Cowboy at Midnight

“Exactly.”

“Ouch.” Rasa laughed.

Betsy Pinkley, Amy’s best friend, who had mousy brown hair and thick glasses and who was even duller than she was, if that were possible, had ditched her to stay home and read because her allergies had flared up.

Tonight when Amy had dropped by Betsy’s apartment to pick her up, a red-eyed Betsy had been sitting on her couch in her pajamas dabbing tissues at her running eyes and nose.

“It’s the cedar again. I’m too sick to go out,” she’d said miserably. “But not to worry. I didn’t call you because Rasa can go with you instead.”

“Rasa? I don’t know a Rasa.”

“My next-door neighbor’s baby sister.” Betsy had blown her nose messily and then plucked handfuls of tissues from the box beside. “Rasa’s from out of town. Her brother Trell had a date, and she’s dying to see the action on Sixth Street. So I thought since you want to go out and she wants to go out…bingo!”

“I don’t want to go out with just anybody! And not to Sixth Street! I want to have dinner with you. Just you.” Amy’s cell phone rang. When she saw it was her mother, she didn’t answer it.

“Don’t you care that I’m sick at all? I made these special arrangements for you even when my head was killing me.”

“Of course I care. But can’t you pop an allergy pill?”

“Wait until you meet Rasa,” Betsy said.

“I’m leaving.” But just as Amy switched off her cell phone and headed for the door, the bell rang and Rasa burst inside, only to stop and stare at Amy. Rasa wore a revealing, low, tight red sheath and lots of gold bangles while Amy was swathed from head to toe in gray silk.

“Rasa, this is Amy. Amy—”

“Glad to meet you, baby, but, hey… I thought we were gonna have some fun tonight. What’s with the gray shroud?” She turned to Betsy. “How come you didn’t tell me your friend was a nun?”

“What?” Amy said. “Now I’m being stood up and insulted!”

Rasa rolled her almond-shaped eyes. “Hey, sorry. Sometimes I come on a little strong.”

“A little?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You’re great looking. The question is—why are you hiding that fact?” Rasa lifted her brows and then walked around Amy, studying her figure closely. “Lucky for you, we’re about the same size. I bought a couple of hot new outfits this afternoon that will do wonders for you.”

“I…I don’t do hot.” Amy felt the blood drain from her face as guilt squeezed her chest in a vise. It had been a long time since she’d worn dramatic clothes to draw attention to herself. Lately, though, she’d been sick of her dull wardrobe. “Truly, all I want is a quiet dinner.”

Instead of listening, Rasa raced outside. Amy heard a car door slam. Then Rasa burst inside again. She was as quick in her movements and thought processes as Lexie had been.

Amy couldn’t help being reminded of Lexie’s laughing face as she’d jumped into the boat that last, fatal night.

Rasa ripped open a paper bag and held up two spandex skirts and blouses the size of postage stamps. “Aren’t they just darling?”

Lexie would have loved them. The old Amy would have loved them.

“Black spandex?” Amy said.

“This new look will do wonders for you.”

“I am not wearing that.”

“Thanks, darlin’, for guarding my hat in this den of iniquity.”

The deep, male drawl cut into Amy’s thoughts, and she jumped, sloshing her Flirtita all over her right hand and his hat.

His quick grin was wolflike. She felt her face flame with unwanted pleasure even before his large hand lifted the damp Stetson from her table and placed it on his head. “Fits me better than it does you,” he drawled softly as he picked up a napkin and handed it to her. “Looks better on you, though, darlin’.”

Hot and cold chills raced through her body as she dabbed at her hand.

He leaned over her shoulder. “Would you like to dance?” he whispered into her ear. His warm breath stirring the golden tendrils against her earlobe sent wild, tingly sensations down her spine as glass and cutlery tinkled somewhere nearby. The heat of her body stirred her, too.

“N-no!”

“All right, then. Just thought I’d ask.” He grinned his big-bad-wolf grin. “See ya ’round.”

He turned, and she found herself gaping with dismay at the breadth of his magnificent, broad shoulders. He was gorgeous. He would ask somebody else. She knew that.

An inexplicable pain knifed her heart. She wouldn’t see him ever again. She’d go back to her safe, controlled, workaholic life.

Amy swallowed the lump in her throat. She had to let him go.

“Would you like to sit down?” Rasa quickly invited, causing Amy’s heart to leap. “My friend here was just saying she could use another Flirtita.”

“I was not!”

“Maybe if she has one, she’ll lighten up and dance with me,” he said.

Amy couldn’t quite suppress her smile.

“She had a tough day,” Rasa said. “Real tough. Her boss is rich and famous and demanding. Not to mention she just turned thirty. She could use some sympathy.”

The cowboy was staring at Amy again. “Thirty? You don’t look twenty.”

“I feel thirty.”

“Bye, you two,” Rasa said, pulling out a chair for him as she winked at Amy. “Have fun! I think I’ll go ask somebody cute to dance while you two get to know each other.”

Burning color washed Amy’s cheeks. “Rasa!”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. I’ll go if you want me to.”

His eyes lingered on her face. They reminded her of warm, rich, dark chocolate, at least in color. At the same time, they were hard and shrewd, wary, too.

He seemed vulnerable and almost shy. Was he from the country, in town for a night of fun? If so, what would be the harm of sharing a drink if it went no further than a little flirting?

“No.” Was that squeaky, very unsexy sound her voice? “Don’t go,” she pleaded.

He turned. “You sure?”

No, I’m not sure. I’m the farthest thing from sure. But she said nothing more, and he sat down and signaled a waiter, who came flying to their table to wait on him. Quickly he ordered another round of drinks. Then he turned his full attention back to her.

Close up he was remarkably good-looking, too good-looking, really. Gorgeous even, if one could call such a big, dark, rough-looking man, gorgeous. His body was tall and lean and hard, and he had those wonderfully wide shoulders. His face, with its masculine, angular planes and chiseled cheekbones, was strong. He had thick, dark brows, a long, straight nose, and a full, sensual mouth. He wore a snowy white western shirt with pearl snap buttons.

“Where do you live?” she said, swallowing to wet the dryness in her throat.

“I have a ranch southwest of here.”

“I wondered if you were a real cowboy.”

“So, the country in me shows.”

“Only a little.” She laughed, and so did he. She’d once had a thing for cowboys.

“I’ve been ranching for ten years—among other things. Too many other things. I’d like to start concentrating on the ranching, but I needed to raise capital from my other ventures to buy land and stock.”

When she finished her Flirtita, he held up his hand, and the bartender brought her another.

“I really shouldn’t.”

“It’s a hot night,” he said. “You feel like dancing with me yet?”

When she gazed at him, his dark face blurred, which meant she’d better dance to burn off that last Flirtita. “Why not?”

He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. Slowly he folded her into his arms. Then he simply held her against his body for a long time, hesitating, before starting to dance. Still, all too soon they were swaying together to a slow western tune.

She didn’t consider herself a good dancer, and she hadn’t danced in years. He was sure and masterful even though he danced away from the other couples, who glided past them in a circle. As he held her against his powerful chest and they moved together, she forgot her fear of him and her guilt, at least for the moment. Dancing in his arms was like a drug. Soon her spirits rocketed sky-high.

Although they didn’t speak in words, their bodies spoke, and she began to feel more and more at ease with him. Or maybe it was the two Flirtitas. Soon it was as if she’d known him always. Gradually she relaxed, and their bodies became more intimately entwined.

When that song ended, he held her, his heat seeping into her, until the next one, which was a polka, started. Thank God. This time they skipped along expertly with the other dancers until her heart was beating in her throat and her breath began coming faster and faster. He never removed his gaze from her face, nor could she quit looking at him.

They danced to song after song, to waltzes, polkas and two-steps, and each number was more fun than the one before. She felt almost lighthearted. She floated in his arms. When at last the music slowed again, he held her more tightly than before, so tightly that their bodies melted into each other and she felt the hard imprint of his muscular frame molding her softer flesh. He was hot, and his white shirt felt damp. She caught the scent of his spicy aftershave spiked by his own clean scent, which was both musky and pleasantly distinctive.

His holding her with their faces mere inches apart slowly became too erotic to bear.

“You’re a good dancer. You must practice. Do you come here often?” she asked, hoping he’d say no.

But he didn’t. He crushed her tighter. “I came here to meet somebody just for tonight. But this is different. Don’t you know that?” He stroked her throat with a callused thumb, causing a thousand little nerves to tingle delicately.

She gasped.

“You’re different,” he said. “I think you know that I could care about you…too much.”

Hearing the change in his rough voice, Amy glanced up at him. His intense, dark eyes were grave.

“Then you do…come here…often?”

His face was suddenly so serious, her heart ached.

“And do you dance with a different woman every night?”

“If you want to know do I sleep with a lot of different women, just ask me.”

“Well, do you?”

“I said you were different.” His voice had darkened. “I said I could care. I shouldn’t have said that, but I meant it.”

“You told me to ask, but you didn’t answer. Do you sleep around or not? Am I just tonight’s flavor?”

His mouth thinned. He spun her in an intricate turn and then snapped her back into his arms. “If I have in the past, I had my reasons,” he growled.

“A man either has character when it comes to women or he doesn’t,” she said.

“So, things are black-and-white with you, no shades of gray? Good or bad? Evil or virtuous?”

His words sliced her like a knife through soft tissue. She notched her chin up so high, she felt her neck muscles tighten.

“Which are you, then?” he asked. “A saint or a sinner?”

His question stung her like a whip. “You’re evading my question,” she persisted, her tone sharp.” Why is that, I wonder?”

“Maybe because I want you to think well of me.” He dragged her closer and bent his dark head down to hers. “What the hell are you running from?”

“You at the moment.”

“I don’t think so.”

When his mouth was less than an inch from hers, she touched his lips with a fingertip.

He sucked the tip into his mouth and suckled it, sending hot, thrilling shivers through her. “You don’t have to run from me. I won’t hurt you.” His voice was husky and his eyes unfocused as he pulled her against him. “I—”

“Wait. Not so fast,” she whispered huskily. “I want to know more about you first.”

“Okay. So, maybe I’ve had a few women. They were casual affairs.”

“One-night stands?”

“Uncomplicated fun.”

“I learned there’s no such thing.” The weight of her guilt crushed her heart. Why had she said that? Told him anything?

“Really? Then why are you here?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

When he lifted her hair back from her hot face, she tried to stop him. She was a little sensitive about her ears, thinking they stuck out too much. Then his mouth brushed her earlobe, and she felt another unwanted rush of heat fire the length of her spine.

“Are you so different from me? Isn’t this what you came here for?” He kissed her other earlobe.

“This?” she whispered.

“Sex?” he said.

“I for one don’t sleep around,” she said primly, pulling her hair back over her ears. “I don’t go to bars to pick up—”

“You’re here. What did you come here for, if not for this?” His lips nibbled her cheek. “You were giving me a look.”

The warmth he aroused was so delicious, she gasped. “Don’t. I feel faint.”

“Has it been that long?”

“Yes.”

“Or is it just me?”

“Maybe a little of both,” she admitted shyly.

He laughed.

“Don’t get conceited.”

He kissed her throat above the chunky coral necklace, and she shivered when more heated sensations flared in her stomach. Then she hugged herself with her arms.

“You smell good,” he said. “Like flowers.”

“Violets,” she replied. “Soap and perfume. It was a Christmas gift.”

“From a man?”

“From my mother.”

He kissed her again, harder than before, and she felt herself responding. Why shouldn’t she let him kiss her? Was it so wrong? He’d asked her if she was a saint or a sinner. She was definitely the latter. What would he say if she told him that because of her, her best friend had died and that now she lay in a cold, dark grave Amy couldn’t bear to look at?

His mouth made her feel like she was burning up. It wasn’t as if she was a virgin, either—although she was, if not technically, a kind of virgin. What was the modern term for it? A born-again virgin. It had been years since that wild time in her life that had ended in disaster. Years. And yet, in a way, that awful time felt like yesterday.

Because she didn’t want to think about the cemetery or the past, because she wanted to use him to blot it all out, she arched her left eyebrow flirtatiously. “So, what’s your name, cowboy?”

“Steve.” With blunt, expert fingers, he cupped her triangular chin. His warm breath fanned tendrils of her hair against her ear.

She relaxed a little as the western music, which was a mournful lament about lost love and death, ebbed and flowed around them.

“Steve,” she murmured huskily. “Steve. I’ve never known a Steve.”

“What’s yours?”

“Sally, er, Jones.”

“Sally?” He bent to kiss her again, and this time she parted her lips. For a long moment his mouth clung to hers. When he fused his body to hers, her heart clamored for even more.

“Take it home, you two. If it’s that good, save it for the bedroom,” a cowboy quipped as he and his partner glided past them on the dance floor.

“You want to?” Steve asked her. “I’ve got a hotel room.”

“Uncomplicated sex?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t have called it that.”

There’s no such thing as uncomplicated sex when two people feel as passionately about each other as we do. Somebody always has an agenda.

“Kiss me first,” she murmured, “and I’ll decide.”

“So this is a test?”

“Of sorts. Scared you won’t pass?” She stared teasingly into his dark eyes. “You are scared, aren’t you? In spite of all your practice with other women?”

“There haven’t been all that many, really,” he muttered, looking slightly offended.

He was a lot more arrogant when he was scared, she thought as he nuzzled the side of her throat with his mouth.

“A test, huh? All or nothing? I like that. So you’re a risk taker.”

“Not a good trait really.” She smiled nervously. “And you could decide you don’t want me.”

“Not a chance, darlin’.” His grip tightened on her. “Not a chance in hell.”

Thrilled beyond measure at the passion in his determined voice, she felt her heart skip lightly and then pound violently even before his mouth, which was gentle and sweet, claimed hers again. His warm lips slanted across hers, lingering softly until she moaned for more, until she clutched his neck, growing feverish with impatience for him to deepen the kiss.

But he didn’t.

“Yes or no?” he whispered on a muted groan, pulling away, nibbling her upper lip before releasing it. “Pass or fail?”

The withdrawal of his mouth touched off a well-spring of hunger in her. Not that she was about to let on.

“You call that a kiss?” she teased, puckering her lips in wanton invitation.

He laughed. “I call it a start of something we can finish later. I like how disappointed you look and sound ’cause I stopped so fast, darlin’. You want more and we both know it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He let her go. “Well?” His low voice was gruffer. “Yes or no? Pass or fail?”

She pressed her lips tightly against her teeth. “If I say no, will you just start flirting with some other woman?”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, turning her palm so that he could press his mouth against her flesh. When he did, his kiss sent flames through her.

“Yes or no?” he growled.

Three

“P ass or fail, huh?” she whispered, toying with him as guitars whined and other couples glided past them. “What if I’m still not sure?”

His face was flushed as he clasped her slender waist tighter. His gaze was as intent as a hungry tiger’s. “Make up your mind, darlin’. Or do you have another test in mind? You want me to pull some other stunt like stripping or something?”

“No!”

His hands moved to a pearl snap on his white shirt. Swaying to the music, he undid it slowly, and she found herself staring at a virile strip of skin. He looked as wild as a pagan warrior. “Want to see more, darlin’?” He lowered his large hands to the next pearl stud.

“Stop.” She covered his hands with her own, inadvertently touching his warm chest. Her fingertips heated instantly, desire flashing through her like quicksilver. Gasping, she would have jumped away if he hadn’t grabbed her and held her close.

“Don’t break both our hearts by saying no,” he murmured.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your heart wouldn’t break.”

“Darlin’, you misjudge me.”

The bar was filling up fast. Voices and laughter buzzed around them. A dozen couples joined them on the dance floor. She thought of her empty apartment, of going home alone, of her memories attacking her, when she could have this gorgeous man all to herself.

It had been eight years since the accident. Eight long years since she’d slept with anyone. Not that she’d ever even considered bedding any man this fast. She barely knew Steve, and yet she wanted him so badly she hurt.

This couldn’t just be sex, but if it wasn’t, somebody would get hurt. Probably him, because she was damaged.

Lexie was dead, and it was her fault.

If I could cause something that terrible, I don’t deserve him or even a shred of happiness ever again. Guilt crept over her. How could she forget, even for one night, what her careless, wild behavior had cost?

“What are you so afraid of?” he muttered, ripping at the studs so that his shirt came apart and he stood before her with his hard tanned torso partially exposed. “Touch me. Put your hands on me. I need to feel them on my naked skin.”

When still she hesitated, he grabbed her hands and placed them on his chest, on the coarse black hair. Then he began moving them across his hard body until she broke free and clasped him to her around the waist.

He felt as hot as fire, as unyielding as granite.

“I…I don’t think we should,” she whispered softly, barely able to breathe.

“You think too much.”

His voice was anguished rather than angry. She felt his pain. Touching him made her want more, too. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she stood on her tiptoes and moved her arms upward until they circled his neck. With lightning quickness she pulled his face down to hers eagerly and kissed him on the mouth lingeringly. In the next instant he hauled her higher against him, crushing her breasts into his naked chest and her hips against his fully aroused male hardness. If her heart beat wildly against his chest, she felt his pulse thudding even faster than hers.

Somewhere in the depths of her mind, she was aware of his muscles straining on her arms and waist. Then she realized he was half dragging, half carrying her on her tiptoes across the dance floor to the darkest corner in the bar. Once there he pushed her against a wall as if she were no more than a doll and pressed his body into hers.

Again she knew the sweet, dark heat of his mouth as he pleasured her with more kisses, each one more passionate than the last. He was soon rasping deeply between every breath like a hard-run athlete. Nobody had ever kissed her half as greedily. Powerless, she kissed him back, caught in the storm of her own needs. She felt unleashed after years and years of restraint.

Was it him? Was he special? All she knew was that she wanted him. She wanted him so much she couldn’t bear the thought of not having him.

One night. Only one night. A birthday present to myself. Then never again.

With a little moan she parted her lips, and his tongue slid inside. Soon his swollen manhood was a growing pressure against her abdomen. He was huge and tall, and when he held her ever more tightly, she felt her body quiver.

“I want you. I want you more than I ever believed it was possible to want a man.”

And you don’t even know my real name.

His hands moved over her breasts, and she let him touch her wherever he wanted, her breasts, her buttocks, until she lost all sense of place and time.

“I want you,” she repeated.

“You’re so beautiful, darlin’. So damned beautiful.” He rocked his hips into hers. Arching into him, she felt dizzy and on fire, drunk with the need for more of him.

Suddenly, as abruptly as he’d enticed her, he withdrew, pushing her away, spinning on the tall heels of his black boots and stomping five feet away from her. Quickly he buttoned his shirt and stuffed his shirttail into his jeans. He combed back his hair with quick, rough fingers.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, aching for more kisses as she watched his shaking hand sweep rapidly through his dark hair.

“Pass or fail?” he muttered savagely.

“What?”

“We can’t do this here in front of—”

“You’re right, of course,” she agreed, shamed to the core.

“I own this place,” he said.

“You do?”

“All those guys in the white aprons drilling holes in our backs work for me.”

“What?”

“I’m done putting on a show for my employees. Besides, if I kiss you, or even so much as touch you again, I don’t know what I might be capable of.” His dark eyes flashed.

“Then we’d better go,” she said, giggling with delight and excitement.

“Pass or fail?” he muttered brusquely.

“How can you ask a dumb question like that when my heart’s racing?”

“That’s a yes, I take it.”

She laughed. “If you don’t know that by now, you’re not too smart, cowboy. I can barely breathe much less stand.”

She slid up beside him, stood on her tiptoes and grabbed his hat, which she put on her own head. Holding the brim, she raced for the exit sign, laughing at him still.

Rasa yelled, “Way to go, Amy.” But all Amy focused on was Steve’s heavy strides quickening behind her.

She was making a spectacle of herself and of him, and she didn’t care. For the first time in years she felt almost her old, young, carefree self—wild and alive and real, free and young and happy.

She didn’t deserve real happiness. She knew that. Just as she knew it wouldn’t last.

In the morning, this would all be a dream…like it never happened, she promised herself, the demons and Lexie.

She was damaged. The only way to protect her birthday lover would be to leave him.

Outside, hidden in the dark shadows caused by the lush plantings and the wide overhang of the roofline of the Shiny Pony, which was an old Victorian building doing time as a trendy bar, she watched three drunk men shouting at each other in the early-summer heat. She waited until Steve dashed outside and caught up with her.