Cowboy Not Included: The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 6 (7 page)

No. She firmed her lips as well as the thought in her mind. She wasn’t going there with her ex.

She rode in his arms the rest of the way to the bungalow. Only when they were inside and the door shut did he set her down. As soon as she was on her feet, she missed the closeness, his touch.

She ached for both. The time she’d been alone had been difficult. She missed simple things like kissing him before he left for work or tangling legs in bed at night.

Backing away from him, she said, “Now what? You’ve swept me off my feet.”

Why was she teasing him? She knew Booker—he wasn’t the type of man to ignore a challenge.

Her nipples puckered, and his gaze darted to them. His tongue slid over his lips. “You don’t want to go there, Skye.”

She folded her arms to hide her arousal. “What’s next on the agenda, almighty tour director?”

His mouth twitched. With amusement? He looked far from amused. His thunderous expression suggested he wanted to throttle her.

She dropped her gaze to his still soaking wet Wranglers. White-hot fire slithered through her as she found him…ready. The bulge in his jeans looked huge.

God, now she was burning. She squeezed her thighs together, afraid to take a step for fear she’d go the wrong way.
Do not jump into his arms. Do not.

He started unbuckling his belt. Thick veins snaked down his wrists, and she could barely tear her gaze away. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting out of my wet jeans, what else?”

The air thickened. She could almost draw a breath.

Booker gripped his denim-covered erection. “You think I need to take care of this? Well I fucking do. I’ll let you watch if you let me.”

Fucking hell. That glow was in his eyes—the playful one. The burning one she never could deny even while suffering from new mother exhaustion. Her body responded, and she took a step toward him.

His eyes hooded and he slowly lowered his zipper. She felt the vibration of each tooth. “Take off those bikini bottoms and let me see you slide your fingers in your wet pussy.”

A shudder racked her. She was wet, her clit swollen and her entire body pulsating to her heartbeat.

He reached into his wet underwear and started to pull his cock free.

She whirled to the bedroom door and slammed herself inside. Heart racing, she pressed her back to the slab of wood and tried not to picture his long fingers wrapped around his straining cock.

A quiet groan reached her through the door, and she went on high alert. Fighting to control her noisy breathing, she listened. Another soft groan. What was he doing? Oh God, he was a scant few steps away stroking his cock.

She couldn’t wait another second. She thrust her fingers into her bikini bottoms and found her slippery folds. Sinking her fingers deep, she used her other hand to rub her clit.

Another grunt from Booker. Too easily she imagined him, jeans low around his hips, neck corded, eyes hooded with pleasure. Need rocketed through her system. The juicy sound of her fingering herself mingled with the quiet noises projecting through the door.

How hot was his mouth? Did he taste the same? He used to suck her nipples so long and hard she’d be crazed. Not to mention the things he did with his tongue on lower parts.

A throaty moan left her. Booker echoed it. She flattened her clit beneath her thumb and fucked her pussy with her fingers. Juices coated her digits, and she moved faster, growing reckless.

Pressure mounted. She gulped for air.

Then Booker made that wheezing noise he always did when he was about to come.

She tipped over the edge with a cry of ecstasy. Her pussy contracted wildly as hot waves of bliss enveloped her.

A guttural groan broke from Booker. The sound sent her peaking all over again. She rocked her hips against her fingers, mindless to everything but her pleasure—and Booker’s.

As her release began to ebb, she slowed her fingers and issued a ragged breath. Her head thumped off the door as she relaxed.

Another thump vibrated through her and she realized only two inches separated them.

Her heart tripped and she pulled her fingers free. After several long minutes, she heard his voice, deep and rough.

“Get cleaned up and then we’ll take a ride.”

“Okay.” Her own voice sounded as though she’d screamed for the last hour.

Pulling away from the door, she crossed the room on wobbly legs. Someone had come and tidied the room while they were out. The blue covers invited her to pitch headfirst into them, but she really did want to ride. And her stomach was growling.

She stripped off her wet bathing things and hung them over the towel bar in the bathroom. Then she checked her phone for messages about Findlee. When she brought up a snapshot of her little blonde-haired, green-eyed girl splashing in the bathtub, she grinned.

Her heart also broke a little for the man her daughter looked so much like. They really should know each other. Later she’d show Booker the photo.

Facing the mirror, she saw the effects the man had on her. She’d masturbated to him doing the same, aching to feel his weight atop her and his thick length stretching her.

Another shiver rippled down her spine, and she drew a towel off a shelf to rub her hair. Then she made a tiny braid at the front to hold it off her face and added a good smear of sunscreen over her face, followed by pink lip gloss.

It crossed her mind that she’d wipe all that off eating breakfast, but at least she’d look pretty for a few minutes.

Her brain worked over the morning’s experiences. Swimming with Booker had been fun. Like old times. Riding with him would bring back a flood of memories but for some reason she wanted to relive them today.

After she dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, she opened the door to find Booker already there—dry and rugged as hell in old jeans and a navy Boot Knockers T-shirt.

Skimming his chest reminded her about his tattoo. Puzzle pieces? Unusual, for sure. Concerning too. He’d always said he wouldn’t get a tattoo unless it had special meaning to him. Was there a special woman in his life?

“Ready?” he asked, a half smile on his face.

“Yes.”

Without mentioning their mutual masturbation session with a bit of birch wood separating them, they went out into the sunshine.

What Booker called the grub house was packed with men looking as if they had a lot of stamina. Women were draped all over them.

Booker used his knuckle beneath Skye’s chin. “Shut your mouth.”

She seesawed between softening toward her ex and annoyance. She grabbed a tray and started through the buffet. At least the spread was good. Beneath the eye candy, the ranch was a high-end resort.

Her gaze swept the room and she forgot to select food.

Booker grunted and slapped some grilled mushrooms on his plate. “I knew I shouldn’t’ve brought you around the other guys.”

“I’m glad you did. It’s the stuff of fantasies.”

He didn’t look pleased with her response but held his tongue. By the time they took a private table against the wall of windows, she was feeling pretty smug. She could still get under his skin, and she planned to all day. If she pushed hard enough he’d pass her off to another guy.

A short distance away at the long table sat a particularly hunky man. His brown felt hat was tipped low, but she had a good view of his smoldering eyes and angular jaw. His nose was a little out of sync with his face, and she realized at some point it’d been broken.

He gave her a crooked smile and she felt her panties melting.

“Eat your meal so we can go. I’ve got chores.”

“Nobody’s stopping you from doing them. I can find my way back to the bungalow.” She made a shooing motion without removing her attention from the rugged cowboy at the table.

“Don’t even think about it, Skye.”

“What?” she said absently, visions running through her head of being trapped against the nearest wall by all that man. Her fingers itched to tangle into the brown hair sticking from his hat and taste his corded neck.

She gave a breathy sigh.

“Stop that,” Booker bit off.

“Get lost.”

“Just how did you get the money to come here anyway? Are you still working for the same retailer?”

The last thing she wanted to discuss right now was work. A gorgeous man was eyeing her and she was as slippery as the slope to hell. She didn’t want to think about how she earned the money to be here.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

Booker dropped his fork with a clatter. “His name is Off Limits.”

“He’s alone.”

“Yeah, it’s his week off.” Booker’s strange tone drew her stare.

“Well then he can have me.”

“No. Eat your sandwich. I’m not going to let your sugar drop.”

With a scowl, she ate half the Panini then some grapes. Satisfied, he shoved to his feet and with jerky movements gathered his tray and her unfinished food. He stomped to the nearest trash can and deposited everything with a crash that silenced the room momentarily.

The cowboy at the long table watched this with a quirk of a smile then shot her a wink.

She stood and started toward him, an extra sway in her hips. Oh yeah, she could get on board with this cowboy. All over him, more like.

“Hi, I’m Skye.”

When he unfurled from the bench he towered over her. But before he got his name out, Booker was there, locking her against his side and dragging her to the door.

“You rude ass,” she exploded. The door shut behind them and they were alone in the country air. Birds tweeted and the wind teased her hair.

For ten full heartbeats he stared at her. That crinkle between his brows said he was miffed but the heave of his chest suggested something else.

He was turned on.

She chanced a glance at his fly.

Mother of pearl.

Suddenly she envisioned him standing against the door pumping his cock through his fist, spurts streaming over tanned knuckles.

She felt a little dizzy. “Maybe I should have eaten more.”

“Yes, you should have. C’mon. Let’s ride.”

Part of her realized he planned to gallop far away from any man who’d take interest in her. She followed him to the barn, her annoyance level off the charts.

Then she stepped inside. The cool, dim space was like coming home. The scent of hay and animals flooded her senses, evoking memories of the first time she’d set eyes on him.

He strode to a stall and began fitting a lanky mare with a halter. From the corner of her eye, she watched him. He was heavier with muscle but he was the same. The cock of his head, the angle of his shoulders.

That tight ass in worn denim.

He caught her staring. “This one’s yours. Take her out so we can saddle her.”

“She looks skinny.”

“She’s a rescue horse. We got her about a year ago. You shoulda seen her then.”

Skye blinked. “A rescue horse? How did you come by her?”

“I visited a ranch about fifty miles away and saw how neglected she was.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. “And you saved her?”

“Offered hard cash for her. The rancher was pleased to have it. He was in a bad way financially, but that’s not why she was half-starved. He’s just a son of a bitch.” Booker twitched his head toward the tack. “She’ll hold you well enough and could use the exercise.”

“Okay.” Skye smoothed her hand over the mare’s neck, seeing some patches where hair was still growing back in. “Come with me, little lady. We’re going to get dressed up to ride.”

Booker couldn’t stop staring at Skye. As she fitted the saddle blanket and saddle, then the bit and bridle, she was sheer poetry. Did she realize what a natural she was with horses? For a girl who’d only visited her uncle’s ranch in summers, she sure knew her stuff.

When they went out of the barn into the paddock, she walked the mare to get her accustomed to her.

“Do you have a treat for her?”

He dug in his back pocket and came out with a trail bar. “Oats and honey. She’s crazy about them.”

“Can’t blame her. Oats and honey are delicious, aren’t they, sweet thing?” she crooned. The horse nudged her as soon as she heard the crinkle of the packet. Skye fussed over the animal, looking as pretty as a summer’s day.

“You miss it, don’t you?” His voice came out grittier than he wanted. He cleared his throat.

She fed the last of the treat to the mare. Then she checked the tack, straightened the reins and swung into the saddle with all the ease of a professional. His gaze was drawn to the spread of her thighs and the stretch of denim.

Before he did anything stupid, he began to ready his horse. Skye made a few revolutions around the paddock, but she was never out of Booker’s sight. Actually, he had no idea how he managed to tack his horse while watching her.

She pranced back over. “What’s her name?”

“They called her Dolly.”

Skye wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t really fit.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t call her that.”

“What do you call her?”

“Haven’t gotten around to naming her. What do you think fits?”

Skye’s hand ran back and forth over the horse’s neck, dragging her fingers through her chestnut mane. “I’ll have to think on it.”

“Like you did with Findlee?”

Bringing up their daughter brought a wide smile to her face and punched the breath from him. Damn, she was more beautiful than ever.

“It drove you crazy that I wouldn’t choose a name until she was born, didn’t it?”

“Hell yes.” He opened the gate and led his horse out. Skye followed.

“I wanted to see our daughter’s face before I put a name to it.”

“I know, and your choice was perfect.”

She beamed. “She couldn’t be anything but a Findlee.”

“Nope.”

He mounted his horse and they started across the turf toward the wilder grasses growing on the slope. “Tell me more about her.”

For long seconds Skye didn’t speak. Only the rustle of horses and the creak of leather filled the air. “She’s become quite a little dancer. And she’s a little on the sassy side. It’s something I’ll have to curb before she grows into it too much.”

“Don’t dampen her spirit. Does she still suck her thumb?” His heart flexed at the image in his mind of his sleeping daughter, fat thumb plugged in her mouth.