?” Billy killed the engine and climbed from the front seat.

“All right, smart-ass.” Her voice followed him and he grinned.

“It’s not much,” he said as he rounded the front and reached her door. “Just something I’ve been building in my spare time.” He helped her from the passenger seat and started walking toward the cabin. “It’s still a work in progress, but the walls are up and it has all the bare necessities to get us through the night. Lights and running water and a shower and even a working kitchen—”

“It’s really big.” Her voice carried after him as she followed him down the path.

“—and the toilet is fully functional—”

“And isolated.”

“—and there’s a king-size bed with fresh sheets and—”

“And really beautiful.”

“—and there’s a fireplace in the living room, not that we want a fire this time of year, but— What did you just say?” He stopped and turned on her so fast she bumped into his chest.

“I said it’s beautiful.” She touched one of the hand-carved beams, and her gaze met his. “It’s amazing that you actually did all of this yourself. You did great work.”

A strange warmth spread through him, a feeling he quickly pushed back down as his gaze dropped to her shoes.

Her attention followed his and she picked up her feet, dislodging one of her three-inch stilettos, which had sunk in the soft ground. “Beautiful, but muddy.”

“We could drive back into town if it’s too rustic for you. Not that the motel is all that much better, but at least there are people around. The Dairy Freeze is nearby.”

She cast a glance past him and something strangely close to fear flashed in her eyes before fading into hard, glittering determination. She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not interested in an ice cream.”

His eyes glittered. “Is that so?”

“You bet your cowboy hat. We made a deal and it’s time we get started.”

Before he could so much as blink, her free hand reached out and gripped his collar. And she hauled him close for a spectacular kiss that overshadowed anyone and everyone in Billy’s past. He forgot every woman, every encounter,
everything
except Sabrina and what she was doing to him with her lips.

* * *

S
EX
,
THAT
’
S
ALL
THIS
WAS
, Sabrina told herself, throwing herself into the single act of kissing Billy Chisholm, desperate to ignore the strange feelings that had assailed her the moment they’d rolled to a stop in front of the cabin—the sprawling, still-under-construction cabin with the hand-carved porch swing hanging out front and a dusty old saddle draped over the porch railing and several old fashioned milk cans overflowing with sunflowers. One look at the swing and she’d had the sudden vision of herself, barefoot and pregnant, rocking back and forth, a sunflower stuffed behind one ear, Billy planted next to her—

No.

No, no, no, no,
no
.

Not the barefoot and pregnant part. It was the man himself she was objecting to. The wrong man. A cowboy.

The
cowboy.

Fat chance.

She’d vowed off cowboys a long time ago when she’d watched her mother wait up for her father night after night. She’d loved him so much and he’d used that emotion against her. No matter how much he’d cheated on her, he’d always managed to sweet-talk his way back into her good graces. He’d smiled and teased and charmed and made promises he’d had no intention of keeping, and
bam,
everything had been perfect. Until the next night when he headed back out to the honky-tonk and started carousing all over again.

He’d used her mother. Worse, the woman had let him. She’d known what he was up to. The whole town had. Still, she’d let him get away with it because she’d been powerless to stop it. Weak. Spineless.

Then and now.

Her mother was back at it with yet another cowboy, letting him use her because she feared letting go of the ideal that she’d built up in her head. She feared losing her
real
cowboy for good.

Not Sabrina.

She was working Billy Chisholm out of her system and killing the whole cowboy ideal right here and now. And she was not—repeat, was not—falling for him the way her mother had fallen for her father, no matter how many porch swings he had hanging outside his cabin. Or how many sunflowers—her favorite flower as a matter of fact—he stuffed into those milk cans. Or how good he kissed. Or how he pulled her close and rubbed the base of her spine with his thumb until she wanted to purr. Or how he held her close, his arms solid and strong and possessive, as if she actually meant more to him than a few moments of pleasure.

This wasn’t about forever. It was about this moment, this kiss,
this
...

For the next few moments, she drank in the taste and feel of him, ran her hands up and down his solid arms, relished the ripple of muscle as he cupped her buttocks and pulled her closer.

He rocked her, his hardness pressing into her and heat flowered low in her belly, spreading from one nerve ending to the next until every inch of her body burned.

She moaned into his mouth and, without breaking the kiss, he swung her into his arms and headed for the cabin.

A few seconds later, her feet touched down in the bedroom. The walls were still raw and unfinished, just bare frame filled with insulation, except for one. Floor-length windows spanned from corner to corner, overlooking the surrounding forest and a small creek that shimmered in the distance. A king-size bed, piled neatly with colorful quilts, sat in the middle of the room, looking out of place amid the surrounding chaos of wood and tools. Beams crisscrossed the ceiling, framing a tarp-covered soon-to-be skylight. Sawdust covered the floors, and as much as Sabrina liked the soft floral scent of her potpourri-scented bedroom back in L.A., she found herself inhaling, filling her lungs with the sharp aroma of fresh air and Texas pine and Billy.

She pressed herself up against him again, the need building until she clawed at his shirt. He caught her wrists and pulled back, his grin slow and wicked and dangerous.

“Easy. We’ve got all night, sugar.”

“We’ve got a few hours,” she said as she unfastened her skirt and let the material pool at her ankles. “I have to put in an appearance at the dance tonight, so you’d better start undressing.”

“If you want to dance, sugar, I can accommodate you right here.” His bright, heated gaze slid from hers to roam down her body—her parted lips and heaving chest and quivering thighs—and back up again.

“I’m not going there to dance. I’m going to work. I need more men.”

“Not tonight you don’t. Tonight all you need is me. Us.” The hands that slid from her shoulder to her collarbone, and down, were strong and sure and possessive.

As if he was branding her his and only his.

Just as the thought struck, he touched the tip of her nipple through the thin fabric of her blouse. The ripe tip throbbed in response and she barely caught the whimper that jumped to her lips.

He pressed a kiss to her lips then, coaxing them open with his tongue before delving deep for a long, heart-pounding moment. “Don’t hold back,” he murmured when he finally pulled away. “I like to hear you.”

He parted her blouse and touched her, his hot fingertips tracing the edge of her bra where lace met skin, and she forgot everything except the need churning inside her.

Sabrina closed her eyes and tilted her head back, arching her chest forward. Strong fingers stroked her nipples through the lace for several long moments until she gasped.

A deep male chuckle warmed her skin a heartbeat before his hot mouth touched her neck, licking and nibbling as his hands worked at her bra clasp. A few tugs and the lace cups fell away.

She all but screamed at the first stroke of his callused thumb over her bare breast. The next several moments passed in a dizzying blur as he plucked and rolled her sensitive nipples, until they were red and ripe and aching for more.

His hands slid down her rib cage and warmed her stomach. A deep male growl vibrated up his throat when his hands slid into her panties and found her wet and ready. One fingertip parted her swollen flesh and dipped inside.

She cried out, grabbing his shoulders, clutching fabric as she fought to feel his bare skin against her own.

He leaned back far enough and let her pull the material up and over his head. She tossed the T-shirt and went for his jeans, but he’d beaten her to the punch, his tanned fingers working at the zipper.

Metal grated and the jeans sagged onto his hips. He stepped back far enough to push them down and kick them free until he stood before her wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. He was rock hard beneath the clingy black cotton. A heartbeat later, the full length of him sprang forward, huge and greedy, as he pushed his underwear down and kicked it to the side.

But it wasn’t the sight of him naked and tanned and fully aroused that took her breath away, it was the heat burning in his gaze, making his eyes a bright, mesmerizing violet.

Her hands went to her open blouse, but he pushed her fingers aside to peel the shirt and bra away from her flushed skin.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she breathed when he made no move to remove her last item of clothing—a pair of slinky bikini panties cut high on the thighs.

“Soon,” he murmured. He cupped her, his palm warm through the thin covering.

An ache flowered low in her belly. “Soon isn’t soon enough. I want to feel you. Now.” Anxiety zipped up and down her spine, along with a ripple of unmistakable fear.

Because she didn’t
want
to want him so deeply. So desperately. Billy Chisholm was a cowboy.

If only that thought didn’t turn her on even more.

12

H
E
DIPPED
ONE
finger past the elastic, into the steamy heat between her legs. He stroked and teased and a sweet pressure tightened low in her belly.

“Then it’s settled. You’re not working tonight.” For emphasis, he slid his finger into her slowly, tantalizingly, stirring every nerve to vibrant awareness until he was as deep as he could go, and then he withdrew at the same leisurely pace.

Advance, retreat, until her heart pounded so hard and her breath came so fast, she thought she would hyperventilate.

She was close.

So close...

“Not yet,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand before dropping to his knees in front of her.

He touched his mouth to her navel, dipped his tongue inside and slid his hands around to cup her bottom for a long moment before moving his mouth lower. His tongue dipped under the waistband of her panties. He licked her bare flesh before drawing back to drag his mouth over her lace-covered mound. His lips feathered a kiss over her sensitive skin, and her legs buckled. Her hands went to his bare shoulders to keep her from falling.

A warm chuckle sent shivers down the inside of her thighs before he lifted his head and caught the waistband of her underwear with his teeth. He drew the material down, lips and teeth skimming her bare flesh in a delicious friction that made her want to scream. Her entire body trembled by the time she stepped free.

“My turn.”

“I don’t have any underwear on.” He pushed to his feet and faced her.

“I’ll improvise.” She knelt and kissed his navel, swirling her tongue and relishing the deep male groan that vibrated the air around them. She grasped him in her hand, running her palm down the length of his erection. He was hot and hard and she did what she’d been wanting to do ever since she’d seen him standing there completely nude. She took him into her mouth and laved him with her tongue as a low hiss issued from between his lips.

He grasped her head, his fingers splaying in her hair, guiding her, urging her—

“Stop.” The word was little more than a groan before he pulled her to her feet and tumbled her down onto the bed.

She watched as he withdrew a foil packet from his jeans pocket and put on a condom in record time.

“I thought you wanted slow and easy,” she said as he settled himself between her thighs, his penis pressing into her a decadent inch.

“It’ll be easy,” he promised. “I’m just not so sure about the
slow
part.” Before she could comment, he pressed her thighs wider, grasped her hips and slid into her with one deep thrust.

He stilled for a long moment, letting her feel every pulsing vibrating inch of him as he filled her completely.

She closed her eyes, fighting back the sudden tears that threatened to overwhelm her. This was crazy. This was all about feeling good, not about
feeling
.

That was a lesson her mother had never been able to learn. That sex wasn’t love and that a man good with his body wasn’t necessarily as skilled with his heart.

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft and deep and so tender she had to fight back another wave of tears.

Tears, of all the silly, ridiculous,
emotional
things....

She swallowed and forced her voice past the lump in her throat. “Stop talking and just ride, cowboy. Just ride.”

His mouth opened and she thought he was going to make a smart comeback, but then he dipped his head and his lips closed over her nipple. Thankfully. She needed a distraction from the strange feelings threatening to overwhelm her.

All thought faded into a wave of delicious pressure as he suckled her long and hard, his erection pulsing inside her. The sensation of him drawing on her breast and her body drawing on his was a double whammy. Twice as delicious. As distracting.

He moved, pumping into her, pushing her higher—stroke after stroke—until she cried out, her nails digging into his back as she climaxed.

Several frantic heartbeats later, her eyelids fluttered open just in time to see him throw his head back, his eyes clamped tightly shut. He thrust deep one final time and stiffened, every muscle in his body going rigid. Her name tumbled from his lips, riding a raw moan of pure male satisfaction.

He collapsed beside her and gathered her close, pulling her back against him in spoon fashion. His chest was solid against her back, his arms strong and powerful around her. Warmth seeped through her, lulling her heartbeat for the next several minutes as their bodies cooled.

Her gaze went to the floor-length windows and the sparkling lake just beyond. The light of the full moon danced across the shimmering surface.

“Wow,” she breathed, the word so soft and hushed she marveled when she heard his deep voice in response.

“You should see it late at night when the moon is full.”

“How did you ever find this place?”

“My oldest brother, Jesse, found it a long time ago. He was hiking up here in the woods one time and stumbled on this old, abandoned hunting shack. It wasn’t much. Just a tin roof and four walls, but it was quiet and calm. We used to come up here to get away from our father whenever he drank too much.” His gaze brightened for a split second. “We spent way too much time here.”

“So your dad was an alcoholic?”

“That was his second calling. He was a criminal first and foremost. He robbed one of the local banks.”

“Your dad is Silas Chisholm,” she murmured, her heart pounding in her chest at the mention of the man. This was it. Her chance to ask him about his past. About that night.

“What about your mom?” she voiced one of the dozens of questions now running through her brain. Not nearly the most provocative, but then she was trying to play it smart and slow. If she started drilling him, he would more than likely freeze up or tell her to take a hike. Neither possibility was one she wanted to risk. “Where was she during that time?”

“She took off when I was a few months old. She died a few years later in a car wreck.” He shrugged. “I didn’t really know her. What about you? Where are your parents?”

Divert and keep prodding. That’s what her head said. Ask him another question. Get him talking more.

At the same time, she didn’t miss the curiosity in his gaze, the interest, as if her reply truly mattered to him. “I just have my mom,” she heard herself say. “She lives in a little town about a half hour outside of Houston. My dad wasn’t the faithful type. He’d cheat. My mom would kick him out. Then she’d take him back. Then it would start all over again. About ten years ago, he cheated again, but my mom didn’t have the chance to take him back. He walked out for good and never came back.” She expected the mention of her father to stir the usual anger and fear and loneliness, but with Billy’s arms around her and his lips so close to her ear, she didn’t feel the same twist of hurt. She felt warm and wanted and content, and she realized in a startling instant that she liked having Billy curled around her as much as she’d liked having him deep inside.

Maybe more.

“I really need to get dressed,” she blurted, desperate for a quick exit strategy from the crazy feelings and the all-important fact that for those few seconds as she’d talked about her father, she’d forgotten all about her story.

Before she could blink, she found herself flipped onto her back. Billy glared down at her for a long moment as if the comment actually bothered him. Ridiculous, of course, because nothing she said or did seemed to really shake that charming, controlled demeanor.

Until now.

His expression eased, quickly killing her theory as a slow, sensual smile crept across his lips.

“Nah, sugar. That,” he said, pausing to kiss her Hello Kitty tattoo and one pert nipple, “was just the warm-up.” He slid down her body, his large hands going to the inside of her thighs. He spread her legs wide and scorched her with a heated glance before reaching for the ice-cold beer sitting on the nightstand. Popping the top, he took a long swig before dribbling just a hint into her belly button.

The cold liquid tickled its way across her skin and she shivered. But not from the temperature. From the determined look in his eyes.

“The main event starts now.” And then he dipped his head and lapped at the golden liquid with his tongue, providing a much-needed diversion from the tender feelings coiling inside her.

She didn’t want tender. She wanted wild and wicked and hot, and over. That’s what she really wanted. To be done with him. To move on.

Physically that is.

The trouble was, she wasn’t done with him. Not yet, anyhow.

Not. Just. Yet.