Mystic Cowboy(37)

When he pulled back, his chest was heaving just as fast as hers was. He wasn’t just jerking her around. He wanted her. Her. Not her family name, not her lucrative profession. Just her.

“Madeline.” His voice, husky with need, strummed her in places she didn’t know could be played. But he knew the right tune. “Mad-e-line.” With each sound, he moved his hips. Too much more of this, and it wouldn’t matter that they were still both wearing jeans.

He would be amazing. Hell, who was she kidding? He was amazing. And this was about to get a whole lot more amazing.

The three months since pity sex with Darrin suddenly weren’t the longest three months in her life. No, she was suddenly quite sure she’d never really, truly had sex. Sure, she’d gone through the motions, but this wouldn’t be just a physical copulation. This wasn’t just sex, but something deeper, something more powerful than she’d ever dared to imagine, much less hold in her arms. This wasn’t just sex—was it?

“Stay with me,” he whispered as his fingers found curls. “Stay here with me.”

Not just sex. Not with him. “I...” He kissed her again, his whole body surging up to convince her that staying was the only, best option. Her body quaked underneath his.

“Stay,” he breathed. “Please.”





Chapter Eight

“Please.” He didn’t beg—he never begged, because he’d never had to—but even to his own ears, he was getting awful close. She felt so right under him, so right against him, that he couldn’t imagine her not staying there. Her curls, perfect in their wildness, spread out under her head, crowning her in silken glory as her eyes fluttered. She made that little whimpering noise again, a high, tight noise in the back of her throat. He leaned down and caught the noise with his mouth.

He’d beg if he had to. He’d never tasted anything as exquisite as the sound of her need. She needed him. She wanted him. And he’d do his damnest to give it to her. All of it.

Her body—damn the jeans—her body moved in perfect counterpoint to his. It gave when it needed to, met his with a show of sheer force when it had to. She dug her fingers into his back and pulled him up when she wanted more, but they were feather-soft against his skin when he pulled back. Her parted lips were begging for another kiss while her cheeks were still flushed from the last one. He propped himself up on one hand and let the fullness of her breast fill his hand. “Please.” He was begging. He had no choice.

Her nipples were at full attention as he rolled his thumb over her breast. Perfect—just enough to hold. Just like her. But then her head popped up and her eyes popped open, and he saw the alarm. The worry. The regret. And she grabbed his hand.

“I don’t have anything.” The change that came over her was plenty painful to watch, but more painful to feel. Her soft, giving center jerked away from him. She untwined her legs from his. Then she put her hand on his chest and pushed. She pushed him away. “We have to use something.”

The anger was a flash in the pan. For a white-hot second, he was furious with her for letting him get this far, and beyond furious with himself. He was going to have blue balls for a week, all because neither of them had a damned condom.

But then he looked down at her. The corners of her lips—that he’d been kissing—were pulled down into a frown. Her eyes had none of the challenge, none of the superiority that marked their earlier battles. Instead, she looked like she was going to cry.

That made two of them.

He let the anger leave his body. It didn’t take much of the desire-turned-frustration with it, but just enough that he could think straight. Of course they needed something. He wasn’t some stupid, hormonal teenager who thought only with his dick. He was a grown man, who already took care of enough accidents—Jesse, Nelly, and others—to last him a lifetime.

And, more than anything, he couldn’t push her. She was right. She was also miserable. Her lip quivered even though she couldn’t meet his gaze anymore. He couldn’t push her. Not now, not ever.

Which meant it was time for her to leave.

Pulling his hand free from hers, he touched her cheek and then kissed the same spot. This wouldn’t—couldn’t—be the end of it. Just the end of it right now. “Come on,” he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he pulled back. “I’ll take you back to your Jeep.”

But before he could get any farther, she lurched up and caught him around the neck. “I’m sorry.”

He let himself savor holding her tight to his chest. Sorry was going to be the state of his nuts after this, but there was nothing to be done about it. Alternative methods of solving the problem were probably out—she’d been worried enough about dysentery. He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead. The heat was missing. But that was for the best, right? “It’s okay.” He pulled her to her feet, but he couldn’t quite let her go. His arm was around her waist before he could stop it. And she let him hold her. He needed to get her out of here before she drove him completely, utterly mad. “I can’t let you put those boots back on.”