Wild About the Wrangler (21 page)

She sat up when the front door opened and his flip-flops slapped along the wood floor. Mac Foster in flip-flops. It made her laugh. She wondered if anybody knew about them besides her.

Sketchbook and pencils in hand, he walked in. “What's so funny?”

“Your footwear. It cracks me up. Have you always worn them or is this something new?”

“Sort of old and new, I guess.” He handed over her drawing supplies and slid his feet out of the flip-flops. “I used to have some when I was a kid. Then I grew up to be a big, bad cowboy and wouldn't be caught dead in anything but boots. But I have my own house, now, and so I got some to wear around here.”

“Do Vince and Travis know about this?”

“I don't think so, but I don't care if they do.” He unfastened his jeans. “I have some shorts and sweatpants, too. And gym shoes. I don't feel the need to put on cowboy clothes all the time.”

“I'll bet you've never worn shorts and flip-flops into town, though.”

“No. Whenever I'm in town I need to project an image that fits with Wild Horse Canyon Adventures. We're selling a type of fantasy, and I get that.” He shoved his jeans down and stepped out of them.

And speaking of fantasies . . . the flexing muscles of his powerful thighs and calves made her catch her breath.

“Something wrong?”

“Not at all.” She shouldn't be ogling him now. She'd have plenty of time to do that while he posed for her. When he stuck his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs in preparation for stripping those off, she forced herself to look up.

He was looking right back at her, a knowing smile on his face. “I've been watching you, too, you know.”

“You have?” She'd been too busy studying him to notice.

“I think you're onto something with this visual appreciation business. I hope you're planning to stay naked while you sketch.”

“Well, sure. There's no reason to put on my clothes.”

“You're not painting naked, but you'll be drawing naked. Maybe now you'll tell me what the difference is when you do that.”

She thought about the mug she'd brought to the stable. Maybe she'd subconsciously chosen it, after all. “My work's more elemental, more passionate.”

“I figured.” He took off his briefs and he was already semi-aroused. “How do you want me?”

She laid her sketch pad aside. Some things were more important than drawing a picture. “Anyway I can get you.”

M
ac wasn't about to argue. If Anastasia would rather make love than draw, he'd take it as a huge compliment, considering how much she enjoyed drawing. He was in no condition to be immortalized, anyway. The gleam in those hazel eyes had brought an instant reaction from his cock.

When she did finally record his naked self in her sketch pad, and he knew she would sooner or later, he certainly didn't want it to be when he was stiff as a broom handle. On the other hand, if she was naked while she sketched, would he be able to control himself? Maybe if they'd had sex three or four times in a row prior to the modeling gig he'd be able to manage it.

At the moment, the prospect of crawling back into bed with her was the single most exciting thing he could imagine doing and his cock was well aware of that. The first round had taken the edge off, so now he could linger over the gift that was Anastasia. She scooted over and he climbed in next to her.

When she stretched out on her side facing him, he mirrored her position and lay there for a moment gazing into her eyes. Reaching over, he cupped her soft cheek. “I want to take it slower this time.”

Her lazy smile and her smoldering glance taunted him. “Good luck with that.” She trailed her fingertips across his chest and began a leisurely journey south.

He caught her wrist. “Uh-uh.”

“But I want—”

“Next time.” Still holding her wrist, he guided her to her back and moved over her.

Her eyebrows arched. “Next time?” Her other hand began exploring.

He'd love to have her touch him there, but not right now. He had plans. He caught her other wrist and drew her hands over her head. “After I fix you dinner tonight.”

“I'm coming to dinner?”

He chuckled. “You're coming to dinner and you're coming after dinner. At least you are if I have anything to say about it.”

“Oh, you have a great deal to say about it, Macario.”

“I like when you call me that.” He imprisoned both wrists with one hand and cradled her breast with the other.

“I like when you touch me like that.” She arched into his caress. “And when you get all macho and assertive.”

“You called the shots the first time.” He gently squeezed her plump breast as he leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers. “Now I get to be in charge.”

“I feel as if I could come right this minute.”

“Good to know.” Levering himself up so that he had room to maneuver, he slipped his free hand between her thighs and discovered that she was very hot and very wet. “I think we should do something about that, don't you?”

She gasped as he thrust his fingers deep. “Maybe . . . maybe so.”

His mouth hovered over hers as he found her G-spot and began to stroke her there. “Does that work?”

Her soft moan told him all he needed to know.

“I'm going to find all the ways I can make you come,” he murmured as he increased the pace.

“This is . . . definitely . . . one.” Her breathing grew rough.

“Tonight I'll see how you like the feel of my mouth.”

She whimpered. “Oh, Mac . . .”

“I want you to think about that while you're sitting in your corner at Sadie's.” When he felt her contract around his fingers, he bore down. “Think about my head between your thighs and my tongue driving you crazy.”

“You're a devil, Mac Foster!” She lifted her hips and cried out as her climax rolled over his pumping fingers.

When she finally relaxed against the mattress, still shuddering from the aftershocks, he gave her a long, slow kiss with lots of tongue to remind her of what he'd said. Then he moved away long enough to grab a condom and roll it on.

Sliding into her was pure luxury. She was slick, hot, and totally open. A few orgasmic tremors remained, and that gentle squeezing motion was almost enough to make him explode. But he held back.

The first time he'd been here lust had set the pace, and it had been hard and fast. But this—gliding in and out in an easy rhythm that he imagined he could keep up forever—this was heaven. He gazed down at her and discovered she was looking up at him.

She seemed . . . dazzled. Maybe it was egotistical of him to think that, but it was the only way he could describe the light in her eyes. She looked happy, too. Making her happy had turned into one of his goals, and if having sex with him did that, he was one lucky son of a gun.

Her voice was breathless. “It's never been like this.”

“For me, either.”

“Really?”

“No one's like you.” He thrust slowly, not wanting the moment to end. But the pressure was building.

She clutched his hips and began rising to meet him. “I've . . . always been different.” Her eyes darkened.

“That's good.” He sucked in a breath and shoved deep, locking them together.

“This?” Her body quivered. “Or being different?”

“Both.” Looking into her eyes, he held very still. “Don't move.”

But she did. Her first contraction became his tipping point, and gasping her name, he let go. Then he shuddered in reaction as her climax bathed him in such pleasure that he closed his eyes to savor it.

When he opened them again, he was greeted by the most beautiful smile. His world shifted. He'd never felt this close to a woman after making love to her. Gazing into eyes that sparkled in emerald and gold, he knew that something wonderful and dangerous had happened.

It had probably started months ago when she'd drawn his portrait for the first time. Ever since then he'd refused to believe he was falling in love because that was such a bad idea. It still wasn't a particularly good idea, but that was irrelevant. The process was complete. He was in love with Anastasia Bickford.

She wound her arms around his neck. “That was spectacular.”

“Sure was from my vantage point. But you didn't get your sketching done and now we both have places to go and things to do.”

“I seem to remember a dinner invitation.” She combed her fingers through his hair.

He thought of all the art those fingers had created and how lucky he was to have such a talented woman lying here looking up at him as if he'd hung the moon. “It still stands. I'm not as good a cook as Henry, so if I really wanted to treat you right, I'd take you to Sadie's.”

“Except then we'd have all those other people around and I wouldn't be able to give you sultry glances across the table.”

He laughed. “Is that what you're planning to do?”

“I'm going to try. I can't guarantee whether I'm any good at it.”

“You wouldn't have to be. Just having you sitting at my kitchen table will be enough to do the trick.” Reluctantly he eased away from her, climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. “Be right back.”

“I'll get dressed,” she called out to him. “I just looked at your bedside table clock and we really do have to get going. I'm surprised nobody's tried to call either one of us.”

“I turned off my cell.” When he walked back in she had her panties on and was reaching behind her back to fasten her bra. Funny how this didn't feel like an affair. Her being here was so natural, as if this was where she was supposed to be.

“And mine is . . .” She paused to glance around. “You know what? It's still in my saddlebag.” She grinned at him. “No wonder I didn't hear it.”

“Is that a problem?” He began putting on his clothes, too.

“Nah. I have a reputation for turning off my cell when I'm sketching. But I don't know what excuse you're planning to give for not answering.”

He shrugged. “I turned it off when we were out riding and forgot to turn it back on.” He fastened his jeans and located his shirt. “But that brings up another subject. Are we keeping this whole deal a secret?”

“Are you kidding?” She tugged her shirt over her head. “There are no secrets in Bickford, at least not for long.” Popping her head through the opening, she glanced at him. “But if you're worried about fallout, we can try.”

“That only makes it seem as if we're ashamed of what we're doing. I'd like to be up-front about our relationship. That doesn't mean I'm not worried about fallout. If you and I get crossways . . .” Because she was using the chair to put on her boots, he perched on the edge of the bed to put on his.

“We won't get crossways.” She put on her second boot and stood. “I know what's at stake for you. You love it here and hope to stay. I'm not going to let our situation mess with that.”

He was touched by her determination. “Relationships can get complicated. Differences can crop up that neither one anticipated. Then, before they know what happened, the two people involved have issues.”

“I'm not saying that's impossible. But I am promising you that I won't let whatever goes on between us jeopardize your job or your place in this community.” She turned around to straighten the sheets and comforter.

If he hadn't already fallen, he would have dived headlong into love after hearing that little speech. She was one of the least selfish people he'd ever met. On top of that, she instinctively wanted to tidy up after herself instead of leaving chaos in her wake.

He'd married someone who had constantly created a disaster zone and then had sailed out the door. Blinded by lust, he hadn't paid attention, but he did now. He lusted after Anastasia, but that didn't mean he was blind, deaf, and dumb. Sometimes it was the little things that gave clues about who a person was.

He walked to the other side of the bed and helped her make it up. “How soon can you get away from Sadie's tonight?”

“I promised to stay through happy hour, so is seven too late?”

“Nope. I'll pick you up.”

She smiled at him across the broad expanse of the bed. “That will start tongues wagging.”

“No doubt, but between now and then, I'll have a talk with Vince. I think Travis has already left for New Mexico, but I'll fill him in when he gets back. I don't want any significant people in our lives to be surprised.”

“Neither do I. And I'll talk to Georgie.”

“Okay.” Despite his outward confidence as to how they should proceed, that made him nervous. “What if she's upset?” He'd tasted paradise, and he wasn't ready to give it up just yet.

“I doubt she will be, especially if she's convinced our being together won't hurt me in any way.”

“I'd die first.” The comment surprised him, but it was true. He'd sooner die than hurt her.

She seemed even more surprised to hear it. “I hope that won't be necessary.” But her gaze was assessing. “I'm not that fragile, Mac. Please promise me you won't treat me like some delicate porcelain figurine.”

“I certainly didn't this morning.”

She smiled. “No.”

“I know you're not fragile, but I cherish you and want the best for you. Maybe that statement came across as overly dramatic, but hurting you is so beyond my comprehension that I can't imagine it. I would do anything to avoid that.”

“Just don't go hurling yourself off a bridge.”

“That's difficult to pull off in West Texas. Unless you time it to the rainy season, you end up eating a mouthful of dust.”

She laughed. “So true. It's tough to make a dramatic exit around here, so you might as well stick it out.”

He walked around the foot of the bed and drew her into his arms. “Then we're agreed. No drama.”

She lifted her face to his. “I pretty much hate drama.”

“Then let's not have any.” He allowed himself one last kiss, but when it threatened to get out of hand, as kisses involving Anastasia tended to do, he released her and backed away. “Let's go climb on those horses and get back over to the stable.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Instantly he was concerned. “Are you sore?”

“Maybe a little. I haven't had this much sex in quite a while.”

“Then forget about sex after dinner. We'll—”

“Hold on there, cowboy! Don't go ruining my evening! As I recall, you made reference earlier to oral sex.”

He laughed. Trust her to be direct. “So I did.”

“Then might I suggest we put that on the menu along with whatever you're preparing for dinner?”

“Absolutely.” The thought of that sent urgent messages to his groin.

“Good. And after we've explored those options, I'll get out my sketch pad.”

“Right.”

“Unless you'd rather I didn't? I sense some anxiety.”

“Once we've had a chance to romp around for a while, I'll be fine about that. I just don't want you drawing me when I'm . . .”

“Aroused?”

“Exactly.”

She gazed at him with those incredible eyes. “I wouldn't do that to you, Mac. Drawing your magnificent body is about beauty, not titillation. Besides, I don't want to share that image of arousal with the world. It's private and special.”

“Thank you.” She'd said something similar before, but it hadn't completely registered. He felt safe now. He'd never believed that she'd exploit him in the name of art, but now he knew that for sure.

“I should be thanking you. In spite of being reluctant, you've agreed that I can sketch you in the nude. You're trusting me not to do anything with those pictures that would embarrass you. I don't take that trust lightly.”

“I know.” He pulled her close. “Forgive me for being jumpy. Now that we've talked it to death, I'm eager to find out how you'd depict me when my cock is determinedly limp. You've mostly seen it the other way.”

She traced the line of his mouth with her forefinger. “Which has made me very happy.”

“And me. I've never had a better morning.” With a sigh of resignation, he stepped back. “But we need to get back to the corral. After you.” He ushered her down the hallway.