Hell on Heels (Hotel Rodeo #1)(31)

“Am I, Ms. Brandt?” His gaze tracked slowly over her, sending a pool of liquid heat straight between her thighs.



After driving a total of seventeen hours and then getting Rosa settled at his condo, Ty was dog-tired and only dreaming of bed when he’d arrived at the hotel. Other than noting the place hadn’t burned down in his absence, he didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. All he cared about was getting some shut-eye—until he opened the door to his room and found Monica in black lace underwear. He was suddenly wide awake and growing more alert.

In a matter of seconds he was fully alert.

The flicker of uncertainty in her gray eyes belied her words. “Yes. You are,” she insisted. “I’ve already staked my claim on this room. You’ll need to find another one.”

Her remark normally would have rubbed him the wrong way, but he was too preoccupied with the view. Or more precisely, the breasts jutting out of a sexy push-up bra and ass-hugging boy shorts that rode low on her gently curved hips.

He took a step toward her. “It’s a big room,” he remarked, “with a great big bed. There’s more than enough room in that California King for both of us.”

“I don’t think so, cowboy,” she huffed out a breath. “That train left the station over a week ago. Now, please excuse me. I need to get a towel to dry myself off.” She tried to pass into the bathroom, but he blocked her path at the doorway.

“You can’t expect to send a man packing when you greet him dressed like that.”

His gaze tracked the damp trail of liquid between her breasts. He reached up to trace a leisurely path down the lush valley. Her eyes followed his finger, and a faint shudder rippled through her. Raising his fingers to his mouth, he tasted. The sweetness surprised him. Interesting. He’d figured Monica as a no-nonsense scotch-and-soda type. “What is it?” he asked, unable to identify the drink. “Applejack?”

“It’s Calvados,” she corrected. “Imported from Normandy. I acquired a taste for it after visiting there. It always reminds me of that summer. It’s funny how certain things can invoke comfort, isn’t it?”

Her remark surprised him as much as her wistful expression. “I can see that,” he agreed. “For me it’s always been the smell of a freshly mowed hayfield. Never could get enough of it. That smell still takes me back to boyhood.” His gaze locking with hers, he took the glass from her hands and set it down on a nearby table. “If it’s comfort you’re seeking, maybe you’re looking in the wrong place. I know all kinds of interesting ways to bring . . . comfort.”

“That’s not the kind I was looking for.” She looked away, her body too tense and her tone too emphatic.

“Perhaps not, Sugar,” he soothed, caressing up the sides of her arms until his hands rested lightly on her shoulders. She shivered under his touch but didn’t try to pull away. “But maybe it’s just the kind you need.”

He’d recognized that need in her eyes the minute he’d walked in. He wondered if she would have satisfied herself if he hadn’t shown up. That image really lit his fuse.

“Maybe you’re right, but you are all wrong, Ty.”

His brow wrinkled. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it would be a huge mistake. How could we ever work together if we did this?”

“The way I see it, we can’t continue if we don’t. You know as well as I do that this thing between us is damned distracting . . . How long’s it been?” he asked.

“Long enough . . .” Her tongue darted over her lips. Was it a subconscious invitation? She added on a whisper. “Way too long.”

“I’ve been experiencing an extended dry spell too,” he confessed. “So you see? It’s what we both need.”

“Are you actually trying to convince me it would be therapeutic?”

His mouth stretched into a grin. “I never thought of it quite that way before, but orgasms are highly therapeutic, Ms. Brandt.”

He already had a strong suspicion she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, but there was one sure way to find out. He captured the globes of her ass in both hands and then claimed her lace-clad breasts with his mouth, kissing and lapping her sweet, apple brandy–flavored flesh.

“No, Ty!” she gasped but still didn’t try to pull away. “We can’t.”

“Sure we can.” Ignoring her opposition, he nuzzled into her neck and unhooked her bra to free her breasts. He sucked a nipple into his mouth.

“I’m serious,” she insisted with far less conviction.

He reluctantly released a mouthful of hardened nipple to reply. “So am I, Ms. Brandt. This is going to continue to be like a burr under the saddle until we scratch the itch.” He dipped his head again, rooting his way to her other breast.

“You’re mixing metaphors.” This time she arched into his mouth and dug her fingers into his scalp with a moan, clearly contradicting her words. “And why do you keep calling me Ms. Brandt anyway? We’ve known each other for weeks. Is it just to annoy me?”

He looked up at her with a grin. “That’s not it at all. Maybe I think it suits you . . . or maybe I have an unresolved sexual fantasy involving a former schoolteacher.”

Her gray eyes narrowed. “I remind you of an old teacher?”