Spurs 'n Surrender (Operation Cowboy Book 2)(13)
Relief washed over Anya, though she had no intelligent reasoning for why.
“I-I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to say something. Why don’t you?”
Before either of them could decide, it was over. The backhoe scooped the dirt and dumped it to the side. The crowd cheered. Though Wydell looked a bit uptight—his jaw clenched and his focus locked on the backhoe. A guy shouted to the operator and when he responded with a shout of his own, Wydell flinched.
Sensing something was bothering him, she placed a hand on his arm.
Wydell blinked down at Anya. For a bone-melting second she feared he might try to kiss her. He blinked and his eyes cleared. He held up a hand for her to high-five. She wasn’t really a high-five sort of girl, but what the hell? She should celebrate.
When she smacked her palm off his, his fingers briefly curled around hers before letting go.
Her mind spun. Why did he do that? Was she supposed to have returned the gesture?
“Good luck, you two,” someone said. She nodded and several more people came to speak to them about the project before moving on. Wydell introduced her to his group of friends, but they didn’t stick around.
Anya stood alone with Wydell. The backhoe continued to work, evening it out so they could lay a cement foundation the house would sit on.
She turned to him. “We need something to celebrate!”
“Well I’ve got a six-pack in my truck.”
She wanted to wrinkle her nose. Beer? She wasn’t a beer girl either.
“I’ll just get my bag.” She’d left her bag near the edge of the property and fetched it. By the time she returned, Wydell had a six-pack in hand. It was spangled with dew, and she had to admit it looked inviting.
He popped the top and handed it to her.
“You drink first,” she said.
With a crooked smile that melted her insides, he freed a can and one-handedly cracked it open. Before he took a drink, she whipped her surprise out of her bag and popped the cork.
A wall of flesh hit her hard. She was thrown to the ground and smothered beneath muscle, boots and rough stubble.
Wydell looked around wildly, his eyes far away once again. He plastered her to the earth, almost shielding her.
“What the…?” She tried to shift free, but he pinned her more firmly. His breath grew labored and the pulse tripped erratically in his neck. She made a noise that drew his head up.
They stared into each other’s eyes for ten full heartbeats. Then his eyes cleared. Redness mottled his throat and climbed his face to his hairline. Before he could push away, she hooked her finger in the chain she’d glimpsed around his neck and tugged.
Dog tags slithered out of his collar.
Wydell Jackson had yet another side. He wasn’t just a cowboy-hat wearing manual laborer who was skilled as a draftsman.
He was a Marine suffering from PTSD.
*
Reality returned to Wydell’s mind, replacing the insanity of flying bullets and screams. Throwing Anya to the ground had been instinct, but now he felt like an ass.
“I probably got your dress dirty.” He levered away from her, but she closed her fingers around his shoulder, holding his gaze prisoner as much as he was holding her body.
The understanding he read in those wide blue eyes was too much for him. He swooped in—and claimed those glossy lips, even as she was coming to meet his.
Flavors burst as he parted them with his tongue and plunged into the hot recesses of her mouth. She moaned. He groaned. Angling his head, he edged deeper even as he rested his hips against hers.
Again and again he teased her tongue with his own, slowly unraveling her. She wiggled restlessly, and his cock couldn’t get any harder. It was pure steel ready to burst his fly. He rocked his hips, and she met him with a bucking motion.
He ripped his mouth away just as she raised her thigh to press into his side. “Jesus.” Knowing her warm, wet pussy was right there sent him careening. “I can’t stop.” He captured her lips again.
“Then don’t.” she murmured, chasing his tongue around his mouth with a boldness that thrilled the hell out of him.
The noise of the backhoe roused him seconds later, and he realized they were out in the open, grinding and kissing. Panting, he did a pushup and leapt to his feet. She sat up slowly, a little dazed.
Damn, she really was a beautiful woman. And he wanted her bad.
Extending a hand, he gave her a smile he felt all the way to the toes of his boots. How long had it been since he’d shared a spark like that with anyone? Too long. “C’mon,” he rumbled.
She placed her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. Her sundress swirled down to cover her round thighs, and he wasn’t finished looking at them. He led her across the lot.
“Where are we going?”
“Twinkie-mobile.” He didn’t wait for her to answer—just opened the door, picked her up and put her inside. When he stuffed himself through the door and closed it, they stared at each other.
She launched herself into his arms. With a growl, he lifted her and stomped across the trailer to the little bed. Wood had been built up around the sides, giving the feeling of a ship’ hull. He got her inside and followed her, pressing her down, down, down into all those pillows.
She arched up to kiss him, knocking off his hat. He kicked at his boots until they thumped out onto the floor. She rocked her pussy against his erection, leaving them both breathless.