Stripped Down (10 page)

“No fucking way, Super Man-Slut. My cooter does not speak for me.”

Really, really crazy about this woman already.

“So what else did you do to kill time?” Onscreen he dodged a flurry of arrows and slid beneath a boulder.

“I listen to audiobooks when I’m driving. When I’m at an event, I’m out among the contestants and rodeo people because I spend enough time by myself getting to the destination.”

“Do you have an apartment that’s a home base?”

Onscreen, Melissa chopped a monster’s head off with a broadsword, then snagged the jeweled necklace off the corpse with a, “I’ll take that, sucker,” before she answered. “I had a place in Kentucky. Once I stopped going there…I put my money into the nicest horse trailer I could buy. I have everything I need. I’ve upgraded it twice. But since I’ve been working at Grade A, I rented a place in town to see if I liked living in one place again.”

“What’s the verdict?”

She shrugged. “Still out. At least for there. Why?”

Wyn maneuvered around a patch of quicksand onscreen. “Sutton made great money when he was winning. Bulldogging paid for his house, and he’s never been short on cash for anything else. But I heard other guys talkin’ like they don’t make a living at it.”

“You asking how I support myself because you’re looking for me to pay you rent while I’m here?”

“No, smartass.” He bristled. “Forget it.”

Melissa hit pause on the game and faced him. “Let’s get this out in the open. I have Kentucky blueblood parents, remember? I have a trust fund. I use it when I need to. I’m not one of those ‘Oh, I have to make it on my own even if I have to live in a hovel to prove I’m independent’ kind of women. My grandparents set the trust fund up for me at birth. I was a one hundred percent scholarship recipient for college, so I didn’t touch my college fund. I made enough money competing to support myself, but I’m lucky enough to have a financial cushion that allows me to not worry that I’ll have to eat Ramen noodles for a month so I can afford to fill my truck up with gas to get to the next event.”

“You don’t have to get defensive.”

“I’m not. This is just another example of why I don’t tell anyone my background.”

He twined a long, red curl around his index finger. “Doesn’t that get lonely? Not letting anyone see the real you?”

She laughed harshly. “Being on the road and competing is the
real
me. The girl I was before? She’s long gone.” She tried to get away from him and succeeded, despite that he’d nearly pulled her hair out in the process.

“Come back here.”

“Why?”

“So you can look into my eyes when I tell you this.” He stroked her jawline with his thumb. “I like the real you. A lot. And not just because you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever been with, or that you have a lewd sense of humor, or that you like to fuck as much as I do.”

She raised a dark red eyebrow. “You
are
going somewhere with this, right cowboy?”

“Yep. You’re the first woman I’ve invited to stay at my place for longer than a few hours. You’re the first woman who’s played video games with me. You’re not the first woman to cook for me, but you didn’t create that meal like it was a wife audition.”

“Dude, if I was auditioning to be your wife, I’d cook naked.”

Wyn smiled. “See? You’re so goddamned funny. I just wanna sit here and talk to you for hours. And this is all new to me, okay? And yet, it’s so damn easy. You just slipped in here like you belong. But without permanent ties to anything, I worry that you’ll slip back out just as easily.” Jesus. Did that make him sound whiny?

Melissa stared at him. “I don’t know where this will go, Wynton. I feel like I’ve known you for years when it’s just been days. But I can’t promise you anything when I’m taking things—my life—day by day.”

Not what he wanted to hear, but it’d have to do for now. “Fair enough.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get back to the game. I believe you were about to pillage the village.”

* * * *

For the next week, much to Wyn’s annoyance, Melissa had stuck to her guns and locked the door to the guest bedroom after she went to bed. Alone. Every night. It was still locked in the morning—and his need to check that every morning just pissed him off. So prior to them saying good night, he felt entitled to poke her—promising he’d never lock her out of his room and he’d welcome any late visits from her.

He banked his disappointment that she hadn’t taken him up on his offer even one time in the last seven nights.

So when a warm body crawled in bed beside him, he figured he was dreaming.

Soft hands floated over his arms and across his shoulders. Cool lips landed on the back of his neck, sending a shudder through him.

“Wynton? Are you awake?”

He groaned. “I am now. What time is it?”

“Three.”

Christ. “You know what time we have to get up to start loading cattle?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you doin’ in my bed, Miss I-Lock-My-Doors? Did you have a bad dream or something?”

“No. I had a good dream.” She licked the vertebra at the base of his skull. “A sexy dream.” She blew a stream of air across the damp spot she’d created. “A dirty dream. Starring dirty-minded, hot-bodied you.” She sank her teeth into the nape of his neck.

It was as if that particular spot had a direct line to his cock, and it immediately went rock-fucking-hard.

She whispered, “I came in here to see if you wanted me to act out the good parts of my dream.”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Melissa rolled him to his back. “It’s handy that you sleep naked, cowboy.”

He kept his room so dark he could only make out her shape in the greenish glow from the digital clock on the side of the bed. “So you’re waking me up to reward me with sex?”

“Are you sure you’re awake? Or is this a dream starring the sleep sex fairy?” She slid down his body and beneath the covers.

Then her warm, wet mouth engulfed his cock. He clenched his hands and his ass cheeks to keep from bowing up.

By the time she quit teasing—deep-throating him, licking just the head of his cock with the tip of her tongue while she jacked him—his entire body vibrated.

She rolled a condom down his shaft and straddled him, burying his length inside her hot and slick cunt an inch at a time.

“Melissa.”

She stretched her body across his and put her mouth on his ear. “I want to fuck you slowly and send you soaring without all the thrusting and straining, so when you do tip over the edge into the abyss, you’ll wonder if it all had been a dream.”

Wyn sank into the pillows and let her have her way with him, as she sucked and nibbled on his neck, his ears, and his chest. She rocked his cock in and out in the dreamy rhythm she’d mentioned. He trailed his fingertips up and down her spine, pleased to feel gooseflesh erupting in their wake.

When his balls drew up and he felt that tingle at the base of his spine, he grabbed onto her ass and let her body pull the orgasm from his.

 She feathered kisses over his lips and disconnected their bodies. She even removed the condom. After one last kiss she said, “Reality is always much sweeter than dreams,” and slipped from his room.

The next morning he might’ve believed it
had
all been a dream…but the hickey above his left nipple was proof she’d been there.

Maybe she was coming around. Maybe next time she’d be in his bed all night.

Chapter Seven

Over the past two weeks, Mel had become a decent ranch hand. After spending long days in the saddle and long nights christening every surface in Wynton’s house, she was dragging serious ass today. Ranch work wasn’t for wimps.

Luckily, her years of cutting competition had proved useful when keeping stray heifers in line. Seemed those stubborn cows always made a beeline for the creek. She could understand it if it was hot, but the weather had cooled off considerably, and it was always colder down by the water.

She shivered in her borrowed Carhartt coat. She couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone. It seemed like yesterday that she’d unpacked her things, half-worried/half-excited to share living space with Wynton. She’d learned so much about him—not just his sexual preferences.

Now she knew little…domestic things. He brewed his first two cups of coffee in the morning as thick as tar. He ate lunch with his parents and brother most days. He read the newspaper from front to back before supper. He liked the scent of laundry detergent in the air so he did one load of clothes every day. He preferred sitcoms to dramas on TV. He shaved every day—not just because she was there.

Now that she also knew the core of him—his fierce love of his life as a rancher and being around his family, his connection to his animals and the land—she realized she’d never find another man like him. She hated that their time together was coming to a close. Wynton had been vague when she’d asked about his plans after the shipping was done, so she hadn’t brought it up again.

Plato did a little crow-hop and she absentmindedly reached down and patted his neck. “Easy. I know you wanna work, but we gotta let the boys do their stuff.”

Boys. That was almost a derogatory term for the masculine perfection of Wynton and Creston Grant. Seeing them work together was like watching a ballet. Each move and counter move perfectly choreographed. Ropes thrown in unison or in opposition. Both of them taking off on their horses at the same speed. Wynton cut left, while Cres cut right, and the herd was immediately back on track, going where the Grant boys wanted them to go.

She looked around at the pine trees lining this valley that dipped below the rock outcroppings. Some of the grass still had the barest hint of green, but even the brown stalks added to the visual appeal of vastness and serenity. She truly loved it here. It was so peaceful.

When her fingertips tingled and she knew it wasn’t from cold, she dug into her pocket and took out a box of raisins. The first few days she hadn’t done much strenuous activity—unless lots of hot sex, a couple times a day counted—and she had good blood sugar numbers. She felt great. Better than she had since before the diagnosis. She felt…normal. When her daily activity kicked up the past two weeks, she’d adjusted quickly and had no adverse effects. So she was beginning to think that finally after six and a half months, she had a handle on living with diabetes.

And since things were going better between her and Wynton than she ever imagined, she hadn’t seen a need to test their relationship to see if telling him about her condition changed things. A smarmy voice in her head said,
Great plan, Mel. Tell him about it the first time he acts like a total jackass.

Wynton whistled, drawing her attention to the loading chutes.

Damn, damn, damn but that man was fine. Hard-working, determined, thoughtful, funny, interesting. What you saw with him was exactly what you got. And in her eyes that made him damn near perfect.

You have fallen for him.

Who wouldn’t?

She let her gaze scan the panoramic view. She could get used to this life. Working side by side—or at least in close proximity to her man. Raising cattle and maybe a few kids.

Whoa.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Putting the cart before the horse, much? Get through the next week with him before you start picking out baby names and knitting fucking booties.

“Melissa!”

Her head snapped up.

All Wynton had to do was point and she knew where she was supposed to be. Her gaze zeroed in on the problem cow. She clicked at Plato.

But before they reached the edge of the herd, the cow headed for the stock tank. On the other side of the pasture.

Then they were off on a wild cow chase.

Plato’s withers quivered with excitement. He was in his glory as a cow horse. By the third day, he was penned with Charlie, Wyn’s horse, Petey, Cres’s horse, and Ringo, Jim’s horse. By the fourth day in the field with the Grant horses, Plato had taken over as the leader.

The cow was fast. But Plato was faster.

Mel cut around and Plato’s back end slid out so they were almost parallel to the ground. But Plato righted himself and they were in front of the cow, Plato moving back and forth as he tried to gauge which way the cow intended to bolt.

The cow heard the herd mooing behind her. Seeing no escape, she slowly turned around and lumbered back to the corral.

Plato kept on her until she was back where she belonged.

Something was spooking the herd today. Mel had to chase over a dozen runaways. So it took twice as long to sort and load. She’d depleted her secret store of snacks in her pockets and her water bottle was empty.

Wynton wasn’t on horseback today. He slammed the back end of the livestock hauler and then jogged up to the driver’s side to talk to Cres, who was delivering the cattle.

Mel dismounted. The cold seemed to have settled in her bones, so she led Plato into the barn to warm up as she removed the tack and brushed him down. She had to give him his special blend of oats out of the view of the other horses so they wouldn’t fight for their share.

She’d just sent him out into the corral and locked the gate, when a wave of dizziness overtook her. She patted her hand along the fence, trying to squint through the white spots dancing in front of her eyes for the outside pump. There. Red handle. Once she reached it, she pulled up the handle. She had to hold on to the metal pipe as she held one shaking hand out to the stream of water. Very little liquid was flowing into the plastic; it was just getting her hand wet.

Fuck it.

Mel bent down and gulped water directly from the gushing stream. Water had pooled in the rocks, but she didn’t care. She was so damn thirsty.

When she’d had enough, she yanked the handle down and cut off the flow. She pushed herself upright and wiped her face on the sleeve of her coat.

Of course that’s when she noticed Wyn standing in the doorway of the barn.

He raised both eyebrows. “Thirsty?”

“Very.”

“You hydrated now?”

Mel watched him stalk closer with that look in his eyes. A look that said he was about to strip her down and rock her body to the core. “Yes I am.”