Maggie squeezed her eyes shut as if she could shut out the images of their two bodies slick with sweat wrapped round each other. She knew it would be amazing between them and it had been so long since she’d made love with someone. A cute pink vibrator and erotica were a poor substitute for the scrape of a beard against her nipples, the weight of a man on her, and the mind-bending orgasm achieved as he went hard and deep. But...
Cal slid off the tailgate and walked to the trunk of the oak tree, giving her room physically and figuratively. He turned toward her. “I’m not going to beg you, Maggie. I respect a woman’s right to choose for herself what she wants in a relationship. I could use cheap seduction tactics, but I won’t. You like to make logical decisions, so I’ll leave it to you. I’ve pretty much made my case for a no-strings-attached, mutually beneficial relationship.”
Maggie slid off the tailgate, grabbing a leaf dangling from the branch above her head. “You think it will be that easy? A clean break? No mess?”
Cal shrugged. “Neither of us is at a place for anything more. We’ll have a few laughs and leave with a good memory.”
She couldn’t deny his argument sounded logical. Eliminating the messiness of a breakup and setting guidelines meant they’d both know the score. No shaky ground...just hot, gratifying sex. When she left Texas, she’d be ready to start a new life and perhaps being with a hot cowboy could make that easier. She’d feel more confident, less needy and most important, sexually fulfilled. Or at least she assumed he was as advertised. “You know, from the moment I first arrived in Coyote Creek, I’ve been off balance. I made the decision to remodel the ranch and hire you without much forethought which is highly atypical of me. I can’t say I’ve been very practical about the path I’ve chosen for the next month or so. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I need a little spontaneity. Maybe I need some...hot sex?”
A smile curved Cal’s lips. “You need sexual healing.”
“Not if you’re going to start singing that song or making doctor jokes about delivering the medicine,” she joked, feeling herself go over the edge of reason. But she’d enjoy the fall...and according to Cal, there’d never be a splat. This wasn’t a bad decision. It was inevitable. They’d been moving toward this. Why stop?
Cal reached out and took her hand, bringing her to him. She let him. “Your answer is...?”
Maggie lifted onto her toes and looped her arms around his neck. “Take me home, unpack the truck because we can’t risk any high school kids showing up to plunder the supplies and then screw my brains out.”
Cal dropped a kiss on her lips. “But I like your brains, boss lady.”
Maggie pulled his head back down to hers and bit his lower lip. “The brains can stay as long as the screwing takes place.”
“Can I negotiate a bonus for a job well done?”
Maggie slid her hand down his stomach and clasped the hardness jutting against her belly. “I see a real possibility of a bonus.”
Cal closed his eyes before pulling the keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go. Now.”
Laughter and sweet anticipation rose in her. “In a hurry, are you? I thought I’d finish my salad.”
“The hell you will,” he said, pushing her toward the truck, making her laugh. “You said I should have asked you out to dinner. Well, that was it. Let’s move on to the after-date stuff.”
“You call eating a salad on a tailgate taking me on a date?” she teased, but she followed.
“No, that was a second date. I’m counting the ham-and-turkey sandwich as the first one,” he said, climbing into the truck, looking back at her to order, “Hurry up, boss.”
7
THE SUN HAD slipped from the western sky, leaving streaks of lavender on the horizon. Crickets came out to play and the lonely hoot of a barn owl accompanied the creak of the back screen door as Cal stepped into the kitchen for the date Maggie had insisted on. The aroma of something saucy hit him along with the sight of Maggie wearing an apron and a pair of short denim cutoffs. She looked good standing there with the sweet curve of her ass nearly showing and a wooden spoon in hand. She sang a Beyoncé song about who runs the world at the top of her lungs.
Hours before, he’d driven back to the Triple J like a bat out of hell, intent on getting Maggie into bed. But on arrival, he had to address some issues with the paint crew and pay the roofers who’d put a new roof on in only a day’s time. Maggie had given him a smile full of promise before disappearing into the house, leaving him to unload the supplies. He’d discovered Charlie had fixed the pen and left, miracle of miracles. Then after looking over some fencing that needed to be replaced and calling an electrician to come out and check the wiring in the barn, he’d finally managed to answer the emails that had stacked up and make a call to Dr. Tubby McCoy, the PBR physician, to discuss the exam he’d undergo in Mobile. A call to his agent imparted the news Hugo Boss wanted him to do a public appearance at some fashion thing in Paris. Probably wouldn’t make that with the world championship on the line, but he’d never been to France or feted by a designer. Could be fun. And he’d ordered a bucking barrel to be installed in the barn so he could start practicing. Once he got comfortable there, he’d see about going to local rodeos and getting some actual rides. August was bearing down on him...but until then, he had Maggie.
She whirled at the sound of the door shutting. “Oh, you scared me.”
He smiled, loving that she’d left her dark brown hair to curl softly over her shoulders. The white T-shirt clung tightly to her curves and with her feet in flip-flops, she looked far removed from the woman who’d walked into the Barbwire diner last week. Gone was the cool professional, and in her place was a warm, willing woman with a smoking body. His gaze slid over the flare of her hips, the tight rack and those porn-star lips that drove him crazy. “You’re a terrible singer.”
Her face was flushed, maybe from the heat of the stove or the anticipation thrumming between them like a hive full of honeybees. “I know. I think a wolf howled during the first verse.”
“Not wolf. Coyote maybe.” Cal walked over and pulled her into his arms, loving how she fit him. He dipped his head and found she tasted like red sauce. “Mmm, you taste—”
“—like garlic?” she interrupted.
“Maybe a little, but if—” he took the spoon and scooped a taste out of the pot “—I have some, too, it won’t matter.”
“I should have fixed something else,” she said with a sigh, wiping her hands on the apron. “It’s our first real date and I go with Italian. But I make a good marinara sauce. Wanted to impress you.”
“Been a long time since someone cared to impress me with cooking skills.”
“Your mother doesn’t cook for you when you’re home?”
“Ruth sucks in the kitchen. She spent too many days cleaning up after other people to want to clean the kitchen nightly.”
“Your mother was a housekeeper, too?”
“At the Coyote Creek Motel.” When he was younger he’d been ashamed of having a mother who was a maid, of living such a scrubby existence, but now he understood how his mother’s work ethic and determination had molded him. His mother had gone from maid to manager. And then she’d met Gary Whitehorse, a wealthy cattleman and businessman, whom she married. Needless to say, his mother hadn’t cleaned a toilet in seventeen years.
“Something else we have in common—hardworking single mothers who had to make other people’s beds,” she said, adding a splash of red wine to the sauce and stirring. He reached past her and grabbed the glass of wine sitting on the counter beside her and took a sip.
She wrinkled her cute nose. “I hate drinking from the same glass after other people.”
He swallowed the wine, noting the spicy hint of black pepper paired with currant and jam. Yeah, he loved wine, not that anyone would believe a dumb bull rider had discerning tastes. “Really? ’Cause you’re about to get all up in this.” He waved his hands around his face.
“You really know how to romance a girl, don’t you?” She snorted, pulling on oven mitts and lifting the large pot of pasta off the back burner. She rushed toward the sink and poured the pot into a stainless-steel strainer. “Thank goodness the AC got repaired. Now I know why they’re always grilling in the South. Kitchen gets too hot.”
“And you’re making it hotter,” he said, snuggling up to her back, his pelvis fitting against her soft derriere. He scraped back her hair and kissed the damp nape of her neck. She smelled like wildflowers.
His kiss gave her a little shiver. “Keep doing that and we won’t make it to dinner.”
Cal nibbled his way to the soft slope of her shoulder. “Promise?”
Maggie used a kitchen towel to smack him. “Go sit down and pour yourself a glass of wine. I’ve spent too much time making this for it to scorch. We’ve been horny this long. An hour more won’t hurt.”
He stepped back. “Kinky foreplay? I’m in.”
Maggie rolled her eyes and set about chopping up ingredients for what he could only assume was a salad. He’d given her only half an hour in Walmart before they left McKinney and she’d bought enough food for an army. Finding a clean wineglass, he poured some wine and parked himself at the table where he could enjoy the rare sight of a woman making dinner for him. Too often his dates were over hot wings and cold beer at a bar and grill before marathon sex in a sterile hotel room. But it was pleasing to watch Maggie hum as she diced red onion and shredded the block of parmesan. It felt domestic.