Under Pressure (5 page)

She’d never dated a cowboy. Dusty hat, cow wrangling, callused hands had never been her type—until now
. But he wasn’t like every other cowboy she’d met. There was just something about him she couldn’t pinpoint.

His hair was
a bit longish, touching the nape of his neck. To slide her fingers through the silken locks, she’d have to first remove his Stetson, which would be a treat. What woman wouldn’t want to help this man with his hat? Or his worn jeans?

Following his hand with her gaze, his
fingers slid down the neck of the bottle and to the label where he picked at the corner. A part of her—a big aching part—wondered what his big hands would feel like on other areas of her heated skin, besides her still tingling breast. Her lungs seized, making breathing almost impossible. Taking a long drink, she gritted her teeth as the liquor burned its way into her stomach. She attempted to stay focused. Allowing her mind to wander down a path of no exit couldn’t happen.

Here for one reason, and one reason only, she didn’t want to make a new friend with benefits.

The silence became overwhelming.

“Are you always wearing a frown or is it just my company?” she asked.

“Didn’t know I was.” His expression remained somber.

“You have a nice smile. You should wear one more often.”

He shrugged and his shirt tightened across his chest. “I’m confused. You don’t look like the type who is desperate for company. So, it leaves me wonder
ing why you’re practically throwing yourself at me.”

He didn’t mince
words—and she liked it.

She was tired of meeting men who said what they thought a woman wanted to hear, instead of just being
themselves.

She
was about to cut her fishing line if she wasn’t careful.

Heaving a sor
rowful sigh, she picked at a loose thread on the hideous, flowered comforter. “I experienced a bad breakup a few months ago. This would have been our sixth anniversary of dating and, well, I guess I’m suffering a bit of a post-traumatic thing.”

“Life isn’t fair.” His throaty Texas-
twang sent chills of delight along her flesh.

His gaze was on her, peripherally
skimming her body with his amazing eyes. Self-consciously, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shifted on the bed. Not only was life not fair, but there were times it sucked miserably.

Bringing her chin up, thei
r gazes met and a flood of excitement raced through her. For the longest time they stared at each other, goose bumps washed her skin as her toes curled. She’d like to think he was feeling a bit of the same turbulent inner sensations, but his locked jaw told her he was more irritated than anything.

Pushing herself
up from the bed, she went to the mini-fridge and grabbed two more bottles. On her way back across the room, she dropped one bottle into his lap as she moved past him. At first, she thought he’d refuse, but instead, he popped the lid and downed the whiskey in one gulp. Maybe he was feeling something after all.

She didn’t bother opening hers but set it on the nightstand.

Sitting back on the bed, she slid against the stack of pillows and situated her body in the best sexy pose she could muster. Locking her gaze with his, she patted the empty space next to her. “I won’t bite, at least not hard.” She wriggled her brows. The alcohol oozed relaxation through her veins and the room warmed.

Would he take the bait?

“This seat’s just fine.”

“A lonely girl just needs a hug now and then.” Her stomach rolled in disgust. Would he actually fall for this sappy sweet nonsense?

He smiled, stood up and moved to the bed. Thick thigh muscles bulged as he walked, and she grazed her attention over another swelling behind his zipper. Surprise washed over her. Maybe her seduction did work.

When he sat on the edge of the
bed, the mattress sank under his weight and his heat enveloped her in a pleasurable cocoon. She could only imagine how much pleasure she’d get from his brawny arms wrapped around her waist, their naked bodies molded together.

The are
a between her thighs rose in temperature, threatening to consume the rest of her.

Control, girl. Lots of control.

“You look tense.” She pulled herself up on her knees, gaining her poise on the bed. “I know how to fix that.”

“Is that right?”

“I’ll let you be the judge. Turn,” she demanded.

“What?”
One thick brown curved.

“I need to reach your back.” Once he did as she requested, she lowered
her fingers to his broad shoulders, kneading the tight muscle through the material of his flannel. He loosened under her touch. Unfortunately, her muscles did the opposite.

God, he was built like a
brick house.

Years of
cow wrangling, fence building and horse riding did him good in all of the right places. She had to wonder if all areas of his body were above average in size. It was natural to be curious.

Without thought, she leaned
forward and eased herself around, checking out his lap.

“You okay?” he asked, dragging her from her musing.

Straightening, her body quivered. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. You okay?”

“P
eachy.” His word vibrated his back. “I have to admit, this feels good.”

“Y
es, it does.” The words fell from her lips before she had time to apply a filter. “I mean, yes, it must. Your muscles are loose now.”

“Then maybe you should stop
.”

She swallowed and dropped her hands. He swive
led his body, looking at her. His eyes were like green diamonds, and in the left iris, there was a small fleck of brown. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then snapped it shut. In the next second, he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her against his chest—his chest heaved with each breath. Their mouths met in a frenzy of battling tongues, fingers tugging at clothes, hands exploring exposed skin.

His hat
flew off as she spread her fingers through the silken mass of coal hair.

Jewels
dropped back onto the bed, pulling him along. He stretched his brawny body over hers and she wrapped her legs around his hips, gyrating the apex of her thighs against his bulging zipper. A deep moan rippled past his lips and tickled her mouth.

Dipping her fingers to the buttons of his shirt, she tugged the material free, hearing seams break as she tore
it from his body. Hungrily, she spread her hands over his bare chest, palming the thin layer of crisp hair. She nicked a fingernail across one flat nipple and he groaned.

Once the shirt was
slipped off his arms, she dropped her fingers to the large belt buckle and, with trembling fingers, she ripped at the leather and metal. “Here, darlin’.” He quickly undid the buckle, the metal clanged and echoed, sending a rush of anticipation through the engorged flesh of her core.

He brought his hand away
and she took over, unzipping his jeans, each crisp
ping
of the teeth of the zipper was a reminder how far she was diving into the pool of no return.

She couldn’t deny
her body burned with need—and that wasn’t a good thing. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything. What the hell was happening to her?

Her fingers paused at the crotch of his jeans,
his erection pulsated against the backs of her knuckles. She was so close to the part off him that could bring her the release that her vibrator hadn’t fulfilled over time.

Sliding her fingers
past the waist of his boxers, she dipped her fingers in and skimmed the tip of his wet head. “Take those jeans off,” she demanded.

He pulled back, slid
off his boots then jeans, and gave them a quick toss. He leaned in and covered her mouth with his. The sandpapery layer of beard was heavenly against her skin. Her core throbbed and ached, and if only she could follow her desire.

A reminder dinged inside of her head. This man played her sister. Just as he was probably playing her now, but he had no clue she was here
to satiate the need for revenge. For her sister, for all women who’ve opened their hearts and had it crushed by a man.

Lifting
her hand to her forehead, she squeezed the area between her brows. The pressure of tension thumped behind her eyes.

He lifted himself on elbow,
his gaze narrowed. “You okay?”

“I-I suddenly have a headache.”

“Mixing beer and whiskey can do that sometimes.”

Or playing
a role and failing miserably.

“Y
eah, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I can’t do this.”

“This?” His voice croaked.

She nibbled the corner of her bottom lip. “I’m feeling ill. Do you mind getting me a glass of water?”

He blinked. “Sure.” He got up and she
stared between her fingers, following his tight ass all the way across the room. And on his way back, she stared again, this time at his coiled abs and the obvious expansion of his plaid boxers. At this point, she didn’t care about propriety. She gawked until he produced the bottle of water.

Accepting
the offering, she uncapped it and took a long drink, sneaking another peek at the tip of his erection sticking out from the elastic band. Yeah, she wouldn’t have been disappointed, not in the slightest.

He awkwardly shuffled his
bare feet. “I guess I should get dressed and head out.”

“No—please don’t. I don’t want t
o be alone. Will you hold me?” As much as she regretted it, she liked the thought of him holding her. “I hate being alone when I’m not feeling well.”

Hesitation crawled across his features until he finally shrugged. “I guess I can stay for a while.” He slid into bed n
ext to her.

Snuggling
closer into his warmth, she laid her head in the crook of his shoulder. His fingers threaded through her hair, combing the tresses and the action was quite comforting. She tilted her chin so that she could look up at him. How could a man with such a rough and tough exterior show such tenderness?

Possibly,
she was making the biggest mistake of her lifetime.

Or maybe she was lonely and her emotions were discoloring the truth. Yeah, that seemed more likely. She never was good at gauging a man’s character because she alway
s wound up missing the red flags. Em was the same way. If there was a bad boy within a ten-mile radius, they would certainly draw them in.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and
fought hard to maintain resistance.

This would all be over soon.

Chapter Four

SPARK’S NOSE ITCHED. But he couldn’t move his hands to scratch.

Forcing one eye t
o a slit, he wasn’t in his room, but still in the motel. Damn. He’d fallen asleep.

Opening both eyes, he blinked the fuzziness away and lifted his head. His arms were
stretched high above his head and his wrists ached. He darted a glimpse above him.

He was tied to the headboard
. Acid gurgled in his stomach. “What the hell!” He gave his hands a jerk, but the rope held them tight. “Fuck!”

Jerking
a glance around the room…there she was…sitting in the chair, her legs crossed and a look of satisfaction covering her pretty features.

“
What the fuck is this?” Now he understood why Ms. Stone had been throwing herself at him. “Talk to me!” he demanded.

A sticky, tingly
sensation brought his gaze lower and on his legs. He squinted. Both legs were covered with some sort of pink, glossy paper.  “And what in God’s creation are those?”

She got up,
stood at the end of the bed, a smirk curving her lips. “Wax strips.”

“G
et them off me and let me the hell out of this bed!” he snarled

“Are you sure you want me to help you with the strips?” One thin brow curved maliciously.

“Hell yeah!”

She reached down
, grabbed the corner of one strip and pulled.

“O
w!” he squealed as a fire like none other raced through his leg. Clenching his teeth, he looked at her through narrowed gaze. “What the hell was that for?’

“You did ask me to help you
. So I did.”

“I
’m talking about all of this—the rope, the shit on my legs.” He forced a breath through tight lips.

Smugly, she crossed her arms. “This is a lesson earned.”

He popped up a brow. “A lesson? For what?” Bringing his gaze back to his rope twined wrists, he visually examined the headboard. The cord was wrapped around his wrists, fashioned through the five-inch gap into the wooden detail, then pulled back through and tied in a knot. From what he could see, and with another tug, it wasn’t a bad knot.