The Cowboy and the Cougar (The Cougar Chronicles #1)(6)

Holly’s blood ran cold. Before her was a chest she’d caressed, sinewy arms she’d gripped.

A cock she’d sucked.

Her gaze traveled down the beautiful legs, then back up, over the torso dusted with dark hair, the golden shoulders that had tantalized her fingertips to his face of raw male beauty. Cheeks she had cupped, lips she had kissed, sucked on. She wanted to look at his eyes—those eyes that had burned into her soul that night.

That wonderful, terrible, fateful night.

But she couldn’t. He might recognize her.

What the hell was a cowboy doing working as a nude model?

Of course, she hadn’t asked what he did for a living, because she hadn’t wanted to know.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. He wouldn’t remember a one-night stand with a needy older woman anyway. He’d no doubt been glad she was gone when he awoke.

She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to his dark eyes.

He was staring straight at her. Daggers shot from his eyes and speared into her.

He wasn’t happy.

Holly’s skin prickled. Did he remember her? She couldn’t think about that now. She had to draw him.

God, she could draw that body from memory—every line, curve, mass of muscle. She closed her eyes and inhaled, then opened them and began to sketch. This was class, after all, and she wanted to learn to create art more than anything in the world. She wouldn’t let an awkward situation keep her from her goal.

That gorgeous chiseled face... Her pencil stopped moving. He was staring at her again. Damn, those lips were lethal weapons. Her nipples tightened against her bra as she remembered him kissing them, sucking them.

Time to get a grip, Holly. This was art class, and when would she have the chance to draw such a perfect specimen of masculine beauty again?

She sat back and attempted to steady her breathing. In and out, in and out. Slow down, pulse. He’s just a model.





Holly stared at her sketch. It was Cowboy, all right. Problem was, he was entwined around a curvy female who bore a distinct resemblance to Holly herself. How had this happened? She’d been in the zone, hadn’t thought about what she was doing, and before she knew what was happening, her hands had gone off on their own and drawn Cowboy, naked, making love to her.

She couldn’t turn this in to Professor Fleming.

Quickly she gathered her papers together and shoved them in her portfolio. If she left now, a few minutes before class was actually over, she could escape before Cowboy left the room. She’d draw another sketch—one that wasn’t x-rated—at home and bring it to class next week.

Yeah, that would work.

She stood up quickly and quietly and walked out of the room. A sweltering heat swept over her. Cowboy was watching her. She could feel it.

She stopped in the ladies’ room and splashed some cold water on her face. It didn’t work. She was still hot and bothered, but at least she looked a little better—not pale and wan as when she’d first looked in the mirror. The frigid water had added rosiness to her cheeks. She stood at the counter, grasping the Formica, breathing in and out.

Calm down, Holly. It’s over.

After one final deep breath, she hurried to her car and drove the short distance to her downtown loft. Her arms full with her portfolio, briefcase and the small bag of groceries she’d picked up before class, she keyed in the code with her nose and slipped through the door. The elevator was closing so she ran and slid through just in time. She hit the number three with her elbow and collapsed against the elevator wall for the short ride up.

When the door opened, she tightened her grip on all her belongings and headed toward the door to her loft. Dropping the groceries to the floor, she fumbled one-handed in her purse for her key.

Sheesh, it was hot in the hallway. Beads of sweat trickled from her hairline, down her forehead and into her eyes. She blinked at the sting. Why was it so damn hot?

With an exasperated sigh, she threw down her portfolio and began emptying her purse.

"Need some help, sugar?"





Chapter Four


That deep, whiskey-smooth voice…

She turned, and there they were—those piercing dark eyes. He looked incredible, almost as delicious as he looked naked. His western shirt was forest green, silky and unbuttoned at the top. A few black strands of chest hair peeked out. His jeans fit as snugly as she remembered and he wore scuffed brown leather boots. She could see him on horseback, riding the range, the wind tearing through that gorgeous sable hair.

She looked away and huffed. "What are you, some kind of stalker?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "Can’t say I’ve done anything like this before."

"How’d you get in here?"

"Some doormen can be bribed."

She rolled her eyes. "I don’t have a doorman."

He gave a lazy half-smile. "Okay, you got me. Some horny women can be bribed."

Horny women?

"Sheila."

Her man-hungry neighbor had been known to be free with the passcode. Now Holly’d have to call management and get it changed again.

"That her name?"

"Did she have bleached blonde hair and a voice hoarse from smoking?"

"That’d be the one." He fingered his stubbled jaw line. Holly tried not to gape.