Rebel Cowboy Page 11

  She gave herself a once-over. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Story of your life. Well, so be it.

  She stomped downstairs, seeing Caleb was gone, presumably to drink himself to death on the porch again. Dad shouldn’t need any help getting to bed, but if he had any problems, he could call Fiona and apologize. Mel had spent a fortune on making the house as accessible as possible for him.

  At the cost of everything.

  For once, he could face that. For once she didn’t have to stand there and pretend all the hard work she put in wasn’t a big deal. She was leaving because it was a big deal. Everything she’d done going completely unrecognized was a big damn deal.

  She wouldn’t use liquor or a shitty attitude to make herself feel better. What she needed was something that would feel so good, so encompassing, that she didn’t have to think about anything else.

  Dan was the answer. He’d rejected her once, and she’d rejected him once. So they were even—on even ground, and neither of them would make that stupid mistake again.

  And if he did? Well, if Dan Sharpe wasn’t up to the challenge, she’d damn well find someone who was.

  * * *

  Dan stood under the hot spray of his shower. He was starving and would kill for a beer, but he couldn’t quite make the move to get out.

  It had been a day. A day that had kicked his ass as well as any high-intensity playoff game might.

  Funny how the water seemed to cool at just the moment his brain turned to hockey. Seemed about right. He wrenched the water off and grabbed the towel from the hook.

  They still smelled a little musty, and he had to assume they always would after all the washings he’d done. He could get new towels, of course, just like he could get someone to fix this place up, but just like with the truck, something stopped him.

  Maybe he should stop letting it. He had a plan now. A plan in place even if he left. He was building something for…something. Someday. Even if he got back in the league, he sure as hell couldn’t play hockey forever.

  Much as he’d like to.

  He dried off, pulled on his boxers, and ran a hand through his wet hair. He needed a haircut, and to do some laundry that wasn’t towels. He was out of clean pants, and he doubted the T-shirt situation was much better.

  But first, he absolutely needed food.

  He hadn’t conned Mel into teaching him to cook anything yet, and while he could probably search the Internet for a few tips and tricks to making something with the chicken in his fridge, he was too hungry to fiddle around.

  Scrambled eggs would have to do, along with a little light llama reading, then some laundry.

  Life had gotten weird.

  He went through the prep, cracking a few eggs into the skillet, tossing some cheese in for good measure. He’d get back on the “protein shake, vegetables, and lean meats” thing tomorrow.

  Drawing the spatula through the raw eggs, he squinted at the pages of his book. Then he cursed and went to retrieve his glasses. “Old-man eyes, my ass,” he grumbled, sliding the thick frames onto his nose.

  He glanced from the book to the eggs, stirring occasionally. When a knock sounded at the door, he paused. Why was someone at his door at nearly eight thirty at night?

  Shit, his life hadn’t just gotten weird—it had gotten lame.

  The eggs were about done, so he took the pan with him. Buck and Mel and the kid who’d dropped off his library books the other day were the only people who ever came out here, and he wasn’t expecting anyone.

  He opened the door and about dropped the pan. Mel stood on his doorstep looking…not at all like Mel.

  She stared at his chest, and he acutely felt the fact that he was basically standing here in his underwear holding a pan of eggs. And she wasn’t exactly fully dressed herself.

  She stepped inside. “Take off the glasses. Put the pan down.”

  They were words, and perhaps at another time they might make sense strung together, but he could see her legs, her arms, the tops of her breasts. He could see more of her than he could not see of her.

  “I’m sorry, did you…say things?”

  She closed the door and crossed her arms under her breasts, which…um…what was happening? She had makeup on. And sexy clothes. With cowboy boots.

  He was dreaming probably. Yes, this was an unconscious fantasy.

  “I said, take off the glasses and put the pan down,” she said in a careful, measured tone.

  “Could I possibly then get dressed?”

  “No.” She shook her head emphatically, the loose ends of her ponytail swinging back and forth as she stared him down. “That will not be necessary.”

  “Um.” He’d never considered himself shy before, and he’d certainly had his fair share of brazen sexual proposals thrown his way. He’d even taken up most of those women.

  But those women weren’t Mel.

  Her eyes met his, cool and determined, but there was a flash of something underneath. He couldn’t read it, she kept it so well hidden. “Glasses. Pan. Now.”

  “Can you maybe fill me in on what’s going on, and why?” Carefully, watching her, he set down the pan, flicked off the burner, and then—because, eh, why not—he took off the glasses and placed them on top of his book.

  She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She pushed out her chest, which meant he could see down the front of her shirt enough to see the tops of a black bra.

  She looked so…soft. Which was not a word he’d ever associated with her, but his fingers itched to touch, to run along the delicate curve of her breasts, the sloping angle of her collarbone.

  And then follow it with his mouth.

  “We’re going to have sex.”

  His gaze jerked from her breasts to her face. “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I don’t suppose I have any say in the matter?”

  Her expression flickered briefly, like a quick flash of uncertainty before she banished it. “You want to, don’t you?”

  He scratched fingers through his hair, trying to work out the right way to deal with this. Because, something about being a good guy for Mel, when he’d never been much of one before, held some strange appeal. He wanted to try this new good-guy thing. “Well, that’s not a straight yes or no question.”

  “Yes, it is. Either you want to get me naked or you don’t.”

  Oh, he wished it were that straightforward. That they were back in Chicago, his place, a hotel room, anything easy. But nothing about Blue Valley, Mel, or this ranch was simple or easy. “I would like that, but there are…ramifications to that. Complicated ones.”

  “No, there aren’t. Not really. I need…” She took a deep breath. There was hurt and pain all over her face, but she didn’t slump in the face of it. She looked at him straight on. “I want to forget about everything. You can make that happen, can’t you?”

  “Well, not permanently.”

  “I don’t need permanent. I just need right now. I just need you.”

  He let out a breath. This whole “be the good guy” thing was proving difficult, because he didn’t know what the good-guy thing to do here was. He felt like good guys probably said no to emotional pleas for forget-everything sex.

  But it was what she wanted, and Christ, that getup was killing him. So…

  He was at a loss.

  “I am going to say this once, and only once.” She swallowed, her palm pressing against his bare chest. Warm, soft, small. He could almost forget those hands were capable of ripping a post out of the ground or—as she’d once warned him—castrating a cow.

  “Please.”

  Then, like she had the other morning, she let her hand trail down his chest, across his abdomen, to the waistband of his boxers, and he sucked in a breath. He’d said “no” once, and it hadn’t done much of anything.


  Was it really such a bad-guy thing to do to say yes? To give her what she asked for? What she’d said “please” for? He was pretty certain he could give her exactly what she wanted, and what he wanted in the process.

  So…how could that be wrong?

  Chapter 11

  There was a whole world of emotions going on deep in her gut, but Mel breathed through them. She wouldn’t analyze it—downright refused to—but the warmth of Dan’s chest under her palm was like this center point, a calming force in a sea of frustration, hurt, and anger.

  She wanted more of that, more of him. The way simply touching his bare skin made every part of her buzz to attention. She wanted his mouth on hers, his body on hers. She wanted to find the end to this perpetual ache.

  She took a deep breath before lifting her gaze to his. He had to say yes, he just had to—

  He placed his hand over hers, and for one horrible second, she thought he was going to peel it away and try to be all noble and crap again.

  Instead, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm, his eyes never leaving hers.

  The bolt of heat and giddy excitement was sharp, quick—a kind of jolt Tyler had never given her in kisses on the actual mouth. Which wasn’t a fair comparison. They’d been young and inexperienced and, well, she hadn’t allowed herself to be attracted to much more than his stability.

  It was the way she worked.

  Until Dan.

  Involuntarily, she jerked her arm back, feeling that this was maybe just a bit too much, but Dan’s grasp on her wrist was firm. His thumb brushed over the inside of her arm, and she shivered. She honest to God shivered from the simplest touch.

  “You can stop me anytime,” he said levelly, those eyes of his seeing too much, understanding far too much.

  But she didn’t care, not if simple touches could do this. Not if he could erase all the crap in her head, even for just a few minutes. “I don’t want to stop,” she snapped. She’d put on these ridiculous clothes and this ridiculous makeup and told him to take those ridiculous glasses off and stay in his underwear.

  They were doing this.

  “Okay, but I’m putting it out there anyway.”

  “Okay, sure.” Whatever. Whatever it took to get him to stop talking and start doing. So she could stop feeling like her nerves were going to cause her to bolt. No. Way.

  His grip on her wrist tightened, and he pulled her to him, still keeping space between them, but not much, and it seemed to jump with electricity, like the air during a thunderstorm. Sparking with danger and an unpredictable force of nature.

  “You’re going to have to come a little closer, baby,” he said in a low, gravelly voice that was…new. New. No slick lines, no easy jokes. There was a thread of serious intent in his voice, and that was…well, almost hot enough to pretend like he hadn’t called her baby.

  But she didn’t like that, even when parts of her did. “Don’t call me baby,” she managed, her voice coming out…breathless. Strange to her own ears.

  “Darling? Sugar? Honey?”

  She swallowed as his hand traveled up her arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. She stared hard at the column of his throat, the way it curved into those strong, broad shoulders. Muscled. Athletic. Real. This man who didn’t seem totally real was touching her, looking at her like she was something edible.

  Which almost made her forget they were talking, but then his hand stopped at her shoulder, and she remembered. “None of that endearment crap. Mel.”

  “Mel.”

  She forced herself to look at him, to be brave and strong and enjoy the hell out of this. “I’m not interchangeable.”

  His mouth curved, the sexy smirk of a man who…was going to make her forget. Yes. That.

  “No, you’re not interchangeable. You, Mel Shaw, are one heck of a unique woman.”

  “Damn straight.”

  His palm cupped her neck, thumb brushing the underside of her jaw. The touch shivered through her, gentle, so gentle, but with a hint of a promise for more. Her eyes wanted to flutter closed, but that seemed weak somehow. To not be able to look him dead on when he made her stomach flip to her toes.

  He leaned forward, mouth brushing across her temple. “It’s okay to close your eyes.”

  “I don’t need to—” Her words stuttered to a stop, her eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his mouth to the spot just beneath her ear, just above her jaw. Everything inside of her seemed to sigh when his mouth lingered there.

  “There we are,” he said softly against her ear, the rush of breath making her shiver again. Or was that his other hand on her hip, pushing up her shirt, fingers brushing her side?

  She couldn’t decide, mouth or fingers—and then he took her earlobe between his teeth and scraped. Her knees honest-to-God felt weak. It was not just a saying—they all but buckled.

  “Oh God.” She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but Dan didn’t give her a chance to be embarrassed over it, his mouth crushed to hers. One minute it was all lazy seduction, and now she was being pressed up against a wall.

  And, oh God, seriously. There was no other phrase that did this justice—the possessive way his hands cradled her face, the hard press of his chest, his erection, the near-growl as he used his tongue, his teeth against her lips.

  The desperate excitement, the building heat, it was all new and exactly what she’d been after. She hadn’t been overstating the current that ran between them. There was something here. Something bigger than simple attraction.

  No. Not more. Just…different.

  His hands moved from her face, down her sides, and then without removing his mouth from hers, he pushed her shirt slowly up her rib cage, then over her breasts. She felt his fingers at the top of the bra cup, and then the cool air against her. Exposed. Exposed to him so that every nerve ending in her body was bracing for impact, all but vibrating with the desperate need to be touched.

  When he brushed a finger across her nipple she nearly jumped, a noise escaping her. She couldn’t believe that was a sound coming out of her own mouth, but the little squeak popped out, and it was her.

  He finally broke the kiss, but his eyes were still so close to hers, his mouth all smiling and amused and sexy.

  “Hm.” He brushed his finger against her nipple again, and she tried valiantly not to squeak and shudder, but it was no use. The feeling was too much. The jolt. The pleasure. The way it centered at her breast and sank lower.

  When was the last time something had ever felt this good?

  “I like that,” he murmured, his eyes rapt on where his hands cupped her breasts. Then his head bent, and her throat caught.

  He was going to…

  The soft friction of his tongue was so electric, so erotic, her head fell back and hit the wall. She didn’t even care. His mouth on her like that felt so good she didn’t care about anything anymore. This was all she needed, the heat of his tongue, the press of his palms.

  Perfect.

  “We can just do it here,” she said, her breath coming out in little bursts. Almost panting. Stupid, but she couldn’t help it. The aching edge of desire was so tight, so needy, she couldn’t help anything. And she’d never done anything like that. Just…spur of the moment, let’s do it in the kitchen. Against a wall. That could be done, right?

  He paused, straightening to his full height as if he was considering it, then he shook his head. “Maybe next time. Tonight, I am going to see all of you, Mel.”

  All of her? Oh, that sounded…scary, actually. Some of the tight spiral of arousal faded. She felt cramped. She didn’t want that. She just wanted some sex. Explosive, actually orgasmic sex.

  But he was pulling her through the little hallway to his bedroom, one cup of her bra still askew, her shirt bunched at her armpits. It was hard to think about any of that when his firm, tight athlete’s
butt was right in front of her in thin blue cotton boxer shorts.

  She wanted her hands on it. Which was so weird. She couldn’t ever remember being desperate to have her hands on someone’s ass and—

  He stopped, and she all but ran into him. He laughed, low and husky, a strangely light and feathery sensation moving down her spine. When she lifted her eyes, she recognized the expression on his face.

  Pleased-with-himself arrogance at catching her ogling.

  That might usually irritate the crap out of her, but she found with her hand in his and him all but naked, it was a good look. A yummy look.

  “You have a nice ass,” she blurted, trying to play it off as something she ever normally said to anyone.

  The rumble of his laugh would have made her smile, except he seemed surprised, not just amused. She felt kind of bad for…well, she didn’t feel bad for being hard on him or whatever, but maybe she had a little tiny bit of guilt over one or two of the not-so-nice things she’d said to him out of irritation.

  “This isn’t angry sex,” she said.

  “Yeah, I put a moratorium on that, remember?” He grinned, tugging her shirt all the way over her head. “Teaching me how to ranch, expanding my vocabulary—this is quite a learning experience.”

  Which was fine, but not the point. “I think you’re hot.”

  His grin went sly, and he tossed the shirt into the recesses of his messy room. “I know.”

  Of course he did. How could he not see the way she wanted to melt into him? The way she all but disintegrated with every illicit touch. “Right, but, what I mean is, it’s not just… I’m not using you, exactly. You are…a person who I don’t… I know I can sometimes come off…”

  He gave her ponytail a tug, then cupped the back of her neck, fingertips brushing against every sensitive part. “Spit it out, sweetheart.”

  She’d like to, but he kept touching her and looking at her, sending the sparks of attraction and lust so deep, so hot, so intense she had a hard time forming words or thoughts. “I like you, okay?” she said, exasperated and itchy. “You’re not a bad guy.”