The Cowboy and the Princess Page 9

  So was he.

  He tasted her. All part of the tactile experience. Beneath the sweet caramel lay a deeper, more womanly flavor, salty and satisfying. He licked lightly, familiarizing himself with her flavor, letting it roll over his taste buds.

  He couldn’t seem to get enough of tasting her. He took his time and she seemed to like his leisurely approach, even though she was a bit hesitant. Touching him lightly, then moving her hand away as if she was shy. He’d been with a few shy girls. On the whole, they turned out to be quite wild in bed. It was true. You had to watch out for the quiet ones. They were usually making up for lost time.

  Who was she really? Where had she come from? What kind of trouble was she dragging with her?

  She kissed him back, her lips yielding, but her body was still tense. She was nervous. He reached up to knead her shoulder muscles. “Relax, Annie.”

  “I am trying . . . I . . .”

  “Uh-huh,” he murmured. “What is it?”

  “I . . . have not . . . I am . . .”

  “A bit rusty at this?” he guessed.

  “Yes—”

  “Don’t worry, Buttercup. You’re in good hands. I’ve got the wheel.”

  “I want . . .”

  His fingers went to the silk tie holding her skimpy lingerie closed at the neck and he deftly untied it. “I’m listening,” he said, exposing her creamy white flesh. He pressed his lips in the center of her chest.

  She wriggled beneath his touch. “That . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Tickles.” She giggled.

  “Let’s try more pressure.” He kissed his way over to her left breast. Her breasts were the perfect size. Not too big, not too small. He loved the weight of them in his palm as he cupped them. The size of navel oranges.

  Her nipples beaded tight and she arched her back. “Please . . .”

  “You want me to suck your nipple?”

  She nodded mutely.

  He grinned and lowered his head, pulled that saucy nipple into his mouth, ran his tongue over the tight bud.

  Annie went wild. She gasped and jammed her fingers through his hair. Her breath shot out hot and raspy. He increased the pressure and she squirmed against him.

  “Ooh, ooh.”

  “Now for the other one.” He moved to the other side, parting her nightie out of the way to find the nipple of her right breast just as eager and hungry as the other.

  “I . . . I . . . I . . .”

  “What is it, Buttercup?”

  Her head thrashed against the pillow. “I never knew. I never knew.”

  “Never knew what?”

  “It could feel . . . I could feel . . . Oh, Brady, I can feel.”

  He smirked against her nipple. Yeah, okay, he was proud of himself. He knew his way around the female body. If that made him a braggart, then so be it. But pleasing her pleased him. He liked making her feel good.

  Romantic. He was making this romantic. It wasn’t romantic. Just scratching an itch. Fun. They were having fun. Nothing wrong with that as long as they both had their eyes wide open and their hearts closed up tight, because he did not know her. She was on the run. A smart cowboy would not be here, but Brady, well, no one had ever accused him of being Einstein.

  Annie’s slender fingers traced his rib cage hesitantly. “I want . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “More. I want more.”

  “I can handle that.” He went to work in earnest. Taking his time, but moving things along, heating her up. Hands touched. Lips kissed. Breath intermingled.

  Annie was responsive, but underneath it all she seemed inexperienced. Was she really twenty-four? That gave him pause.

  “You sure you’re over eighteen,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “You sure this is what you want to do?”

  “Certain.”

  “You can back out now. Things haven’t gone too far.”

  “I want you,” she confirmed.

  Brady swallowed and asked himself the same questions. Was this what he wanted to do? Did he want to back out before things had gone too far? Before he had time to fully process the repercussions, Annie raised his T-shirt and started planting kisses along his belly.

  His body responded. Going harder than he thought possible. He tensed, waiting to see where her hand would travel.

  She stopped short at the waistband of his underwear. In the darkness, her eyes met his. The glow of the nightlight over the sink cast faint illumination throughout the trailer.

  They deadlocked there. Gazes fused. Neither moving. Simply breathing.

  Her lips parted and he claimed her mouth again. He always enjoyed kissing, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of those lips. Many guys he knew didn’t like kissing or even foreplay very much. They got straight to the action. Poor dumb slobs. Look at all the great tension they lost out on.

  You’re losing out too. Going at this so soon. Where’s the teasing and the banter and the flirting? He liked the buildup, the thrill of the chase; by tumbling into bed with her so quickly they were missing out on a lot of fun. Where the hell is your self-control?

  It was shot, busted, gone. The buildup between him and Annie had been condensed into a few short hours and came on hard and strong. Stronger than any attraction he had felt in a very long time, and Brady couldn’t say why. But there was something about her that he couldn’t resist. Something more than the wild-eyed, vulnerable, beauty-in-distress thing she had going on. Although he had to confess, he did find that appealing. Why did he have this need to rescue women?

  Maybe because no one had rescued him?

  That wasn’t fair. His brothers tried to rescue him. But he’d been a lost cause.

  No, there was something about Annie that you didn’t find in most modern women. Perhaps it was because she was a contradiction in terms—on the one hand innocent and naive, on the other, unexpected, bold, and self-confident. Maybe it was because she was secretive. But if that were the case, shouldn’t her secrets turn him off? Secretive women had always been a deal breaker before, but with Annie her furtiveness only seemed to fuel his arousal and make him determined to find out what she was hiding.

  She is not going to tell you. Not tonight. And then tomorrow, she’ll probably be on her way, back on the road, thumbing for the next ride.

  A sheaf of loneliness fell against him. Why did he suddenly feel so lonely? It wasn’t loneliness. It was disappointment, regret that he would never know her full story.

  Pillow talk. After they made love and were lying in each other’s arms drifting off to sleep, her guard would be down and he could more easily elicit answers to the questions he ached to ask.

  Except Annie had no notion of his plans and apparently, she had some plans of her own, licking his skin with her wicked little tongue. “Make love to me, Brady. Please.”

  What cowboy could resist a request like that from a good-looking filly?

  In that moment, biology was in the driver’s seat and caution lay in the rearview mirror. He pawed off the rest of her nightgown, and then stripped off his own underwear. He reached into the drawer at the head of the bed, fumbled for a condom.

  Annie was nibbling his nipple now. Turning the tables. Paying him back.

  He got the condom on. Barely. His hands shook with anticipation, excitement, fear.

  Fear? What was he afraid of? He had nothing to be afraid of. Right?

  She lay on her back. Brady posed over her. His erection pressed hard against her hipbone. He cradled her head between his forearms, positioned on the bed to bear his weight, looked deeply into her eyes, and fell all the way to a clear bottom pool.

  “Annie.”

  She smiled up at him.

  He edged her knees apart. She was barely breathing now, but her gaze never left his face. Her legs parted. Her hands went around his neck. Urging him forward, pulling him in.

  The tip of his shaft pressed against her feminine doorway, and slowly, he pushed forward, muscles quivering, ex
citement racing along his nerve endings, anticipating the soft sink into her succulent folds.

  Except that he met with tight resistance. No easy slip. No sweet glide.

  What was this?

  Then it hit him all at once and the realization staggered him.

  Annie Coste was a virgin.

  Right in the middle of everything, just when Annie was on the edge of having the experience of a lifetime, Brady stopped. He levered himself up on his arms, stared into her eyes, his face darkening with confusion.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “You . . . you’re a virgin,” Brady stammered.

  Annie brought a palm to her chest. Oh dear, did this mean he was not going forward? She reached up, twined her arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, but he kept his body rigid, unmoving.

  “Annie?” he chided.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “But that does not have to ruin the moment.”

  “I disagree.”

  Annie caught her bottom lip up between her teeth. Maybe it was a good thing he backed off. She did not know if she was really ready for this. She loosened her grip from around his neck. “You no longer want me.”

  “Oh, I want you very, very much, but this isn’t the way. Not the right time. Not the right place. I’m not the right man.”

  “You are,” she insisted. “I have been a virgin long enough.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin,” he said. “It’s a good thing. But man, twenty-four? Seriously, you’re twenty-four and still a virgin?”

  She notched her chin up. “I am almost twenty-five. So what if I am?”

  “Nothing . . . it’s just that . . . where are you from? In America most girls lose their virginity at a much younger age.”

  “I have . . .” How to explain it without giving herself away? “I have led a sheltered life.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “I do not understand why being a virgin is a problem. Make love to me and I will be a virgin no more. Problem solved.”

  “You’ve waited this long for a reason and for some other reason you’ve decided to give your virginity to the stranger who picked you up on the roadside? That doesn’t feel right to me. You’re acting out and I’m not going to be the fall guy.”

  “You do not want my virginity?”

  “No.” Brady pulled a palm down his face, but he looked sorry to have to say it. “I do not.”

  Rejection tasted salty in the back of her throat, like tears. Her chest constricted and she couldn’t catch her breath. She bit down on her bottom lip. “You do not find me sexy?”

  “Yes, God yes. I find you very sexy. That’s the problem. You deserve to give your virginity to someone who loves you, someone that you love. You’ve waited this long, why not wait for the right guy?”

  She considered that. It sounded good but she didn’t really have enough time to find someone to fall in love with, and besides, if she fell in love she would just have to leave him. There would be no fairy-tale happily-ever-after for Princess Annabella. Hot sex with a good-looking cowboy was as close as she was ever going to get. “Did you give your virginity to someone you loved who also loved you?”

  “It’s different for guys.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Men can separate love from sex.”

  That irritated her. She came from a country that put the needs and desires of men above those of women. In Monesta, a male heir usurped a female heir. Always. Just because a person was born with a penis did not give them more rights. Not in Annie’s opinion.

  She knew things were different in America. She read books, and Echo Glover was her best friend. Echo had taught her a lot on that score.

  In fact, Echo had been the one to hatch the plot to get her out of the presidential compound during the wedding rehearsal. She wondered what was happening there now. She wished she could talk to her friend. Echo had a very matter-of-fact view of sex and love and men and marriage. Her husband-to-be, Abel Escabedo, worshipped the ground she walked on, and Echo told Annie that was the way it was supposed to be. The man should love the woman more. If the man loved her more, the woman had all the power.

  Annie didn’t know what to think about Echo’s theory. She thought perhaps loving each other equally was the real way to go, but she had no experience with love, could not trust her own opinion on that score.

  Brady rolled away, his back thumped against the wall of the trailer as he got as far away from her as he could get. “Don’t feel bad about this. I’m not rejecting you, just the situation.”

  What a truckload of cattle manure. Of course he was rejecting her. He did not want to have to deal with the burden of her virginity. He was probably afraid that if he made love to her she would imprint on him like a baby duckling and follow him around everywhere. Utter nonsense.

  She sat up in bed, leafed through the covers to find her peignoir. “You, sir,” she said, “are not worthy of the gift of my virginity.”

  “That’s exactly what I was trying to tell you.” He looked at her as if searching for a truth he would not find.

  Annie felt the same way. Led on. Unsatisfied. “I thought you were chivalrous and kind and understanding and yet you demean me by saying I have to live by one set of rules while you, a man, are honored to live by another.”

  He looked confused, his cocoa-colored eyebrows pulling into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the way men think they know everything. Contrary to masculine opinion, having a penis dangling from between your legs does not give you the key to the universe.”

  “Whew.” Brady blew out his breath. “Clearly, I stepped in something here.”

  “Yes, yes you did.” She found her nightgown, tugged it over her head, jammed her fingers through the flimsy armholes, and cinched the thin lacy belt tight around her waist.

  Brady’s eyes were glued to her breast the entire time.

  “You want me,” she said.

  “I do,” he admitted.

  “But you won’t take me.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head.

  “This is unfair.”

  “Maybe, but I hate to see you sell yourself short.”

  “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

  “You could do so much better than me.”

  “Now who is selling himself short?”

  “Annie.” He reached out a hand but she shied away. He dropped his hand. “Having sex with me would mean something to you.”

  “Now who is overestimating himself?”

  “I meant psychologically. It’s your first time. Your first time should be special. Even if you don’t mean to, you’re going to have feelings for me if we make love because I would be your first lover.”

  She huffed out a breath, folded her arms over her chest. “My, you do think highly of yourself.”

  “It’s not me. It’s the situation. If you gave me your virginity, you’ll start to think it means something.”

  “No I will not.”

  “You can’t force yourself to change your feelings.”

  “You do not know me at all, or what I am capable of feeling.”

  “That’s true and another reason why we shouldn’t sleep together. We’re strangers.”

  “That did not bother you before.”

  ”I don’t have long-term potential.”

  “I know. That is precisely the point.” She crossed her arms, blocking his view of her breasts. “I do not want long-term potential.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t. I can tell you are a ne’er-do-well.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say ne’er-do-well. I’ve done well. I do well,” he protested. “I’m a well doer.”

  “I do not mind that you are a ne’er-do-well. That’s why you’re perfect.”

  “Stop saying that word.”

  “What word? Perfect?”

  “Ne’er-do-well. Who says words like that?”

 
; “I do not want long-term potential. I want the opposite of long-term. I want someone with the potential of a nanosecond. I want a man who pulls his home behind him. This is a man who does not put down roots. Roots are for stumbling over. With you, there will be no stumbles.”

  A variety of emotions moved across his face—surprise, disbelief, confusion, and then, finally, effrontery. “You want to use me for sex?”

  She smiled. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I—” He shut his mouth, opened it again. “You . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “ . . . are a very odd woman.”

  “Perhaps that is true.”

  “I don’t know your situation or why you were hitchhiking on the side of the road in the driving rain or why you’re offering up your virginity to the first guy who gives you a ride, but there’s some kind of twisted psychology going on behind those gray-blue eyes and I’m not going to be a part of it.”

  She shrugged. “If that is how you feel. It is your loss.”

  “It is. I can accept that.” Brady grabbed up a pillow. “Could you scootch over please? I’m going to sleep on the floor.”

  Annie swung her legs aside so he could climb down from the bunk, frustration and disappointment surging through her. For one brief moment she thought every wonderful dream she ever dreamed about making love to a cowboy and exploring Texas was about to come true.

  Do not give up so easily. You have six weeks. There are more cowboys in the rodeo than this one.

  It was true. She knew it. She was in Texas. There was bound to be a cowboy on every corner. Yet she could not help thinking that this cowboy was the one she had been waiting for.

  Forget him. Just leave. Get on the road, stick out your thumb, and take off.

  The shy, go-with-the-flow part of her wanted to run away, to just forget all about this one and go find a new cowboy to have an adventure with. But the stubborn princess part of her, the brave, lively part that had gotten her this far, balked.

  She was tired of letting men tell her what to do. Tired of letting other people dictate the path she should take in life. She was tired of being a reactionary. It was time to become an activist, to take a role in creating her own future. At least, that is, for the next six weeks. She didn’t have to leave Jubilee just because Brady was here. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be chased away by some virgin-phobic horse-whispering cowboy.