Page 13 of My Cowboy Valentine

“Is that what you did with that prick you married?”

The rawness in his voice and the uneasy implications of the question grab my attention. But his face remains frustratingly unreadable. I shrug. “My whole life is a PR stunt when things are going well.”

“That sounds miserable,” he replies, shaking his head.

“Don’t act like you don’t know anything about publicity,” I scold. “When you broke up with that barrel-riding skank, it was all over the Western lifestyle magazines.”

He grimaces. “Not because of staged media photo shoots.”

I don’t say anything else because I hate even thinking about that bitch. We spend the next two hours hashing out schedules and managing to agree with each other more than we argue. Although he keeps his answers brief, it’s the most I’ve talked to Rowdy in forever. As much as I hate to admit it, I find comfort and relief in our conversation. I don’t have to put on airs with him or pretend to be something I’m not. It’s intoxicatingly refreshing and dangerous…

Not nearly as dangerous as the scorching fireworks flying between us, though. I must be fucked in the head, feeling such an undeniable, uncontrollable attraction to the man I babysat as a little boy. What would a therapist say about this? But he’s a little boy no more, and I can’t help my visceral response to him any more than I can help breathing or blinking.

Rowdy pushes away from the table, reclining back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Anything I’m forgetting?”

My heart pounds against my ribcage, and my cheeks burn. I have no idea what my body’s doing. But the unhinged sexual tension has reached a fever pitch.

“Besides PR stunts, be prepared to get followed.” I’m not sure this will happen, but I have to warn him with the way #RedRowdy trended this morning. “That means no other women in your truck or house for a while.” By this, I mean the idiot blonde I flipped off earlier.

“Get followed? Nuhuh,” he says, firmly shaking his head. “Anybody who follows me onto my property will be staring down the length of a double-barreled shotgun. I don’t take well to trespassers.”

I rub my hand over my face.Please don’t let this become the next bigDatelinetrue crime podcast. “Well, you do you, Rowdy.”

He clears his throat. “You know, the same goes for you. No men in your car or hotel room.”

I laugh, taken aback. “If I didn’t know better, Rowdy, I’d say you’re jealous.”

“So are you,” he replies matter-of-factly.

The words stun me…because they’re true. We stare at each other uncomfortably, the air sparkling with the kind of tension that precedes crazy lovemaking or a gunfight.

I clear my throat. “That’s more or less it…except for one final thing.”

He raises an eyebrow.

I look down at the grain of the tabletop as I say the next part, muttering more than clearly projecting my voice. “We should probably get a kiss out of the way.” My eyes shoot up to his, noticing how his baby blues darken and his pupils enlarge. I shrug, trying to play it off even as he drills into me, hyper-focusing on my face and words. “You know, so we don’t look awkward when we’re together during photo shoots and candid appearances.”

He hesitates for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, he stands, confidently striding towards my seat. Offering me his hand, I barely have a moment to take it, rising with an embarrassed sigh as his arms wrap around my waist, and he leans down, unleashing a firestorm of need inside of me. My body shivers as his fingers, hands, and arms awaken my flesh, igniting every point of contact like a Roman candle, and my breath comes faster than it should.

Slowly, he closes the distance. At the last moment, I pull back, startled, and he scolds testily, “I’ve known you my whole life, Lesley. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” The way he speaks my name sends desire crashing down my spine, and I melt into him as he claims my mouth unrepentantly. His palms slide up my body, trailing flames until he cups my cheeks so I can’t skitter away, treating me tenderly but firmly like a wild horse he’s gentling.

Rowdy’s warm, skillful lips dance over mine, teasing and tasting me as my pulse thunders like a runaway freight train. I can’t help myself, sucked into the painfully tender sensuality of the moment despite the warning thrum in my head.

We shouldn’t be doing this…

My hands tremble with urgency as my arms snake around his waist, my fingers looping into the back of his waistband and sliding under its edge. I pull him so close I can feel the heat andfirmness behind his zipper, my body shamelessly thirsting for him.

A dark growl rumbles from his chest, shaking my core with deep vibrations. But he doesn’t pull back, exacerbating the insane waves of lust rocking my body and converging between my legs. Fuck, I’ve never wanted a man this much in my entire life. Not even my ex-husband.

Reality fades in the flames sparked by his sensual lips, and I whimper, forgetting everything. His age. His relationship to me. Our history. Poof! All gone in the masterful way his lips pleasure mine, his velvety tongue announcing a far darker agenda…

What in the hell am I doing?My body tenses at the inner chiding, even as I pull him more desperately against me, my fingers sliding boldly beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs to the top of his firm, round ass.

Rowdy moves his head back slightly, feathering his lips over mine and nipping at my mouth playfully until I relax again, opening my lips enough for his demanding tongue to plunge between. His hands slide to the back of my head and neck, holding me firmly and possessively as he sweeps into my mouth with a newfound authority. Lust clobbers me hard, and I whimper again. All reason and logic dissolve as my brain spins ecstatically, a whirling dervish in the throes of blissful worship.

When he pulls back a couple of inches, I follow his lips unrepentantly, and he has to pull back even more, chuckling. I am fucking pathetic, but I can’t help myself.

His hot breath caresses my face as he pants, “Will that do?”

---