Page 15 of Risking it for the Cowboy

Her eyes softened, because it seemed as if she understood all too well. He bore down on her mouth. Because where she clearly avoided filling her void with a moment’s pleasure to forget reality, he was all too familiar with avoiding reality to fill the void with his cocky attitude and cheap, impersonal flings, a moment’s pleasure hiding the deeper wounds of—

Never belonging anywhere. Kiss.

Of losing his shot at stardom because of his own stupidity. Tongue dancing with tongue.

Of wanting that farm and being shunned from the inheritance. His fingers knotting in her silky hair.

Of knowing he could have run as smooth a ship as his cousin did, if only his parents hadn’t poisoned everyone to the thought of him. Of hating that bastard who’d hurt his sister, resulting in one of the worst decisions of his life. Of hating how he’d been screwed over so many times, by courts, by others taking advant—

“Why don’t you think you’re worth it, Trouble?” she whispered.

He gripped her hair tighter to shut out the spiraling thoughts. Kissed her tenderly and eased himself back into loving. He could do that for her, at least. Most girls wanted bragging rights. But her … that’s not what she wanted. Ever since he’d lured her on stage, he’d known she was different. And selfishly, he wanted to keep feeling this harmony with her.

Their tongues danced. Fingers caressed, his hands sliding up her tank, over her ribs, beneath her bra, familiarizing himself with her perfect body, determined to discover each of her secrets. Why she wanted to feel wanted. Why she was too afraid to reach out and grab it. He eased the tank up her skin, over her head, unclipped the clasp of her bra on her sternum to pop free and kissed his way along her jaw, along the column of her neck, down to her breasts, sliding free of their union as he took time to cherish the rest of her and swirl his tongue upon each soft, pink tip.

Glanced up into her eyes downcast at him as he made love to each breast, gaze holding hers and watching her lips roll in on themselves. He kept going, down … down … over her ribs to her navel…

Thin, silvery lines taut upon her flat belly. Stretch marks?

She … had a kid?

Chapter Five

A million questions exploded in his thoughts. Where was her kid? Dare he ask?

Glancing up at her in the moonlight, hair in disarray across her pillows, her head tossed back in trust as she gave herself to his touch … Trust, he thought, as he littered kisses across the marks, over her innie—a gift of trust, whatever this was.

Did the reason she wanted to be held like she mattered have anything to do with a kid? With a guy who hadn’t loved her like he should have? Could he fill that empty void with a reason like her? Climbing back up her, he sank again into her welcoming body.

Heaven. Gave her the tender embrace she’d asked him for. Cradled her face as he kissed her, kisses morphing from sensual to emotional, as if bonds were being threaded together, roots were tangling in soil as he undulated. He let her guide him with her mews and increasingly intense touches.

His pace sped, as he noticed an old banjo case in the corner and details about her room. Plain. Stacks of texts against a wall. An old Louisville Slugger propped in the corner. An old photo of a cabin in a frame. Her beloved uncle’s home? It looked a lot like his.

He couldn’t get enough of her nails scoring his neck and hair, his shoulders and back. He never took girls home. But right now, he wished he’d taken her there, to show her his gram’s lilacs, to share his space with her and see how it felt to have her in it. He couldn’t slow. Couldn’t take more time to savor this sensation as the need for release tingled in his spine and stones and spurred him onward, wrapped her in an arm, resting his weight on her, kissing, caressing up and down these pretty curves, grippable hips, wondering about those stretch marks, wondering where her kid was, wondering at the awe in her voice as she’d shown him those fossils, worshipping the tattoos of daisies littered over her shoulder…

He swallowed her increasing moans. Followed her cues. Hooked his arm beneath her thigh to hold her open to him as she scored his scalp and took comfort in his body giving to hers and … wanted to say all the wrong things right now. All the needy things a girl having a fling didn’t want to hear.

And so, he kept drinking down her moans like smooth whiskey, kept rolling his body against hers, found his hand laced with hers as he nuzzled into her neck and felt her release wash over him like a baptism while she clung to him, losing himself in the simmering euphoria and following her over the cliff of climax, surging all he had on a gruff groan…

*

He ought to leave. He eyed his clothes and hat on the floor, her tangled in his limbs, bodies clammy and heart rates returning to normal. After the sex, that was when he was supposed to jet. But he had a proposition for her.

Make it special.

He shifted. She scooted out of his arms as he pushed to standing, the bed creaking. Rolled off his spent condom and dropped it in her waste basket. Fished his legs into his jeans. Silence.

She pulled her sheet up to cover up when a moment ago, she’d been bare and so comfortable in her nudity with him, and he itched to lie back down and drag her back into his hold.

She smiled tentatively in his direction but didn’t make eye contact. “Thank you,” she said, and shit, she thought this was goodbye.

“Thank me later, darlin’. I ain’t done here yet.” Her brow furrowed but instead of reaching for his shirt or his boots, he reached for the banjo case in her corner, dust gritty and dry to the touch.

He sat on the floorboards and opened the case. “Been curious about this banjo.”

He lifted it by the neck and tucked it onto his lap.

He strummed. The loose strings flapped? It hadn’t been tuned in a long time. Twisting the tuning knobs, he tightened the strings, testing, again, again, until the instrument was on pitch, and glanced at her.