Good Time Girl (13 page)

“Now, we have
really
hot make-up sex,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

She bit his lip.

“And you say you’re not a violent person,” he chided, lust and laughter sparkling in his blue eyes as he stared down at her.

Roxanne stared back, breathless with laughter, flushed with arousal, waiting for what he would do next.

He got a cagey, considering look in his eyes. “You know what happens to violent little girls, don’t you?”

“No,” she said, her eyes glittering with anticipation. “What happens to them?”

“They get punished.” He grinned evilly. “Severely.”

There was a long beat of silence as they stared at each other. The air between them was ripe with expectation and excitement, the thrill of the forbidden, the lure of the illicit. It was like that first moment between them at Ed Earl’s all over again, that moment when they stared into each other’s eyes from a distance of inches, with the sexual energy crackling back and forth like heat lightning, and wondered if they were going to end up spending the night together. And now, as she had then, Roxanne provided exactly the prod he needed to make his move.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, all the while hoping desperately that he would.

Tom not only dared, he did.

Without letting go of her wrists, he heaved himself to his feet, sat down on the edge of the bed and jerked her, facedown, across his lap. She squirmed in excitement and delicious libidinous fear. His hand came down on her bare bottom with a sharp smacking sound. It stung a bit more than she expected it to.

She reared up in surprise. “Hey, that hurt!”

“That was for sucker punching me at the rodeo in Santa Fe,” he said, pushing her back down with a hand on the top of her head. He smacked her again, not quite so hard, but still with enough force to make her skin tingle and redden. “And that was for dancing with that clown in the Bare Back Saloon and letting him hold you too damn close. And that—” he smacked her a third time “—was for kissing Clay right under my nose.”

“Stop!” She squirmed against his thighs, but made no real effort to get away. She could feel his erection against her stomach, as rock-hard and ready as if they hadn’t just made love. Her own body was practically dripping with desire. “Stop it right now.”

“Are you going to be good?” He brought his hand down again, lightly this time, caressingly, shaping his palm over the satin skin of her bottom. It was as rosy as the valentine it resembled, as hot as the sun-baked sand of the desert.

“Yes.” Instinctively, without conscious thought or design, she arched her back, thrusting her tingling posterior up against the curve of his hand, exposing the glistening pink folds of her sex. “Yes, I’ll be good.”

“You sure you know how?”

“Yes. Yes, I know how. I’ll be good,” she said, nearly panting with excitement. “I promise.”

He slipped his hand down between her legs. “How good?” he asked, and slid a finger into her.

She nearly came right then and there. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried, and failed, to stifle a whimper.

“How good?” he asked again.

“How good do you want me to be?”

“Only as good as you want to be.” He withdrew his hand from between her legs and let her slide to her knees beside him. “How good do you want to be, Slim?”

She put her hands on his thighs and looked up at him from under her lashes. “Good enough to make you beg for mercy.”

Tom leaned back on his elbows. “I dare you,” he said.

Her gaze locked with his, Roxanne smiled and slowly, inch by excruciating inch, slid her hands up his hair-dusted thighs to his groin. Despite his deliberately relaxed position, she could feel the coiled tension in his long, lanky body, see it in the clenched muscles of his hard thighs and abdomen. His penis was nearly parallel to his stomach, pointing straight up at his navel. It jerked when she touched it.

“Aw, isn’t that cute,” she said to cover her own nervousness. “He’s shy.” She curled her hand around his shaft and, very gently, brought it upright. “I’ll be gentle,” she promised, and bent her head.

She’d never done this but a few times before, and not very successfully, judging by the reaction of her partner at the time. She suspected it was mostly because she hadn’t really wanted to do it. Now, she did. And now, she wanted to be very, very good at it. She wanted to make him beg, as he had made her beg.

She began by kissing the round plum-shaped head, tentatively at first and then, as he indicated his pleasure, with more confidence. She progressed to little catlike licks, moved on to long, leisurely swipes with the flat of her tongue until, finally—when he was on his back and clutching the bedspread in his fists—she had pity on him and took him into her mouth.

“Please,” he said, when she had tortured him for several minutes. Sweat beaded his upper lip and dampened the dark, crinkly hair on his chest. “Please.”

She raised her head. “Please what?”

He reached down and grasped her by the shoulders, pulling her up the length of his body. “Ride me,” he said, holding his shaft so she could mount.

She swung her leg over his supine body, straddling him, and impaled herself.

They both closed their eyes against the exquisite pleasure of it, savoring the feeling of unity and oneness. And then she leaned forward, putting her hands on his slick, sweaty chest for balance, and began to move against him, raising and lowering her hips as if she were riding a horse at a rising trot.

She’d only ever done this a few times before, too, because the other half of her former mature adult relationship hadn’t favored the woman-on-top position. She found that she liked it very much, indeed. It gave her a freedom she’d never had before, allowing her to control the depth and the speed and the angle of penetration. She experimented, swiveling her hips first one way, then the other…slowing down and speeding up…varying the rhythm until she found the one that made Tom suck in his breath and whimper.

“Sweet Lord in heaven!”
He hissed the words out between clenched teeth as his body rose and tightened, exploding in a rapturous climax.

Roxanne had just started to follow him over into bliss when the phone rang.

It wasn’t the hotel phone on the bedside table. It was his cell phone, the one he kept clipped to the belt on his jeans, except when he rode. Roxanne had seen him use it to call ahead to the rodeo to find out what horse he’d drawn, or to make a motel reservation when they rolled into town late at night, but she’d never heard it ring before.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as he tipped her sideways onto the bed. “I have to answer that.”

10

“H
OW BAD IS IT
?” Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed, the phone tucked awkwardly between his ear and shoulder as he dragged on his underwear and jeans. “What does the doctor say? Surgery? When? Why so soon? No, that’s all right, Augie. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to the doctor myself as soon as I get there. You and the other kids go on back to the ranch and keep on with your regular routine.” He pulled on his socks and boots, and stood to fasten his jeans. “Yes, I know, but try. The Padre would want it that way. You know he would.” He grabbed his shirt from the floor and shrugged into it, one arm at a time, as he listened to the slightly hysterical voice on the other end of the line. “It’s going to be all right, Augie. You and the boys just sit tight and try not to worry. I’ll be there as soon as I can and we’ll all get through this together. Tell the Padre to hang in there.” He flipped the phone closed. “We’ve got a family emergency,” he said to Roxanne as he headed for the door. “I’ve got to go roust Rooster out of bed and let him know what’s going on.”

Roxanne jumped up from the middle of the bed where she had been kneeling, watching him throughout the telephone conversation. Grabbing one of the blankets off of the floor to wrap around her naked body, she followed him to the door, wondering what was going on. Augie? The Padre? The other kids? Were they his brothers? His children? The fact that she didn’t know brought home to her how little she really knew about him.

“Come on, Rooster.” Tom pounded on the door of the adjoining room. “Haul your ass out of bed. We’ve got trouble.”

There was a thumping noise, then a muffled curse, and Rooster appeared at the door. He was blinking and bleary-eyed, his short brown hair sticking up in all directions. He was holding on to his head with both hands. “What’s all the racket about?” he demanded querulously. “Where’s the fire?”

“I just got a call from home. The Padre’s had a heart attack.”

“A heart attack?” Rooster scrubbed at his face with both hands as if that would help him absorb the news. “The Padre had a heart attack? When?”

“A couple of hours ago. Augie called me from the hospital.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough, from what Augie said. They almost lost him a couple of times before they got him stabilized, but he’s resting comfortably now—whatever the hell that means—and they’ve got him scheduled for a triple by-pass first thing in the morning.”

“Sweet baby Jesus!” Rooster swore softly.

“I’m going to call around, see if I can find some kind of charter flight that will get me home before the surgery. Otherwise I’ll take a commercial flight into Dallas and drive from there.”

Rooster nodded. “It’ll only take me a minute to get my gear together.”

“There’s no need for you to go, too. No, hear me out,” Tom said, as Rooster started to protest. “It only needs one of us to ride herd on the kids and see that everything’s running smooth. You’ve got to be here for the finals on Sunday, and then Wichita the day after that, and Oklahoma City the day after that.”

“But—”

“The Padre’ll understand. And he isn’t going to care much, anyway, about who is or isn’t pacing around in the waiting room.”

“Maybe you should be the one to stay for the finals,” Rooster said, when he could get a word in edgewise. “You’ve been scorin’ good all week. An’, hell, I got this bum knee slowin’ me down, anyway.”

“Not so’s anyone would notice,” Tom said dryly, seeing through the ploy. Rooster’s knee hadn’t given him a lick of trouble since they got to Cheyenne; he’d pulled down some of the best scores of his life that week.

“Besides, I got a good five, ten years of rodeoing in me yet,” Rooster said. “I don’t make it to Vegas this year, there’s always next. But this is your last chance an’ it’s a damned good one. You pull down a winning score in the finals on Sunday and you’re in the top fifteen, guaranteed. I should be the one to turn out,” he said earnestly. “I know how much it means to you to get to Vegas before you retire.”

“Not as much as it means to you,” Tom said. “I never wanted it as much as you. Ever. That’s why I’ve been content to be a circuit cowboy all my life. Here—” he handed Rooster the cell phone. “You keep this with you and I’ll call you the minute he comes out of surgery.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans. “And here’s the keys to the truck. I’ll expect to see it, and you, in Bowie next week after you kick butt in Oklahoma City. The Padre ought to be back home by then—” he smiled crookedly “—and we’ll all be about ready to have a new face around to keep him from driving everybody crazy.”

Considering the subject closed, he turned away without waiting for an answer, and headed back to his room. Roxanne stepped back, out of the way, as he brushed past her, then stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do, watching as he dug the Yellow Pages out of the drawer of the bedside dresser and set about arranging a charter flight to Bowie, Texas.

This was the end, then, she thought forlornly, trying desperately not to cry. He was going to fly home to deal with a family emergency and she was going to— What? Go back to Connecticut? She didn’t
want
to go back to Connecticut. Her vacation wasn’t over, damn it! She still had a few fantasies she hadn’t fulfilled. And she wasn’t nearly ready to say goodbye to her good-looking dangerous cowboy.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever, she thought, and realized that the San Antonio barrel racer had been dead on the money; she probably
was
going to get her poor little heart broken—and a lot sooner than she’d anticipated, too.

“You’d better get moving,” he said as he hung up the phone. “The plane leaves in less than an hour.”

“You want me to come with you?” she said, hardly daring to hope.

“Well, I thought…” But the thing was, he realized as she stood there, staring at him with an incredulous look on her face, he
hadn’t
thought. He’d assumed. He wanted her to go with him, ergo she must want it, too. Simple as that. Except why the hell would a woman like her want to fly down to Bowie, Texas, while he nurse-maided a sick old man and rode herd on a bunch of rowdy kids?

On the other hand, he wouldn’t be playing nurse-maid the entire time and the kids were a self-sufficient bunch, and what was between the two of them was still as hot—hotter—that it had been that first night in Lubbock. Why
wouldn’t
she want to go with him?

“I thought we had an agreement,” he said, finally, because he didn’t know what else to say. “We’ve got nearly six weeks to go on it.”

“You want me to come with you?” she said again.

“Well, it wouldn’t set right on my conscience to leave you by yourself in Cheyenne. And I’m pretty sure you don’t want to finish out the season riding shotgun with Rooster. Do you?”

She shook her head.

“And if it turns out you don’t like it in Bowie—” he shrugged to show it made no never mind to him “—Dallas is less than a hundred miles away. You can catch a plane to anywhere from there.”

“I wouldn’t by in the way?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “But I want you there, anyway. I haven’t near got my fill of you, yet.”

And, God help him, he was beginning to think he never would.

T
HE PLANE
that was going to take them to Bowie was a small twin-engine Cessna. They waited on uncomfortable orange plastic seats in a small, glassed-in lounge, watching through the window as the pilot conducted a thorough preflight inspection of the plane under the bright industrial lights shining down from the roof of the metal hangar.

“What did Rooster mean about you wanting to get to Vegas before you retire?” Roxanne said, trying to distract herself from the coming flight. She wasn’t an enthusiastic air traveler at the best of times and the sight of the tiny Cessna had her nerves jumping.

Tom smiled distractedly, his gaze on the pilot and the plane, and squeezed her hand. “Vegas is where they hold the rodeo finals,” he reminded her.

“I know that. I meant what did he mean about you retiring?”

“This is my last go-round. I’m officially hanging up my saddle at the end of the season.”

“Why?”

He looked at her then. “Why does anybody retire? Because it’s time.”

“But you’re only—what—thirty. Isn’t that a little young to retire?”

He grinned. “Darlin’, That’s old for a cowboy. Damned old. And cowboyin’ has never been my whole life, anyway. Not like it’s been for Rooster. Rodeo’s always been more a hobby for me. I’ve mostly done it weekends, close to home, so’s I could fit it in around my regular life as much as possible. Only full-time professional cowboys can rack up enough points to make Vegas.”

“And that’s what you wanted to do before you retired? Make the finals in Vegas?

He shrugged. “I thought it’d be fun to give it a shot. Make my last year something to remember. Really go hog wild.” His grin flashed again, a little self-deprecating around the edges this time. “Have myself one last fling before I settle down.”

“Settle down to what, exactly?”

“Marriage. Kids. All the normal, everyday things a man wants at the end of the day. We’ve got big plans to enlarge the school at the Second Chance so we can take in more kids. And I’ve got an experimental breeding program going on with Dan Jensen over at the Diamond J that I want to devote more time to. Can’t do all that if I’m running off to the rodeo every weekend. So—” he shrugged “—I decided to give it one last shot. Just me and Rooster, going down the road together, living the footloose and fancy-free life of the professional rodeo cowboy before I packed it in and become entirely respectable.”

“We’re just about ready to take off, so if either of you folks need to visit the facilities before we head out, now’s the time to do it,” the pilot said, poking his head into the room before Roxanne could ask if she was part of that footloose and fancy-free life, that final fling.

She didn’t really have to ask to know, though. Of course, she was part of it. Wild sexual encounters were always a part of what final flings were all about. She knew that firsthand; wild sexual encounters with a good-looking dangerous cowboy had been an integral part of her own plans for a last fling.

So why did she feel so sad that their plans were so in sync? It was exactly what she wanted. Wasn’t it?

“Slim?” Tom nudged her out of her abstraction. “You need to visit the ladies’? It’s going to be a long flight and there’s no facilities in the Cessna.”

Although she didn’t really feel the need to go, Roxanne headed for the “ladies’” on the theory that you should never pass up the opportunity to use the facilities. It was a little tidbit of wisdom she’d picked up living on the road; you never knew how far away the next bathroom would be, so it was better to grab every opportunity.

The pilot was already in his seat when she exited the hangar. Tom was standing next to the wing, waiting to hand her in. The plane only had four seats. Roxanne squeezed into the one behind the pilot. Tom put his saddle in the one beside the pilot and climbed into the back next to Roxanne. It was a tight fit, strapped in, noisy and uncomfortable. Because they had to wear headphones to communicate, any private conversation was impossible. All of the questions Roxanne was burning to ask Tom—about the life of respectability he envisioned for himself, about the Padre and the kids, about Jo Beth Jensen and how she fit into his plans—would have to wait until they were on the ground again.

“How long to Bowie?” Tom said, after the plane was safely in the air and the pilot was free to make conversation.

“Eight hours, give or take, depending on the head-winds.” The pilot’s words crackled through the headphones. “We should set down around seven, seven-thirty at the latest.”

Tom nodded, then reached over, tapping Roxanne on the shoulder. He motioned for her to take off the headphones. “You should try to get some sleep,” he said, his lips against her ear. “It’s going to be chaos when we get there.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, silently urging her to lean against him, and stared out the window at the darkness, never once closing his eyes during the entire trip.

T
HEY LANDED AT A SMALL
private airstrip about ten miles outside of Bowie. Owned by a group of local ranchers, it consisted of two parallel runways and a single barnlike hangar planted smack-dab in the middle of an empty field. There was a light on inside the hangar, despite the warm golden-pink glow of the rising sun, and two pickups parked outside of it. One was a battered blue Dodge with the Second Chance brand painted on the side. The driver was waiting for them when the plane taxied up to the hangar. He rushed to the aircraft as soon as the propellers had stopped spinning and jerked the door open.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” he said, automatically reaching for the saddle Tom handed out to him. “The Padre’s operation is at nine and I was afraid you weren’t gonna get here on time. Miz Jenzen is out at the ranch with the kids. The Padre told me to call her to come over. He was talkin’ pretty good last night after they got him settled in. He—”

“Hey, whoa, there now, Augie. Slow down, boy.” Tom put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Take a deep breath before you hyperventilate.”

Augie smiled sheepishly and sucked in a breath, letting it whoosh out in a gusty sigh. “I sure am glad to see you,” he said again. His gaze darted to Roxanne as she stepped out onto the wing of the plane.

Tom turned around to hold out a hand to her and steady her descent. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” he said to the boy when she was on the ground beside him. “This is Miz Roxy Archer. Roxy, say hi to Augustine Chavez.”

The boy was tall, thin and gangly, more youthful-looking than the sixteen she knew he must be to be driving the pickup truck, with dark curly hair and liquid brown eyes that showed signs of sleeplessness and worry. He had a crudely fashioned tattoo peaking out from under the cuff of his shirt.

“Hello, Augie,” she said politely, wondering what the relationship was between him and Tom. Not father and son, certainly, judging by the different last names. And probably not brothers, either, as there wasn’t the slightest physical resemblance between them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”