Love Somebody Like You (22 page)

“You're not going to force a wedding ring on my finger and move me to some distant province?” she asked dryly, proud that she could attempt a joke about her experience with Pete.

“Somehow I don't think that's in the cards.”

In truth, she knew Ben would never do anything like that. Not only wasn't he that kind of man, but he had no interest in leaving rodeo and settling down, not for some years yet. Even if he had, he should find a younger, less damaged woman, one who had more to give him than she did.

He had said he was safe. That was true in so many ways. Safe, in that he'd respect whatever limits she set. Safe, in that he wouldn't sweep her off her feet and try to take over her life. Safe, in that he'd already helped her start on the path of healing. He'd helped her feel like a woman, an attractive and sexy woman.

And she was attracted to him. Right now, she couldn't imagine even contemplating sex with any other man.

 

 

The evening sunshine turned Sally's eyes a deep mossy green. “You know what I'd like?” she asked.

“No idea.” Though he could hope.

“Another dance. In my kitchen. And after, when you kiss me, maybe you could”—mischief glinted in her eyes—“ramp it up a little?”

He was on his feet, extending his right hand to pull her up. “Race you home.”

They loaded up their gear and, despite his joking words, took their time riding back. It was a perfect July evening and Ben liked hanging on to the anticipation of that dance and ramped-up kiss. The ride, with the sun slipping from the sky and the only sound the creak and jingle of the horses' tack and the soft thud of their hooves against hard-packed ground, seemed like part of the slow, teasing sense of foreplay.

He had to be careful, to bank down on the desire that threatened to rage through his body. Yeah, in part he felt like a lust-crazed monster, but he'd rather die from blue balls than do anything to scare Sally.

Back at Ryland Riding, they greeted Heather and a couple of owners who'd just returned from a ride of their own and were turning their horses out to pasture. Heather left and Ben took care of Chaunce and Campion while Sally tended to her chickens. He then made a pit stop in his trailer to splash water on his face, brush his teeth, and comb his hair. He left the sling on the table and deliberately did not put a condom in his pocket. It wouldn't be right for things to go that far tonight, even though his body hungered for release.

Man, he was as nervous as a teen on his first date.

Mary-Jane Kowalski. Brown hair, blue eyes, and the cutest impish grin. They'd been twelve and he'd taken her to the movies. She'd wanted to see
Free Willy 3,
so two ranch kids who'd never seen the ocean had watched boys rescue an orca from whalers. He'd held her hand, their fingers greasy from eating buttered popcorn. Grinning at the memory, he sauntered toward the house, admiring an indigo sky full of stars.

The kitchen door was open and he heard music playing. After knocking lightly on the doorframe and calling a quiet “Hello,” he took off his boots and stepped inside. The room was dark and there was no sign of Sally. On the radio, a Carrie Underwood song ended and the announcer said, “And now I'm gonna play something for all the lovers out there. Grab your honey for Keith Urban singing about ‘Somebody Like You.'”

“Sally,” Ben called, “they're playing our song.”

Footsteps thumped lightly on the stairs and she appeared in the kitchen doorway, illuminated by light from the hallway behind her. “We have a song? Oh, that one.” She'd taken off the long-sleeved shirt and now wore only the tee with her jeans. She was barefoot and her hair was freshly brushed.

He held out his arms to her and she stepped into them with no hesitation. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he gathered her close but not too close, holding her firmly but gently. Taking care with her. Leading her so that their bodies found a harmony in tune with each other and the music. Her hand was warm and relaxed in his, her waist supple under his other hand. His sock-clad foot brushed her bare one a time or two.

He struggled to control the arousal that tightened his groin.

As Keith Urban sang about letting go of the lonely days and forgiving himself for his mistakes, Ben hoped that Sally could do all of those things too. If she did, what would she want? Would she want, as the guy in the song did, to love somebody?

Ben wanted that for her. He wanted her to have all the things she'd ever dreamed of. A man who respected and loved her, who deserved this amazing woman. One day Ben would drive though Caribou Crossing, stop to visit, and she'd have a husband and a couple of kids. And he'd feel . . . well, he'd feel what he felt right now. A pang he couldn't put a name to, something poignant that sent an ache through his heart.

And that was just plain crazy when he was holding this sweet-smelling, gently curved, strong yet vulnerable woman in his arms. He eased her a little closer so his hip brushed hers.

She rested her head against him, her cheek turned into his shoulder so that her soft breath caressed his neck.

Now no amount of self-control could will his growing erection to subside. He murmured against her soft hair, “Don't get nervous, sweetheart. I told you I want you, but nothing's gonna happen unless you want it to.”

She didn't answer. Nor did she move away.

The song faded away and Brad Paisley's “She's Everything” came on. Another good one to dance to, but instead Ben eased away from Sally, keeping her hand in his. “Come on outside.”

When they were on the deck, he said, “It's a night full of stars.”

She gazed at the sky, her eyes huge and her face luminous in starlight. “It's beautiful.”

“Not half as beautiful as you.” He rested two fingers under her chin to keep her head tilted upward, and then he stepped in front of her and bent to touch his lips to hers.

She closed her eyes and angled her head so their mouths matched up perfectly.

He ran his fingers through those soft, soft curls to lightly cup the back of her head, and he kissed her gently.

Her lips softened, parted slightly, and she kissed him back. Lightly, tentatively, her breath smelling of mint.

He didn't push, didn't try to part her lips or take the kiss any further, just focused on the moment, on the wonder of having Sally kiss him.

Her arms crept under his and around him and she came up on her toes. Her lips pressed harder, her breasts brushed his chest, and her hips snugged up against his. The hard-on that distended his fly didn't seem to faze her.

With the tip of his tongue, he tasted her lips.

She made one of those uniquely feminine sounds, like a sigh and moan combined, and her tongue touched his, shyly at first then growing bolder.

He teased her tongue with his until finally she darted hers inside his mouth. After she'd explored, he took his turn. As they kissed, he slid one hand down her back, cupped her firm butt, and squeezed.

She wriggled her hips against his erection, her restless movements telling him how turned on she was.

Cautiously, he reached between their bodies and caressed her breast through her clothing.

She pressed into his hand, making that hungry sound again.

He eased his mouth from hers. “You feel amazing. Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” And then, softly, “Nervous.”

“We're not gonna have sex tonight, so don't be nervous about that, okay?”

“We're not?”

“I didn't bring a condom because it's too soon.”

She cocked her head. “You decided that?”

“Uh, yeah.” Not wanting her to think he was bossing her around, he tried to explain. “You haven't been with a guy in a long time, and the way things were with Pete, I know you're carrying some pretty heavy baggage. I don't want us to, you know, get carried away and end up doing something you might regret in the morning.”

Something sparked in her eyes, or was it the reflection of starlight? “You figure I'd regret having sex with you?”

“Not because it wouldn't be good,” he clarified. “But because it happened so fast.”

“Because I got carried away? Because you're so irresistible that I'd just get carried away?”

He groaned. “Sorry. You know that's not what I meant. Jeez, Sally, I didn't mean to be obnoxious. Believe it or not, I was trying to be considerate.”

She gave a soft, forgiving laugh. “I do believe you. You maybe could've phrased it better, but I hear what you're saying and you're right. I admit I'm relieved to not have to worry about whether I'm ready for sex. Whether I'll be able to handle it.” The corners of her mouth tucked up with a hint of mischief. “Though I'll also admit to a little sexual frustration.”

“Hey, sweetheart, I never said I was gonna leave you sexually frustrated.”

Her eyes widened. “Now you've definitely got my attention, Ben Traynor.”

Chapter Nineteen

For a cocky cowboy, Ben could be endearingly awkward. And very sweet. Not to mention sexy. He'd certainly made her hot and twitchy. But he was right, that even as she enjoyed the slow build of arousal in her body, anxiety hovered.

Where did they go from here? More fooling around? That was what he'd seemed to suggest.

With Pete, sex had been intercourse, usually in the missionary position. When she had her period, it was her giving him a blow job. Ben made her remember how seductive foreplay could be. More so, though, when it wasn't accompanied by the whine of mosquitoes. “Shall we go inside?”

“Sure.”

This time, she took his hand and led him into the kitchen. The radio was still playing. They could dance again, but she wanted something more intimate. Because of that, and because she believed Ben when he'd said nothing would happen unless she wanted it to, she led him into the hallway and up the stairs. In the bedroom, enough light came from the hallway and through the uncurtained window to reveal the shapes of the furniture.

Quivering with nerves, she sat on the edge of the bed. Ben stood in front of her. “No sex,” she said, reminding both of them. His fly bulged with a sizable erection, tempting her to unzip him and fondle him. But warring with that impulse were bad memories of Pete's hands holding her head in an unrelenting grip as he forced his swollen dick down her throat and she tried not to choke. When Ben said they wouldn't have sex, what did that mean? Would he want her to bring him to release with her mouth? Once upon a time, she'd enjoyed doing that, but—

“I won't even take my clothes off,” he said. “Does that make you feel safer?”

His desire to take care of her warmed her heart. “Yes,” she admitted. “I hate being like this. So . . . fragile and pathetic.”

“You're neither of those things, Sally.” His voice was firm. “Now lie back on the bed.”

When she complied he lay beside her, rolling on to his left side to face her. He winced. “Ouch. Wrong side.”

She gasped. “I forgot about your shoulder! Ben, we shouldn't be doing this.”

“Shh.” He rose and walked around the bed. “Can't imagine we're going to get so acrobatic that it hurts my shoulder.” He said it dryly, which for some reason eased her nerves.

She rolled over to face him and when he lay on his right side, there was no wince. He stroked his hand gently down her arm, starting at the shoulder and moving over the sleeve of her T-shirt then onto the bare skin above her elbow, then over her elbow and along her forearm to her wrist. “This is nice, lying here together,” he said.

What did he expect her to do? What did she want to do? Tentatively, she reached out to explore his face. With trembling fingers she caressed his strong cheekbone, thinking about his striking male beauty. “I know you're part First Nations. From what relative?”

“Mom's mother was Blackfoot.” He stroked the inside of her wrist. “You really want to talk about that now?”

“I was just thinking how it makes you so distinctive. So handsome.”

“Okay, maybe we can talk about it.”

She gave a soft giggle. He had such a way of relaxing her even as he turned her on. With a more confident touch, she traced the line of his jaw, then moved up to touch his lips with two fingers. “Kiss me again, Ben.”

Resting his hand on her shoulder, he leaned forward and did, slowly and thoroughly. Her blood sang with sweet pleasure as she kissed him back. Never had a man made such a lazy, sensual feast of her mouth. Arousal throbbed between her legs and her nipples hardened, craving his touch. Her clothes were too confining, yet she didn't have the guts to take them off.

He cupped her breast. Even through the cotton of her bra and tee, she felt his heat. Her flesh tingled. When he squeezed gently, she pushed into his hand, wordlessly asking for more.

He leaned closer, pressed his mouth against her nipple through her tee, and moistened the fabric with his tongue. Her already-taut flesh tightened further as need became an ache. When he sucked her with moist lips, she couldn't suppress a moan of pleasure.

His hand slipped under the hem of her T-shirt and caressed her skin above the waist of her jeans. The slight abrasion from his calluses enhanced his every touch. “So soft,” he murmured. He lifted the bottom of her tee away from her body, kissing a trail that followed where his fingers had stroked her. When he slid his fingers under her bra and eased it upward, away from her breasts, she tensed in anticipation. The good kind of anticipation.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. Don't stop.”

Now his seductive mouth was on her bare nipple, laving it, caressing it, sucking it. Oh, Lord, how good it felt. Her hips twisted restlessly as arousal pulsed between her legs. “Don't stop,” she murmured again.

“It'll feel better if I take off your tee and bra.”

She raised herself so he could peel off her shirt, undo the back clasp of her bra, and slide it off as well. Her first instinct was to throw an arm across her chest to hide her nakedness. Her second, when she saw the appreciative smile on his face, was to lie back and let him admire her. And, hopefully, to touch her.

Which he did, suckling the other nipple.

The need between her legs sent her hips forward, seeking contact. She pressed her jean-clad front against him, hooking her top leg over his thigh, seeking the right angle so she could rub against his erection. Once, sex had been a joyful, satisfying act. Back when she'd been a whole, vital, confident woman. Ben, with his mouth and hands, his patience and care, was bringing that woman back to life.

He took his time with her breasts but he also kissed her chest, her shoulders. He moved her horseshoe pendant out of the way and pressed kisses to her neck and throat. His caresses made her aware of every inch of her nakedness, making her feel feminine and beautiful.

When he put his hand on her shoulder and gently urged her to lie on her back and untwine their lower bodies, she murmured a protest but complied. He touched the waist of her jeans, slipped the button free, and paused. “Is this okay?”

She squeezed her legs together, pressing against the ache between them, imagining what it would feel like if he touched her there. If he entered her . . . But he'd said there'd be no intercourse tonight, so she didn't have to worry if he'd be gentle, or if it would hurt. If she'd be afraid—and if all these wonderful sensations would die as memories flooded back. “Yes, it's okay.” She lifted her hips to make it easier for him to slide her jeans off.

And then she was naked but for a pair of blue panties. Plain cotton, bikini style; no fancy lingerie. Panties with a very damp crotch.

But Ben didn't go straight for her crotch, nor attempt to strip off her panties. Instead, still clad in his own jeans and shirt, he moved down the bed and caressed her feet and ankles, his fingers teasing and sexy. Slowly, he made his way up her legs, adding kisses, licks, and nips that made her realize her legs had some surprising erogenous zones.

When he reached her upper thighs, she knew he must smell the musky tang of her arousal. What would he do? He'd said he wouldn't leave her sexually frustrated.

He sat back, studying her from head to toe. “You're a treat to look at, Sally, and to touch.” Sliding up the bed, he gazed into her eyes. “How you doing, sweetheart?”

“Good.” The word came out breathy, on an exhalation. “Very good.”

“Not scared?”

“I'm . . .” She examined her feelings. Knowing he wouldn't enter her, she didn't have to worry what it would be like. She could simply enjoy. “No, I'm not scared.”

“I'm glad.” He dropped a quick kiss on her lips, then moved down her body. More light kisses landed in her navel and along her panty line, but he didn't peel her panties off or even slide his fingers under the cotton.

Maybe she wouldn't have minded if he had....

His big hand spread over the front of her panties, covering her mound. His fingers slipped lower. On a needy sigh, she parted her legs, hoping he'd touch her where she most needed it. Through damp cotton, he cupped her sex, his hand so warm and firm. It felt wonderful, but she craved more. Tension of a purely sexy kind coiled inside her, a tension he'd promised to satisfy.

He stroked back and forth with two fingers, the sensation so delicious that she whimpered and pressed against him. She thrust her head back against the pillow, closing her eyes to better focus on the sensations, tilting her hips upward and widening the spread of her legs.

Would she climax? Even back in the days when she'd enjoyed sex, orgasm hadn't come easily for her. She'd feel the build-up, but often not quite get to the peak.

Even reaching this point with Ben was a triumph. She shouldn't be greedy. And yet, it had been so long since she'd felt that blissful sense of physical release.

If he stroked with just a bit more pressure . . .

As if he'd read her mind, he did, and his thumb pressed her clit. Need tightened, heated. She reached, reached . . .

And he was gone. What? He was going to leave her like that?

But no, now his hands were on her thighs, gently spreading them farther. His mouth pressed against her where his fingers had been. He breathed hot air through the crotch of her panties, then his fingers were back, stroking, and now his lips found her clit. As he'd done with her nipples, he sucked the tiny bud, while pressing firm finger strokes against her swollen labia.

Needily, she thrust against him, her hips lifting off the bed. His hands gripped her butt, supporting her and holding her against his mouth, making her his personal feast.

Pleasure gathered, sharpened. Everything in her centered, focused, climbed toward the peak that beckoned.

And he took her to the top.

She cried out as something inside her shattered in surging waves of ecstasy. Of physical release, but also of relief. She wasn't irretrievably broken. Even at the height of orgasm, she was aware that the climax that made her come apart so powerfully was also healing her and restoring her confidence in her womanhood.

Ben held her through it, until the ripples of aftershock faded. Then he eased her lower body back onto the bed. Her eyes were still closed, tears of happiness seeping from under the lids. She was utterly drained, absolutely exhausted, and totally content.

The bed shifted as he lay beside her again. A finger brushed her damp cheek. “Sally?”

She forced her heavy lids open. “I'm good. So good.” She sighed and lifted a limp arm to touch his face. Only now did she realize that, all through this, she'd lain on the bed accepting the pleasure he gave her, and giving nothing back. “Oh, Ben, thank you. That was amazing.”

“I'm glad.”

“I'm a terrible lover. It was all about me.”

“You're crazy, sweetheart. Touching you gave me pleasure. Making you feel good was”—he shook his head as if he couldn't find the right word—“one of the best things ever.”

“But you . . .” She glanced down and verified that he was still hard beneath his fly. That had to be painful. “Do you want . . .” He'd given her so much. And she honestly did want to touch him, to see his body naked, to explore and enjoy him. Though at the moment she barely had the energy to keep her eyes open.

“I got everything I wanted, and more.” He brushed the moisture off her other cheek. “No, that's a lie. There's one other thing.”

“What's that?”

“A good-night kiss.” He touched his lips to hers, feather-light. “Sleep tight, Sally.”

 

 

Ben would have loved to spend the night with Sally, but he sensed that would have been too much for her to handle. She needed time alone to process what had happened. Besides, he already had the worst case of blue balls in his life. Lying beside her sweet, sexy body in the hours until dawn would probably kill him.

So he hauled his aching body back to the trailer and took matters into his own hands, which was a damned poor substitute for burying himself in her lovely body. He didn't feel a single ounce of resentment, though, as he lay in bed waiting for sleep. What he'd told her was true. Helping her enjoy her own sexuality, having her trust him with her body, had been as big a high as winning a championship.

But, greedy man that he was, he wanted more. He sure hoped, for Sally's sake and his own, that tonight had given her the confidence to engage in a full sexual relationship. With him. With that seductive thought in mind, he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke with the birds, he showered and dressed quickly, eager to see Sally and make sure she was all right. Rather than wait for her to appear in the barn, he took his first mug of coffee to the chicken coop. Sure enough, she was sitting on the step, her head bent over one of the blond Buff Orpingtons, which had settled on her lap. She was stroking it, murmuring so softly he couldn't catch the words. A woman with a chicken. It was a pretty, domestic picture.

He leaned against one of the coop's fence posts, sipping coffee and enjoying the moment. Then into his mind flashed a replacement image: Sally in a rocking chair, cuddling a baby to her breast. His heart gave a mushy throb.

Until reality hit. The baby and the lovely woman with the copper-gold hair and greenish eyes would belong with some other man. With that well-established Caribou Crossing guy who would earn and deserve Sally's love.

Frowning, Ben told himself that sometime down the road, after his rodeo days, he'd have a wife and a couple of kids. He and Sally would still be friends. They had become close ones, and he wasn't going to lose that.

“Ben?” Sally's voice drew his attention and he realized she'd looked up and seen him. “Are you okay? You're frowning. Was last night—”