Country Music Cowboy Read online

  “Loretta.” It was a broken groan. Her name had never sounded sexier. Laced with hunger. Gruff and raw and just the right mix of demand and request.

  What would happen if they didn’t go back to the kitchen? What? This. This was the problem. But she had to believe that ninety percent of this was the anticipation of the unknown. Afterward…afterward things would calm down. And even though there was the tiniest flicker of doubt that this was going to work—she had to try. Didn’t she?

  Yes. Yes, she did.

  “I’m going.” She forced the words out, forced herself to turn, and forced herself to head back to the kitchen.

  Inside, it was as chaotic as ever. A new game was being unpacked and teams were taking shape. They were so excited, it was possible no one had missed them. Except for Sawyer. He sat, a not-so-stoic curve to his mouth as he glanced her way. At the same time, it happened so fast, she might have imagined it. She glanced at the kitchen door, but no Travis. Instead of waiting for his return, she needed to do something. Even though she never drank coffee this late, she made herself a cup—stirring in two teaspoons of sugar and a healthy dollop of cream.

  When Travis did show up, he had his guitar, some blank sheet music, and a pencil with him.

  If the rest of the room was aware of the current firing back and forth between the two of them, they hid it well. Loretta was hyperaware of Travis is a way that did nothing to calm the thrum of desire between her legs. Every time his blue-green gaze slid her way, she ached a little more. And his smile, just for her? The slow building one that crinkled his eyes just right at the corners? She spilled her too-sweet coffee on her hand and hurried to run it under cold water.

  Travis followed, standing too close to her at the sink. “You okay?” he asked, reaching for her wrist. The slide of his fingers against her skin slowly compressed all the air from her chest. He was teasing her, right here in front of his family—in the family kitchen for crying out loud.

  Two can play that game.

  “Yes.” Her hand flexed, turning over in his touch before her fingers slid, ever so slowly, between his—and testing her fading control.

  But his hiss of indrawn breath was worth it.

  “Whose team are you going to be on?” Krystal called out. “Or are you working on something? Since you brought your guitar?”

  Charades was a bust. Poor Hank had to write everything down—so the game didn’t last long. Long enough, however, for Travis to brush against her twice and run his hand along the back of her calf when he’d dropped the paper with the clue on it.

  Settlers of something lasted forever. While she enjoyed the camaraderie of the game, she wasn’t all that invested in collecting sheep and wood for her settlements. But she did enjoy Travis making the same play twice in a row because, under the table, she was running her toes along the inside of his thigh.

  By then, Loretta was on the breaking point. All it took was one blazing look from him, and she was giddy with anticipation.

  Brock almost coerced everyone into a Scrabble rematch but Margot had already turned in, Hank was dozing in his chair, and—as Emmy reminded him—he had training early tomorrow. After that, things started to wrap up fairly quickly.

  Krystal and Jace left.

  Emmy Lou and Brock left.

  Sawyer headed to his apartment over the garage.

  Hank, insisting he wasn’t tired, convinced Travis to play chess.

  Since the kitchen was clean and chess was a two-person game, she tried not to show how disappointed she was as she excused herself and headed to her guest room.

  It had a very hotel feel to it—not in the least bit homey but one hundred percent functional. The bed was comfortable. It was definitely the centerpiece of the room. King size. A large, upholstered headboard. Pillows piled high. Some silky soft quilt she’d happily cocooned herself in the night before. She stared at the bed, all the tingles and aches and craving she’d been fighting against crashing in on her.

  She pulled her anything-but-seductive pajamas from her travel bag and carried them into the guest bathroom. The glass-enclosed shower had dual waterfall showerheads, a marble bench, and a collection of exfoliators, gels, and moisturizers for use.

  She showered, brushed her teeth, paced her room, picked up one of the novels from the stack of artfully arranged books, then paced some more.

  Did chess normally take this long?

  Was she supposed to go to him?

  She grabbed the doorknob, pulled the door open, and stepped into the hallway—and into Travis’s chest.

  His hands closed on her upper arms, catching her. “You look like a woman on a mission.”

  She swallowed. “I was just…” Getting a glass of water. Wondering what the holdup was? Coming after you. “Getting impatient.”

  He nodded, his smile teasing. “We can get started right here if you want—”

  Yes, please. Whatever thoughts she’d had on seduction went out the window. All she wanted was her lips on his. To touch and taste him. She reached up, twining her fingers in his model-perfect curls to tug him down—closer—until his lips sealed with hers.

  His broken growl rolled over her, setting every single nerve aflame. With three long steps, he had them in her room—kicking the door shut behind him—and pressing her against the cool wooden surface. She hooked one leg around him, drawing him closer.

  “Dammit,” he rasped, grabbing her thigh and lifting her against him, fitting her close. So close that his breath was hers and the only thing remaining was the feel of him.

  Hard. Solid. Gripping her fiercely. Kissing her softly. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her mouth, coaxing her lips apart.

  She didn’t recognize the sound she made; only that the slide of his tongue against hers was the cause. Slow and primal, stroking her in a way that made her body tighten and throb for more.

  His fingers slid beneath the edge of her pajama top and up the sides of her spine. A long, slow caress that had her arching into him.

  She absorbed every hitch and groan, the spasmic tensing of his grip on her leg as she ground against him, the slight nip of his teeth on her lower lip, and the calloused tips of his fingers tracing along the skin of her side. The higher his fingers traveled, the harder it was to breathe. She was already gasping, already frantic, so the featherlight stroke of her nipple made her wild.

  Her head fell back against the door, desperate for air.

  His fingers grew more insistent. Stroking until the peaks were tight. Cupping the full weight of her breast and nuzzling the tip through the cotton of her pajamas. His lips brushed against her nipple while one large hand rested between her shoulder blades—holding her in place as his mouth began a true assault on her senses.

  His lips traveled up her throat, sucking her earlobe into the hot recesses of his mouth while his fingers worked the buttons of her pajama top free. But the cold air was instantly replaced by his touch. One breast cradled in his hand, the other worked over by his lips and tongue.

  The door was replaced by the bed beneath her, and she reveled in the weight of his body, heavy, against her.

  She tugged his shirt up and over his head, moaning aloud at the feel of his skin against hers. The slide of his hand over her stomach triggered a series of electric pulses. When he tugged her pajama bottoms down and off, the press of his lips to her hipbone had her hands fisting in the silk-like comforter beneath her.

  His fingers were magic, teasing her senseless before his tongue took over.

  “Travis,” she pleaded, gripping at his shoulders. “Travis, please.”

  His breath was ragged against her inner thigh. “Tell me what you want.”

  She propped herself up on her elbows, staring down at him. In her dazed state, she’d no idea she was laying on the edge of the bed or that he knelt between her legs or that her fingers had tangled in his perfect model c
urls… Her desire was too insistent for her to feel anything else. And now that she saw him, red-cheeked and breathing hard, her craving for this man consumed her. “You,” she whispered. “Now.” This was new. The desperate ache that only he could fill.

  He stood and stared down at her, unbuttoning his jeans. He was solid muscle. His arms. The balls of his shoulder. His hard plane of chest. His contour lines dividing up the muscles of his stomach. The indents along the inside of his hips, cutting deep.

  She wanted to explore every ridge and angle of his body. After…

  He slid his jeans down and off, kicking aside jeans and boxer shorts and leaving nothing left to the imagination. Even without his hands on her, the heat of his gaze left her panting.

  Thankfully, he had a condom. Watching him roll it on was sexy as hell—even more so because he was shaking. As he climbed onto the bed, he pressed kisses along her hip, her stomach, the underside of her breast, her nipple, and the hollow of her throat before he was braced over her.

  She reached up, smoothing a curl from his forehead and hooking one leg around his waist.

  “Dammit all,” he ground out. His hand searched until he’d found hers and threaded their fingers together. And when he arched, slowly easing into her, their hands tightened around each other.

  Her lungs were empty, but she didn’t mind. She was wonderfully full. Stretched to the point of pure sensation. Gasping, arching, aching for more. They were moving together, straining and arching—those blue eyes of his locked with hers.

  They found their rhythm quickly.

  The brush of his chest against hers was enough to push her closer to the edge. The fire in his eyes was blinding. She was swept up, wrapped in him, in the way he slid deep, joining their bodies—again and again. The fuse was lit and her insides clamped down. Higher and higher, the harder he thrust, the brighter she burned.

  “Loretta,” he rasped against her lips, but never slowing.

  Her name was what did it. The way he said it. How raw and frantic he was—for her.

  Hot and white. Rolling over her, dragging her under. On and on, until she knew she couldn’t take anymore. But then it started all over again, harder this time, and oh, so sweet.

  Travis stiffened against her, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. It tipped her over the edge again, sending her free falling in bliss as she watched him come apart inside of her.

  ***

  Travis had a hickey on the inside of his thigh. And on his hip. He had a few moon-shaped cuts on his side…and, from the sting, there were probably more on his ass. Marks of last night. Marks of passion. All made by the sexy-as-hell woman sleeping soundly in the bed beside him.

  He didn’t know what the hell he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. This was…different. Different enough that he hoped her original plan was up for renegotiating.

  He rolled over, spooning around her. It had been one long night. But, damn, he wasn’t ready for it to be over. The clock said three—too early and too late. Might as well make the most of the time they had left. His hand smoothed the hair from her shoulder.

  She murmured, instinctively arching into him.

  He buried his face against her neck and nuzzled her ear.

  She arched again, the curve of her ass rubbing against him in invitation.

  “You sleeping?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she whispered back. “It’s my dream so you better make it a good one.” He saw her cheek curve from her smile.

  He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, smiling at her sharp indrawn breath. “I’ll see what I can do.” He ran his hand down her stomach, pulled her hips back just a bit, and thrust deep.

  Her moan was the hottest damn thing he had ever heard in his whole damn life. What had it been, five hours? Six? Did it matter? He couldn’t wrap his brain around walking away from this—from her. His arm slid around her waist, anchoring her against him as he began to move in earnest. The moment she was clinging to him, her body tightening around him, he came—burying his face in a pillow to muffle his groan.

  He rolled onto his back, rubbing his hair from his forehead.

  “You’re all sweaty,” she said, heavy-lidded with sleep.

  “We both are.” He turned his head, studying her face in the light filtering in from the bathroom. The bathroom, where they’d made good use of the shower—and the bench—and one minty-scented bath gel. “Maybe we need another shower.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t move.”

  “You just shook you head.” He paused. “Now you’re smiling.” He waited, smiling as she started to laugh. “You can move.”

  “You know what I mean.” She sighed, her eyes drooping shut. “I’m exhausted. You’ve exhausted me.”

  “I didn’t hear any complaints.” He propped himself up on his elbow, smoothing a long dark strand from her face. He liked touching her. “Pretty sure I heard the exact opposite.”

  “Me?” Her eyes fluttered open but her smile was sleepy. “You’re the loud one.” She yawned. “I’m sleeping. Remember?”

  He bent forward and kissed each of her eyelids. “Then sleep. No more sex.”

  She laughed again, shifting forward so her head rested next to his on the pillow. As she drifted off to sleep, her features went soft. Beautiful. So damn beautiful.

  Tomorrow would be interesting. No doubt about that. Things might have gotten off on the wrong foot but once the whole alcohol-and-pills thing had been cleared up, he and Loretta had been nothing but honest with each other. He wanted to keep it that way—no matter how difficult it might be now that this had happened.

  He didn’t remember dozing off.

  “Travis.” Loretta was leaning over him, her long hair brushing his bare chest. “Wake up.”

  He smiled but didn’t open his eyes. “Do I have to?”

  Her laugh was soft. “Yes.” Her hair was soft.

  He reached up, running her silky hair between his fingers. With a sigh, he opened one eye. “You’re dressed.” Both eyes popped open. What the hell?

  “You sound so…so disappointed?” she managed, laughing.

  “I am disappointed.” He sat up and peered around her. The small digital clock on the bedside table said it was almost eight. “Fuck.” He sighed and fell back against the pillows.

  “Exactly.” She nodded, tucking the hair behind her ear. “It’s late. I didn’t want you…this…well, it’s probably best if this stays between us, don’t you think?”

  He ran his hands over his face. “Yeah.” He wasn’t about to volunteer that Sawyer would know. He hadn’t missed a day since he’d come home from the Oasis. And after Sawyer’d caught them in the foyer… “I’ll go.” He sat up, sliding to the edge of her bed.

  “Here.” She held out his clothes, neatly folded.

  He took the clothes, stood, and stared down at her. She hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours but she still looked beautiful.

  “You’re doing it again.” Her voice dipped.

  “What?” he asked, softly.

  “Staring at my mouth.” She cleared her throat.

  He shook his head. “It’s hard not to, now that I know how it tastes…and feels.”

  Her breath hitched. “You’re not playing fair this morning.” She pointed at him.

  “I’m not?” He chuckled. “You’re the one that got up and dressed before I could do what I’d been planning to do.”

  She shook her head. “You need to go. Before—”

  “You start kissing me and I take off that pretty dress?” He finished, smiling.

  “You’re…you’re incredible.” Her expression was beyond exasperated.

  “Thank you.” He reached up, smoothing the hair from her shoulder.

  “I didn’t mean… You… Oh.” She took a deep breath, shook her head, and left the room.

 
He chuckled, yanking on his boxers, jeans, and T-shirt. He stuck his socks into his boots and carefully, peeked out the door. He made it to his room without discovery. His phone—which he’d intentionally left in his room—was pinging with unread messages.

  Archie, his sobriety coach, was checking to see about having lunch later this week.

  Two Where are you? messages from Sawyer this morning, followed by a Nevermind.

  And a message from Momma. “Shit.” He swiped his phone open. “Shit shit shit.” He was supposed to meet her in town today for brunch. As much as he loved his mother, there was no doubt that she made things extra challenging.

  He shaved in the shower, moving as quickly as possible. Brunch with Momma meant spiffing himself up. Freshly pressed button-down, starched jeans, high-shined boots, and his dress tan cowboy hat. He dressed, grabbed his boots, and hurried down the hall, grabbing keys for his prize fully-restored black 1984 Chevrolet short-bed pickup truck.

  His phone started ringing five minutes later.

  “Travis, here,” he answered.

  “Where is here?” His father’s voice was gruff.

  “Dad, what are you doing?” He sighed. “You’re not supposed to talk, remember? You can text me—that won’t irritate your throat.”

  “It’ll irritate me—”

  “Dad.” He groaned. “Is Sawyer there? Or Loretta? Or Margot?”

  There was a general crackle and motion through the receiver.

  “Travis?” It was Loretta.

  “Well, hi.” He smiled. “Miss me already?”

  “You’d like that,” Loretta said. Her sigh wasn’t very convincing; he could hear the smile in her voice.

  Travis glanced out the window at the bluebonnets blooming along the interstate. “Have you ever seen a bluebonnet, Loretta?”

  “What? No.” There was a pause. “Sawyer just walked in. You’re having brunch with your mother?”