The True Cowboy of Sunset Ridge (Gold Valley #14)(97)

She didn’t think every day about how badly affected she was by that loss. But there were just some times when she would realize. What she didn’t do. Where she didn’t go. And most of all...

Well, if she didn’t have issues around men in relationships already, courtesy of her mother, her last words to Breanna would’ve done it nicely enough.

But she happened to have a combination of both. And that made it even more difficult.

“I would like to skip the pleasantries,” she said. “I think we’ve known each other long enough that we don’t need to engage in any kind of witty banter,” she said.

He lifted a brow. “Well, that is the nicest damn thing you have ever said to me, Nelly Foster.”

“What exactly?”

“Well, the implication that I might be capable of witty banter.”

“Your great tragedy,” she said, “Taggart McCloud, is that you are not the idiot you would like the world to think you are. You never have been.”

“Well now, I don’t know about that. I’m not particularly well versed in literature, but there are other things. Other things I’m quite knowledgeable about.”

“I have no doubt,” she said. “It’s why I’m here.”

Except that was such a simplistic thing. It implied that it wasn’t tied directly to him. This sex quest. It implied that any man would do. And really, she hoped that after this, any man would.

But she needed to get over her Taggart McCloud fixation.

“All right then,” he said. “No talking.”

And he kissed her again. And she felt like she could fly.

She didn’t know if it was good or bad that she couldn’t seem to divorce emotion from this moment. Sure, in her mind, she had imagined racing up here and getting caught up in the heat of desire.

She might be a thirty-year-old virgin librarian, but she was well familiar with what it was like to be aroused. She knew her way around her own body. And if her own body was often guided by fantasies of Tag, so be it.

She also really liked the show Outlander, and it did a lot for her.

Right. Going to pretend it’s not a general fixation with Scottish men...

Not that Tag—or anyone in his family for generations—was directly from Scotland, or had the kind of accents that often made their way into her fantasies. But as the name suggested, they were proud of their heritage.

The idea of Tag in a kilt made her heart do a little flip.

“You seem some speechless,” he said.

“I might be.”

“I’m halfway there.”

“Well,” she whispered, “that is a miracle.”

Her lips felt swollen, her body shuddering with need. She really, really wanted more of this. More of him. And that was the real miracle. That she had been brave enough to get here, and that she felt brave enough to go on.

Because thirty years was a long time to not do something. To suddenly decide to do it... Well, it was a little bit scary.

“I don’t really want to talk anymore anyway.”

His kiss became hungrier, going deeper. She parted her lips for him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he took her up into his hold. He was so muscular and broad, and she felt small, fragile and sheltered all at once.

Her mother had woven cautionary tales about men and their physical strength. But she hadn’t said that it could be wonderful. That it could make you feel treasured and beautiful. All she’d ever known was that it could make you feel small and afraid.

But Tag didn’t make her afraid. Tag made her feel like she could fly.

Like maybe she was flying already.

He lifted her feet up off the ground and began to carry her down the hall of his small cabin, back to the bedroom. The bed was surprisingly nice. Well put together, and she had to wonder if it was because...

“Do you have a lot of women up here?”

“Don’t come into the den of iniquity asking questions if you don’t want to know the answers.”

“Right.”

“Nelly, I am nothing if not everything I have ever appeared to be.”

“I guess the same goes for me,” she said, suddenly feeling nervous. Because what did he think about those other women that he had laid down on this bed? Would he only picture them?

“How many virgins have you slept with?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“How many virgins have you slept with? I’m genuinely curious. Is this sort of a lesson space... Or do you tend to prefer women with more experience?”

“Well, now you’ve gone and made me feel predatory. I do not have sex with virgins.”

“Except right now. You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Pretty sure none,” he said.

“None? Not even in high school?”

“Look, not to be... Not to be disrespectful, but I believe the despoiler of virgins is Landry King, and most of us were getting his castoffs by then.”

“Really,” she said, “Landry?”

“Hey, I’m just saying.”

“So this isn’t something that you do.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Well, I’m not going to be better in bed than any of the other women you brought up here before. Not even close. I don’t know what I’m doing. That’s kind of the entire point. So I guess the idea of being at least a novelty experience suits me.”