Lies And Lullabies: Courting the Cowboy Boss

Pulling her head to his shoulder, he stroked her hair, releasing the band that held it and using his fingers to winnow through the fragrant mass. “Sometimes doing the right thing is really hard.”

“How would you know?” The question was tart.

He rested his chin on top of her head. “My college roommate had a drug problem, but he hid it from me for almost a year. I was constantly bailing him out of jail and making excuses for him. Until the night I came home from a date with my current girlfriend and found Toby on the floor of our apartment. Dead. From an overdose.”

He recited the tale simply, even though the recounting jabbed at a spot in his heart that had never quite healed.

Mellie pulled back to look at him, her eyes wide and distraught. “Oh, Case. I’m so sorry.” She put her hands on his cheeks. “You must have been devastated.”

Her simple empathy reached down inside the hard shell he’d worn since his divorce and found purchase in a tiny crack. Emotions roiled in his chest, feelings he hated. It was much simpler when he saw Mellie Winslow as simply a potential bed partner. He didn’t want to know her innermost secrets. He didn’t want to care.

But he was lost...defeated. Almost before the battle had begun. “I want to kiss you,” he said raggedly, “but I can’t. I’m sick.”

Her smile was both wicked and reassuring. “Then I’ll kiss you,” she whispered.

Never in his life had he let a woman take the initiative. Though he didn’t mind an aggressive woman in bed if the mood was right, he liked to lead the dance. Even so, it was damned arousing to submit, even momentarily, to Mellie’s slightly awkward affections.

She started with his stubbly jaw, her tongue damp against his hot skin. The feminine purr of pleasure sent every drop of blood to his sex, leaving him hard and breathless.

“Mellie?”

She ignored him. Leaning into his embrace, she nuzzled his ear, kissed his brow, traced his nose with a fingertip. When her mouth hovered over his, he protested. “No.” It might have been more convincing if he hadn’t been dragging her against his chest. “I don’t need your pity.”

“But you want to kiss me.”

It was a statement, not a question. He shuddered, his arousal viciously demanding, relentlessly insistent. Take, take, take. “Of course I want to kiss you,” he said, the words sandpaper in his throat. Any living, breathing heterosexual male would want to kiss her.

Carefully, telling himself he was still in control, he slid a hand beneath the edge of her sweater and found the plane of her belly with his fingertips. Mellie’s sharp intake of breath spurred him on. When she didn’t move, not even a millimeter, he found her breast and palmed it.

Hell. Her curves were all woman. Beneath a layer of silky stuff and lace, he felt her heat, her life force. Wanting turned him inside out.

Moving slowly so as to not alarm her, he eased them into a reclining position, Mellie on her back, Case on his side—against the couch—his upper body sheltering hers.

She stared up at him, wide-eyed. “We can’t do this.”

He unfastened the button on the side of her skirt...lowered the zipper...exposed her practical cotton undies. “I know.”

“Wait.” She put a hand on his wrist. “Weren’t you supposed to woo me with champagne and strawberries?”

He was shaking. Either his fever was back or he was out of control. “Dessert,” he said, the words barely audible. “In a little while.”

His hand moved of its own accord, breaching the inconsequential narrow barrier of elastic on her bikini underpants and sliding lower.

Mellie whimpered. There was no other word for it. In that raw, needy sound, he heard every last one of his scruples and reservations spelled out. This was insane. He was insane.

He swallowed hard. “Shall I stop?” She would never know what the question cost him.

She held his hand against her body, gripping his wrist until her fingernails dug into his skin. The spark of pain drove his lust a notch higher. “Don’t you dare.”

When he found the moist cleft of her sex, they both groaned. As he stroked her gently, he felt her lift against his hand.

He was dizzy...hungover...and he hadn’t even popped the cork on the bubbly. “Close your eyes, Mellie.”

Mellie panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Why hadn’t he removed her sweater? Hell, he couldn’t stop now. It wouldn’t be fair.

“I want to see you naked,” he said urgently.

“Please, don’t stop...” The three words were raspy, but ended on a sharp cry.

Watching and feeling Mellie find satisfaction was humbling. No pretenses. No big show. Just a woman experiencing pleasure—deep, raw gratification.

When she could breathe again, he rested his forehead on hers. “I want you.”

She licked her lips, her expression befuddled. “You’ve been desperately ill. Maybe your heart’s not healthy enough for sex.” She dared to tease him.

“My heart’s fine,” he groused, not amused by her joking allusion to a television commercial. “And I don’t appreciate the reference. I have the flu, not ED.”

She curled her arms around his neck, smiling drowsily. “You’re gorgeous even when you’re sick. It’s not fair. And PS, I’ve never done it with a cowboy.”

“You still haven’t done it,” he pointed out, his disgruntlement tempered only by the fact that he felt like hell.

“They say anticipation is half the pleasure.”

“I’d like a chance to find out.”

“The first day you’re well, I swear. We’ll drink that champagne and go for it.”

“Cheap advice from a woman who just—”

She clapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t be grouchy. Your time will come. In fact, if you think you’re up to it, I’m right here. Carpe diem and all that.”

He thought about it. Seriously. For about ten seconds. But a quick assessment of his head-to-toe misery settled the argument. “No,” he sighed. “I want to impress you with my carnal prowess.”

“Is that really a thing?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, now, won’t you?”

She frowned, examining his face, no doubt spotting the damp forehead and the sudden lack of color. “You need to be in bed,” she said firmly. “Alone.”

He wanted to argue. He really wanted to argue. But damn it, Mellie was right. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said. “You keep me occupied.”

“That’s one word for it.” She sat up, forcing him to, as well. When they were hip to hip, she took his hand. “I think it’s best if I put cleaning your house on hold...give you a week to recover without anyone underfoot. If you’re better by the end of the week, we’ll talk about resuming our original schedule.”

“I have to be better by the weekend,” he said.

“Why?”

“The club is throwing a big party Saturday night to honor me as the new president.”