Page 3 of Claiming Cowboy
Curvy, soft, built in a way that makes my hands itch to pull her close and claim every inch. Full breasts, a lush feminine figure that looks like sin wrapped in sweetness—and then she stands, and I catch sight of those plush thighs. My throat goes dry.God, is all of her this decadent?
Her hair is warm caramel, twisted into a loose ponytail that can’t hold her, strands slipping free to brush against her neck and frame that pretty face. And those hazel eyes… hell, I’ve never seen anything like them.
She catches me looking and for a heartbeat our gazes hold. Then, just as quickly, she flicks her eyes away, shy and uncertain, smoothing her hands down the front of her sundress like she needs something to do. That little move only makes me want her more—makes me want to tip her chin up and show her she doesn’t have to hide.
She looks like honey—golden, sweet, addictive.
Words aren’t enough. She’s quiet, not trying to get attention, maybe trying to avoid anyone looking at her, but I can’t look away. I want her to see me. I want her to know I see her. I want to make sure no other cowboy gets the idea to pillow a rough day by hugging her, diving into her, or clinging to her.
Mine, the word echoes in my head and carries me closer to her. I don’t care who’s waiting, they cankeepwaiting. I have a goal and a better prize than another win under my belt. Sure, I don’t get to justhaveher, but I’m making it damn sure what I’m after.
I keep my eyes on her, trying to help her see how locked on I am. This is a woman I need to know, need to touch, need to claim. I’m not going to question instinct. It’s gotten me this far. And the way her cheek hollows as she chews on it and the way she peeks at me from under her lashes makes my heart beat as hard as on an eight second bull ride.
There’s no crowd. No noise. Nothing but her.
“What’s your name?” I call out, loud enough to carry, watching her eyes widen as I lean against the railing. I don’t bother hiding what I want—or the fact that it’s her.
Her lips part like she can’t quite believe I’m speaking to her. Then she points at herself, almost questioning. I tip my hat with a slow smile, waiting her out.
“P-Paige,” she finally manages, her voice soft, her throat working around the word.
“Paige,” I repeat, letting it roll over my tongue. My smile sharpens. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” The words come out rougher, deeper than I’ve ever sounded—like she’s already dragging something primal out of me.
Just hearing her voice, hearing her name, knowing I have her attention sets my body on fire. I can’t get enough oxygen, can barely keep myself from leaning over to memorize the smell of her perfume, to peer deeper into her eyes to see those threads of emerald nestled among the brown.
“A gorgeous summer day,” I hum as I drink her in again.
That’s what she is—sunshine. But not the distant kind that warms you from far away. She radiates heat you can feel on your skin, a sweetness that seeps straight into your veins. She’s softness and temptation, a body that begs to be touched, a mouth that makes a man wonder how it tastes. She’s a meadow in full bloom, golden light spilling over curves I ache to claim. And what man with blood in his veins could resist stretching out in that heat, pulling her under him, and savoring every damn inch? How can I ignore my racing heart, tightening throat, the way my whole body seems to buzz just hearing her soft voice?
“Don’t go anywhere,” I say, only half-joking because I want to watch her through my ride.
She blinks at me and nods slowly, then shakes her head, like she’s pulling out of a fantasy or daydream.
No, darlin’, I’m real,I want to say, but I know the guys are going to start yelling for me to get ready. Son of the Beast is a bull made of piss and vinegar. He doesn’t like a soul and would gore the man who feeds him as quickly as he’d gore me.
“What the hell, man?” One of the guys demands. “Focus on this.”
They give me shit about focusing on a girl, but she’s more. I can feel it in my bones. It’s new, unnerving, but I want to chase it. I’ve chased passion my whole life which is why I can easily hop on this bull now. I live to tame, to experience, to have that adrenaline fueled ecstasy that few other things can top.
But Paige does. I keep glancing at her while pulling on my belt and getting ready. She whispers with her friend, but I don’t care. She’ll notice me. I’ll prove I can handle any problem she can think of. If I can handle a 1500 pound bull that wants to kill me, I’ll handle it all. She can stay soft and let me be her strength.
“On!”
I hop onto the bull and grip the reins as if he is the only thing standing between me and her. Time doesn’t matter. The score doesn’t matter. All I care about is staying alive and making sure the woman in the audience sees what I can do.
The gate bangs open and the bull explodes out, twisting, lunging, bucking hard enough to rattle my bones. He wants me off—wants me under his hooves—but I’m not giving him the satisfaction. I roll with every surge, hips loose, grip steady, adjusting to his rhythm before he can shake me. Every violent jerk is just another chance to prove I can handle it, handleanything.
The buzzer sounds, but the bull’s still wound tight. I don’t dismount until the flank man and pickup riders close in to push him toward the exit. At the last moment, I let go, hopping clear and landing solid on my feet.
The crowd roars. I don’t look at them. I head straight for the rails, accept the mic from the announcer, and find her again—my eyes locked only on Paige.
Keeping them off her for even eight full seconds has proved too long.
I point at her. “This ride is for Paige—front row—the prettiest thing in this whole damn stadium.” Whistles and cheers break out, and she instantly tries to shrink, sinking into her seat as people crane their necks to find her. I don’t waver. Passion is what I live for, taming the wild is what I know. “And she’s mine.”
Her blush spreads fast, turning her cheeks neon. She looks away, ducking down to escape the stares, but not before I catch it—the spark of curiosity flickering through her confusion, the part of her that can’t help but wonder.
That’s right, sunshine. I can handle a bull with murder in its eyes. And I’ll handle you—every doubt, every wall, every inch—until you know you’re safe in my hands.
