The Cowboy Takes a Bride Page 22

  “Because my mom and I lived in other people’s houses, we never had a home of our own. I learned how to adapt to meet other people’s expectations. Whenever I’d enter a new situation, I’d immediately start figuring out how to blend in. Just as I did when I got to Jubilee and bought—well, you bought me—cowboy clothes. I have a sixth sense about what a group will accept and I start behaving that way. So when I was in high school at Hyde Park, I was one of those rich kids. I wasn’t a displaced cowgirl as Dutch saw me. And I was so afraid that if people knew he was my father that I’d be ostracized from the group. In high school, fitting in is so important.”

  “It’s okay,” Joe said.

  “It’s not. Because in trying to fit in with everyone, I ended up fitting in with no one. I didn’t know my real place.”

  “And now?”

  She smiled. “This cowboy wedding planning business, it’s becoming real. I’m beginning to think this is where I belong. Then again, maybe I’m just deceiving myself again. I mean, why risk rejection when acceptance can be bought by simply wearing a mask?”

  “Do you feel like you’re wearing a mask now? Do you feel that way with me?” he dared to ask.

  “No,” she said. “And that’s what scares me about you.”

  He brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why should being your true self scare you?”

  “Because,” Mariah whispered, “I don’t know who that woman is.”

  “You might not know,” he said, “but I do. She’s self-confident and efficient, energetic and practical. She’s smart and adaptable. And do you want to know what I like best about her?”

  “What?”

  “I like how she bounces back so quickly. How balanced she is. How she can take life on the chin and keep going full steam ahead.”

  “I just try to stay busy to keep from thinking too much,” she confessed.

  He trailed his fingertips over her forearm—gently, lightly, just to let her know how much he appreciated her. “You know what else I like about you?”

  “No.”

  “The way your lips taste.” He leaned over, looked into her eyes. He was treading on treacherous ground. One wrong move and he’d lose his footing. If he were smart, he’d get up, run away.

  But at that moment, fleeing was the last thing on his mind.

  Joe’s distracting thumb kept moving over her skin, kneading, massaging. He didn’t say anything; his quietness, the security of him wormed into her heart. His patience surprised her. He was a powerful man, a man accustomed to being in charge and getting his way and taming wild bulls and cutting horses.

  In her experience, powerful men weren’t quiet and patient. But there was a deeper side to Joe. Had it emerged after his wife’s death? Had his loss taught him quietness and patience? Whatever the cause, his silence had the effect that words or actions never could have. It made Mariah want to share everything with him.

  Then he leaned over and kissed her—softly, sweetly, gently.

  Mariah did not pull away.

  “How does that feel?” he asked.

  “Nice. Very nice.”

  “Just nice?”

  “You’re holding back.”

  “I am. You sure you want more?”

  She stared into his eyes, got lost in the abyss of those dark pupils. “I’ve wanted more from the moment I first laid eyes on you in that horse trough.”

  “Naked cowboys are your thing, huh?” He chuckled.

  “Apparently.”

  “Come closer, woman,” he said, and pulled her into his lap.

  She fit neatly against him, as if she’d been made for sitting in his lap.

  Joe turned her around so they were facing each other. He ran his hand up the nape of her neck, splayed his fingers through her hair, and tugged her head down to meet his lips.

  She kissed him right back with all the passion that had been building inside her for the past several weeks. Kissed and kissed and kissed.

  Joe was the one to take it past the kissing, as she knew he would be; her alpha cowboy, strong and in control, but never inconsiderate, never out solely for his own pleasure. His palm slid up underneath her shirt, skimming hotly over her bare belly to her breasts, and her world cracked open.

  She clung to him. Outside, the rain beat on the tile roof. Inside, they were snug in the cozy womb of his living room, the firelight throwing long shadows over them. His bold tongue teased her teeth apart and she loosened her jaw to let him all the way in.

  You shouldn’t be doing this.

  But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

  Then he found a sweet spot between her ear and her chin. An erogenous zone that turned her to putty. She moaned softly, curled into him. She was straddling his lap, her hands wrapped around his neck, her raised knees pressed into the back of the couch. Beneath her bottom, she could feel his erection growing increasingly stiffer.

  Strong, confident, decisive, he boldly conquered her mouth again, kissing her hard and long as his hand brushed lightly over first one nipple and then the other, taking control as only an alpha man could.

  An ancient, burgeoning need melded her to him, stoking her hunger, cementing their connection.

  “You can say stop at any time,” he said. “I just want you to know that.”

  “You have the same right, but I don’t want to stop.”

  “Me either, I just want you to know that this is the first time since . . .”

  Becca died.

  The words hung unspoken in the air between them.

  He shifted, sliding her off his lap, then moved down to the rug on the floor in front of the fire, taking her with him. Then when he reached to untie the string at the waistband of her pajamas, her heart started pounding an unruly rhythm.

  “Wh—”

  He closed off her words with another kiss, then pulled back and whispered, “Trust me.”

  He blazed a trail like his pioneer ancestors, kissing a heated path from her mouth to that sweet spot under her chin to the hollow of her throat to . . . oh my!

  While his mouth was kissing her, his fingers unbuttoned her pajama top, pushing it aside, and now his wicked mouth was on her tender, aching nipple and it was the most exquisite sensation.

  Butter. Hot melted butter.

  Then while his tongue teased her nipple, that naughty hand slipped beneath the waistband of her pajamas.

  Helplessly, she arched her hips, felt the pajama bottoms being tugged off her. The draft of cool air, the pressure of his palm, the tingles racing over her skin made her shiver.

  “Woman,” he whispered, and kissed her again, but while he was doing that, those evil fingers were sliding beneath the silky material of her panties.

  “Man,” she said, and nipped his lip.

  He laughed and eased his finger between her legs and into a spot that sent her mind skidding off the deep end.

  She swallowed against the sensation, closed her eyes, rode it like a magic carpet to the stars.

  “Yes?” his voice whispered in her ear.

  “Yes.” She should have been embarrassed. She would have been embarrassed. This was so intimate. It felt as if they’d skipped some steps, but it felt so very, very good that she didn’t care.

  When the second finger slid in to join the first, her entire body tensed, quivered.

  “Oooh.” She sighed and draped the back of her hand over her eyes. She was so hot! Was her fever back?

  She felt tight everywhere. Tight and sensitive and so aware, and when his thumb hit her trigger button she was almost jolted straight out of her skin.

  Joe chuckled and then did some crazy, amazing, unbelievable things with his fingers.

  But the pleasure didn’t end there. As his fingers played her, his mouth was surfing down her belly, lower and lower, until she was stiff as a plank, waiting in anticipation for where she prayed he was headed.

  Then there he was.

  His sweet, sweet lips. On her inner lips. Lick
ing.

  Baffled. She was baffled that anything could feel this good.

  He toyed with her, prolonging the agonizing pleasure. Holding her at bay.

  She made a noise of frustration low in her throat, then pushed her pelvis against him. She toed the rim of a dark peak, surrounded by the heat and pressure of his madding mouth, the smell of mesquite, the sound of her own soft moans.

  This wasn’t right. She wanted him too much. No one should be this out of control with desire. It was too dangerous. Anything could happen. She’d gone too far. Lost too much of herself.

  Then just like that, she broke.

  A whimper tore from her throat. She grasped for him, threaded her fingers through his hair, and held on tight as wave after wave rolled over her. By the end she was trembling and sobbing with joyous release.

  “Mariah? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Alarm tinged his words as he scooped her into his arms and held her cradled against his chest. “Mariah, sweetheart, speak to me.”

  “I’m . . . fine . . .” she whispered weakly.

  “It was too much. You’re recovering from a fever. I should never have started this,” he berated himself.

  “I’m so much more than fine,” she reassured him.

  “You could have a relapse.” He was buttoning her shirt, pulling her panties up. Searching for the pajama bottoms.

  “Joe, you’re not listening. I’m speechless from the incredible orgasm you just gave me. I’ve never . . . come that way.”

  “Really?” He grinned from ear to ear.

  “Now don’t let it go to your head, but yes.”

  He smiled, shook his head. “You look so damn beautiful right now.”

  “We’re not going to do anything more?”

  “Not now. Not tonight.”

  “Why not?” she asked, feeling petulant. “You didn’t get anything out of it.”

  “That’s where you’re completely wrong. Your pleasure . . . feeling you come . . . you were so hot. You made me feel so good. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

  “If you think that was good . . .” She strayed a hand to his zipper, but he blocked her hand.

  “No,” he whispered. “I don’t have a condom. We’ll wait. I can wait. Let’s just take this one step at a time.”

  “What’s the next step?” she asked tentatively.

  “Meet the parents.”

  “What?” she said, feeling alarmed. She didn’t know if she was ready for that.

  “You’ll come with me to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The biggest troublemaker you’ll ever meet stares you in the face when you brush your teeth.

  —Dutch Callahan

  The rain quit the next day, but Joe wouldn’t let Mariah go home. He put her in the guest bedroom and told her to rest and then he disappeared. Bored, but still feeling a little weak after her bout with the fever, she spent the morning on the phone and on the Internet riding herd on the wedding preparations for Prissy and Paul’s wedding.

  In between the calls and the Googling, Mariah thought about Joe and what had happened between them the previous evening. Things had changed, shifted. The distance evaporated. Intimacy loomed. Her mind pinballed from emotion to emotion, bouncing off the bumpers of delight, fear, excitement, and worry.

  They were working toward something. She was building a life here in Jubilee and Joe was rapidly becoming part of it.

  Oh gosh. Did she want this? Was she ready for their friendship to move to the next level? She’d kept men at a distance for so long as she built her career, she honestly didn’t know how to stop doing that. But she wanted to. Oh yeah, she wanted what most everyone wanted. A home. A family. She was due. It was time. Why not just embrace what was happening and hold on for the ride? Her stomach dipped, tingled.

  A smile curled over her lips. Dating Joe would be like riding a cutting horse. Thrilling. Exhilarating. Addicting.

  And that was where the fear set in.

  The thought of losing all control went against everything inside her. Still, there was some part of her that yearned to give in, yield, succumb.

  Hope budded.

  Maybe, maybe. She hugged herself. Joe.

  Around noon she grew hungry. Mariah left the guest room intent on finding something to eat for lunch and paused to go into what she thought was the downstairs bathroom. When she opened the door, she immediately realized her mistake.

  Polished trophies gleamed from a row of shelves. Numerous trophies featuring cowgirls on wild-maned horses.

  Belt buckles too. Silver, gold. Big and imposing buckles mounted on the paneled wall.

  Photographs of Becca. Zipping around barrels. Galloping full-out. Or in the winner’s circle holding up one of the polished trophies. The woman had been an incredible beauty. A younger version of Michelle Pfeiffer. Sleek, cool, perfect.

  On display in the middle of the room, positioned on a stand, was the pièce de résistance. A championship barrel racing saddle. Becca had won the national rodeo title the year before her death.

  The room was a shrine. To Becca.

  The floor dropped out from under Mariah’s feet.

  So much for budding dreams.

  Joe finally came in around midnight. She lay in the guest room listening to him, remembering what he’d done to her the night before, thinking about the Becca shrine she’d found. She hoped he’d come to her so they could talk.

  He did not.

  The next morning, she got up before he did, determined to see him before he went off to work. She cracked eggs and started making omelets.

  What are you doing?” Joe demanded.

  Mariah jumped. She hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen. “Hi!”

  He stared at her with astonishment, his gaze drifting from her hand confidently flipping the omelet to his blue and white striped, button-down shirt that she’d found in the guest room closet and slipped on over her T-shirt and panties. She hadn’t wanted to wear any more of Becca’s clothes and she’d just put her own clothes into the washing machine.

  The shirt was so long, and she was so petite, that the hem of it hit her just above the knees. The material was thin, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and several top buttons were undone.

  She thought she was fully covered but the lusty expression on his face pushed the air from her lungs, and in her mind’s eye she saw herself as he saw her. Mussed hair, bare feet, naked under a thin film of cloth. Full-on seductive.

  She didn’t mean to look that way, so she lightly, breezily said, “Cooking breakfast for you.”

  “You’ve been ill. Go back to bed,” he commanded, pointing a finger toward the bedroom.

  “I’m fine. I’m feeling much better. In fact, I’m ravenous.”

  He watched her through languid, half-lidded eyes, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if the sight of her cooking his breakfast was the source of great amusement.

  She slid the omelet onto a plate and carried it to the kitchen table. “Here, eat up.”

  He sat down, but before she could move away, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. “It’s dangerous, woman, to go around dressed like that.”

  She melted against him. She wasn’t alone in this. He was feeling it too. Still, there was that room filled with Becca.

  She wriggled in his grasp. “I’ll go change.”

  Joe released her, raised both palms. “No, it’s okay. I can keep my hands to myself.”

  I don’t want you to keep your hands to yourself. I want you to take me right here on this table, erase the ghost of your wife, she longed to say. But instead, she said, “When can I go back to my cabin?”

  “You can go back today if you want. I’ll take you over after breakfast.”

  “Oh yeah, I have so much to do on the wedding chapel and—”

  “And you’re going to take it easy, right? The futurity starts next Tuesday and I’m going to be busy.”

  “I underst
and.”

  “We’ll have more time together when it’s over.”

  “I’m busy too,” she reminded him. “Prissy and Paul’s wedding is less than three weeks away.”

  They finished breakfast and Joe drove her back to the cabin. The minute she arrived, she knew something was different.

  “The roof!” she exclaimed. “It’s new!”

  “I couldn’t let you stay in that place without a roof. I called the co-op. We put it on yesterday.”

  “In one day?”

  “There were twenty of us.”

  “Oh Joe.” Gratitude lifted her up. “This is . . . this is beyond the pale.”

  “Don’t you get it, Little Bit? That’s what people do here in Jubilee. They help each other. You’re one of us. We take care of our own.”

  She placed a palm across her heart. “I feel so welcomed.”

  “You are,” he said, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Now just wait until you get to meet my family. You might start having second thoughts about me.”

  Joe hadn’t brought a woman home for Thanksgiving dinner with his family since Becca. He had to admit to feeling a bit skittish about thrusting Mariah so forcefully into the oversized bosom of the Daniels clan. Especially on Thanksgiving, which was always such an intense time because of the Fort Worth Futurity that took place right in the big middle of the festivities.

  He was also worried his family might read more into their relationship than was there. Yet.

  What was this relationship all about?

  Hell if he could define it. He wanted her something fierce, but he was afraid to let his emotions off their chain. The last time he’d done that, he’d been flattened. But the truth was, he wanted her here with him. Couldn’t picture spending the holiday without her, and he wasn’t about to leave her in her cabin alone eating turkey dinner from a microwaved carton.

  They now stood on his parents’ doorstep of their Cape Cod-style cottage overlooking the lake just outside the neighboring town of Twilight. He’d brought a bouquet of flowers for his mother. Mariah had a fruitcake.

  “Ready?” Joe asked.

  “As I’ll ever be.” Mariah smiled at him.