The Cowboy and the Cougar (The Cougar Chronicles #1)(5)

She giggled.

When was the last time she had giggled?

"Are you?"

His laugh was husky. "In a few minutes. There is that jacuzzi to consider." He turned onto his back and covered his forehead with his arm.

She’d never made love to a hot stud in a jacuzzi, had never made love in a jacuzzi, period. In fact, she’d never made love to a hot stud, come to think of it, at least not as hot as the cowboy next to her.

Boy, had it been a day. She didn’t want to think unpleasant thoughts. She wanted her escape to last a little longer.

She touched his firm lower lip with the pad of her thumb. "I’m up for the jacuzzi, cowboy."





Darkness enveloped the room when Holly awoke. Her cowboy was behind her, holding her spoon-style. His large, warm hand cupped her breast. Her sore nipple hardened beneath his palm. A hard thigh was wedged between hers. The soft hair covering his flesh tickled her smooth skin. His breath, slow and steady, blew against her neck and disturbed a few stray hairs.

The night had been amazing—wonderful!—a hedonistic frolic and a total escape. She wouldn’t soon forget the encounter in the jacuzzi. How they’d kissed each other until their lips were red and swollen. How he’d sucked on her nipples until they were nearly raw, all the while fussing over how beautiful they were. How she’d ridden him, and the jetting had swished over them as they coupled again, and then again.

A night of wonderful memories to savor was exactly what she had needed.

But now? She sighed as she disentangled herself from Cowboy as gently as she could. She didn’t want to wake him.

She walked to the window and opened the drapes. The sun peeked over the horizon. Soon dawn would brighten a new day.

She sighed again.

Time to face the music.





Chapter Three


Six months later


Late again.

Holly ran into the classroom, dragging her portfolio behind her. She’d stopped at the art store for more charcoal after work and she’d hit major traffic.

She laughed it off. This was art class at the community college, not a pressing appointment. It was okay to be late. Problem was, she didn’t want to be. She wanted to breathe in every bit of knowledge this class and this professor had to offer. She was done taking life for granted. She’d wanted to learn to draw for forty years and now she was.

She’d always had a flare for sketching—or so others always said. In college she’d taken the well-traveled road and majored in economics and political science, then she’d gone on to law school, which, frankly, had been the three most boring years of her life. She did the time, got the grades, landed the partnership-track job.

Five months ago, she’d thrown it all out with the garbage.

She hated practicing law. She liked to draw. She loved to draw. She was good at it. It made her happy. She smiled. What was better than doing what made her happy?

Of course, she had to pay the bills, so she’d hung out a shingle and opened up her own law practice. Writing wills and trusts wasn’t exactly a rocket science challenge, but it kept her in food and shelter until she could learn how to make her art pay.

Damn it all if she wasn’t happier than she’d ever been.

She hastily took an empty seat and spread out her paper and charcoal. Tonight was model night. Male, if she recalled correctly. Last week they’d sketched a gorgeous blonde woman with a body so perfectly proportioned she resembled Barbie.

Well, her legs weren’t quite that long.

Drawing the human body fascinated Holly. She’d learned as much about anatomy as she had about technique in this class. She used her knowledge not only in her artwork, but also at the gym, where she was hard at work on another artistic endeavor—reshaping her own physique.

"Good evening."

Holly looked up to see Professor Fleming in front of the class. Professor Fleming was an amazing artist and his praise meant the world to Holly. He liked her work and thought she had potential. Had she started down this path twenty years ago, who knows where she could have gone?

Determined not to berate herself, she looked back up at Professor Fleming.

"Tonight, as you know, we’ll be working with a male model. He’s waiting outside." He cleared his throat. "I have a special surprise for you all. For the first time, we’ll be working with nudes."

Childish chuckles echoed from the back of the room. At forty, Holly was easily the oldest person in this class. Most of the students were straight out of high school.

"Get your jollies out now," Professor Fleming said, "so you don’t embarrass our model when he comes in."

Even Holly had to stifle a giggle. Jollies?

When the room quieted, Professor Fleming walked to the door of the classroom. Holly leaned down to grab her bottle of water out of her backpack, then cursed under her breath when she brushed against her charcoal pencils and they tumbled to the floor. She gathered them quickly and decided to leave her water where it was. She could live with a parched throat for an hour. Better that than accidentally spilling water on her art work.

She sighed and looked up just as an emerald silk robe fell from a glorious male body. She glanced at the long, perfectly sculpted legs, a back carved of hard muscle, a firm, tight ass. Staring at this for an hour wouldn’t be a hardship.

He turned toward the class.