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The Cowboy's Baby Bargain
Emilie Rose
Motivational speaker Brooke Blake spent her life making other people's dreams come true, and yet she'd decided she'd have to go to a sperm bank to make her fondest dream a reality. But that was before one shattering night of passion with a slow-talking Texan rocked her world to its foundations.Then Caleb Lander, the cowboy who'd awakened unsuspected desires within her, discovered she was the outsider who'd bought his family's homestead. So Brooke offered him what she thought was a simple business deal–the ranch for him, a baby for her.Trouble was, the more time she spent in this man's bed, the more she wanted it all–the baby, the ranch and the cowboy!



He’d Tracked Her Down.
Her memories hadn’t done this cowboy justice. She’d forgotten how handsome he was. Six feet of solid muscle. And oh what he could do with those muscles.
“Caleb.”
A passion so hot she nearly ignited replaced the surprise in his eyes, and then he scowled. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
“I live here. I bought the ranch.”
“You bought the ranch?” His voice was filled with anger and disbelief.
“Yes,” Brooke replied, “for my motivational retreat.”
His broad shoulders relaxed. “Good. Then you won’t need the pastures.”
“Why are you concerned about my land?” she asked.
“I live next door. For the last ten years I’ve leased acreage from the previous owner for my herd. I need to continue.”
He lived next door. All she had to do to be reminded of the night she’d lost control and loved every minute of it was look over the fence. She struggled for calm and reason. “Caleb, I think you’d better come inside….”

The Cowboy’s Baby Bargain
Emilie Rose


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

EMILIE ROSE
lives in North Carolina with her college sweetheart husband and four sons. This bestselling author’s love for romance novels developed when she was twelve years old and her mother hid the books under sofa cushions each time Emilie entered the room. Emilie grew up riding and showing horses. She’s a devoted baseball mom during the season and can usually be found in the bleachers watching one of her sons play. Her hobbies include quilting, cooking (especially cheesecake) and anything cowboy. Her favorite TV shows include the Discovery Channel’s medical programs, ER, CSI and Boston Public. Emilie’s a country music fan because there’s an entire book in nearly every song.
Emilie loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 20145, Raleigh, NC 27619 or at http://www.EmilieRose.com.
Thanks, Dad,
for always being there for me and my boys. And thanks to Heart of Carolina Romance Writers, my support team.



Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue

One
Brooke Blake picked up her beer, sipped and grimaced. Success was an acquired taste. Evidently, so was the bitter, yeasty brew in the longneck bottle. But she was determined to experience everything her new home state had to offer—including the beer bottled here.
Glancing at her watch, she granted herself ten minutes to brood over the contradictory state of her life. Professionally, her success as a bestselling motivational author and speaker continued to rise, but her credibility was in jeopardy because personally, she needed a lifestyle makeover. She’d failed to achieve her most important goal ever.
She’d calculated and taken all the appropriate steps, but her goal of having a family by her thirty-fifth birthday had eluded her. What had she overlooked in her approach? Opening her Day Planner, she flipped back until she found her five-year plan.
The door of the bar opened. A draft of fresh air stirred the smoke hovering over the room and ruffled the pages of her planner. Lifting her gaze to the mirror behind the bar, she studied the cowboy’s reflection when he paused to survey the room. Until the door closed behind him the fading afternoon light silhouetted his slim hips and broad shoulders. Nice, but alas, not her type. The only Remingtons she wanted to possess were cast in bronze and made to sit on a mantel. This guy looked like he could have posed for the artist. All he needed were chaps, a horse and a lariat thrown over his shoulder.
He crossed the hardwood floor with the grace of an athlete and the presence of a man used to leading not following. She was abundantly familiar with the type and had discovered that most of them felt threatened by a successful woman.
Specifically her.
He made his way toward the bar and stopped behind her, catching her gaze in the mirror. She hoped he hadn’t considered her scrutiny an invitation, but was prepared to correct him if he had. Unwanted attention was a part of her job. She turned to face him and forgot all about the polite rejection she’d mastered years ago.
The cowboy’s reflection in the cloudy mirror hadn’t done him justice. The hard angles and planes of his face were too rough to be classified as handsome, but she found him compelling regardless. Dark stubble covered a stubborn, square jaw with an incredibly sexy cleft. In his long-sleeved chambray shirt, opened just enough to reveal dark chest hair, and Wranglers snug enough to reveal rather impressive territory, he could have stepped right off the pages of a calendar geared toward women with Wild West fantasies.
Specifically, not her. She preferred the academic type.
His gaze drifted over her the way the lazy stream wandered over her new ranch—slow and easy with numerous detours. His eyes, the rich brown of coffee beans, affected her like a shot of espresso. Unwelcome awareness rippled through her, settling in the pit of her stomach.
He removed his hat, revealing thick, glossy hair the same coffee-rich shade. “Mind if I sit?”
His voice was middle-of-the-night-secrets deep, and his soft, full lips were made to whisper sweet nothings in some woman’s ear. But not hers. She liked her men more refined, more…urban, but for a moment she wondered what it would be like to make love to a man as primitive as this one. She seriously doubted it would be the kind of silent, civilized coupling to which she’d become accustomed. This man would be earthier, noisier. More adventurous.
Shutting down her improper, but stimulating, mental meanderings, she straightened her shoulders and glanced around the room. She’d been so intent on discovering the glitch in her goals that she hadn’t noticed the bar filling. The only empty seat was the one beside hers.
Her type or not, the cowboy would be sharing her space. She lifted her purse from the stool beside her and hung it on the wooden slatted back of her own. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks.” As he settled his long, lean frame onto the stool his knee brushed her thigh. She wondered if he’d done it on purpose, but he didn’t try to extend the contact. “’Scuse me, ma’am.”
Instead of rubbing the tingling spot where they’d touched, she clenched her hand around the amber bottle in front of her and lifted it to moisten her suddenly dry mouth. She shuddered as the now tepid beverage filled her mouth and then forced herself to swallow. She’d never acquire a taste for this stuff.
Cowboys, on the other hand, were a different story. If the ones she would encounter once she moved into her new home looked and smelled as good as this one she probably wouldn’t have any trouble finding the right man to settle down with her on her ranch. However, she would prefer one a little less rough around the edges. A cultured cowboy—if there were such a thing.
She picked up her pen and wrote in her planner. Failure is a temporary condition. She felt slightly better so she added another line. Any goal is attainable if approached in the proper manner. So where had she veered off the path to her goal of finding a husband?
The men in her life thus far had either resented the time she devoted to her career or wanted to ride on the coattails of her success. She drew a vertical line on the page and listed their names in one of two categories: Users or Losers.
In her peripheral vision she saw the cowboy settle his hat on his opposite knee and lift a finger to signal for the bartender. She could feel his assessing gaze on her. “I would have taken you for a chardonnay drinker.”
She shrugged without looking his way and forced down another noxious sip of beer. It grew more disgusting by the moment. “You’d have been right, but when in Rome…”
The bartender approached. “What can I get you?”
“Tequila. Straight. Better make it a double shot. You have any white wine back there for the lady?”
“Sure. Coming right up.”
She didn’t want him to get the idea that she was here to pick up a man. That would have to wait until she’d moved into her new home, and then she’d be looking for Mr. Right, not Mr. July. A vision of the cowboy wearing nothing but a staple in his navel flashed in her mind. The image practically jolted her out of her seat. Nudie magazines had never been a favorite of hers, and yet here she was with visions of cowboy buns dancing in her head.
She turned quickly and their legs bumped again—this time her fault. “Pardon me. You don’t have to buy me a drink.”
“I do if I don’t want to watch you making that face. Looked like you were choking down cough medicine.”
She hadn’t blushed in years, but to her surprise heat climbed her cheeks. She tucked her chin and ran a fingernail beneath the edge of the bottle’s label. “I’ve never been crazy about beer.”
“No kidding.” She heard laughter in his voice. Out of the corner of her eye she studied his big, tanned hands. Numerous scars crisscrossed the backs, but his nails were clean and neatly trimmed. He shelled a peanut from the bowl on the bar one-handed and popped it into his mouth. “So what are you crazy about—besides making lists?”
Brooke closed her planner. She absolutely refused to discuss her failures, and it was no one’s business that she’d have to start on her goal of having a family alone. She wasn’t about to confess to some stranger that tomorrow she had an appointment to be artificially inseminated.
The uneasy feeling in her stomach intensified. Her hands started to shake. She’d thought it out, plotted the pros and cons, and chosen the most appropriate donor. He was blond like her and came from a similar academic background. He’d been carefully screened, had no known medical problems, and was the genetically ideal choice.
Pasting on a sympathetic smile, she faced the cowboy and turned the conversation in a different direction. “I’m crazy about my work, but let’s not talk about me. You ordered a double. It sounds as if you’ve had a rough day.” She was a master at pulling information from others and at making even the most pessimistic see the brighter side.
“Worse than some. Better than others.” He pulled out his wallet and laid a bill on the bar. “Nobody died.”
A smile twitched her lips at his dry humor. “That’s always positive. Any permanent damage?”
“Prob’ly not.”
The bartender slid their drinks onto the counter. Brooke reached for her purse.
The cowboy shook his head. “It’s on me.”
“Well…thank you, but I really don’t think—”
“No buts. Just a drink. I’m not looking for more.”
Taken aback by his frankness, she blinked at him. “Neither was I.”
“Then you shouldn’t come in here dressed like that.”
“What’s wrong with my suit?” The lavender silk had cost the earth and she dearly loved it. The short skirt showed her legs, and the loosely belted jacket accentuated her waist. She’d bought it when her first book hit the New York Times bestseller list. It was her lucky suit. She saved it for her most important occasions. Today qualified. She’d closed on a quaint little ranch fifty miles south of Tilden, Texas.
The rolling hills and sprawling house were almost exactly what she pictured when she closed her eyes and visualized her dream home, but the property would be so much more than just her home. It was perfect for both business and personal reasons. She’d turn the former dude ranch into a corporate retreat, a place to do her life’s work without the incessant traveling. It might be a little rustic for her needs right now, but with a little paint, elbow grease and a bulldozer or two, she’d whip the property into shape.
He sipped his drink and winced at the bite of raw liquor. “Besides looking good enough to eat, you’re dressed like money. This bar is close enough to the courthouse that some of the delinquents drop in. Better keep your purse in your lap.”
Flustered by his backhanded compliment, she glanced around the room again, this time noting the less than professional—all right, seedy— appearance of the other clientele and pulled her purse into her lap. She hadn’t noticed earlier because she’d been rushing to find a seat and examine her new deed. For the first time in her life she owned land. She patted her bag. Just knowing the deed was inside filled her with a sense of accomplishment. One goal out of three wasn’t a total washout.
“One of the clerks recommended the barbecue here.”
He pointed to the low sanitation rating on the wall. She decided to skip the food and pretend she hadn’t noticed he didn’t wear a ring on his left hand. It wasn’t important because she wasn’t interested in him that way.
“And you might not want to check out every man who walks in the door the way you did me.”
Embarrassment flamed her face. She set her wineglass down with a thump that would have broken more fragile stemware. “I did no such thing.”
He eyed her over the rim of his glass. “What color are my boots?”
“Brown—” Another wave of heat scorched her. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Ninety-nine percent of the men here are wearing brown boots.”
He pointed his finger like a toy gun and pulled the imaginary trigger. His grin displayed almost-perfect white teeth and a twinkle lit his dark eyes. “Gotcha.”
She bit her lip to keep from smiling back. “That wasn’t nice.”
“At least you’ve quit scowling over that book like somebody shot your dog. Not kidding ’bout the bar, though. Watch your stuff and don’t leave alone. Let me know when you’re ready to go. I’ll walk you out.”
Why would a stranger do such a thing? Whatever the reason, she’d take the gallant cowboy up on his offer. “Thank you. I wouldn’t want to spend my birthday at the police station filling out a report.”
“Birthday?”
“Yes, I’ve tacked another year of wisdom and experience onto my belt.”
One dark brow rose and a crooked half smile tilted his lips. “You really believe that cr—baloney?”
Brooke cringed as she sipped the acidic wine. “Affirmation is essential to good health and prosperity.”
He looked skeptical. “Believing will make it so, huh?”
“Of course. You’ll only get out of life what you truly believe you deserve.”
He sipped his drink. “You sound like a self-help book.”
She should since she was quoting chapter thirteen of her first book. Brooke snapped her teeth shut. It was terribly difficult to keep herself from trying to convert this nonbeliever. “You don’t believe in self-prophecy?”
“If folks got what they deserved the world would be a whole different place. Probably a better one. I take it the wine’s no better than the beer?”
Obviously she hadn’t managed to conceal her shudder as well as she’d thought. “It’s not one of California’s finest.”
“Sweetheart, I hate to tell you, but you’re a long way from California.”
Before she could respond a fight broke out in the back corner. Just like a bad B movie, one man broke a chair over another’s head. Others jumped up to join in.
Her cowboy muttered a curse. “The place around the corner will suit you better.”
“I hardly think—” She broke off when a beer bottle came sailing through the air toward her head. In an instant the cowboy had snaked an arm around her waist and yanked her off her chair and practically into his lap. She found her face plastered against a warm chest with the cowboy’s rough palm protecting her face. Her hand was…well, somewhere it shouldn’t be. She snatched it back, but her skin tingled from the unexpected intimacy.
The sound of breaking glass and the bartender’s blistering language splintered the air. Brooke peered between the cowboy’s fingers and realized in disbelief that she was in the middle of a barroom brawl—a first for her.
She’d barely had time to register the sound of a steady heartbeat beneath her ear when her cowboy stood, putting himself between her and the chaos. He scooped up her Day Planner and purse from where they’d landed on the floor and shoved both in her hands. “Let’s go.”
The noise level had risen dramatically, but if she wasn’t mistaken, he was ordering her to leave. “Excuse me?”
He shoved his hat on his head, scowled at her, and leaned forward to growl in her ear, “You’re not going to be stupid about this are you?”
She had an IQ in the genius range and opened her mouth to tell him so. A chair flew through the air and crashed less than a yard away. One of the legs broke off and skidded her way, but the cowboy’s booted foot stopped it before it hit her. She forgot what she was going to say.
“Let’s go,” he repeated, grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her toward the door even though neither of them had finished their drinks. Since he had no trouble cutting a path through the exodus of other patrons, she followed in his wake until they’d reached the sidewalk and cleared the entrance. He stopped beneath a streetlight. It blinked on as if sensing their presence in the dusk.
“Where’re you parked?”
Looping her purse strap over her shoulder, she wondered why she didn’t tell him to take a hike. “By the courthouse, but—”
“Did you want dinner before you hit the road? If you do, I’ll walk you to the restaurant around the corner and buy you another drink before I go.” It wasn’t the most gracious invitation she’d ever heard.
She was an independent woman. She shouldn’t find his behavior gallant or attractive, but she did. None of the men in her life had ever made her feel so…protected. It was a peculiar feeling, one she wanted to explore.
“Why don’t you join me for dinner instead?”
He blinked. His lashes were as lush and sexy as the rest of him. “What makes you so sure I’m not one of the courthouse delinquents?”
She was very good at reading people. Her cowboy’s gaze was direct and his body posture said he had nothing to hide. “You have an honest face.”
He laughed. It was a deep rumbling sound that reached down inside her and stirred things up. “Haven’t you ever heard that you can’t judge a book by its cover?”
Studying people was her vocation. Written somewhere in her notes for her next book were the words: No one ever enters your life at the wrong time. Her job was to discover why him and why now. She had to find out what it was about this primitive man that pulled a response from her. “I’m willing to risk it if you are. Can you recommend a place with good Texas-style barbecue?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve never let a woman buy my dinner.”
Pride she understood. The men of her acquaintance seemed to have an abundance of it. “I owe you. That bottle would have hit me, and the chair came awfully close. Consider it an opportunity to experience another dimension.”
“You’re talking like a self-help book again.”
She wouldn’t tell him why. “I tend to do that.”
“It’s only dinner you’re buying. Understand?” Even in the fading light she could see the dull flush climbing his neck.
The thrill shooting through her at his implication shocked her. What would it be like to buy a man’s attentions? She tamped down the inappropriate thought because she wasn’t that type of woman. No, her conscience prodded, you’re the kind who buys a stranger’s sperm and has it sterilely inserted by a doctor at a fertility clinic.
She wasn’t making a mistake, was she? Of course not, she’d considered every angle. Not only was she emotionally and physically ready to become a mother, she had very little time to accomplish the feat. Her own mother had been in full-blown menopause by the time she’d turned forty, topped off by a complete hysterectomy at forty-five. If she wanted a baby her intuition warned her it was now or never. She couldn’t waste any more time waiting for Mr. Right to father her child.
That funny feeling started in her stomach again. She tried to ignore it because it was too late for doubts, too late to cancel tomorrow’s appointment—even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. She considered digging an antacid from her purse. She’d eaten a bottleful since deciding to go through with the insemination, but that was okay. The baby would benefit from both the antacids and the prenatal vitamins she’d started last month after paying the deposit on the vial of sperm.
“Please, join me for dinner. I—I’m sick of my own company.” It was a painful admission. She’d always believed you had to be content with yourself before you could be content with anyone else, but tonight she didn’t want to be alone with her own thoughts. Her doubts. Her fears.
He ran a hand over his jaw. Immediately she recalled the raspy texture of his palm against her own cheek and wondered what it would feel like scraping against her belly, her breasts. The uneasy feeling in her stomach turned into something else all together. Warmth prickled from her thighs to her breasts.
“I promise not to attack you over the appetizers.” She hoped he didn’t notice the tremor in her voice.
“Yeah, sure. Why not?” His reluctance wasn’t flattering. “Best place for barbecue is about two miles north of town. We’ll have to drive. I’m parked near the courthouse, too. You can ride with me or follow.”
Despite her foolhardy decision to have dinner with a total stranger, she wasn’t stupid enough to get into a car with one. Besides, the restaurant was in the same direction as her motel. “I’ll follow you.”
He offered a large, tanned hand. “Name’s Caleb.”
She was so used to being recognized from her public appearances that it never occurred to her that she’d have to introduce herself—not even here in the middle of nowhere, Texas. “Brooke.”
No recognition flared in his eyes, but then she doubted cowboys read many goal-actualization books. His hand swallowed hers. During the brief formality her senses registered a multitude of things: strength, heat, rough calluses and gentleness. He handled her like she might be breakable instead of trying to prove his masculinity by crushing her hand the way some men did.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. Her breathing became shallow. A smile tugged her lips at the irony of being physically attracted to a man so wrong for her. Fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor.
Maybe she’d fantasize about Caleb tomorrow while the doctor did his thing.
Caleb released her and turned toward their cars. She lengthened her stride and she could tell he shortened his. Pent-up energy marked his every step.
The man truly was a work of art. She was admiring the shadows cast beneath his cheekbones by the streetlights when he turned unexpectedly and caught her staring. “You in town for long?”
“No. Just passing through. Tomorrow I fly to…Dallas.” Her stomach tightened again. She told herself it was anticipation not nervousness or doubt. “And you?”
“I had business in town, but the deal fell through.” He stiffened his shoulders and looked away.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps you could reexamine the situation and approach again from a different angle?”
He cast her a sideways glance. She glimpsed his crooked smile before he faced forward again. “I’m talking like a self-help book again?”
“Yep.”
They came to a corner. He flung his arm in front of her when a car unexpectedly zipped out of a parallel parking space and sped past. The protective gesture sent a warmth through her and not just because his palm briefly touched her belly. Heat transferred through silk like nobody’s business.
“You’re a regular white knight, aren’t you?”
A flush climbed from his collar. “No, ma’am. You offered to buy my dinner. Not gonna let you renege on it by getting mowed down.”
She didn’t believe his blustering for a minute. “You’re full of hooey, Caleb.”
He thumbed the brim of his hat and winked. “And don’t you forget it.”
Brooke laughed. The sound surprised her. She’d been so driven and focused on building her career over the last few years she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. The realization sobered her.
“Hey, none of that. You start looking like your dog died again and it’ll put me off my food. I’d hate not to enjoy a free meal.”
They reached the parking lot and her rented Miata. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision—the likes of which she never gave into—to rent the tiny, red sports car. Running a hand over the black convertible top, she realized she hadn’t let herself examine the sudden need to be wild and free. It must have something to do with the commitment she’d made. If the insemination succeeded her solo days would be over, and she’d be buying a minivan.
She needed an antacid.
“Second thoughts?”
His deep voice jerked her out of her contemplation. “Of course not. I’ve thought it all out. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
His brows rose and she cringed in embarrassment. He’d meant dinner, not her decision to become pregnant by an anonymous donor with a perfect set of vital statistics. She scrambled to cover her faux pas. “I really do want to try Texas barbecue.”
Caleb looked skeptical, but didn’t argue. “Then follow me. If your taste buds will fit in that toy car, bring ’em along.”
His long athletic stride carried him toward a big, silver pickup. Brooke caught herself ogling his behind and yanked herself back in line. What was wrong with her tonight? It must be that she was nearing ovulation. It couldn’t be that she was considering getting wild and crazy with the cowboy.
Was she? Of course not. She’d never do something so foolhardy, so spontaneous. She wasn’t the type to take unnecessary risks—even if it would distract her from the clinical procedure she’d undergo tomorrow afternoon.
She opened her purse and dug out an antacid.

Two
Caleb checked the rearview mirror one more time. The little red car still tailed him.
How long would it take for Brooke—if that was her real name—to come to her senses. Ladies like her didn’t waste time on men like him. She was way out of his league. Everything about her—her walk, her talk, her clothes—reeked of culture, class and education. He, on the other hand had none of the above. His ex had made sure he knew it, and he doubted he’d acquired any in the decade since Amanda had left.
He wasn’t one to pick up a woman in a bar, but it sure beat the hell out of his original plan of drinking himself into oblivion.
He’d stopped by the courthouse this afternoon hoping whomever had outbid him on the other half of Crooked Creek ranch wouldn’t show up with the cash by the five o’clock deadline. As second highest bidder he’d then buy the property by default, and his debt to his family would finally be repaid. The clerk had told him he’d missed the new owner by minutes. The deed had been signed, sealed and delivered, killing his chance to regain his family’s land.
He’d already waited ten years. How in the hell long would it take to get this monkey off his back?
He hit his blinker, indicating the restaurant, and pulled into the well-lit gravel lot. The timber building didn’t look like much, but they served the best barbecue in all of McMullen County, Texas, behind those faded gray doors. He ate here whenever he had business in the county seat.
Climbing out of his truck, Caleb shoved his keys into his pocket when common sense told him he should’ve been starting the hour’s drive home. Brooke parked beside him. He circled her tiny car and opened her door. When she swung her legs out his mouth went dry. She wasn’t wearing stockings. He had to tamp down the urge to stroke her from ankle to thigh to see if her skin felt as silky as it looked. He settled for taking her hand and pulling her from the low seat. Her grip was strong, but her palms were soft. The sight of her deep pink nails wrapped around his fingers set off internal alarm bells.
His ex-wife had been big on manicures, although she’d preferred fire-engine red on her talons. She used to do some pretty amazing things to him with her nails. ’Course, that had been before she’d discovered he wasn’t made of clay and that she couldn’t bend him into the man she’d wanted him to become. When she discovered he had a backbone, she’d packed up and left. Her leaving had caused one heck of a lot of problems back home—problems he’d continue wrestling evidently since somebody else still held the deed to his land.
Brooke smiled up at him, reminding him that her legs weren’t her only asset. She was long and lean, but curved in all the right places. Her eyes were as green as the stock pond on a hot summer day and just as deep. A man could fall in and not want to come out. Short blond hair cupped her chin and framed a face pretty enough to be on the cover of a magazine. Her skin was smooth and pale, as if she didn’t spend much time outdoors—another sign they had nothing in common.
It was probably the moonlight making her so beautiful—combined with the fact that he hadn’t had sex in longer than he could remember. He’d learned the hard way not to get involved with locals, and he rarely had the time or money to stray far from Crooked Creek.
He let go of Brooke’s hand and ran a finger under his collar when what he really needed to do was adjust his undershorts. His mind was taking detours and his body seemed happy to follow. Another minute of that trip and his jeans would cut off circulation to some vital parts.
“What a quaint place.” A soft smile curved Brooke’s lips.
He wondered if she was insulting the weathered building, but that didn’t sound like sarcasm coming from her lips. His mind shifted to far better ways of passing the time with a beautiful woman, ways that didn’t involve the width of a table or even a sliver of silk between them. Reining in his stampeding hormones took more effort than it should have.
She’d invited him to dinner. End of story. It was her birthday and she was lonely. He’d decided to accept her invitation because it meant delaying the inevitable of having to look his father and brother in the eye and tell them he’d failed them again. If he’d seen the flare of something more in Brooke’s eyes a time or two it didn’t mean he’d act on it. For crying out loud, he was thirty-eight not eighteen.
Tell that to his shorts.
She tipped her head back, studied the starry sky and inhaled deeply. “What a beautiful night.”
“Yep.” He turned toward the restaurant and tried to deny the desire to taste her soft mouth and feel her slender body beneath his. Having the width of the table between them looked better all the time. As long as he didn’t touch her again he’d be able to corral his urges. He hoped the smell of southern cooking would soon replace the smell of sweet woman in his nostrils.
An exiting couple opened the restaurant door before he and Brooke reached the porch. A blast of music hit him, and Caleb stopped so fast Brooke ran into him. For a split second her soft breasts pressed just below his shoulder blades and her hips nudged his butt. Electricity jolted through each of his cells as if he’d been hit with a cattle prod.
She frowned. “Pardon me. Is something wrong?”
He’d forgotten the restaurant had live bands on Thursday and Friday nights. The lights would be dimmed, and there’d be candles on the tables. The romantic atmosphere was the last thing he needed. Unlocking his jaw, he struggled to pull himself out of this whirlwind of need. “Band’s playing tonight. It’ll be loud. Maybe we’d better try someplace else.”
Excitement sparkled in her eyes. Damn. Next thing you know, she’d want to dance. “The band sounds wonderful.”
The hostess came forward and waved them in. Before he could convince Brooke to leave she’d requested a table for two, and the waitress had led them to a tiny square beside the dance floor.
Caleb’s stomach sank. The woman was already overloading his circuits and his common sense. Close body contact would fry his brain for sure. What he ought to do was go back to the seedy bar and get knee-walking drunk. He could sleep it off in his truck and go home tomorrow as planned.
He sure as hell didn’t need to spend an evening with a woman who had a five-year plan. He’d read that much in Brooke’s notebook before she’d closed it. His ex had made lists, too. He’d do best to remember that women-including the one tapping her toes across the table from him—always had an agenda.
He glanced at Brooke. She stared wistfully at the couples shuffling around the floor. Every muscle in his body tensed—in anticipation, no doubt—because he knew what she was going to say even before she opened her mouth.
“I wish I knew how to dance like that.”
“Anybody can two-step.” He bit his tongue, wishing the words back.
“I can’t. Would you teach me, Caleb?”
Ah hell. Now look what he’d gone and done, but it was her birthday. How could he refuse? If he had any luck at all the band would take a long break. “Maybe after dinner.”
Right after they gave their orders to the waitress the band left the stage. He hoped his luck would hold, that service would be fast and the band would be slow to return.
“So what do you do, Caleb?”
“Ranch.” She waited with an expectant look for him to elaborate. He was reluctant to do so—not because he didn’t love what he did, but because most women’s eyes glazed over when he started talking about ranch management.
“You?”
She ducked her head and looked at the checkered tablecloth. “I…write.”
“Write what? News stuff, travelogues, romances?”
“Self-help books.” She got a defensive expression on her face, almost as if she expected him to poke fun at her.
He nodded. “That explains it then.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Explains what?”
“All those meaty little phrases you throw out. So who’re you helping down here in McMullen county?”
“Myself.”
Curious as to what kinds of problems a beautiful woman like Brooke could have, he arched a brow and waited for her to continue.
She shifted in her seat and confessed, “I’m trying to define my personal success.”
There she went again, talking that self-help stuff. The words and delivery were stiff and proper, but there was a yearning in her eyes that told him she was anything but detached. It was kind of cute in a schoolteacherish way. Of course he’d never had any teachers who looked this good.
The waitress arrived with their dinners. Brooke waited for her to leave before asking, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to redefine your goals?”
“Can’t say that I have. I always knew I’d be ranching.”
“Why?”
The smells wafting up from his plate made his mouth water, but it looked like his appetite would have to wait. Back home, when the food hit the table everybody shut up and dug in. He didn’t remember many of the manners his momma had tried to teach him before she’d left, but he did remember the one about waiting for the lady at the table to eat first.
“I’m the oldest son of a rancher. Texan born and bred. I’ll take over from my dad.”
“Do your brothers and sisters feel the same way?” She focused all her attention on him, ignoring the trucker-size barbecue sampler platter in front of her. Either she wanted to try every version the restaurant offered or she had a voracious appetite.
Well, there was another thought he didn’t need. Brooke’s appetite for food or anything else was none of his business. He cleared his throat and tried to remember her question.
“Brothers, three of ’em. And no. One’s in medical school, another is—was— a world champion bull rider till this year when he up and got married. Patrick’s the only one still at home.”
“So you had choices, and you chose ranching.”
Caleb traced a finger along the outside seam of his jeans. Growing up it hadn’t felt like he had choices. He’d felt trapped. It wasn’t until Amanda had tried to make him leave Crooked Creek and move to the city that he’d discovered how much he loved the ranch. But how could he explain the love of open spaces and the desire to pit himself against nature to a city gal? His ex hadn’t understood, and she’d grown up on a neighboring property.
“Sweetheart, you’d best dig in while it’s hot.”
Brooke daintily lifted a rib and nibbled on it. Her tongue peeked out to swipe a smear of sauce from her lips. She looked from the coating on her fingers to the fragile paper napkin and back.
“Lick ’em.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lick the sauce from your fingers.”
She hesitated a moment, then glanced around to see that the other patrons were doing the same. Inserting a finger in her mouth, she sucked off the sauce—one finger at a time then moved on to the next rib.
Oh man. Watching the woman eat was an erotic experience. He probably would’ve been better off to let her keep talking. He swallowed hard, amazed that she had him so distracted he could barely taste his food. “What about you? How do you go about redefining yourself? Sounds painful.”
She smiled. “It can be. The journey of self-discovery is always a bumpy road.”
“Not interested in whatever it is your parents do?”
She shuddered. “No. Both are tenured college professors. They write endless theses that no one other than their colleagues can understand. It doesn’t matter how brilliant their work is because so few read it. I want to reach masses of people and help them fulfill their potential.”
He shifted in his seat. That was the same argument his ex had used. She’d wanted him to fulfill his potential by running for office in the county cattlemen’s association, then on the state level. She’d even talked about him being the next Texan president, for crying out loud. All the while she planned to paint her nails, spend his money and play queen of the castle. Problem was Crooked Creek wasn’t any damned castle, and it had taken her less than two years to blow through every dime his family had saved. Not only had his brother Brand lost his college fund, but they’d had to sell a piece of the ranch to keep from losing the whole thing.
“Does most of your family live nearby?” She nibbled and licked. He had to quit watching her and focus on his own dinner if he wanted to be able to string sentences together coherently.
“All but Cort, the youngest. He’s in North Carolina.”
“You have roots.” She sounded envious. “I’m working on that.”
The band returned as the waitress brought Brooke’s dessert.
He hated to see the band come back, but he sure was glad the music made it difficult for her to ask her probing questions. The lead singer warbled out a song about a man falling in love and knowing he’d screw it up because he’d done so with every other relationship in his life. Caleb tried to tune it out. It hit a little too close to home. His own relationships tended to be brief because most women didn’t want to play second fiddle to ten thousand acres of dirt and four-legged critters. It was only a matter of time before he missed some so-called important date because one of his animals got itself in trouble.
Brooke closed her lips around a forkful of some chocolate concoction, closed her eyes and moaned softly. He wasn’t a man prone to imagining things, but his mind immediately connected that sweet sound with sex. Would Brooke look that delirious with a man inside her? Would she close her eyes and tilt back her head, baring her throat to her lover’s mouth the way she did now? His gaze traced the slender line of pale skin, finding the pulse beating steadily at the base. His groin throbbed in tandem. He drained his glass of iced tea, hoping the chilled liquid would cool him off.
Brooke swallowed. The pink tip of her tongue appeared and stole a crumb from the corner of her lips. “You should try this. It’s positively sinful.”
Yep, sin was what he was thinking about—her mouth with something besides that fork in it.
“Sweetheart, a man would be a fool to get between you and your chocolate. You go right ahead and finish every last bite.” And torture him to death doing it.
She scooped up a portion and offered it to him. “Try it. I promise you’ve never tasted anything this good.”
Caleb studied her deep green eyes and wondered if she were making a pass. And if he wanted her to be. It didn’t seem likely. There was nothing overtly flirtatious about her, but he was so out of practice he could be missing the obvious.
It was no skin off his knuckles if the lady wanted to go slumming. He decided to test her and himself. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be tonight. There were worse ways to pass the midnight hours than in the arms of a beautiful woman—especially one only passing through town. No one would be the wiser if they spent a little time together.
He cupped his hand over hers on the fork and guided the dessert toward his mouth without breaking eye contact. The rich flavor exploded on his tongue. He let his gaze drop to her mouth and imagined tasting the chocolate from her tongue instead of her fork.
Brooke’s lips parted on an indrawn breath and her hand trembled within his. When he lifted his gaze to hers again something dark and sultry sparked in her eyes.
His heart—among other things—thudded painfully.
She snatched back the fork, dropped it on the table and looked away. The pulse in her throat fluttered wildly. He didn’t miss the nervous way she wet her lips or perched on the edge of her seat as if she were considering making a run for it.
At least the attraction wasn’t one-sided.
“Are they two-stepping?” She nodded toward the shuffling couple closest to them. Her breathless voice was about the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.
He jerked his gaze away from the way her rapid breathing shifted her silk shirt across her breasts and eyed the couple plastered close enough to tangle belt buckles. “Nope.”
“What do you call it then?”
“Vertical sex.”
Brooke’s pink lips dropped open. She blushed and sat back in her chair. She continued watching the other dancers until the color in her cheeks evened out. “Can we dance now?”
“Now’s as good a time as any.” He hoped he could control himself.
Caleb pulled her onto the floor and into his arms. She was the perfect height to tuck her head beneath his chin if he were so inclined, but her body with its soft, sexy curves, had about as much give as a new fence post. “Loosen up. Two quick steps, two slow steps. Backwards. Slide your feet.”
She grimaced. “You’re just saying that so I won’t step on your toes.”
“Planning to?”
“I hope not.” She glanced up at him, frowned, and then looked back at their feet, concentrating so intently you’d think she was doing brain surgery. The second time her head clipped his chin Caleb decided he’d had enough.
“Brooke, look at me and let me lead. I won’t steer you wrong.”
She did as he asked, but the agony in her face told him she wasn’t enjoying it. She mouthed the count: quick, quick, slow, slow. He shifted his hand from her shoulder to her hip to guide her better. About halfway through the second song she caught the rhythm and cut loose with such a blinding smile that he nearly tripped.
“There you go.”
They circled the room a few times. The more she relaxed, the smaller the gap between them became. He didn’t think it was intentional, but the slide of her thighs against his was driving him slam out of his mind. He cleared his throat. “Had enough?”
“I could do this all night.” He barely heard the softly voiced comment over the band, but he didn’t miss the blissful expression on her face.
There were a few things he’d like to do with Brooke that might take all night. Dancing wasn’t one of them. “Brooke.” He waited until she tipped her head up and locked her gaze with his. “I can’t do this all night.”
Something in his eyes must have clued her in to the trail his thoughts had taken because she stumbled against him and met the tangible proof of his statement. Her eyes widened then something flared in their depths. She stopped in the middle of the floor, causing other dancers to fork around them.
“I—I wasn’t trying to lead you on. I mean…Oh my—This is crazy. I’ve never…I don’t even know you and I want—” She tucked her chin and mashed her lips together.
“What is it you want, Brooke?” His blood headed south and his throat closed up. He could barely get the words out.
“Nothing. Never mind. Let’s just finish the song and then we can—” Adorably flustered, she pulled him back into the line of dancers, leading again. He let her because his mind was…elsewhere.
She had to be close to his age, but she still blushed, for crying out loud. Something inside him softened. If she’d been the man-eater he’d originally taken her for back at the bar he’d have probably pushed her away. He’d had enough aggressive women to last him three lifetimes. But this vulnerable, shy side of Brooke reeled him in and turned him on.
He stopped beside their table and bent his head to whisper in her ear. “Know what I want? I want to see if you taste as sweet as that dessert.”
The shocked look on her face made him wonder if he’d have to resuscitate her.
Brooke dropped into her chair. Her legs would no longer support her. She’d thought learning the two-step would help her fit into her new home state. Instead dancing left her with a hunger for the taste of another Texas product—the handsome, slow-talking, rough-around-the-edges cowboy across the table.
Hadn’t she already done enough bad things to her body tonight by sampling the double chocolate raspberry mousse cake and drinking that vile beer? She didn’t need to add a one-night stand to her list of sins.
A one-night stand. The idea rippled through her like waves on a pond. She’d never had one—and of course she wouldn’t tonight—but dear heavens, he tempted her. Her hands shook when she blotted her face with her napkin. She sipped her water and sucked an ice cube in an effort to cool down. Why had ovulating never affected her this way before? Parts of her tingled like they’d never tingled before. She’d heard of the call of the wild, but she’d certainly never experienced it firsthand. Until now.
Caleb wanted her. The knowledge practically made her pant. She saw the need in his coffee-dark eyes, had felt it in the strength of his touch, and in the searing heat of the erection she’d accidentally encountered.
She’d never been so turned on in her entire life—not even by her former lovers. She’d known each of them for years before becoming intimate, and she’d thought she loved each of them. She’d known Caleb less than three hours, and she wanted to tear his clothes off.
The waitress passed and Brooke asked for the bill. Her voice sounded scratchy, and she was amazed the woman understood her. What would she do once she’d paid for their meal?
She had absolutely no idea.
She’d started the evening wanting to explore the way Caleb made her feel. She hadn’t expected the experience to last past dessert. After all, what did she have in common with a man who poked cows—or whatever it was called—for a living?
Did she have the nerve to investigate further? She’d never been sexually adventurous. Repressed is the word one of her lovers had used, and all because she liked to schedule their…encounters weeks in advance. She also had a tendency to tell her partner exactly what she liked, but it wasn’t because she was being bossy or picky. She knew what she wanted in a mate. She did intend to spend the rest of her life with this person after all. She had a right to high expectations both in bed and out.
And look where that had led her.
She had three failed love affairs to her credit and tomorrow she had the appointment in Dallas with a paternity Popsicle. Her stomach tightened, forcing her to dig in her purse for the roll of antacids. The day after being inseminated she’d fly to California to arrange the shipping of all her belongings from her apartment to her new home in southwestern McMullen County. She’d never see Caleb again.
The emptiness in her stomach was a new experience.
Perhaps it was time to be spontaneous. Renting the Miata was a baby step compared to what she was actually considering. She popped a chalky tablet into her mouth and washed it down.
“Barbecue too spicy?” The genuine concern in his voice and on his face was both unexpected and touching.
“No, I take these for the calcium.” And for the baby she hoped to conceive.
“Gonna finish your dessert?”
She’d only taken one bite. Caleb had shared the other and killed her appetite for her beloved chocolate with one steamy look. “I…no. I’ll take it with me.”
Start as you mean to go. Book one, chapter one. She’d spent the last ten years chasing success, trying to please her publisher, her accountant, and her parents. She’d focused on external goals—visible signs of success—rather than internal ones. It left her feeling empty, like a fraud who didn’t practice what she preached. When a rival had called her a sellout on a national radio show, she’d acknowledged that he might have a point and vowed to change her focus. The move to Texas signified a shift toward satisfying her emotional needs.
Right now she needed Caleb. Oh dear.
She could tell him goodbye, go back to her motel room and finish this milestone birthday alone, or she could reach beyond her comfort zone and test her resolve to find herself.
Be spontaneous. She suppressed a shudder. Spontaneity went against every fiber of her being.
She needed her Day Planner and a pen. It was vital to consider all the angles before making a decision as important as this one. But she’d left her planner in her car, and if she took the time to get it and map a strategy this opportunity would pass.
Personal growth is only achieved by stepping beyond one’s boundaries. Never let a day go by without taking a step toward your goal. Book one, chapter two.
“M-my motel is just down the road.”
He blinked those lush lashes, one slow sweep of black against his tanned skin, but not before she saw desire ignite in his eyes. Caleb leaned forward and she caught her breath, but instead of kissing her like she thought he would—like she’d hoped he would—he pulled out his wallet and tossed enough money on the table to cover the bill.
“I’m supposed to pay for dinner,” she protested.
“You can buy the condoms. Lady’s choice. Let’s go.”
When he put it like that she wondered if she might have been precipitous in making her decision.
“I—I—” Her bottom might as well be glued to the chair, and even though she made her living as a public speaker, she couldn’t seem to think of a single thing to say.
He paused, his face carefully neutral. “Or I can walk you to your car and point you in the direction of your motel.”
You run out of chances when you stop taking them. Her own words haunted her. She took a deep breath, wet her lips and tried to summon her courage.
Caleb lifted his hat from the extra chair and set it on his head. His expression tightened. “How about I thank you for your company and say good night right here?”
“No, I—” Her mouth was as dry as the Mojave Desert. She swallowed, but it didn’t help. “Caleb, wait.”
She’d never been tempted to sleep with a total stranger. Of course, she’d never been impregnated by a man she’d never seen before, either, but she would be tomorrow.
Be spontaneous.
Every muscle in her body clenched as she prepared to take the leap. She might as well have been jumping out of an airplane for all the trepidation she felt. “You’ll have to tell me where we can buy the…condoms. I’m not familiar with the stores here.”
Fire, hot enough to incinerate her where she sat, flashed in Caleb’s eyes. “There’s a pharmacy on the corner.”
Her parents would say she was suffering from a psychosis. Such impulsive behaviors were certainly a deviation from her norm. But her parents would be wrong. Before she reached her room she’d regain control of her emotions and the situation. But first, she had to get her shaky legs to support her. She wobbled to her feet. “Lead the way.”
He pressed his palm against her spine and escorted her out of the restaurant and across the street to the pharmacy. The heat of his touch transferred through her silk jacket, warming her skin and weakening her knees with the promise of more intimate contact to come.
The pharmacy was a small mom and pop operation. She spotted her latest book on a rack near the back, but didn’t venture over to sign it because Caleb followed one pace behind. She probably wouldn’t have been able to hold the pen anyway.
Brooke snatched the first box of condoms from the shelf and shoved them across the counter to the cashier, hoping she didn’t look as mortified as she felt. Then she looked at her purchase. Oh dear heavens, she’d picked up the jumbo-size box of extra larges.
Caleb said nothing during the purchase, but he arched a dark brow and rocked back on his boot heels when she found the nerve to meet his amused gaze outside the store. “Ambitious, aren’t you?”
Brooke wanted to crawl through the cracks in the sidewalk. She’d never bought condoms before, and frankly, it was embarrassing, but she refused to give up ground by admitting she might have been…overzealous in her purchase.
Cross those self-imposed boundaries and seize the momentum.
She stiffened her spine and stared right back. “Afraid you won’t live up to my expectations, Caleb?”
A slow and devastatingly sexy smile eased its way across his face. “Sweetheart, I’ll do my best or die trying.”
Every cell in her body quivered like Jell-O. Oh. My. God. She was actually going to do this. “My motel is—” Her throat knotted and she couldn’t finish it.
Caleb had no such problem. “Around the corner.” He winked. “Only one in town. The question is whether or not you want my truck parked outside your room.”
The gesture was unbelievably considerate considering she’d picked the man up in a bar and didn’t intend to see him again once she checked out of the motel.
He tucked her hair behind her ear and tilted up her chin. The gentle scrape of his fingertip along her jawline was unbearably intimate. “Why don’t you tell me your room number? I’ll park across the street at the waffle shop and meet you there.”
She’d reached the point of no return, but the turbulence in her stomach didn’t call for an antacid. The only cure was a dark-haired, dark-eyed cowboy. “Room 118. It’s in the back.”
He walked her to her car, opened the door and bent in the opening after she sat down. His arm brushed her breasts as he fastened her seat belt. It was a slow, deliberate move that nearly caused her to have a meltdown right there on the leather upholstery.
“If you change your mind, don’t answer the door. No hard feelings.” He closed her door and walked off before she could think of a reply.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Caleb had a mile-wide gallant streak.
If she had to take a walk outside her comfort zone, at least she was doing so with someone she believed she could trust.
The question was could she trust herself?

Three
Caleb didn’t expect Brooke to answer the door when he knocked. He figured she’d come to her senses once she was out of range of the attraction flaring between them and decide not to waste herself on a lowly cowboy. And he wouldn’t let himself be disappointed.
He rapped once and she eased the door open. She’d kicked off her shoes. Her painted toenails dug into the carpet, and her teeth dug into her lip. “Come in.”
Judging by the way his body saluted her husky voice and bare feet the show would be over quicker than he could hog-tie a steer. He needed to slow things down. So even though he wanted to toss her on that motel mattress, bury himself inside her and ride like the wind, he rocked back on his heels, hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, and said, “Make me.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“If you want me, city girl, come and get me.”
She looked left and right down the deserted walkway, but in this back corner of the motel they were the only ones around. She folded her arms across her chest. “I thought you were a big, tough cowboy who knew exactly what you wanted.”
He winked. “You got part of that right.”
Her gaze dropped to his distended fly. She blushed and looked away. Her nostrils flared and her breasts rose as she drew in a deep, shaky breath. He was beginning to think he’d chosen the wrong strategy when she peeked at him from beneath her lashes. The spark in her eyes combined with a sensuous curving of her lips sent a jolt through him.
Very deliberately, Brooke untied the silk belt knotted at her waist. Caleb’s pulse leaped and only raced faster as she eased the strip of fabric inch-by-inch through her belt loops. Once it was free she pulled it taut between her hands and ever so slowly twisted the ends around her palms. Every adolescent fantasy he’d ever had came rushing back.
She arched the slip of fabric up and over his hat. Cool and slick, it curved around his nape. She tugged him into the room one step at a time.
He’d challenged her, but he hadn’t expected such an enthusiastic response. He wanted to kick the door closed and grind his lips and body against hers. It nearly killed him to wait for her next move.
Without breaking eye contact, she transferred both ends of the tether to one hand, freeing the other to remove his hat and place it on the table beside the door. His heart nearly knocked a hole through his chest when she pursed her lips and considered him from his boots to his eyebrows.
“I’ve never done this before,” she confessed in a whisper and shut the door.
It was difficult to think with her soft fingertip tracing his bottom lip, but surely at her age she didn’t mean what he thought she meant. He opened his mouth and tried to taste her but she’d moved on to tease his ear.
“Which this? Making love or tying a man in knots?”
Her quiet laugh drifted over him like a cool breeze on bare, damp skin. “Am I tying you in knots, Caleb?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She tugged on her belt, pulling his head down and positioning his lips at a reachable height. His mouth watered, anticipating her taste. To keep from grabbing her he gripped his belt loops so tight his thumbs went numb.
Her breath fanned his lips, but at the last minute she veered left and kissed his jaw. Her lips were soft, cool and dry. He could rectify that and have her hot and wet—inside and out—in seconds, but he waited, determined to let her set the pace even if it killed him. And it might. But he’d rather be dead than go off like a misfired cannon. He wondered if mentally calculating feed ratios would cool him down.
She nibbled along his jaw, dipping the tip of her slick tongue in the cleft of his chin. His knees nearly buckled. He swallowed, but a knot the size of an armadillo stayed stuck in his throat.
She drew back a fraction, aligning her mouth with his once more. “I’ve never made love to a man I wasn’t committed to.”
Alarmed, he drew back. His mother had been a cheater. He would never be the one responsible for breaking up a family. “You’re not married, are you?”
“No.” She sounded a little disappointed. “You’re currently the only man in my life, and that’s just for tonight. You understand? Afterward we say goodbye and forget this ever happened.”
Usually he was the one to make his intentions clear up-front. It felt a little funny to be on the receiving end. Even though he agreed they had no future, he sure as hell didn’t intend to be forgettable. “Fine by me, but I want all night, not just one go’round.”
She shivered. “All right. How does one go about a one-night stand, Caleb? I don’t know what to do next.”
Oh man, did he ever have suggestions, but he was game for whatever she dished out. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”
She tugged on the silk. “Should I tie you up or will you be a good boy?”
The look she shot him from beneath her lashes nearly caused a problem he hadn’t had since his first time. He tensed every muscle and fought for control. Sweat popped out on his forehead and his throat closed up like somebody had put a noose around it. His chest was tight and he could barely breathe. “I’ll be good whether you tie me up or not.”
Tingling in every inch of her body, Brooke drew back in surprise. She’d made the absurd remark half-hoping she’d frighten Caleb away. The men in her life had always tried to dominate her in bed and out, and control wasn’t something she handed over easily. Ask any of her former lovers. More than once she’d suspected her inability to let go had contributed to her unsatisfactory sex life. Caleb, on the other hand, seemed willing to let her lead.
“You mean you’d let me?”
Although he shrugged casually, his heart pounded harder and faster beneath her palm. “Don’t see why not. Hadn’t tried it before. Might be fun.”
Desire had never, ever affected her so strongly that she trembled with anticipation for what would follow. Caleb made her yearn to experiment in ways that had never tempted her before. She mentally shuffled through every sexual act she’d ever been curious about and never had the nerve to try and wondered if she was brave enough to explore the forbidden with a man she’d never see again.
No. Even though there was safety in anonymity, she was more of a navigator than an adventurer. She liked to know where she was going and how she’d get there.
But you’ll never see him again, her conscience insisted.
“Sweetheart?” He interrupted her search for explanations.
“Hmm?”
“I don’t mean to be pushy here, but could we move along?” The huskiness of his voice told her that she wasn’t the only one fighting overpowering need.
“You have somewhere to go, cowboy?”
He gave a rough laugh. “Going wasn’t what I had in mind.”
Cupping one big hand around her nape, he traced her bottom lip with his thumb. The rasp of his skin over her flesh made her quiver. His coffee-dark gaze practically scalded her and his grin was lethal. “I have a hunger for your mouth that just won’t quit. I’m wondering how long you’re gonna make me wait before you put me out of my misery.”
“My—oh.” She couldn’t catch her breath. Her past partners never talked during. If Caleb talked it might distract her from her goal. It took all her concentration to—to—He lowered his head until his mouth hovered a centimeter from hers and she lost her train of thought.
“Are you gonna make me suffer, city girl?” His breath fanned her lips, making her heart race like she’d never been kissed.
She yanked the belt, closing the gap between them. Heat seared her the moment their lips touched. From belt buckle to nose, he burned her. She brushed her mouth over his once, twice. Impatient. Hungry. Cautious.
The need to let go and see where the current of desire would carry her coursed through her, but if she wanted to get any pleasure out of this, she had to stay in control and focused on the outcome.
Caleb’s hand clenched in her hair. A groan rumbled in his throat and vibrated through her. Feeling bolder, she sucked his full, lower lip into her mouth and teased the silky inside. He made an impatient sound, but didn’t pounce. She wondered what it would take to push him over the edge. The determination to find his limits filled her, but that would have to wait until she was sufficiently aroused or she’d be left out.
She traced her tongue along his teeth. He drew a sharp breath, widened his stance and settled his hands on her hips. If the hot length of each of his fingers could arouse her this much through her silk suit she wondered how she’d survive when he touched bare skin. Eager to find out, she cupped his strong jaw with both hands and traced his cheekbones with her thumbs, and then deepened the kiss, tentatively exploring further.
Caleb startled her by sucking her tongue and pulling rhythmically on her body the way she’d pull on his later when he was inside her—if she was lucky. A thrill shivered over her.
An impatience to investigate every inch of him enveloped her, but she held back. Her past encounters had been a race to completion, which she often hadn’t finished. Her only chance of finding satisfaction lay in keeping the pace slow enough for her body to warm up. It took her an embarrassingly long time.
Although Caleb seemed to have given her a head start tonight.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of aroused man and a hint of aftershave. Blindly she explored the width and firmness of his chest, the trimness of his waist and the tautness of his belly above the thick leather belt while she sampled his mouth, his neck, his ears. The first two snaps of his Western-style shirt were already unfastened. She popped open three more and stroked his hot skin. Crisp hair teased her palms, shooting need to her very core.
“Caleb—” All night she’d wondered how his hands would feel on her belly and breasts, and she couldn’t wait another moment to find out.
“Tell me what you want.” His voice rumbled against her cheek. His lips feathered over her cheekbone.
She’d never been a vocal lover. Covering his hands with hers, she slid them upward and whispered, “I want you to touch me.”
As if he’d been waiting for those words, he yanked her closer. One hand splayed on her buttock, holding her captive against the length of his body. The other tangled in her hair. He captured her mouth in a ravenous kiss.
Alarm shot through her. The balance of power had shifted. He would race onward and leave her to finish in a frustrated last place. She wanted to ask him to slow down. Her finicky body had certain requirements, but the way he devoured her mouth didn’t leave room for conversation or even coherent thought.
He danced her backward until the wall pressed her spine. Sandwiched between the cool solid surface and hard heat of his body, she couldn’t move. Her hands were trapped uselessly between them. He thrust his thigh between hers, applying sweet pressure to her most sensitive spot. For a moment she battled a shameless urge to slide against him, but the move seemed too brazen, and it wasn’t something she’d done before. She managed to restrain herself, but it wasn’t easy.
His hands skimmed over her in the lightest of caresses. Teasing. Tantalizing. Her clothes provided no barrier to the patterns he traced over her waist, her thighs, and along her spine. All the while he did things to her mouth that no man had ever done before. Kissing had never been particularly exciting for her. It seemed to be something her partners enjoyed much more than she did, but Caleb seemed determined to introduce her to what she’d been missing. And she liked it.
Her breasts ached for his attention. If she could have freed her hands she would have grabbed his and put them where she needed his touch the most. After all, she knew she required quite a bit of foreplay there to get things started.
As if sensing her thoughts, his hands plunged beneath her blouse. She gasped, nearly sucking the breath from his lungs. His callused palms lightly scraped her waist, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. She shivered despite the furnace heat of his body and the blasts of his scorching breath on her cheek.
In agonizingly slow motion he eased his thumbs beneath the elastic band of her bra, gliding them backward and forward. His thumbnails scraped the sensitive skin on the underside of her breasts, and her nipples tingled in anticipation. Hunger built in her midsection. She wanted to groan in frustration when he bypassed the sensitive tips to bisect her belly with the rasp of a fingernail. Her stomach muscles quivered.
He moved to the waistband of her skirt, and with a deft flick of his fingers the button gave way. The zipper quickly followed. And still he kissed her, with silken strokes of his tongue and teasing nibbles of his teeth. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. He made her needy in an unfamiliar way.
He eased back a few inches and cool air swept between them. Before she could pull him back her skirt puddled at her ankles. Now that he’d freed her mouth she wanted to protest, to slow him down, but when his hand splayed over her belly, a finger edging beneath the band of her panties, the words incinerated on her lips.
He held her at arms’ length and groaned. “Should’ve known.”
She shook her head, trying to clear the sensual haze. “Should have known what?”
“That you wouldn’t wear white cotton. You’re determined to drive me outta my mind, aren’t you, city girl?” He skated a knuckle along her jaw and his lips curved in a slow, sensual smile that sent adrenaline surging through her veins.
He dropped to his knees and pressed a kiss against her lacy, lavender panties. His breath steamed her through the thin fabric and sent her senses reeling. She clutched his shoulders for support. Caleb was moving too fast and doing things all out of her usual order. She opened her mouth to tell him what she liked and how she liked it, but the words vanished when he stripped her panties with a quick jerk and brushed his lips against her curls.
Her breath caught at the boldness of his actions and at the strength of her reaction to them. He’d skipped all the preliminaries. There was a certain order to this business that ought to be respected. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, but she was. He hadn’t even touched her breasts. Being so out of control frightened her. Intent on yanking him back up, she curled her fingers into his thick hair.
In her mind she knew she wasn’t ready for Caleb’s primitive brand of loving, but the sensations coursing through her body argued otherwise. He gently stroked her with his hands and mouth, coaxing a response from her. She knew she needed to tell him…something, but it took all her concentration to keep her knees from buckling.
Caleb freed one foot and then the other from her skirt and panties then curled his hands around her ankles and eased them apart. He stoked upward in torturously slow circles—the same tantalizing circles his tongue drew on her sensitive flesh. The sudden rush of pleasure made her dizzy.
Her libido galloped ahead, as if it hadn’t spent the last fifteen years plodding toward satisfaction, most often not getting there. Her muscles trembled. Her chest and belly tightened. Her tenuous hold on her control ebbed.
This couldn’t be happening. She never, ever, reached the pinnacle with less than thirty minutes of serious foreplay, including substantial attention above the waist—primarily the seduction of her mind. But here she was. Digging into a stranger’s scalp and holding on for dear life as she spontaneously combusted. She, who never did anything spontaneously, exploded like a shaken bottle of champagne.
Warmth rushed over her in waves. Her legs quivered like a tuning fork. Her body hummed and she couldn’t catch her breath. What in the world had just happened here? What had the man done to her?

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