Книга - Hold Me, Cowboy

Hold Me, Cowboy
Maisey Yates


Stranded with a cowboy for Christmas…from New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates!Oil and water have nothing on Sam McCormack and Madison West. The wealthy rancher has never met a haughtier—or more appealing—woman in his life. And when they’re snowed in, he’s forced to admit this ice queen can scorch him with one touch…Madison had plans for the weekend! Instead she’s stranded with a man who drives her wild. A night of no-strings fun leaves both of them wanting more when they return to Copper Ridge. His proposal: twelve days of hot sex before Christmas! But will it ever be enough?







Stranded with a cowboy for Christmas...from New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates!

Oil and water have nothing on Sam McCormack and Madison West. The wealthy rancher has never met a haughtier—or more appealing—woman in his life. And when they’re snowed in, he’s forced to admit this ice queen can scorch him with one touch...

Madison had plans for the weekend! Instead she’s stranded with a man who drives her wild. A night of no-strings fun leaves both of them wanting more when they return to Copper Ridge. His proposal: twelve days of hot sex before Christmas! But will it ever be enough?


That was the problem with Sam.

He was exactly the kind of man she didn’t like. He was cocky, rough and crude. However, there was something about the way he looked in a tight T-shirt that made a mockery of all that very certain hatred.

“Are you going to take off your coat and stay a while?” That question, asked in a faintly mocking tone, sent a dart of tension straight between her thighs.

She could not take off her coat. Because she was wearing nothing more than a scrap of red lace underneath it. And now, it was all she could think of. About how little stood between Sam and her naked body.

About what might happen if she just went ahead and dropped the coat and revealed all of that to him.

“It’s cold,” she snapped.

The maddening man raised his eyebrows, shooting her a look that clearly said suit yourself, then set about looking for the fuse box.

She let out an exasperated sigh and followed his path, stopping when she saw him examining the little black switches inside the box.

“It’s not a fuse. That means there’s something else going on.” He slammed the door shut. Then he turned back to look at her. “You should come to my cabin.”

* * *

Hold Me, Cowboy is part of the Copper Ridge series from New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates


Dear Reader (#uca1a7fb8-be3c-5cb2-93ad-182cb892c2f8),

I’m delighted to welcome you back to Copper Ridge, Oregon. This series is all about community, family, love and hot cowboys. And in Hold Me, Cowboy, it’s Christmas in Copper Ridge, which means sparkling lights, chilly days and even colder nights. Except the hero and heroine in this book have found a way to make the nights a whole lot warmer!

I always enjoy writing a book where opposites attract. Because the explosion when irritation turns to passion is always so incredibly intense.

That’s just one of the many reasons that I had to pair my rough blacksmith hero, Sam McCormack, with prickly socialite Madison West. The two of them push all the wrong buttons in each other. But they push all the right ones, too. And when a snowstorm sees them both stranded up in the mountains, all that simmering anger turns into something else entirely. They figure having twelve passionate nights before Christmas to burn off all that attraction should be just about perfect. But in the end, it may not be so easy to walk away.

If you enjoy Maddy and Sam and your time in Copper Ridge, I hope you’ll check out more stories in the series. Also from Harlequin Desire is Take Me, Cowboy, which features Sam’s brother Chase. And you can read about the rest of the West family in One Night Charmer, Tough Luck Hero and Last Chance Rebel, out now from HQN Books.

Happy reading!

Maisey


Hold Me, Cowboy

Maisey Yates






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


MAISEY YATES is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website, www.maiseyyates.com (http://www.maiseyyates.com).


To KatieSauce, the sister I was always waiting for. What a joy it is to have you in my life.


Contents

Cover (#ufdc47f62-207a-51ff-bd34-cb07cdb2b705)

Back Cover Text (#u38940938-d418-5d61-b81a-b8c339c2b8c8)

Introduction (#u955d0978-b354-5dbe-9912-d2dbba739f65)

Dear Reader (#u54f721e8-b23f-5ac2-b6f4-c9b3ce0a6ca7)

Title Page (#u7b1baebb-1c54-58ff-b28d-8baf584f6106)

About the Author (#u161af581-d205-5fb3-8922-7f50555217a0)

Dedication (#ucd88b6cf-d2a8-5484-a494-4cdc7bb91678)

One (#u612b4604-d396-5086-b607-a65196f29082)

Two (#u91c9332e-341f-561c-a854-81688d3f5ff4)

Three (#ud292d511-9b97-5ad9-a42f-9275060a7159)

Four (#u9afaa440-f924-5cfd-a278-63ac62227c90)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#uca1a7fb8-be3c-5cb2-93ad-182cb892c2f8)

“Creative photography,” Madison West muttered as she entered the security code on the box that contained the key to the cabin she would be staying in for the weekend.

She looked across the snowy landscape to see another home situated far too close to the place she would be inhabiting for the next couple of days. The photographs on the vacation-rental website hadn’t mentioned that she would be sharing the property with anyone else.

And obviously, the example pictures had been taken from inventive angles.

It didn’t matter. Nothing was going to change her plans. She just hoped the neighbors had earplugs. Because she was having sex this weekend. Nonstop sex.

Ten years celibate, and it was ending tonight. She had finally found the one. Not the one she was going to marry, obviously. Please. Love was for other people. People who hadn’t been tricked, manipulated and humiliated when they were seventeen.

No, she had no interest in love and marriage. But she had abundant interest in orgasms. So much interest. And she had found the perfect man to deliver them.

All day, all night, for the next forty-eight hours.

She was armed with a suitcase full of lingerie and four bottles of wine. Neighbors be damned. She’d been hoping for a little more seclusion, but this was fine. It would be fine.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that the interior, at least, met with her expectations. But it was a little bit smaller than it had looked online, and she could only hope that wasn’t some sort of dark portent for the rest of her evening.

She shook her head; she was not going to introduce that concern into the mix, thank you very much. There was enough to worry about when you were thinking about breaking ten years of celibacy without adding such concerns.

Christopher was going to arrive soon, so she figured she’d better get upstairs and start setting a scene. She made her way to the bedroom, then opened her suitcase and took out the preselected bit of lace she had chosen for their first time. It was red, which looked very good on her, if a bit obvious. But she was aiming for obvious.

Christopher wasn’t her boyfriend. And he wasn’t going to be. He was a very nice equine-vitamin-supplement salesman she’d met a few weeks ago when he’d come by the West estate. She had bought some products for her horses, and they’d struck up a conversation, which had transitioned into a flirtation.

Typically, when things began to transition into flirtation, Maddy put a stop to them. But she hadn’t with him. Maybe because he was special. Maybe because ten years was just way too long. Either way, she had kept on flirting with him.

They’d gone out for drinks, and she’d allowed him to kiss her. Which had been a lot more than she’d allowed any other guy in recent years. It had reminded her how much she’d enjoyed that sort of thing once upon a time. And once she’d been reminded...well.

He’d asked for another date. She’d stopped him. Because wouldn’t a no-strings physical encounter be way better?

He’d of course agreed. Because he was a man.

But she hadn’t wanted to get involved with anyone in town. She didn’t need anyone seeing her at a hotel or his house or with his car parked at her little home on her parents’ property.

Thus, the cabin-weekend idea had been born.

She shimmied out of her clothes and wiggled into the skintight lace dress that barely covered her backside. Then she set to work fluffing her blond hair and applying some lipstick that matched the lingerie.

She was not answering the door in this outfit, however.

She put her long coat back on over the lingerie, then gave her reflection a critical look. It had been a long time since she had dressed to attract a man. Usually, she was more interested in keeping them at a distance.

“Not tonight,” she said. “Not tonight.”

She padded downstairs, peering out the window and seeing nothing beyond the truck parked at the small house across the way and a vast stretch of snow, falling harder and faster.

Typically, it didn’t snow in Copper Ridge, Oregon. You had to drive up to the mountains—as she’d done today—to get any of the white stuff. So, for her, this was a treat, albeit a chilly one. But that was perfect, since she planned to get her blood all heated and stuff.

She hummed, keeping an eye on the scene outside, waiting for Christopher to pull in. She wondered if she should have brought a condom downstairs with her. Decided that she should have.

She went back upstairs, taking them two at a time, grateful that she was by herself, since there was nothing sexy about her ascent. Then she rifled through her bag, found some protection and curled her fingers around it before heading back down the stairs as quickly as possible.

As soon as she entered the living area, the lights flickered, then died. Suddenly, everything in the house seemed unnaturally quiet, and even though it was probably her imagination, she felt the temperature drop several degrees.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, into the darkness.

There was no answer. Nothing but a subtle creak from the house. Maybe it was all that heavy snow on the roof. Maybe it was going to collapse. That would figure.

A punishment for her thinking she could be normal and have sex.

A shiver worked its way down her spine, and she jolted.

Suddenly, she had gone from hopeful and buoyant to feeling a bit flat and tragic. That was definitely not the best sign.

No. She wasn’t doing this. She wasn’t sinking into self-pity and tragedy. Been there, done that for ten years, thank you.

Madison didn’t believe in signs. So there. She believed in fuses blowing in bad weather when overtaxed heaters had to work too hard in ancient houses. Yes, that she believed in. She also believed that she would have to wait for Christopher to arrive to fix the problem.

She sighed and then made her way over to the kitchen counter and grabbed hold of her purse as she deposited the two condoms on the counter. She pulled her phone out and grimaced when she saw that she had no signal.

Too late, she remembered that she had thought the lack of cell service might be an attraction to a place like this. That it would be nice if both she and Christopher could be cut off from the outside world while they indulged themselves.

That notion seemed really freaking stupid right now. Since she couldn’t use the phone in the house thanks to the outage, and that left her cut off from the outside world all alone.

“Oh no,” she said, “I’m the first five minutes of a crime show. I’m going to get ax-murdered. And I’m going to die a born-again virgin.”

She scowled, looking back out at the resolutely blank landscape. Christopher still wasn’t here. But it looked like the house across the way had power.

She pressed her lips together, not happy about the idea of interrupting her neighbor. Or of meeting her neighbor, since the whole point of going out of town was so they could remain anonymous and not see people.

She tightened the belt on her coat and made her way slowly out the front door, bracing herself against the arctic wind.

She muttered darkly about the cold as she made her way across the space between the houses. She paused for a moment in front of the larger cabin, lit up and looking all warm and toasty. Clearly, this was the premium accommodation. While hers was likely beset by rodents that had chewed through relevant cords.

She huffed, clutching her coat tightly as she knocked on the door. She waited, bouncing in place to try to keep her blood flowing. She just needed to call Christopher and find out when he would be arriving and, if he was still a ways out, possibly beg her neighbor for help getting the power going. Or at least help getting a fire started.

The front door swung open and Madison’s heart stopped. The man standing there was large, so tall that she only just came up to the middle of his chest. He was broad, his shoulders well muscled, his waist trim. He had the kind of body that came not from working out but from hard physical labor.

Then she looked up. Straight nose, square jaw, short brown hair and dark eyes that were even harder than his muscles. And far too familiar.

“What are you doing here?”

* * *

Sam McCormack gritted his teeth against the sharp tug of irritation that assaulted him when Madison West asked the question that had been on his own lips.

“I rented the place,” he responded, not inviting her in. “Though I could ask you the same question.”

She continued to do a little bounce in place, her arms folded tight against her body, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “And you’d get the same answer,” she said. “I’m across the driveway.”

“Then you’re at the wrong door.” He made a move to shut said door, and she reached out, stopping him.

“Sam. Do you always have to be this unpleasant?”

It was a question that had been asked of him more than once. And he gave his standard answer. “Yes.”

“Sam,” she said, sounding exasperated. “The power went out, and I’m freezing to death. Can I come in?”

He let out a long-suffering sigh and stepped to the side. He didn’t like Madison West. He never had. Not from the moment he had been hired on as a farrier for the West estate eight years earlier. In all the years since he’d first met Madison, since he’d first started shoeing her horses, he’d never received one polite word from her.

But then, he’d never given one either.

She was sleek, blonde and freezing cold—and he didn’t mean because she had just come in from the storm. The woman carried her own little snow cloud right above her head at all times, and he wasn’t a fan of ice princesses. Still, something about her had always been like a burr beneath his skin that he couldn’t get at.

“Thank you,” she said crisply, stepping over the threshold.

“You’re rich and pretty,” he said, shutting the door tight behind her. “And I’m poor. And kind of an ass. It wouldn’t do for me to let you die out there in a snowdrift. I would probably end up getting hung.”

Madison sniffed, making a show of brushing snowflakes from the shoulders of her jacket. “I highly doubt you’re poor,” she said drily.

She wasn’t wrong. A lot had changed since he’d gone to work for the Wests eight years ago. Hell, a lot had changed in the past year.

The strangest thing was that his art had taken off, and along with it the metalwork and blacksmithing business he ran with his brother, Chase.

But now he was busier coming up with actual fine-art pieces than he was doing daily grunt work. One sale on a piece like that could set them up for the entire quarter. Strange, and not where he’d seen his life going, but true.

He still had trouble defining himself as an artist. In his mind, he was just a blacksmith cowboy. Most at home on the family ranch, most proficient at pounding metal into another shape. It just so happened that for some reason people wanted to spend a lot of money on that metal.

“Well,” he said, “perception is everything.”

She looked up at him, those blue eyes hitting him hard, like a punch in the gut. That was the other obnoxious thing about Madison West. She was pretty. She was more than pretty. She was the kind of pretty that kept a man up all night, hard and aching, with fantasies about her swirling in his head.

She was also the kind of woman who would probably leave icicles on a man’s member after a blow job.

No, thank you.

“Sure,” she said, waving her hand. “Now, I perceive that I need to use your phone.”

“There’s no cell service up here.”

“Landline,” she said. “I have no power. And no cell service. The source of all my problems.”

“In that case, be my guest,” he responded, turning away from her and walking toward the kitchen, where the lone phone was plugged in.

He picked up the receiver and held it out to her. She eyed it for a moment as though it were a live snake, then snatched it out of his hand. “Are you just going to stand there?”

He shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. “I thought I might.”

She scoffed, then dialed the number, doing the same impatient hop she’d been doing outside while she waited for the person on the other end to answer. “Christopher?”

The physical response Sam felt to her uttering another man’s name was not something he ever could have anticipated. His stomach tightened, dropped, and a lick of flame that felt a hell of a lot like jealousy sparked inside him.

“What do you mean you can’t get up here?” She looked away from him, determinedly so, her eyes fixed on the kitchen floor. “The road is closed. Okay. So that means I can’t get back down either?” There was a pause. “Right. Well, hopefully I don’t freeze to death.” Another pause. “No, you don’t need to call anybody. I’m not going to freeze to death. I’m using the neighbor’s phone. Just forget it. I don’t have cell service. I’ll call you if the power comes back on in my cabin.”

She hung up then, her expression so sharp it could have cut him clean through.

“I take it you had plans.”

She looked at him, her eyes as frosty as the weather outside. “Did you figure that out all by yourself?”

“Only just barely. You know blacksmiths aren’t known for their deductive reasoning skills. Mostly we’re famous for hitting heavy things with other heavy things.”

“Kind of like cavemen and rocks.”

He took a step toward her. “Kind of.”

She shrank back, a hint of color bleeding into her cheeks. “Well, now that we’ve established that there’s basically no difference between you and a Neanderthal, I better get back to my dark, empty cabin. And hope that you aren’t a secret serial killer.”

Her sharp tongue left cuts behind, and he had to admit he kind of enjoyed it. There weren’t very many people who sparred with him like this. Possibly because he didn’t talk to very many people. “Is that a legitimate concern you have?”

“I don’t know. The entire situation is just crazy enough that I might be trapped in a horror movie with a tortured artist blacksmith who is also secretly murdery.”

“I guarantee you I’m not murdery. If you see me outside with an ax, it will only be because I’m cutting firewood.”

She cocked her head to the side, a glint in her blue eyes that didn’t look like ice making his stomach—and everything south of there—tighten. “Well, that’s a relief. Anyway. I’m going. Dark cabin, no one waiting for me. It promises to be a seriously good time.”

“You don’t have any idea why the power is out, or how to fix it?” he asked.

“No,” she said, sounding exasperated, and about thirty seconds away from stamping her foot.

Well, damn his conscience, but he wasn’t letting her go back to an empty, dark, cold cabin. No matter that she had always treated him like a bit of muck she’d stepped in with her handmade riding boots.

“Let me have a look at your fuse box,” he said.

“You sound like you’d rather die,” she said.

“I pretty much would, but I’m not going to let you die either.” He reached for his black jacket and the matching black cowboy hat hanging on a hook. He put both on and nodded.

“Thank you,” she muttered, and he could tell the little bit of social nicety directed at him cost her dearly.

They headed toward the front door and he pushed it open, waiting for her to go out first. Since he had arrived earlier today, the temperature had dropped drastically. He had come up to the mountain to do some planning for his next few art projects. It pained him to admit, even to himself, that solitude was somewhat necessary for him to get a clear handle on what he was going to work on next.

“So,” he said, making conversation not so much for the sake of it but more to needle her and see if he could earn one of her patented death glares, “Christopher, huh? Your boyfriend?” That hot spike drove its way through his gut again and he did his best to ignore it.

“No,” she said tersely. “Just a friend.”

“I see. So you decided to meet a man up here for a friendly game of Twister?”

She turned slightly, arching one pale brow. “Yahtzee, actually. I’m very good at it.”

“And I’m sure your...friend was hoping to get a full house.”

She rolled her eyes and looked forward again, taking quick steps over the icy ground, and somehow managing to keep sure footing. Then she opened the door to her cabin. “Welcome,” she said, extending her arm. “Please excuse the shuddering cold and oppressive darkness.”

“Ladies first,” he said.

She shook her head, walking into the house, and he followed behind, closing the door against the elements. It was already cold in the dark little room. “You were just going to come back here and sit in the dark if I hadn’t offered to fiddle with the circuit breaker?”

“Maybe I know how to break my own circuits, Sam. Did you ever think of that?”

“Oh, but you said you didn’t, Madison.”

“I prefer Maddy,” she said.

“Sorry, Madison,” he said, tipping his hat, just to be a jerk.

“I should have just frozen to death. Then there could have been a legend about my tragic and beautiful demise in the mountains.” He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her until she sighed and continued talking. “I don’t know where the box thingy is. You’re going to have to hunt for it.”

“I think I can handle that.” He walked deeper into the kitchen, then stopped when he saw two purple packets sitting on the kitchen counter. That heat returned with a vengeance when he realized exactly what they were, and what they meant. He looked up, his eyes meeting her extremely guilty gaze. “Yahtzee, huh?”

“That’s what the kids call it,” she said, pressing her palm over the telling packets.

“Only because they’re too immature to call it fucking.”

Color washed up her neck, into her cheeks. “Or not crass enough.”

In that moment, he had no idea what devil possessed him, and he didn’t particularly care. He turned to face her, planting his hands on the countertop, just an inch away from hers. “I don’t know about that. I’m betting that you could use a little crassness in your life, Madison West.”

“Are you trying to suggest that I need you?” she asked, her voice choked.

Lightning streaked through his blood, and in that moment, he was lost. It didn’t matter that he thought she was insufferable, a prissy little princess who didn’t appreciate any damn thing she had. It didn’t matter that he’d come up here to work.

All that mattered was he hadn’t touched a woman in a long time, and Madison West was so close all he would have to do was shift his weight slightly and he’d be able to take her into his arms.

He looked down pointedly at her hand, acting as though he could see straight through to the protection beneath. “Well,” he said, “you have a couple of the essential ingredients to have yourself a pretty fun evening. All you seem to be missing is the man. But I imagine the guy you invited up here is nice. I’m not very nice, Madison,” he said, leaning in, “but I could damn sure show you a good time.”


Two (#uca1a7fb8-be3c-5cb2-93ad-182cb892c2f8)

The absolute worst thing was the fact that Sam’s words sent a shiver down her spine. Sam McCormack. Why did it have to be Sam McCormack? He was the deadly serpent to her Indiana Jones.

She should throw him out. Throw him out and get back to her very disappointing evening where all orgasms would be self-administered. So, basically a regular Friday night.

She wanted to throw herself on the ground and wail. It was not supposed to be a regular Friday night. She was supposed to be breaking her sex fast. Maybe this was why people had flings in the spring. Inclement weather made winter flings difficult. Also, mostly you just wanted to keep your socks on the whole time. And that wasn’t sexy.

Maybe her libido should hibernate for a while. Pop up again when the pear trees were blooming or something.

She looked over at Sam, and her libido made a dash to the foreground. That was the problem with Sam. He irritated her. He was exactly the kind of man she didn’t like. He was cocky. He was rough and crude.

Whenever she’d given him very helpful pointers about handling the horses when he came to do farrier work at the estate, he was always telling her to go away and in general showing no deference.

And okay, if he’d come and told her how to do her job, she would have told him where he could stick his hoof nippers. But still. Her animals. So she was entitled to her opinions.

Last time she’d walked into the barn when he was doing shoes, he hadn’t even looked up from his work. He’d just pointed back toward the door and shouted, out!

Yeah, he was a jerk.

However, there was something about the way he looked in a tight T-shirt, his muscles bulging as he did all that hard labor, that made a mockery of that very certain hatred she felt burning in her breast.

“Are you going to take off your coat and stay awhile?” The question, asked in a faintly mocking tone, sent a dart of tension straight down between her thighs.

She could not take off her coat. Because she was wearing nothing more than a little scrap of red lace underneath it. And now that was all she could think of. About how little stood between Sam and her naked body.

About what might happen if she just went ahead and dropped the coat now and revealed all of that to him.

“It’s cold,” she snapped. “Maybe if you went to work getting the electricity back on rather than standing there making terrible double entendres, I would be able to take off my coat.”

He lifted a brow. “And then do you think you’ll take me up on my offer to show you a good time?”

“If you can get my electricity back on, I will consider a good time shown to me. Honestly, that’s all I want. The ability to microwave popcorn and not turn into a Maddycicle.”

The maddening man raised his eyebrows, shooting her a look that clearly said Suit yourself, then set about looking for the fuse box.

She stood by alone for a while, her arms wrapped around her midsection. Then she started to feel like an idiot just kind of hanging out there while he searched for the source of all power. She let out an exasperated sigh and followed his path, stopping when she saw him leaning up against a wall, a little metal door fixed between the logs open as he examined the small black switches inside.

“It’s not a fuse. That means there’s something else going on.” He slammed the door shut. Then he turned back to look at her. “You should come over to my cabin.”

“No!” The denial was a little bit too enthusiastic. A little bit too telling. “I mean, I can start a fire here—it’s going to be fine. I’m not going to freeze.”

“You’re going to curl up by the fire with a blanket? Like a sad little pet?”

She made a scoffing sound. “No, I’m going to curl up by the fire like the Little Match Girl.”

“That makes it even worse. The Little Match Girl froze to death.”

“What?”

“How did you not know that?”

“I saw it when I was a kid. It was a cartoon. She really died?” Maddy blinked. “What kind of story is that to present to children?”

“An early lesson, maybe? Life is bleak, and then you freeze to death alone?”

“Charming,” she said.

“Life rarely is.” He kept looking at her. His dark gaze was worrisome.

“I’m fine,” she said, because somebody had to say something.

“You are not. Get your suitcase—come over to the cabin. We can flip the lights on, and then if we notice from across the driveway that your power’s on again, you can always come back.”

It was stupid to refuse him. She knew him, if not personally, at least well enough to know that he wasn’t any kind of danger to her.

The alternative was trying to sleep on the couch in the living room while the outside temperatures hovered below freezing, waking up every few hours to keep the fire stoked.

Definitely, going over to his cabin made more sense. But the idea filled her with a strange tension that she couldn’t quite shake. Well, she knew exactly what kind of tension it was. Sexual tension.

She and Sam had so much of it that hung between them like a fog whenever they interacted. Although, maybe she read it wrong. Maybe on his end it was just irritation and it wasn’t at all tinged with sensual shame.

“Why do you have to be so damned reasonable?” she asked, turning away from him and stalking toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

She stopped, turning to face him. “To change. Also, to get my suitcase. I have snacks in there.”

“Are snacks a euphemism for something interesting?” he asked, arching a dark brow.

She sputtered, genuinely speechless. Which was unusual to downright unheard of. “No,” she said, her tone sounding petulant. “I have actual snacks.”

“Come over to my place. Bring the snacks.”

“I will,” she said, turning on her heel, heading toward the stairs.

“Maybe bring the Yahtzee too.”

Those words hit her hard, with all the impact of a stomach punch. She could feel her face turning crimson, and she refused to look back at him. Refused to react to that bait at all. He didn’t want that. He did not want to play euphemistic board games with her. And she didn’t want to play them with him.

If she felt a little bit...on edge, it was just because she had been anticipating sex and she had experienced profound sex disappointment. That was all.

She continued up the stairs, making her way to the bedroom, then changed back into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt as quickly as possible before stuffing the little red lace thing back in the bag and zipping everything up.

She lugged it back downstairs, her heart slamming against her breastbone when Sam was in her line of sight again. Tall, broad shouldered and far too sexy for his own good, he promised to be the antidote to sexual disappointment.

But an emotionless hookup with a guy she liked well enough but wouldn’t get emotionally involved with was one thing. Replacing him at the last moment with a guy she didn’t even like? No, that was out of the question.

Absolutely and completely out of the question.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s go.”

* * *

By the time she got settled in the extra room in the cabin, she was feeling antsy. She could hide, but she was hungry. And Maddy didn’t believe in being hungry when food was at hand. Yes, she had some various sugar-based items in her bag, but she needed protein.

In the past, she had braved any number of her father’s awkward soirees to gain access to bacon-wrapped appetizers.

She could brave Sam McCormack well enough to root around for sustenance. She would allow no man to stand between herself and her dinner.

Cautiously, she made her way downstairs, hoping that maybe Sam had put himself away for the night. The thought made her smile. That he didn’t go to bed like a normal person but closed himself inside...not a coffin. But maybe a scratchy, rock-hewn box that would provide no warmth or comfort. It seemed like something he would be into.

In fairness, she didn’t really know Sam McCormack that well, but everything she did know about him led her to believe that he was a supremely unpleasant person. Well, except for the whole him-not-letting-her-die-of-frostbite-in-her-powerless-cabin thing. She supposed she had to go ahead and put that in the Maybe He’s Not Such a Jackass column.

Her foot hit the ground after the last stair silently, and she cautiously padded into the kitchen.

“Looking for something?”

She startled, turning around and seeing Sam standing there, leaning in the doorway, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. She did her best to look cool. Composed. Not interested in his muscles. “Well—” she tucked her hair behind her ear “—I was hoping to find some food.”

“You brought snacks,” he said.

“Candy,” she countered.

“So, that made it okay for you to come downstairs and steal my steak?”

Her stomach growled. “You have steak?”

“It’s my steak.”

She hadn’t really thought of that. “Well, my...you know, the guy. He was supposed to bring food. And I’m sorry. I didn’t exactly think about the fact that whatever food is in this fridge is food that you personally provided. I was protein blind.” She did her best to look plaintive. Unsurprisingly, Sam did not seem moved by her plaintiveness.

“I mean, it seems cruel to eat steak in front of you, Madison. Especially if I’m not willing to share.” He rubbed his chin, the sounds of his whiskers abrading his palm sending a little shiver down her back. God knew why.

“You would do that. You would... You would tease me with your steak.” Suddenly, it was all starting to sound a little bit sexual. Which she had a feeling was due in part to the fact that everything felt sexual to her right about now.

Which was because of the other man she had been about to sleep with. Not Sam. Not really.

A slow smile crossed his face. “I would never tease you with my steak, Madison. If you want a taste, all you have to do is ask. Nicely.”

She felt her face getting hotter. “May I please have your steak?”

“Are you going to cook it for me?”

“Did you want it to be edible?”

“That would be the goal, yes,” he responded.

She lifted her hands up, palms out. “These hands don’t cook.”

His expression shifted. A glint of wickedness cutting through all that hardness. She’d known Sam was mean. She’d known he was rough. She had not realized he was wicked. “What do those hands do, I wonder?”

He let that innuendo linger between them and she practically hissed in response. “Do you have salad? I will fix salad. You cook steak. Then we can eat.”

“Works for me, but I assume you’re going to be sharing your candy with me?”

Seriously, everything sounded filthy. She had to get a handle on herself. “Maybe,” she said, “but it depends on if your behavior merits candy.” That didn’t make it better.

“I see. And what, pray tell, does Madison West consider candy-deserving behavior?”

She shrugged, making her way to the fridge and opening it, bending down and opening the crisper drawer. “I don’t know. Not being completely unbearable?”

“Your standards are low.”

“Luckily for you.”

She looked up at him and saw that that had actually elicited what looked to be a genuine grin. The man was a mystery. And she shouldn’t care about that. She should not want to unlock, unravel or otherwise solve him.

The great thing about Christopher was that he was simple. He wasn’t connected to her life in any way. They could come up and have an affair and it would never bleed over to her existence in Copper Ridge. It was the antithesis of everything she had experienced with David. David, who had blown up her entire life, shattered her career ambitions and damaged her good standing in the community.

This thing with Christopher was supposed to be sex. Sex that made nary a ripple in the rest of her life.

Sam would not be rippleless.

The McCormack family was too much a part of the fabric of Copper Ridge. More so in the past year. Sam and his brother, Chase, had done an amazing job of revitalizing their family ranch, and somewhere in all of that Sam had become an in-demand artist. Though he would be the last person to say it. He still showed up right on schedule to do the farrier work at her family ranch. As though he weren’t raking in way more money with his ironwork.

Sam was... Well, he was kind of everywhere. His works of art appearing in restaurants and galleries around town. His person appearing on the family ranch to work on the horses. He was the exact wrong kind of man for her to be fantasizing about.

She should be more gun-shy than this. Actually, she had spent the past decade being more gun-shy than this. It was just that apparently now that she had allowed herself to remember she had sexual feelings, it was difficult for her to turn them off. Especially when she was trapped in a snowstorm with a man for whom the term rock-hard body would be a mere description and not hyperbole.

She produced the salad, then set about to preparing it. Thankfully, it was washed and torn already. So her responsibility literally consisted of dumping it from bag to bowl. That was the kind of cooking she could get behind. Meanwhile, Sam busied himself with preparing two steaks on the stovetop. At some point, he took the pan from the stovetop and transferred it to the oven.

“I didn’t know you had actual cooking technique,” she said, not even pretending to herself that she wasn’t watching the play of his muscles in his forearms as he worked.

Even at the West Ranch, where she always ended up sniping at him if they ever interacted, she tended to linger around him while he did his work with the horses because his arms put on quite a show. She was hardly going to turn away from him now that they were in an enclosed space, with said arms very, very close. And no one else around to witness her ogling.

She just didn’t possess that kind of willpower.

“Well, Madison, I have a lot of eating technique. The two are compatible.”

“Right,” she said, “as you don’t have a wife. Or a girlfriend...” She could have punched her own face for that. It sounded so leading and obvious. As if she cared if he had a woman in his life.

She didn’t. Well, she kind of did. Because honestly, she didn’t even like to ogle men who could be involved with another woman. Once bitten, twice shy. By which she meant once caught in a torrid extramarital affair with a man in good standing in the equestrian community, ten years emotionally scarred.

“No,” he said, tilting his head, the cocky look in his eye doing strange things to her stomach, “I don’t.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend. Not an actual boyfriend.” Oh, good Lord. She was the desperate worst and she hated herself.

“So you keep saying,” he returned. “You really want to make sure I know Christopher isn’t your boyfriend.” She couldn’t ignore the implication in his tone.

“Because he isn’t. Because we’re not... Because we’ve never. This was going to be our first time.” Being forthright and making people uncomfortable with said forthrightness had been a very handy shield for the past decade, but tonight it was really obnoxious.

“Oh really?” He suddenly looked extremely interested.

“Yes,” she responded, keeping her tone crisp, refusing to show him just how off-kilter she felt. “I’m just making dinner conversation.”

“This is the kind of dinner conversation you normally make?”

She arched her brow. “Actually, yes. Shocking people is kind of my modus operandi.”

“I don’t find you that shocking, Madison. I do find it a little bit amusing that you got cock-blocked by a snowbank.”

She nearly choked. “Wine. Do you have wine?” She turned and started rummaging through the nearest cabinet. “Of course you do. You probably have a baguette too. That seems like something an artist would do. Set up here and drink wine and eat a baguette.”

He laughed, a kind of short, dismissive sound. “Hate to disappoint you. But my artistic genius is fueled by Jack.” He reached up, opening the cabinet nearest to his head, and pulled down a bottle of whiskey. “But I’m happy to share that too.”

“You have diet soda?”

“Regular.”

“My, this is a hedonistic experience. I’ll have regular, then.”

“Well, when a woman was expecting sex and doesn’t get it, I suppose regular cola is poor consolation, but it is better than diet.”

“Truer words were never spoken.” She watched him while he set about to making a couple of mixed drinks for them. He handed one to her, and she lifted it in salute before taking a small sip. By then he was taking the steak out of the oven and setting it back on the stovetop.

“Perfect,” he remarked when he cut one of the pieces of meat in half and gauged the color of the interior.

She frowned. “How did I never notice that you aren’t horrible?”

He looked at her, his expression one of mock surprise. “Not horrible? You be careful throwing around compliments like that, missy. A man could get the wrong idea.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. I just mean, you’re funny.”

“How much of that whiskey have you had?”

“One sip. So it isn’t even that.” She eyeballed the food that he was now putting onto plates. “It might be the steak. I’m not going to lie to you.”

“I’m comfortable with that.”

He carried their plates to the table, and she took the lone bottle of ranch dressing out of the fridge and set it and her drink next to her plate. And then, somehow, she ended up sitting at a very nicely appointed dinner table with Sam McCormack, who was not the man she was supposed to be with tonight.

Maybe it was because of the liquored-up soda. Maybe it was neglected hormones losing their ever-loving minds in the presence of such a fine male specimen. Maybe it was just as simple as want. Maybe there was no justification for it at all. Except that Sam was actually beautiful. And she had always thought so, no matter how much he got under her skin.

That was the honest truth. It was why she found him so off-putting, why she had always found him so off-putting from the moment he had first walked onto the West Ranch property. Because he was the kind of man a woman could make a mistake with. And she had thought she was done making mistakes.

Now she was starting to wonder if a woman was entitled to one every decade.

Her safe mistake, the one who would lift out of her life, hadn’t eventuated. And here in front of her was one that had the potential to be huge. But very, very good.

She wasn’t so young anymore. She wasn’t naive at all. When it came right down to it, she was hot for Sam. She had been for a long time.

She’d had so much caution for so long. So much hiding. So much not doing. Well, she was tired of that.

“I was very disappointed about Christopher not making it up here,” she said, just as Sam was putting the last bite of steak into his mouth.

“Sure,” he said.

“Very disappointed.”

“Nobody likes blue balls, Maddy, even if they don’t have testicles.”

She forced a laugh through her constricted throat. “That’s hilarious,” she said.

He looked up at her slowly. “No,” he said, “it wasn’t.”

She let out a long, slow breath. “Okay,” she said, “it wasn’t that funny. But here’s the thing. The reason I was so looking forward to tonight is that I hadn’t had sex with Christopher before. In fact, I haven’t had sex with anyone in ten years. So. Maybe you could help me with that?”


Three (#uca1a7fb8-be3c-5cb2-93ad-182cb892c2f8)

Sam was pretty sure he must be hallucinating. Because there was no way Madison West had just propositioned him. Especially not on the heels of admitting that it had been ten years since she’d had sex.

Hell, he was starting to think that he was the celibacy champion. But clearly, Maddy had him beat. Or she didn’t, because there was no way in hell that she had actually said any of that.

“Are you drunk, Madison?” It was the first thing that came to mind, and it seemed like an important thing to figure out.

“After one Jack Daniel’s and Coke? Absolutely not. I am a West, dammit. We can hold our liquor. I am...reckless, opportunistic and horny. A lot horny. I just... I need this. Sam, do you know what it’s like to go ten years without doing something? It becomes a whole thing. Like, a whole big thing that starts to define you, even if it shouldn’t. And you don’t want anyone to know. Oh, my gosh, can you even imagine if my friends knew that it has been ten years since I have seen an actual...?” She took a deep breath, then forged on. “I’m rambling and I just really need this.”

Sam felt like he had been hit over the head with a metric ton of iron. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to this—the strangest of all propositions—from a woman who had professed to hate him only a few moments ago.

He had always thought Madison was a snob. A pain in his ass, even if she was a pretty pain in the ass. She was always looming around, looking down her nose at him while he did his work. As though only the aristocracy of Copper Ridge could possibly know how to do the lowly labor he was seeing to. Even if they hadn’t the ability to do it themselves.

The kinds of people who professed to have strengths in “management.” People who didn’t know how to get their hands dirty.

He hated people like that. And he had never been a fan of Madison West.

He, Sam McCormack, should not be interested in taking her up on her offer. No, not in any way. However, Sam McCormack’s dick was way more interested in it than he would’ve liked to admit.

Immediately, he was rock hard thinking about what it would be like to have her delicate, soft hands skimming over him. He had rough hands. Workman’s hands. The kind of hands that a woman like Madison West had probably never felt against her rarefied flesh.

Hell, the fact that it had been ten years since she’d gotten any made that even more likely. And damn if that didn’t turn him on. It was kind of twisted, a little bit sick, but then, it was nothing short of what he expected from himself.

He was a lot of things. Good wasn’t one of them.

Ready to explode after years of repressing his desires, after years of pushing said desire all down and pretending it wasn’t there? He was that.

“I’m not actually sure you want this,” he said, wondering what the hell he was doing. Giving her an out when he wanted to throw her down and make her his.

Maddy stood up, not about to be cowed by him. He should have known that she would take that as a challenge. Maybe he had known that. Maybe it was why he’d said it.

That sounded like him. That sounded a lot more like him than trying to do the honorable thing.

“You don’t know what I want, Sam,” she said, crossing the space between them, swaying her hips just a little bit more than she usually did.

He would be a damn liar if he said that he had never thought about what it might be like to grab hold of those hips and pull Maddy West up against him. To grind his hardness against her soft flesh and make her feel exactly what her snobby-rich-girl mouth did to him.

But just because he’d fantasized about it before, didn’t mean he had ever anticipated doing it. It didn’t mean that he should take her up on it now.

Still, the closer she got to him, the less likely it seemed that he was going to say no.

“I think that after ten years of celibacy a man could make the argument that you don’t know what you want, Madison West.”

Her eyes narrowed, glittering blue diamonds that looked like they could cut a man straight down to the bone. “I’ve always known what I wanted. I may not have always made the best decisions, but I was completely certain that I wanted them. At the time.”

His lips tipped upward. “I’m just going to be another at the time, Maddy. Nothing else.”

“That was the entire point of this weekend. For me to have something that didn’t have consequences. For me to get a little bit of something for myself. Is that so wrong? Do I have to live a passionless existence because I made a mistake once? Am I going to question myself forever? I just need to... I need to rip the Band-Aid off.”

“The Band-Aid?”

“The sex Band-Aid.”

He nodded, pretending that he understood. “Okay.”

“I want this,” she said, her tone confident.

“Are you...suggesting...that I give you...sexual healing?”

She made a scoffing sound. “Don’t make it sound cheesy. This is very serious. I would never joke about my sexual needs.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m doing this wrong. I’m just...”

Suddenly, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his. The moment she did it, it was like the strike of a hammer against hot iron. As rigid as he’d been before—in that moment, he bent. And easily.

Staying seated in the chair, he curved himself around Madison, wrapping his arms around her body, sliding his hands over her back, down to the sweet indent of her waist, farther still to the flare of those pretty hips. The hips he had thought about taking hold of so many times before.

There was no hesitation now. None at all. There was only this. Only her. Only the soft, intoxicating taste of her on his tongue. Sugar, Jack Daniel’s and something that was entirely Maddy.

Too rich for his blood. Far too expensive for a man like him. It didn’t matter what he became. Didn’t matter how much money he had in his bank account, he would always be what he was. There was no escaping it. Nobody knew. Not really. Not the various women who had graced his bed over the years, not his brother, Chase.

Nobody knew Sam McCormack.

At least, nobody alive.

Neither, he thought, would Madison West. This wasn’t about knowing anybody. This was just about satisfying a need. And he was simple enough to take her up on that.

He wedged his thigh up between her legs, pressing his palm down on her lower back, encouraging her to flex her hips in time with each stroke of his tongue. Encouraging her to satisfy that ache at the apex of her thighs.

Her head fell back, her skin flushed and satisfaction grabbed him by the throat, gripping him hard and strong. It would’ve surprised him if he hadn’t suspected he was the sort of bastard who would get off on something like this.

Watching this beautiful, classy girl coming undone in his arms.

She was right. This weekend could be out of time. It could be a moment for them to indulge in things they would never normally allow themselves to have. The kinds of things that he had closed himself off from years ago.

Softness, warmth, touch.

He had denied himself all those things for years. Why not do this now? No one would know. No one would ever have to know. Maddy would see to that. She would never, no chance in hell, admit that she had gotten down and dirty with a man who was essentially a glorified blacksmith.

No way in hell.

That made them both safe. It made this safe. Well, as safe as fire this hot could be.

She bit his lip and he growled, pushing his hands up underneath the hem of her shirt, kissing her deeper as he let his fingertips roam to the line of her elegant spine, then tracing it upward until he found her bra, releasing it with ease, then dragging it and her top up over her head, leaving her naked from the waist up.

“I...” Her face was a bright shade of red. “I...I have lingerie. I wasn’t going to...”

“I don’t give a damn about your lingerie. I just want this.” He lowered his head, sliding his tongue around the perimeter of one of her tightened nipples. “I want your skin.” He closed his lips over that tight bud, sucking it in deep.

“I had a seduction plan,” she said, her voice trembling. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a protest, or even a complaint.

“You don’t plan passion, baby,” he said.

At least, he didn’t. Because if he were thinking clearly, he would be putting her top back on and telling her to go back to her ice-cold cabin, where she would be safe.

“I do,” she said, her teeth chattering in spite of the fact that it was very warm in the kitchen. “I plan everything.”

“Not this. You’re a dirty girl now, Madison West,” he said, sliding his thumb over her damp nipple, moving it in a slow circle until she arched her back and cried out. “You were going to sleep with another man this weekend, and you replaced him so damn easily. With me. Doesn’t even matter to you who you have. As long as you get a little bit. Is that how it is?”

She whimpered, biting her lip, rolling her hips against him.

“Good girl,” he said, his gut tightening, his arousal so hard he was sure he was going to burst through the front of his jeans. “I like that. I like you being dirty for me.”

He moved his hands then, curving his fingers around her midsection, his thumbs resting just beneath the swell of her breasts. She was so soft, so smooth, so petite and fragile. Everything he should never be allowed to put his hands on. But for some reason, instead of feeling a bolt of shame, he felt aroused. Hotter and harder than he could ever remember being. “You like that? My hands are rough. Maybe a little bit too rough for you.”

“No,” she said, and this time the protest was clear. “Not too rough for me at all.”

He slid his hands down her back, taking a moment to really revel in how soft she was and how much different he must feel to her. She squirmed against him, and he took that as evidence that she really did like it.

That only made him hotter. Harder. More impatient.

“You didn’t bring your damn candy and forget the condoms, did you?”

“No,” she said, the denial coming quickly. “I brought the condoms.”

“You always knew we would end up like this, didn’t you?”

She looked away from him, and the way she refused to meet his eyes turned a throwaway game of a question into something deadly serious.

“Madison,” he said, his voice hard. She still didn’t look at him. He grabbed hold of her chin, redirecting her face so that she was forced to make eye contact with him. “You knew this would happen all along, didn’t you?”

She still refused to answer him. Refused to speak.

“I think you did,” he continued. “I think that’s why you can never say a kind word to me. I think that’s why you acted like a scalded cat every time I walked into the room. Because you knew it would end here. Because you wanted this. Because you wanted me.”

Her expression turned even more mutinous.

“Madison,” he said, a warning lacing through the word. “Don’t play games with me. Or I’m not going to give you what you want. So you have to tell me. Tell me that you’ve always wanted me. You’ve always wanted my dirty hands on you. That’s why you hate me so damn much, isn’t it? Because you want me.”

“I...”

“Madison,” he said, his tone even more firm, “tell me—” he rubbed his hand over her nipple “—or I stop.”

“I wanted you,” she said, the admission rushed but clear all the same.

“More,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice. “Tell me more.”

It seemed essential suddenly, to know she’d wanted him. He didn’t know why. He didn’t care why.

“I’ve always wanted you. From the moment I first saw you. I knew that it would be like this. I knew that I would climb up into your lap and I would make a fool of myself rubbing all over you like a cat. I knew that from the beginning. So I argued with you instead.”

He felt a satisfied smile that curved his lips upward. “Good girl.” He lowered his hands, undoing the snap on her jeans and drawing the zipper down slowly. “You just made us both very happy.” He moved his fingertips down beneath the waistband of her panties, his breath catching in his throat when he felt hot wetness beneath his touch. It had been way too long since he felt a silky-smooth desirable woman. Had been way too long in his self-imposed prison.

Too long since he’d wanted at all.

But Madison wasn’t Elizabeth. And this wasn’t the same.

He didn’t need to think about her. He wasn’t going to. Not for the rest of the night.

He pushed every thought out of his mind and instead exulted in the sound that Madison made when he moved his fingers over that place where she was wet and aching for him. When he delved deeper, pushing one finger inside her, feeling just how close she was to the edge, evidenced by the way her internal muscles clenched around him. He could thrust into her here. Take her hard and fast and she would still come. He knew that she would.

But she’d had ten years of celibacy, and he was pushing on five. They deserved more. They deserved better. At the very least they deserved a damn bed.

With that in mind, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her, moving his hands to cup her behind as he lifted her, wrapping her legs tightly around him as he carried them across the kitchen and toward the stairs.

Maddy let out an inelegant squeak as he began to ascend toward the bedrooms. “This is really happening,” she said, sounding slightly dazed.

“I thought you said you weren’t drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“Then try not to look so surprised. It’s making me question things. And I don’t want to question things. I just want you.”

She shivered in his hold. “You’re not like most men I know.”

“Pretty boys with popped collars and pastel polo shirts? I must be a real disappointment.”

“Obviously you aren’t. Obviously I don’t care about men in pastel polo shirts or I would’ve gotten laid any number of times in the past decade.”

He pushed open the bedroom door, threw her down over the simply appointed bed that was far too small for the kind of acrobatics he wanted to get up to tonight. Then he stood back, admiring her, wearing nothing but those half-open jeans riding low on her hips, her stomach dipping in with each breath, her breasts thrust into greater prominence at the same time.

“Were you waiting for me?” He kept the words light, taunting, because he knew that she liked it.

She had always liked sparring with him. That was what they’d always done. Of course she would like it now. Of course he would like it now. Or maybe it had nothing to do with her. Maybe it had everything to do with the fact that he had years’ worth of dirty in him that needed to be let out.

“Screw you,” she said, pushing herself back farther up the mattress so that her head was resting on the pillow. Then she put her hands behind her head, her blue gaze sharp. “Come on, cowboy. Get naked for me.”

“Oh no, Maddy, you’re not running the show.”

“Ten years,” she said, her gaze level with his. “Ten years, Sam. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen a naked man. And let me tell you, I have never seen a naked man like you.” She held up a finger. “One man. One insipid man. He wasn’t even that good.”

“You haven’t had sex for ten years and your last lover wasn’t even good? I was sort of hoping that it had been so good you were waiting for your knees to stop shaking before you bothered to go out and get some again.”

“If only. My knees never once shook. In fact, they’re shaking harder now and you haven’t even gotten out of those pants yet.”

“You give good dirty talk.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m good at talking. That’s about the thing I’m best at.”

“Oh, I hope not, baby. I hope that mouth is good for a lot of other things too.”

He saw her breasts hitch. Her eyes growing round. Then he smiled, grabbing hold of the hem of his shirt and stripping it off over his head. Her reaction was more satisfying than he could’ve possibly anticipated. It’d been a long time since he’d seen a woman looking at him that way.

Sure, women checked him out. That happened all the time. But this was different. This was raw, open hunger. She wasn’t bothering to hide it. Why would she? They were both here to do this. No holds barred, no clothes, no nothing. Why bother to be coy? Why bother to pretend this was about anything other than satisfying lust. And if that was all it was, why should either of them bother to hide that lust.

“Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, this is gonna end fast.”

“Don’t do that,” she said, a wicked smile on her lips. “You’re no good to me in that case.”

“Don’t worry, babe. I can get it up more than once.”

At least, he could if he remembered correctly.

“Good thing I brought about three boxes of condoms.”

“For two days? You did have high hopes for the weekend.”

“Ten years,” she reiterated.

“Point taken.”

He moved his hands down, slowly working at his belt. The way that she licked her lips as her eyes followed his every movement ratcheting up his arousal another impossible notch.

Everything felt too sharp, too clear, every rasp of fabric over his skin, every downward flick of her eyes, every small, near-imperceptible gasp on her lips.

He hadn’t been in a bedroom alone with a woman in a long damn time. And it was all catching up with him now.

Shutting down, being a mean bastard who didn’t let anyone close? That was easy enough. It made it easy to forget. He shut the world out, stripped everything away. Reverted back to the way he had been just after his parents had died and it had been too difficult to feel anything more than his grief.

That was what he had done in the past five years. That was what he had done with his new, impossible loss that never should have happened. Wouldn’t have if he’d had a shred of self-control and decency.

And now, tonight, he was proving that he probably still didn’t have any at all. Oh well, just as well. Because he was going to do this.

He was going to do her.

He pushed his jeans down his lean hips, showing her the extent of his desire for her, reveling in the way her eyes widened when he revealed his body completely to her hungry gaze.

“I have never seen one that big before,” she said.

He laughed. “Are you just saying that because it’s what you think men need to hear?”

“No, I’m saying that because it’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. And I want it.”

“Baby,” he said, “you can have it.”

Maddy turned over onto her stomach and crawled across the bed on all fours in a move that damn near gave him a heart attack. Then she moved to the edge of the mattress, straightening up, raking her nails down over his torso before she leaned in, flicking her tongue over the head of his arousal.

He jerked beneath her touch, his length twitching as her tongue traced it from base to tip, just before she engulfed him completely in the warm heat of her mouth. She hummed, the vibration moving through his body, drawing his balls up tight. He really was going to lose it. Here and now like a green teenage boy if he didn’t get a grip on himself. Or a grip on her.

He settled for the second option.

He reached back, grabbing hold of her hair and jerking her lips away from him. “You keep doing that and it really will end.”

The color was high in her cheeks, her eyes glittering. “I’ve never, ever enjoyed it like that before.”

She was so good for his ego. Way better than a man like him deserved. But damned if he wasn’t going to take it.

“Well, you can enjoy more of that. Later. Right now? I need to be inside you.”

“Technically,” she said, her tone one of protest, “you were inside me.”

“And as much as I like being in that pretty mouth of yours, that isn’t what I want right now.” He gritted his teeth, looking around the room. “The condoms.”

She scrambled off the bed and shimmied out of her jeans and panties as she made her way across the room and toward her suitcase. She flipped it open, dug through it frantically and produced the two packets he had seen earlier.

All things considered, he felt a little bit triumphant to be the one getting these condoms. He didn’t know Christopher, but that sad sack was sitting at home with a hard-on, and Sam was having his woman. He was going to go ahead and enjoy the hell out of that.

Madison turned to face him, the sight of that enticing, pale triangle at the apex of her thighs sending a shot straight down to his gut. She kept her eyes on his as she moved nearer, holding one of the condoms like it was a reward he was about to receive.

She tore it open and settled back onto the bed, then leaned forward and rolled it over his length. Then she took her position back up against the pillows, her thighs parting, her heavily lidded gaze averted from his now that she was in that vulnerable position.

“Okay,” she said, “I’m ready.”

She wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

Ten years.

And he had been ready to thrust into her with absolutely no finesse. A woman who’d been celibate for ten years deserved more than that. She deserved more than one orgasm. Hell, she deserved more than two.

He had never been the biggest fan of Madison West, but tonight they were allies. Allies in pleasure. And he was going to hold up his end of the bargain so well that if she was celibate after this, it really would be because she was waiting for her legs to work again.

“Not quite yet, Maddy,” he said, kneeling down at the end of the bed, reaching forward and grabbing hold of her hips, dragging her down toward his face. He brought her up against his mouth, her legs thrown over his shoulders, that place where she was warm and wet for him right there, ready for him to taste her.

“Sam!” Maddy squeaked.

“There is no way you’re a prude, Maddy,” he said. “I’ve had too many conversations with you to believe that.”

“I’ve never... No one has ever...”

“Then it’s time somebody did.”

He lowered his head, tasting her in long, slow passes, like she was an ice-cream cone that he just had to take the time to savor. Like she was a delicacy he couldn’t get enough of.

Because she was.

She was all warmth and sweet female, better than he had ever remembered a woman being. Or maybe she was just better. It was hard to say. He didn’t really care which. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was this.

If he could lose himself in any moment, in any time, it would be this one.

It sure as hell wouldn’t be pounding iron, trying to hammer the guilt out of his body. Certainly wouldn’t be in his damn sculptures, trying to figure out what to make next, trying to figure out how to satisfy the customer. This deeply personal thing that had started being given to the rest of the world, when he wasn’t sure he wanted the rest of the world to see what was inside him.

Hell, he didn’t want to see what was inside him.

He made a hell of a lot of money, carving himself out, making it into a product people could buy. And he sure as hell liked the money, but that didn’t make it a pleasant experience.

No, none of that mattered. Not now. Not when there was Maddy. And that sweet sugar-whiskey taste.

He tasted her until she screamed, and then he thrust his fingers inside her, fast and rough, until he felt her pulse around him, until her orgasm swept through them both.

Then he moved up, his lips almost touching hers. “Now,” he said, his voice husky, “now you’re ready.”


Four (#uca1a7fb8-be3c-5cb2-93ad-182cb892c2f8)

Maddy was shaking from head to toe, and she honestly didn’t know if she could take any more. She had never—not in her entire life—had an orgasm like that. It was still echoing through her body, creating little waves of sensation that shivered through her with each and every breath she took.

And there was still more. They weren’t done. She was glad about that. She didn’t want to be done. But at the same time she wasn’t sure if she could handle the rest. But there he was, above her, over her, so hot and hard and male that she didn’t think she could deny him. She didn’t want to deny him.

She looked at him, at the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, the way it tapered down to his narrow waist, those flat washboard abs that she could probably actually wash her clothes on.

He was everything a man should be. If the perfect fantasy man had been pulled straight out of her deepest fantasies, he would look like this. It hit her then that Christopher had not even been close to being a fantasy man. And that was maybe why he had been so safe. It was why Sam had always been so threatening.

Because Christopher had the power to make a ripple. Sam McCormack possessed the power to engulf her in a tidal wave.

She had no desire to be swept out to sea by any man. But in this instance she had a life preserver. And that was her general dislike of him. The fact that their time together was going to be contained to only this weekend. So what did it matter if she allowed herself to get a little bit storm tossed. It didn’t. She was free. Free to enjoy this as much as she wanted.

And she wanted. Wanted with an endless hunger that seemed to growl inside her like a feral beast.

He possessed the equipment to satisfy it. She let her eyes drift lower than just his abs, taking in the heart, the unequivocal evidence, of his maleness. She had not been lying when she said it was the biggest one she’d ever seen. It made her feel a little bit intimidated. Especially since she had been celibate for so very long. But she had a few days to acclimate.





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