Rough Rider (Hot Cowboy Nights, #2)(52)

No more regrets.

Her lips curved into a sad smile. “I don’t have much sense. Used it all up, I guess. ’Sides, you might not be getting the best bargain either, cowboy.”

*

He stared at her in incomprehension, his mind still reeling at her appearance. He still couldn’t believe she’d walked into his life after all this time. He didn’t understand her motivation either, but did he really care? He’d done his best to warn her, to chase her off even. He hadn’t exaggerated. He was a f*cking wreck, one that no sane woman would take on. But here she was, sane or not, and he wanted her with a desire that penetrated his marrow. The same need shone in her eyes, the kind of deep physical, gut-wrenching need that he shared, and the only kind he could fulfill.

He mumbled a stream of curses before hoisting himself to his feet. “Last chance, Janice. I can only f*ck things up and make you miserable. It’s all I’ve ever been good at.”

Nevertheless, he offered his hand.

Her brown eyes met his unwavering. “I’m a big girl, Dirk. I think I can take it.”

The softness in those eyes betrayed her tough words. That same softness and vulnerability cried out to him. After six years in the marines, there was nothing soft left in him. He wanted to bury himself in it…in her.

The words had barely left her mouth before he jerked her to her feet. The bottle flew out of her hands to explode in a foamy mess all over the oak plank floor. He didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was his mouth devouring hers. Her hot, wet tongue tangling with his. The feel of her silky hair in his fisted fingers, the faint scent of vanilla, her body molding to his.

Mutual desire flared instantly. Urgently, obliterating indecision. Supplanting uncertainty with sensation. His mouth came down on her neck, sucking and biting while his hands tore at her blouse. One sound jerk had her pearl snaps sounding like Jiffy Pop. Then his heavily callused hands were on her breasts, fondling, squeezing. He wasn’t gentle. But neither was she.

Panting. Groping. She fumbled with his shirt buttons and then gave up, wrapping her hand around the throbbing bulge in his jeans, fondling him through the thick denim with one hand while yanking frantically at his belt buckle with the other. In a frenzy of lust, he guided her body, backing her up to the sofa. “Boots. Off,” he commanded.

Gripping his shoulders for balance, Janice toed off one boot and then the other. He peeled away her blouse. She unhooked her bra, letting it drop to the floor, his gaze following her every move with increasing hunger. Peeking through her lashes, she cupped and squeezed her breasts.

He groaned, then buried his face between them. She was working on his zipper when his mouth closed over her beaded nipple, drawing it into his mouth, alternating between soft bites and steady sucking until she threw her head back with a sob. He released her nipple to nuzzle his way to her other breast, scraping his teeth over her skin. Still kissing, biting, and sucking her breasts, he unzipped her jeans. His hands shook as he stripped them off, peeling them down over her hips.

She stood in just her panties. They were white and edged with lace—simple, but still sexy—much like Janice.

“Take them off,” he said, his throat suddenly feeling full of gravel.

She ran her fingers provocatively along the waistband before sliding them off.

Their gazes met. His need was so bad his eyes were crossing but he had to hear her say it. “You sure about this?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good. Gimme just a minute.”

He stalked toward the bathroom, flinging open the medicine cabinet and then rifling through every drawer, hoping like hell one of the stock hands had left a condom behind. Nothing. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He went next to the bedroom, cursing another stream of invectives until he found a lone foil packet in the nightstand beside the bed. Thank you, sweet Jesus. But when he finally returned, Janice was curled up in the corner of the sofa, knees against her chest, chewing her thumbnail. Shit. He’d taken too long. She’d changed her mind.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No, but…” She bit her lip.

“But what?”

“It’s just…I need…I need you to be patient with me, all right?”

Patient? He had a raging erection. His balls throbbed for release. His patience was a fine thread that was damned close to snapping. She was gonna kill him by slow torture.

“It’s been a long time for me too,” she blurted, “over four years.”

“Four?” He digested that slowly. “Grady’s only been gone for three.”

“That’s right. Things weren’t good between us, Dirk. Not for a long time…there were a lot of…problems.” She averted her gaze. “You can’t understand how it was, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I tried to warn you about him, but you wouldn’t listen. You chose Grady.”

“Choice? What choice?” she cried. “My father was dying and I had a business and a ranch to run. I couldn’t do it alone. Grady said he’d take care of me. I needed someone, and he was there.” Her eyes spoke the rest. You weren’t.

The unspoken words were like a knife to his gut. His conscience twisted that knife. No, she couldn’t have done it alone. Hell, no one could have handled that much responsibility flying solo, let alone a twenty-one-year-old girl. He’d walked away, leaving her vulnerable. He’d let Grady have her without putting up a fight, and Grady had done exactly what Grady had always done. Married or not, he rode bulls, drank, and whored.