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that I was desirable to someone like you." She'd barely
whispered the words.
He grabbed her arm, held it in a gentle grasp. "Dusty, look
at me."
She raised her gaze and met his head on. His jaw was
clenched, his smile tight as if he was wavering between
control and something else.
"I desire you. Hell, I want you more than any woman I've
been with. And that's not just talk. I don't understand it
either. This is new to me. Because I'm pretty certain one
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night isn't going to do it for me, either." His voice had gone
soft and he took a deep breath as if he needed to brace for
something. "That scares me because I don't know if I'm ready
to offer more. And I understand if it's not enough."
At least he was being honest about not being ready to
offer more. The rest, she wasn't buying. "It's not." She
wrenched her arm free.
"Fine. But don't go thinking you've nothing to offer a man."
Irritation tinged his words. "You're smart, funny, sassy and
sexy as hell. I can't look at you and not want you. And I sure
can't kiss you and hide the fact. I'm not sure where this
insecurity of yours is coming from except that Bradley fellow
must have done a number on you."
"How do you know about Bradley?" Anger flamed up within
her because she knew the answer as soon as she asked the
question. Annagrace had a lot to answer for.
"Look, I'm just saying that I'm attracted to you. You've
sure been keeping me up at night." He gave her a lopsided
grin. "And I mean that in every sense."
God he was devastatingly attractive, and so convincing
when he said lines like that. But she didn't believe him. Not
one word. He was a rodeo cowboy, after all.
"I'll get the linens."
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Re-Ride At The Rodeo [Wayback Texas Series]
by Anne Carrole
Chapter Six
Dusty wondered if Clay was awake yet as she tip-toed
down the stairs. It was almost ten o'clock, meaning she'd
missed the Heritage Day parade. She hadn't missed the
parade since she could remember. Not that the floats and the
band were all that much, but in Wayback everyone went to
the parade to show their support. It was a town thing.
She'd been up most of the night thinking about the hunk of
a cowboy sleeping in her living room. After checking the clock
almost every half-hour she must have finally fallen asleep
sometime before dawn and had slept right through. By the
time she'd showered and put on her make-up, which took an
extraordinarily long time that morning, it was well past
parade time.
Pausing at the bottom stair, she peeked into the living
room at the bare-chested man lying under the pale yellow
blanket covering the sofa bed. He was still asleep. Whitey lay
next to him, his doggy eyes trained on her, watching. Even
her dog was turning traitor.
She'd wondered what Clay looked like in the morning. Hell,
she'd wondered what he looked like at night, naked. That had
been one of the questions costing her sleep.
She tip-toed over to the sofa, peered down and took a
deep breath. Clay laid spread eagle, work-hardened arms
flung out across the mattress like some offering to a god or
goddess. His brown hair was tousled and those fringed
eyelashes feathered his high cheek bones. She took in his
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straight, sculpted nose, firm full lips and the dark shadow of
hair that dusted his strong jaw line. Her gaze traveled to his
chest where sun-kissed skin was stretched taut over muscle.
He looked like a sculptor's masterpiece, lean, hard and buff.
Eye candy to her sweet-starved brain.
She followed the thin line of dark hair that ran down the
middle of his toned stomach. It disappeared under the tented
blanket that covered the treasure trying to poke through. Her
hands itched to pick up the edge of the fabric and discover
that treasure for herself.
She stepped closer, desire warring with reason. Before a
winner could be declared, a strong arm encircled her waist
and brought her tumbling down onto that firm abdomen. She
fell with a squeal as smooth skin and tight muscles greeted
her. Whitey scrambled from the bed.
"Come here, darling." Clay crooned the words as he
wrapped both arms tightly around her and pulled her up to
him. Before she could think, he'd rolled over her. The only
things separating them were her denim skirt and the thin
cover, now bunched at his hips.
"I've missed you." He feathered little kisses along her
neck. Waves of delicious tingles rolled through her.
She didn't try to resist. A long firm length prodded her
thighs. Unless he'd taken a hammer to bed with him last
night, the man was hard and ready. The wetness between her
legs said she was too.
But this was insane.
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"Clay, don't," she managed to eke out between signals
from her body telling her to let it ride. Fortunately, her brain
was on duty this morning.
Like she had thrown a switch, he released her and rolled
onto his back, pulling the covers along with him. He covered
his eyes with the back of a hand.
"I know you want it, Dusty. Why won't you let me give it
to you?" Frustration edged his words.
He was right. She did want it. "I don't know." It was the
only answer she could give. Something was preventing her
from answering the call of every part of her body.
"I'd make it good for you, honey."
"Clay, it's not that."
He sat up in one fluid motion, the blanket barely covering
his lap. "What is it then?"
She shrugged. She was struggling to attach a name to it,
too. But if the guy didn't get some clothes on, there might be
no need for this conversation.
He bunched the edge of the cover in his hand. "I've told
you I'd like to see where this goes." He stared at her, his big
blue eyes making her pulse jump.
"It's me. I've things to work out, Clay. Maybe it's too
soon."
He took a deep breath and with a growl, threw the cover
back and rose out of the bed. His erection stuck out, long and
thick and aimed at her. She gasped and shut her eyes, but
the sight of him in all his glory was one she'd never forget.
The man was magnificent.
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"I'm taking a shower," he said. She heard the sounds of
feet slapping against wood. "A cold shower."
She shouldn't have peeked as he took the stairs two at a
time, but she couldn't help herself. He looked like a wild
animal as he climbed, his heavy shaft waving from the
motion. Heaven help her. They'd never fit together.
* * * *
Why hadn't Dusty fallen into his bed like every other
woman? He must have done something wrong.
He let the water from the shower spray over him. Warm
water, cleansing water. The flowered shower curtain fluttered
from the pelting of the drops. He lathered the soap and began
to scrub.
He tried to clear his mind, but Dusty wouldn't let him. He
saw her image, sitting on his lap, her core nestled against his
hard length, her nipples erect, pushing through the thin fabric
of her top, and her thighs squeezing his hips. Her kisses had
branded him like a hot iron. And then she'd jumped off of him
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