Callie followed the path through the back pasture to the cluster of trees at the far edge. Ducking beneath a branch, she kept on the worn trail until the trees thinned and she reached a clearing.
Moonlight spilled over the ground, bathing the scene in a celestial light that lent a surreal quality to the moment. The creek trickled nearby, winding its way past the man who stood on the bank, his attention directed at the sparkling water. Moonlight outlined his form, edging his broad shoulders, his strong thighs.
She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and slid the first button of her blouse free. The material parted and slid down her arms, over her hands. Trembling fingers worked at the catch of her bra, freeing her straining breasts. The scrap of lace landed at her feet. The gauzy material of her skirt joined the growing heap until Callie stood in nothing but her panties and a slick layer of perspiration. Her first instinct was to cover herself. She’d been self-conscious about her weight her entire life, but she was determined to show Brett that she wasn’t afraid. That she wanted this.
That she wanted him.
She cleared her throat and he turned to face her. She focused on the dark shadow that he made surrounded by moonlight and imagined the look in his eyes, the hunger.
The warm night air whispered over her bare shoulders and breasts. Her nipples tightened, throbbed in anticipation of his touch.
But he wasn’t reaching out.
He was waiting for her to take the lead, to make the first move, and so she did.
Her breath caught at the first swirl of her fingertips at the aching tips. Her hands moved lower, down the slick, quivering skin of her stomach, to the damp curls at the base of her thighs. The air seemed to stand still around her. Even the crickets faded into the frantic beat of her own heart. Her breath caught, and she touched herself. One fingertip slid along the seam between her legs where the lush lips met. Heat pulsed through her hot body and a shameless moan curled up her throat.
A deep, raw groan rumbled in her ears and then he wasn’t standing near the creek. He was moving toward her. Water splashed. Boots crunched rock.
She barely managed to blink before he reached her. He stopped then, his breathing coming harsh and fast as if it took every ounce of strength for him to put on the brakes. But he did. He gave her one last chance to think about what she was doing, to change her mind.
But she wasn’t living with another ten years of regret. Been there. Done that.
No more.
The regret stopped tonight.
“Touch me,” she murmured. “Please.”
And he did.
Strong, muscled arms wrapped around her, drew her close as his mouth captured hers in a deep, thorough kiss that sucked the air from her lungs and made her entire body tremble with need.
She clutched at his shoulders. Denim rasped her sensitive breasts and thighs in a delicious friction that made her quiver and pant and claw at the hard muscles of his arms.
Strong hands slid down her back, cupped her bottom, and urged her legs up on either side of him. Then he lifted her, cradled and kneaded her buttocks as she wrapped her legs around his waist and settled over the straining bulge in his jeans.
“Please,” she whimpered, rubbing herself against him. She wanted to get on with it, to move fast and furious so that neither of them had a chance to think about what they were doing.
If he pulled away again …
He didn’t.
He turned, easing her onto the edge of a large boulder, his pelvis urging her thighs farther apart.
She braced herself as he trailed his tongue over the silk covering her wet heat and pushed the material into her slit until her flesh plumped on either side. He licked, stroking and stirring the sensitive flesh until she squirmed and shoved her fingers into his silky hair.
He gripped the edge of her panties and she lifted her hips to accommodate him. The lacy material slithered down her legs. He caught her ankles and urged her knees over his shoulders. Large hands slid beneath her buttocks as he drew her to the very edge of the rock. At his first long lick, the air bolted from her lungs.
His tongue parted her and he lapped at her sensitive clit. He tasted and savored, stroking, plunging, driving her mindless until her body was wound so tight that she couldn’t stand it anymore. A cry vibrated from her throat and shattered the stillness that surrounded them. Her orgasm gripped her and held tight for the next several seconds. Her body trembled and her insides convulsed.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His deep, raw voice pierced the pounding in her ears and she opened her eyes to find him poised above her. He stared down at her, his expression dark and unreadable, and panic rushed through her.
This was it. The moment that he realized she just wasn’t enough and pulled away.
Just as he’d done so long ago.
Tension carved his muscles tight, his arms braced on either side. He moved then, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he gathered her close and in an instant, she felt the soft sleeping bag at her back.
He shed his jeans and settled between her legs, his weight pressing her back into the down covering. His erection slid along her damp flesh, making her shudder and moan and arch toward him, but he held tight to his control.
He was going to do this slow. Easy.
* * *
He drank in the scent of her—vine-fresh strawberries basking in the summer sunshine—and tried to slow his pounding heart. Strawberries had always been his favorite. He remembered so many warm days picking fruit down by Rebel Creek. There’d been nothing like biting into the sweet flesh, feeling the juice trickle down his throat …
Nothing as decadent, as satisfying.
Except her—the woman who haunted his past, his dreams, his now—and her soft-as-moonlight hair that whispered across his bare flesh and made his muscles quiver.
He pressed into her just a fraction and he groaned. “You feel so good,” he rasped after a long, shuddering moment.
“Really?” Surprise glittered in her gaze as if she couldn’t quite believe him.
She didn’t. She didn’t trust him any more than he trusted himself, and suddenly more than proving something to himself, he wanted to prove something to her.
That he still wanted her.
That he still needed her.
Now more than ever because he was no longer that spoiled, selfish boy. He was a grown man and she was a grown woman.
His woman.
And it was time she knew it.
A surprised “Oh!” bubbled from her lips before he claimed them in a kiss that was desperate, savage even.
He held her head in his hands, his fingers tangled in her hair, anchoring her to him as he plunged fast and sure and deep, burying himself in one luscious thrust.
The air stalled in his lungs for several fast, furious heartbeats before he slid his hands down her sides to cup her buttocks and tilt her just a fraction so he could slide deeper. Pleasure splintered his brain and sent an echoing shudder through his body. He pulled away then, only to push inside again. And again.
When he finally came, it was like someone zapped his brain with a cattle prod. Heat sizzled across every nerve ending, consumed all rhyme and reason and thought, until he crashed and burned and his entire body went up in flames. He lost it then, but only for a few seconds.
Her moan echoed in his ears as the fire caught and consumed her. He kept moving then, pushing into her until he felt the last quake of her body. Rolling over, he pulled her up against his side.
In the back of his brain, he knew what happened next was a bad idea. Sex was fine, but the details that came after … That was the stuff he always steered clear of. He didn’t huddle up and whisper sweet nothings, and he sure as hell didn’t do the morning after.
No pancakes or bacon or bright ideas about a future together.
He had way too much on his plate to complicate things with an actual relationship.
His future was far away from Rebel, and it had nothing to do with a woman. He’d barely won his second buckle. A man didn’t just abandon a pro rodeo career after winning his second buckle. He was at the top of his game. He’d be crazy to walk away.
He was many things, but crazy had never been one of them. His old man had claimed that title.
Brett did the right thing. The logical thing. Like getting the ranch back on track, making arrangements for his granddaddy, and then getting his ass back on the road.
That was the plan, even if he hadn’t returned any of his promoter’s phone calls.
He hadn’t really had the time or the energy, but he would get to it. Just as soon as he found the missing cattle and voiced his suspicions to the sheriff and got a handle on what the hell was going on.
Then he would call his promoter and get back in the game.
He would.
But not just yet.
Right now, he was too tired, too spent, too pleased to think of anything except slipping an arm around this woman, nuzzling her neck, and getting some much-needed sleep.
But then a shotgun blast cracked open the silence and his first real moment of peace went to hell lickety-split, like the senior ladies’ prayer group headed to the all-you-can-eat buffet after one of Pastor Harris’s infamous fasts.