Authors: Delilah Devlin
His hand cupped her cheek and the tenderness in his touch made her catch her breath. “It was always about you, Mel. The bet was an excuse. I want you to come back to me after tonight.”
She couldn’t answer him in words, but covered his hand with her own, rocking into his palm.
He scooted out from underneath her and rose to his feet, extending a hand. Entwining his fingers with hers, unselfconscious in his nakedness, he led her to the verandah railing. Together they stared out at the soft night.
“I might not have been as easy on you if I’d won.”
His rich chuckle stirred her hair. “You’d be hard on me, would you? I think I can handle that.”
“Don’t be too sure. If I score ten goals next game—”
He pulled her close. “It’s a bet.”
Megan Mitcham
G
ravel crunched under the massive pickup’s tires as it left smooth pavement behind. Barrett’s chest constricted in response. Breathing became hard. Hell, the rebellion his insides pitched was close kin to a panic attack, but cowboys, whole or broke down, didn’t have such weak-kneed reactions. The panorama before him of vast rolling hills, green, cow-sprinkled grass and wide-open sky was home. Six years away hadn’t dimmed its beauty or his affection. Barrett rolled his shoulders and shrugged off the vibe. Nothin’ to get riled about.
Barrett crested the first hill and knew he had every right to feel screwed up inside. Two sorrel mares, one a good hand taller and three hundred pounds stouter than the other, blocked the gravel driveway. A petite woman with long, strawberry, wind-whipped hair, wearing boots and chaps, sat astride the smaller horse. Her elegant jaw was set in a familiar expression of stubborn rage.
“Holy fuck!” The words left his mouth in a drawled whisper.
He halted the pickup and confronted her fierce gaze with his own. The air between them grew thick with tension like an ol’ western draw. Finally, she swirled a finger in the air, signaling him to roll down the window. Being a gentleman, he obliged.
She planted a delicate hand on her hip. “You didn’t really think you were gonna sneak back home while everybody’s gone to auction, did you?”
The air blew crisp and clean in his face as he draped one arm on the door. “Yeah, I’s countin’ on it actually.”
“Anyone you lookin’ to avoid?” she asked, straightening, her silky pink lips tightening.
That face, part angel, part nymph, never ceased to amaze him. Neither did the rest of her. His eyes dropped to her bite-sized breasts and his cock saluted, thickening in his jeans. “Naw.” His lips parted again, but the words died in an expelled breath. Too soon for all that.
Pale lids narrowed around flame-green eyes. Her nose twitched, drawing his attention to the spray of freckles that ran across its ridge and over delightful apple cheeks. Then her lips moved. “A wise man would, but since you aren’t—lookin’ to avoid anyone, that is—git your tush out of that truck before my panties melt off.”
Damn, if his chest didn’t tighten again. He pounded his fist against the sensation, adjusted his hat, and leaned closer to the fiery woman. “Excuse me?”
“That is the point of that sexy machine, to make women drop their drawers?”
The laugh came from deep inside, from a place so hidden light hadn’t touched it in years. “Sassy Britches, it’s been a while. You’ve changed, and then you haven’t.”
“Barrett Whitman, if you wanna make it home, you won’t call me that again. I don’t care if you are ‘The Bear,’ four-year-reignin’
National Rodeo Champion. Get your ass out the truck and on this horse.”
“Scarlett, you keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll be forced to tell your daddy. I’d hate for him to have to paddle your sweet bottom.”
She gave a girlie, “Huh!” and then wiggled narrow hips as she spoke. “If you’d been around, you’d know my daddy’s retired back home to Texas and your parents saw fit to put me in charge of the ranch. Now, scoot. Daylight’s wastin’, and we got some ground to cover.”
Dust puffed up around his boots as they hit the ground. Scarlett tried her best to ignore the grimace that briefly tightened his face. Instead, she reveled in the familiar mix of pleasure and pain the sight of him wrought. She held her mouth slack and breathed slowly, fighting the excitement and urge to pounce. With new eyes and old love, she watched Barrett hobble toward the perfect example of equine physique.
His sharp, brilliant-blue gaze examined the big mare. After a moment, he leaned wide shoulders closer.
The mare rewarded his interest with a sniff of his starched white button-down.
One side of his perfect mouth curved as he caressed her flaxen mane.
Scarlett’s eyes went wide, tracking his touch and wishing like the devil his thick calloused fingers were on her neck, face, back, legs. Anywhere, as long as his skin met hers. Warmth rushed to her jean-covered crotch, dampening the fabric, the longing an exquisite agony. It prickled her spine, extinguished the erotic fire in her pants, and reignited her anger.
Her voice held no hint of the weakness she felt inside. “Hop on.”
His dark brow shot up, and his hand dropped from the mare’s neck like he’d been shot. For a long moment their gazes held. In those brief seconds, Scarlett was alive, electrified by the connection so long ago abandoned.
Barrett hooked a thumb in his pocket. His already full lips pursed in a bewildered pout.
Scarlett swallowed hard, fighting the urge to taste them.
That bright-blue gaze left her face, surveyed his bum leg, then returned. “Maybe later.”
“No. Now.”
His voice rumbled. “Woman, I’m not some kid who fell off and busted his rear.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a man who got busted by a two-ton beast. He stomped your leg, some ribs, and nearly ended your life. You’re a man who longs for the life and abilities you had before Tulsa, and you’re terrified of an uncertain future.
“So, you can lay up at the old homestead feeling sorry for yourself, instead of takin’ hold of all the things you still have to live for, but you’ll not be the man I used to know. If you’re still Barrett Whitman, the charm-slingin’, bull-crackin’, bronco-bustin’ cowboy in your heart, you rebuild one ride at a time.”
Moments piled in silence. Scarlett watched the rise and fall of his sturdy chest, the clench and release of his square, stubble-covered jaw. Slowly, he shuffled toward the saddle. “I liked you better when you were a dumb kid.”
“I liked you better then, too.”
One hand gripped the horn and the other clutched the cantle. “Scarlett?”
Her heart bucked. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”
“No, it’s not.” A wicked grin flashed.
Scarlett felt it all the way to her toes and nearly stumbled
over her own lips. “When did you ever say my name?”
The grin returned. “I’d make your pretty cheeks color, if I explained.”
Idiot. Scarlett could kick her own chap-bare ass, walking into Bear’s charm trap so easily. Growing up, she’d witnessed him finesse the britches off many a sweetheart. Most times, he didn’t have to try. He’d tilt his hat, smile and they’d turn into bitches in heat, moaning and carrying on like he was some sex god.
She was the only one he wouldn’t dally with, likely because they’d been raised side by side, and he thought of her as sister. She’d never know his reasoning. All she knew was the broken heart of a girl who’d asked the only boy she’d ever loved to kiss her like he’d kissed his many girlfriends. He’d turned her down and left for the rodeo circuit two months later.
His flat voice snapped her to the present. “Anyway, Scarlett. If I hit the dirt…”
For the first time she saw vulnerability in his features. The fissure in her heart grew. Uncertainty never had a home in Barrett, the man who chose the wildest horses and craziest bulls to pit his skills against. To save his pride she said, “I’ll be sure to laugh.”
His lips curved wide in the dearest of smiles. “Bet you would.”
Her hand shot out. “Wait.”
“What now?” he asked before settling both hands on his hips.
She waived her reins at him. “Take off your shirt.”
“You want me naked, all you have to do is say the words.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t suppose you’d want to get that nice shirt dirty—you know, if you hit the ground and all—but thanks for the advice. Now take it off and up you go,” she said, prodding him on with a flick of her wrist.
“Impatient woman.”
“I’ve been more than patient with you,” she murmured. And wasn’t that the truth. “Too damn patient.”
Barrett huffed and went to work on his buttons. He unfastened each one with deliberate care, revealing a thin white undershirt as he went. It wasn’t skin, but the material molded to his broad chest.
The teasing manner in which he undressed turned the warm breeze into stifling air. A bead of sweat plunged between Scarlett’s breasts, and she willed the torture to end.
At last the fasteners were free, and Barrett licked his lips. He slid the material off, exposing arms thickly corded with muscle, and then jammed the shirt into the saddlebag.
Damn the man to hell and back. She watched in locked awe, unable to look away as he gripped the saddle, sprung on his good leg and hoisted his large frame onto the saddle. His muscles bunched, showing the outline of a defined six-pack. A tiny bead of sweat rolled down his cheek and along the edge of his sumptuous bottom lip. But none of that held her singular concentration like the massive bulge in his pants.
Barrett couldn’t do a damn thing about the uncomfortable swell of wood he sported. At least seventy ways to relieve the pressure stampeded through his mind, and they all included Scarlett’s body in one compromising position or another. But that would be like going from zero to forty on the back of a wild mustang. Still, he couldn’t lasso the words that flew out of his mouth. “Well, you gonna stare at my dick all day or toss me the reins?”
Scarlett’s cheeks flushed as red as the old barn, but she smiled. Thin lips outlined a nice set of pearlies, even if she did have one slightly kicked-out canine. Her eyes beckoned him. This close, the warmth of that smile branded his heart.
She stood in the saddle, driving her heal into the stirrup, and shortened the gap between them. “Kiss me, Barrett.”
His heart did the electric slide right out of his chest. The desire to yank her into his lap and obey made his palms sweat. But there was so much between them. History. Friendship. Yearning. The thought of screwing things up with Scarlett, of never eliciting that honeyed smile from her again, flash-froze him to the cowhide under his rear.
A moment later she stiffened and sank into her seat. Without a word she pitched the leathers to him. The other hand turned her horse toward the grass-covered hill. The firm heel of her boot compelled the mare forward like a racer out of the gate. And he was left in her dust.
She fled in self-preservation. Her body ached for him. She had to get away or risk throwing herself at his feet more than she already had. He hadn’t said no, but something had widened his eyes. Fear. Shock. Who knew? But she was finished bowing to the mighty bull rider.
Easier said than done. Visions of her at his feet invaded her mind. Scarlett on her knees before him, baring his thick cock, inviting it into her eager mouth. Saliva pooled on Scarlett’s tongue, and with all her virgin heart, she wished Barrett’s thick juices were sliding down her throat.
She was so enraptured in the dream, she choked on reality.
Barrett’s hand shot out and grabbed her horse’s bridle.
She tried slapping him away while they barreled up a steep hill. But a deep, “Whoa,” ushered the animal to a stop at the crest. They halted on their mounts, knees touching.
Barrett glared. “Jesus, Scarlett, are you tryin’ to kill yourself?”
“Me?” The shrill word echoed into the small valley below.
“I’m not the one who ran off to dance with two-horned devils every night. I mean…shit, Barrett. You didn’t want to kiss me, didn’t like me—
okay
—but you didn’t have to leave.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Her next word came in a sob. “Why?”
Again, his jaw clenched. In a graceless move, he bailed off the saddle and strode, as much as his limp would allow, around the horses, stopping when his chest met her thigh.
When he pulled her off her horse, Scarlett went willingly.
His body pinned her against the warm animal. On either side he draped an arm so she couldn’t escape. “I loved you, Scarlett.”
“Like a brother loves his sister?” she asked, jaw raised in defiance.
He brushed a tear from her cheek. “Like a husband loves his wife,” he whispered. His thumb moved from her cheek down the length of her jaw to graze her lips parted in shock. “I remember the day you and your daddy moved into the ranch master’s house. Your mom had just passed, and you were the meanest kid I’d ever met, back-talkin’ the adults and scarin’ away kids twice your age. You didn’t scare me. I called you Sassy Britches and promised to protect you always.
“I taught you to ride any strong-willed horse and cuss before kindergarten. In grade school, I showed you how to rope, cut cattle and run the fastest set of barrels this side of Colorado. During middle school, I coached you on throwin’ a decent punch to keep the boys in line.”