Catherine Mann – Pregnant by the Cowboy CEO (страница 2)

“Me neither,” he answered simply, without touching her. “Are you seeing anyone?”

She liked that it mattered to him. That said something good about him. “No. Are you seeing anyone?”

“Only the woman in front of me.”

Oh. Damn. He was good. A small smile teased the corners of his mouth.

She wasn’t sure exactly who moved first, but somehow her hand was tucked in the crook of his arm and he led her to the dance floor where they moved silently, their bodies in tune, step for step, through a slower country-music classic. The thick clusters of bright paper lanterns made the room glow with a rainbow of colors.

She breathed in his scent, clean but spicy, too. Masculine. Heady. His touch warmed her where he touched her waist. Her hand.

How long had it been since she’d felt a man’s hands on her?

The energy between them crackled like static along her skin. Each chord from the string band strummed her oversensitive senses. She breathed in and he breathed out. Their steps synced effortlessly, her body responding to the slightest movement of his, shadowing his steps as she fell deeper into the spell of his gaze.

The dance gave her rare moments of pleasure in a year of hellish hurt and worry. No wonder she’d been drawn to him. She needed this. And in the same way that she could follow his steps, her body anticipating his next move, she could tell that he needed this, too. It was in his eyes. In the way his hand spanned her waist.

A step and swirl later and they were in the hall, then tucked in the deserted coatroom.

Then in each other’s arms.

The dim lighting cast the room in shadows as she arched up into his kiss, his arms strong around her, but loose enough she could leave if she wanted. But the last thing she wanted was to stop. Pleasure pulsed through her at the angling of his mouth over hers, the touch of his tongue to hers. The kiss went deeper, faster, spiraling out of control in the quiet of the coat closet—a seriously underutilized space since it was spring in Texas.

Still, someone could walk in, and while she wasn’t an exhibitionist, the possibility of discovery added an edge to an already razor-sharp need. The muffled sounds of music and partiers wafted under the door. She pressed herself to the hard planes of his body.

His arms moved up and he cupped her face, looking at her with those intense hazel eyes. “I don’t do this sort of thing, tuck into coat closets with a stranger.”

She covered his mouth with her hand. “We don’t need to make excuses we have no way of knowing are true. This moment just...is. I don’t understand why. But we’re here.” She took a deep breath of courage and said, “Lock the door.”

Without a word, his hand slid behind him and the lock clicked in the long closet. The simple sound unleashed her barely contained passion. She looped her arms around his neck and lost herself in the kiss again. In the feel and fantasy of this man.

Her breasts tingled and tightened into hard beads of achy need. She couldn’t remember when she’d been this turned inside out. She was thirty-one years old, not nearly a virgin. But she was unable to resist the draw of this stranger. The hard length of his erection pressed against her stomach, a heavy pressure that burned right through the silky dress she wore.

She couldn’t deny where this was headed or that she wanted this. Him. Now.

His mouth traveled down her neck, then along her collarbone. “Condom. In my wallet,” he said, his hands grazing under her breasts. “I’ll get it.”

He started to ease back and she stopped him, gripping his lapels.

“Let me.”

Slipping her hand into his tuxedo jacket, she let her fingers stroke across the muscled heat of his chest. This was a man, the very best kind, powerful in body and mind. She tugged his wallet from inside his jacket and considered for an instant looking for a name, ...but her thoughts were scattered by his hands over her hips, gathering her dress. She plucked out a condom packet and tossed his wallet to the floor.

His hands were back on her just as fast, roving, keeping the flame burning.

She unzipped his pants as he lifted her hem. Her gown bunched around her hips, he hitched her up onto the small corner table where the coat check would normally pass out tickets during colder months. The wood was cool against her legs and then she slid them up and around his waist as he pressed against her, into her, with a thick pressure that sent a moan rolling up her throat.

It wasn’t an elegant coupling. Her need was frenzied and his matched hers. This was crazy and out of control. And perfect. She lost herself in the pleasure, her senses heightened until everything felt...more. The tangy scent of his aftershave swirled inside her with every breath. Music muffled from the other room serenaded them, syncing their bodies into the most fundamental of dances.

And then thoughts disintegrated, the pace speeding, rising, bliss swelling inside her until she bit her lip to hold back a cry of pleasure that would betray their hideaway at any moment. He skimmed down the shoulder of her dress, dipping his head to take her breast in his mouth. That warm, moist tug took away the last of her restraint. Her head falling back, she surrendered to the orgasm sparkling through her like the facets off a diamond. The hoarse low sound of his release as he thrust deeply one last time sent another shimmer through her, leaving her languid, replete.

Using a last whisper of energy, she lolled forward. Her head rested on his shoulder as she waited for her racing heart to slow. His hands glided up and down her spine, easing her back to her feet, holding her up.

He smoothed her dress into place again and pressed a kiss to her temple. “We should tal—”

She shook her head. “Please. Don’t say anything.” She tugged her capped sleeve back over her shoulder and skimmed along her hair, the French braid having stayed miraculously in place, right down to the jeweled flower pin she’d clipped to the end of the braid. “Let’s go back out. Go to separate sides of the room. And when, or if, we meet...it will be for the first time. Let this be what it is.”

A fantasy. A once-in-a-lifetime crazy encounter—and she didn’t want to hear it was commonplace for him. Didn’t want to think about what she’d just done. Not while her body still trembled with pleasure and her heartbeat pulsed an erratic rhythm.

She didn’t wait for his answer.

Reaching behind her, she simply unlocked the door, tucking out and around. Her legs were less than steady as she made her way back to the ballroom, and the sound of his footsteps close behind her didn’t help. Was he following her? Was he going to insist or make a scene?

A mix of anticipation and dread made her chest tight with nerves.

The cool blast of the air conditioner in the hall rushed over her heated skin, goose bumps rising along her arms. The band still played, having picked up the speed with vintage Johnny Cash.

And before she could clear her head, she realized her grandmother had blocked her path. Mariah McNair looked regal but frail as she clutched her cane.

The tangy scent of masculine aftershave teased Amie’s nose. Was it wafting from him behind her? Or just clinging to her body to remind her of what she’d done?

Her grandmother gripped the cane in a hand bearing sparkling jeweled rings. One of them was an amethyst heart Amie had designed as a teenager. With her other hand, Mariah took hers in a cool grasp, her skin paper thin and covered with bruises from IVs. Despite her frailty, Mariah’s grip was firm, confident. “Amie, dear, I was just looking for you to introduce you. But I see you and Preston have met.”

Foreboding iced out residual passion. “Preston?”

Her brain worked overtime to make the pieces fit any other way but the one she feared.

Yet the magnetic, compelling man she’d just given herself to in a coat closet stepped around her, his eyebrows now pinched together as he whispered, “Amie?”

Her stomach dropped as if she’d just fallen down an elevator shaft. Dawning realization robbed her of speech, her mouth bone dry.

Her grandmother squeezed Amie’s hand as she smiled at Preston.

“I’m so glad you’ve had a chance to get to know our new CEO.” Mariah extended her hand to the man. “Welcome to the Hidden Gem Ranch.”

One

Two Months Later

Preston Armstrong was not a fan of weddings. Not even when he’d been the groom. Since his divorce ten years ago, he was even less entertained by overpriced ceremonial gatherings. He considered himself a practical businessman. That mind-set had taken him from a poor childhood to the top of the corporate ladder.

So, attending a marriage ceremony and seeing Amie McNair front and center of attention as a bridesmaid took his irritation to a whole deeper level—even now at the reception. Especially given that she’d ignored him for the past two months.

And most especially since she looked sexy as hell in a peach-colored bridesmaid’s dress. Weren’t those gowns supposed to be ugly, hated by bridal attendants around the world? But then, beautiful Amie with her luscious curves and confidence could probably make a burlap sack look sexy as hell. She’d won all those beauty-pageant titles for a reason.