A COWBOY'S SECRET Read online

  She did it fifty times. A hundred.

  She practiced moving "slow and languorous like." She learned how to leave a couple of buttons of her shirt open accidentally – or not so accidentally.

  "You got to touch him soft," Claudia said.

  They weren't going to practice that, were they?

  "Neck rubs," Claudia said. "Back rubs. Cowboys got lots of achin' muscles. You start massagin' and well, one muscle leads to another, I always say."

  Lydia couldn't imagine herself saying something like that in a million years.

  "You just look and see where he's all tense-like and you put your hands on him," Claudia told her.

  "And he'll let me?" Lydia wasn't at all sure about that.

  Claudia sighed. "I reckon there really are different kinds of smart."

  Lydia reckoned so, too.

  She also reckoned that Claudia had done her very best preparing a not-so-gifted student to do what to other people came naturally.

  "It'll come natural-like to you, too," Claudia assured her. "You just get yourself in a room alone with the man, let him see you as a woman, and I guarantee you'll do what comes naturally."

  Maybe. If she could keep him there. Make sure he didn't go riding off on his horse again.

  "Turn the horse loose," Claudia said.

  "His truck then."

  "Remove the distributor cable."

  Lydia gaped.

  Claudia shrugged. "Like I said, a gal's gotta be prepared."

  By the time J.D. got home, Lydia was.

  * * *

  J.D. prepared a half dozen ways to tell her he was moving out, going over to live in the bunkhouse at Trey's.

  Actually, it was probably closer to a dozen.

  One for every scene he could imagine. Her meeting him at the door. Her walking in when he was packing. Her being in the kitchen cooling dinner when he walked in. Her being down at the pasture talking to Wayne or up at Trey's when he brought the empty trailer back.

  In every case he would say, "I been thinkin', and I reckon it's about time for me to hit the road."

  He didn't want to hurt her. It wasn't her fault, after all.

  It was for her own good.

  He'd just be matter-of-fact. Determined. Firm but not abrupt.

  So he prepared. Thought about it all the way back to Murray. Was sure he had all scenarios covered.

  He never thought he'd find her naked.

  * * *

  Well, so much for being prepared.

  That was the first thought that went through Lydia's head when she walked out of the bathroom after her shower early that evening and found J.D. standing at the other end of the hallway.

  He was standing stock-still, staring at her, poleaxed.

  Lydia stopped, too. Instinctively. And stared right back.

  Then she thought – her second thought – that, if it were possible, he looked more rattled than she.

  Her third – and happiest – thought was that there were certain similarities between seduction and courtroom drama, after all.

  For all that you prepared, sometimes you were thrown for a loop.

  That's when it came back to gut instinct.

  She had that.

  Maybe, she thought, it was exactly what Claudia called "acting natural-like."

  "Sorry," she said with a cool huskiness that surprised even herself. "I didn't expect you back so soon." And she moved "languorous-like" down the hall to her bedroom and, tossing him her best I-know-I'm-sexy smile over her shoulder, she went in.

  "Oh, God," she muttered. "Oh, God." Her heart was jumping up and down in her chest. Her hands were clammy, and it had nothing whatever to do with her not having dried off well enough.

  "Now what?" she asked the Claudia in her mind. "Now what?"

  And in her mind's eye she could see Claudia smile and wink. "You're in charge, sweetie. Just like in the courtroom," she'd said last night. "Remember that."

  "In charge," Lydia muttered now. "Right." She put on her panties, then reached for her jeans, then stopped. "In charge," she said again, and took a deep breath.

  She went to the closet and got out J.D.'s white long-sleeve shirt. She pulled it on over her bare breasts. She buttoned it up – all except for the top three buttons.

  She studied herself in the mirror. Long legs peeked out from beneath the shirttails. Where the neck of the shirt gaped, she could see an inch or so of creamy breast. She fluttered her eyelashes, mussed her long damp hair.

  "Dress for the occasion," she told her clients.

  Yes, it really was quite a lot like being in the courtroom.

  Lydia gave herself one last here-goes-nothing smile and sashayed back out into the hallway.

  J.D. was still standing right where she'd left him.

  "How were things down in Elmer?" she asked brightly as she headed toward the kitchen – and him.

  He closed his mouth, then opened it again to answer. But no words came out. He just stared.

  "Trey said you took some horses down for him. He wasn't sure when you'd be back so I wasn't expecting you." She smiled up at him as she passed.

  He jumped back, but not before she'd brushed against his chest.

  "I'll just see what there is to fix for supper." She opened the refrigerator and bent to look inside.

  Behind her she heard him cough, heard him say, strangled, "Lyd – God."

  She turned back. "What did you say?"

  His face was deeply flushed. He swallowed. "Th-that's my shirt."

  "Do you want it back?" Her hands went to the buttons. "No! I mean, no. Not … not right now. I—" he sucked air.

  "Want a beer? You look … tense."

  He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "I am tense," he muttered.

  "I'll get you a beer." She turned and bent in front of the open refrigerator again, taking her own sweet time to find a bottle of beer, then to fish it out. She used the tail of the shirt to twist the cap off.

  J.D. swallowed again. He almost dropped the bottle when she handed it to him.

  "Maybe I'll have one, too," Lydia decided. She turned around again, bent again.

  "Cripes," she heard J.D. mutter.

  She turned back, a long-neck bottle in her hand. "What?"

  "N-nothing." He took a gulp of the beer.

  She twisted another cap off, then lifted the bottle to her mouth and, with Claudia-approved languorousness she took a long, loving swallow. "Want a back rub?"

  "No! I mean, no."

  J.D. shut his eyes. He seemed to sway on his feet.

  The temperature in the room went up about twenty degrees. The look he was giving her said she was sexy and no doubt about it.

  Lydia, understanding at least that preseduction jitters were no different than pretrial jitters – and as easily overcome-was loving every minute.

  She smiled at him. She touched the mouth of the beer bottle with her tongue.

  "God almighty," J.D. muttered. "I need a shower." He turned and bolted down the hall.

  Smiling to herself, Lydia watched him go. She heard the door bang. Heard the shower turn on. Cold, no doubt.

  "It won't do you any good," she told him softly. "You want me just as much as I want you. And tonight it's going to happen. Oh, yes it is."

  * * *

  The shower was a mistake.

  It kept him in the house when he should have been running for his life. It got him out of his clothes when he should have been donning a suit of armor.

  It didn't freeze him or even distract him.

  He was too far gone for that. He burned from within.

  He stayed there a long time. A very long time.

  Not nearly long enough.

  He knew that, the minute he came out again, dried off and dragged on a clean pair of jeans. His body was still restless. Hungry. Wanting.

  Wanting Lydia.

  "I'm moving out." He said the words aloud to himself. They sounded tentative. Insubstantial. A downright lie.

  He
wasn't moving out fast enough, that was for sure.

  Lydia was moving in. On him.

  He couldn't believe it. But his body sure could.

  Well, she was just damned well going to have to stop. He stalked out of the bathroom and headed toward his bedroom. He'd pull on boots, put on a shirt, then go out and tell her so.

  He got as far as the bed.

  He sat down and picked up a boot.

  Lydia appeared in the doorway. Still wearing his shirt and not much else.

  "Lydia," he warned as she came closer. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her cheeks were flushed. She looked sexy as all get-out.

  "Hmm?" She stepped toward him.

  He went dead still. Like a buck caught in the headlight of an on-rushing train. Too mesmerized to move. Petrified not to. His fingers curled into a fist around the shank of the boot in his hand. "Lydia."

  "I'm right here."

  Exactly what he was afraid of. Her voice was soft, enticing. She was close enough to touch now. He was staring straight at the honey-tan length of her legs. He shut his eyes.

  "I missed you."

  "I had … work to do."

  "Mmm. That's what Trey said. But he said you should have told me. Checked with me."

  "I'm finished with the stable. With the corrals."

  "With me?" Her words were soft as velvet, challenging as Everest.

  J.D. swallowed a groan. "Don't," he said.

  "Why not? I love you. I told you that."

  He shook his head. "It's not that. It's…" But he couldn't find the words. Or maybe he didn't want to find the words.

  "If you want me to go, send me away," Lydia said. She was so close now that her bare knees brushed against the denim of his jeans. She reached out a hand, touched his lips.

  He looked up at her. And that was when he lost. Lost his resolve. Lost his courage. Lost his common sense.

  Lost himself in his need of her.

  Just once, God, please. He knew he couldn't have forever. But no man should have to withstand this much temptation.

  "J.D.?" His name was a whisper on her lips. Her fingers the brush of an angel's wings against his cheek.

  He reached for her, pulled her between his thighs, pressed his face into the softness of her breasts. A shudder ran through him. He groaned.

  He felt her fingers on the back of his neck, thumbs kneading. Easy. Gentle. Firm. For once he knew the answer: all of the above.

  He slid his hands down past those long shirttails, then back up the length of her legs. He cupped her buttocks, drew her hard against him, then let his hands wander on up the silky expanse of her back.

  It was the stupidest thing he'd ever done. The one he'd regret forever.

  But not now.

  Not yet.

  Now he was living in the moment. Living to touch her, to kiss her, to become a part of her. Just this once.

  He lay back on the bed and carried her with him so that she lay on top of him. Then he kissed her, long and hard and deep. Kissed her with all the need of a man who has been a long time without a woman, but mostly with the desire that this particular man felt for this particular woman.

  And she kissed him in return. Kissed him with an urgency that matched his own. "I love you," she said against his lips.

  And he believed it. Knew she wouldn't be doing this if she didn't. Wanted, since he couldn't give her forever, to give her a few brief moments of perfection.

  He lifted her away from him so that she sat straddling his hips, watching him as he fumbled with the buttons of her shirt – his shirt. His fingers shook.

  "I'll do it," she said.

  "No. I want…" He let out a shaky breath. "Let me. Please."

  He wanted it all. Wanted the moments. Wanted the memories.

  And so she waited. She stroked his arms, his shoulders, his chest while he tried to concentrate on the buttons. There were only four. It took him forever: And then at last he levered himself up on his elbows and eased the shirt apart, then peeled it slowly off her shoulders and down her anus until it pooled behind her across his thighs.

  And she knelt before him naked but for a scrap of lace. He'd seen her naked. When she'd come out of the bathroom just a little while ago, he'd seen her naked. It hadn't been the same.

  That was an accident. Unintentional. Awkward.

  This was for him.

  She was trembling now, too. Looking just the slightest bit nervous. As if she had anything at all to be nervous about!

  Reverently he lifted a hand and touched her breast, drew a line from one nipple to the other, watched them tighten, watched her shiver and the color come up in her cheeks.

  He smiled a little shakily. "You're beautiful."

  She gave a quick negative shake of her head, as if she would deny it. But then she took a breath and smiled back at him and let her gaze rove over him until he was sure he was as flushed as she was. And then she said, "You are, too."

  He scowled. "Men aren't."

  "You are," she insisted. "I think you are. And my vote is the only one that counts." And then she bent her head and kissed him again.

  Not on the lips this time. On the line, of his jaw. In the hollow of his neck. Along his shoulders, his chest. Both his flat hard nipples. And lower. And lower. The silken fall of her hair brushed his abdomen. He shut his eyes and went rigid. His fingers tightened on her hips.

  "Lydieeeee!" Her name hissed through his lips.

  She lifted her head, smiled at him. "Yes?" Her breath was hot against his belly, an inch or so above the button of his jeans. Her fingers slid to open it.

  J.D. bit his lip. Waited.

  Lydia eased the button open. Eased the zipper down to expose the soft cotton and straining need beneath. She looked at it, then up at him. Then she moved back down his legs, hooked her fingers in his waistband and tugged.

  He lifted his hips, felt the jeans slide off and with them his shorts. The cool air hitting the heat of his body was a shock. So was the surge of desire that rocketed through him so hard and fast and urgent that he was in danger of making a fool of himself.

  She reached to touch him. He caught her hand.

  "What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

  He shook his head. "Not … hardly. I'm… My turn," he muttered. And doing his best to stay sane, he allowed himself the luxury of once more touching her.

  He wanted to go slow. He needed to go slow.

  He only had this – this one night. He told himself that.

  But his body told him right back that he'd waited long enough. He'd wanted long enough.

  He slid the peach-colored scrap of lace down over her hips. He rolled her onto her back and slipped the panties right off her. Then he nudged her knees apart and settled between them.

  Slow, his mind said.

  No, his body said.

  "I love you, J.D.," Lydia said. And then she settled his war for him. She opened her legs, found him waiting and brought him home.

  Sex had never seemed like home before.

  It had been lusty, fun, sweaty, quick or, sometimes, long and drawn out. It had been a physical release, a momentary distraction, a bodily need attended to.

  It had never been like coming home.

  But that's the closest J.D. could come to what he felt when he slid into Lydia, when her warmth surrounded him, when her fingers dug into his back and her heels pressed him close.

  It was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

  He pulled out, just a little. Then came back. All the way. Wanting to feel it again. And he did. He felt it again, stronger, harder, more intense. And again. And again.

  He looked down into her eyes and saw love. He saw promise. He saw forever – right there on offer.

  And he wanted to weep.

  But he didn't. Not then. He just moved and tried to give her what he could. The moment. The memory.

  He'd weep later when he was alone.

  She loved him with everything she had in her. All the years of longing, all the dr
eams of him. She loved him with her strengths and with her weaknesses.

  Claudia was right. When you got involved in the moment, you were "natural-like."

  It was natural to love J.D. Holt.

  It was natural to kiss him, to touch him, to take the initiative, then give it to him when he wanted a turn.

  She didn't know a lot about men, but she knew enough to love him. She knew enough to wrap her arms around him, to open her body and her mind and her heart to him. She loved him in all the ways there were to love a man.

  And when their bodies were sated and they lay, sweat drenched and snug in each other's arms, she sent a silent thank-you to Claudia. Then she kissed J.D.'s lips and studied his sleeping face and told him once more she loved him.

  And then she curled back into the embrace of his body and slept. But not before she whispered, "I believe."

  * * *

  So much for the moment.

  It was over.

  The night was over.

  The loving was over.

  He had his memories. And chances were they would kill him.

  They already were. The what-ifs … the might-have-beens … the if-onlys … were already making themselves heard.

  She was in the kitchen, humming, making breakfast He could hear her as he stuffed his gear into his duffel bags. He crammed it in, as much as he could. He didn't want to come back. He jerked the zippers shut, hoisted the bags and sucked in a deep breath. Then he strode down the hall to face the music.

  Lydia looked up, smiling all over her face. And then she saw the bags in his hands and her smile faded.

  "I'm movin' out." There. Finally he'd got the words out.

  "Moving … out?" The color bleached from her face.

  "I finished here. I can do better if I stay at Trey's and work there till my time's up. Then I'm goin' back down the road with Gus." He didn't know why he was explaining. He didn't think she was hearing a word.

  He sucked in another breath. "I shoulda gone yesterday," he said.

  She stared at him, absolutely unmoving.

  "Sorry," he muttered, then strode past her as quick as he could. He shut the door behind him, headed for his truck, got in, gunned it, never looked back.

  He was gone.

  A day too late.

  Better late than never?

  Oh, yeah.

  * * *