The Texas Rancher's Vow

A liquid warmth filled her as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. Writhing against him, she sifted her fingers through his hair, kissed the top of his head. Gasping, she arched her back, surrendering to him.

When he rose again, smiling, the kiss turned maddeningly slow and sensual. She let her fingers play, too, until he groaned, turned the dial and guided her inside the glass-walled shower. Then he drew them both beneath the generous spray, cupped her head in his hand and kissed her again, the delicious heat of him countering the slowly warming water sluicing over them. Again and again he kissed her, until she gave herself over to his demand, and their bodies were plastered together.

When she could stand it no longer, he caressed her tenderly and groaned. “You’ve got me so off task.”

It felt very on task to her.

He leaned over and kissed her again. “I intended to get cleaned up for you first.”

His eyes met hers. Another thrill slid through her. Another whisper of arousal…

Matt reached for the soap, grabbed a washcloth from the hook. Aware this was her every fantasy come true, she watched as he rubbed the bar into a nice thick lather, then set it back on the shelf and began running the cloth over his body with the same steady expertise he did everything else.

Shoulders. Chest. Thighs…

Feeling left out of what looked like an awful lot of fun, Jen caught his hand, extricated the cloth. “Allow me.”

He chuckled, his eyes darkening. Acquiescing, he leaned against the shower wall.

“I’m an artist,” she whispered, grabbing the sprayer, too. “I learn best through touch.” And what she wanted to learn most, Jen discovered breathlessly, was him.

Every dip and nook and cranny, every hard plane and rigid muscle, was washed and rinsed, touched and loved.

Turning her on.

Turning him on.

Suddenly the soapy cloth dropped and the kissing commenced. The next thing Jen knew, he’d grasped her wrist, shut off the water, and was heading for bed.

His bed.

Which was, she soon discovered, infinitely comfortable. Especially with Matt stretched out beside her.

Pausing only long enough to roll on a condom, he steadied her, hands on her hips. “Still time to turn back,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

Her own passion ready to explode, Jen shook her head. She would die if he didn’t fill her soon. “No way.”

“Then let’s get you good to go.” He slid down to the apex of her thighs, held her open, kissing and ravishing, until she was shuddering and gasping for air.

Jen clutched at him. “Now, Matt. Now…”

She felt his smile against her thigh. He moved upward. “My pleasure.”

Being filled by him was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Jen opened herself up to him as he began to move in exactly the right rhythm to send her soaring. Emboldened by her pleasure, he thrust hard again, finding his own shattering release.

He kissed her through the climax, through the aftermath, and even after that. Jen had never had anyone want her once the passion had faded. It was a delicious sensation, sweet and satisfying, the tenderness between them a palpable thing. Which was why, she knew, she had to get out of there.

Fast.

* * *

MATT KNEW IT WAS TOO MUCH, too soon. He’d hooked up with Jen, anyway. And not for the strictly physical reasons she might suspect. He hadn’t led her down here to seduce her into bed. He had come back down here to get away from her, from the closeness that threatened every time they were alone together.

And even when they weren’t.

She had a way of looking at him, of understanding what was going on with him even when he didn’t say a word.

He wasn’t used to feeling understood—by anyone.

Up until now, it hadn’t bothered him. Life was just easier that way. When he could keep everyone at arm’s length.

The last place he wanted Jen was at arm’s length.

Yet there she was, just minutes after they had both climaxed—out of his arms, out of his bed. Sheet draped modestly around her, she was gathering up her clothes, one by one. As if he hadn’t already committed every inch of her sweet, luscious body to memory. And, he was willing to bet, she was equally familiar with his. Not that there wasn’t room for improvement. They still had much to explore in the lovemaking department. In fact, he was already getting hard. “You really don’t have to rush out. No one else is here, nor likely to be.”

Jen managed to wiggle into her rose-colored bikini panties without dropping the sheet.

Unable to do the same with her bra, she dropped the sheet, turned her back to him and sat down on the bench at the foot of his bed. Head bent, she fastened the clasp of her bra in front of her, then twisted the lacy white fabric around and pulled it up over the globes of her breasts. Over her slender shoulders.

The straps fell into place with a snap.

Jen’s chest rose and fell as she drew in a bolstering breath. “That’s not really the point, Matt.”

She turned to face him yet again, her nipples poking through the lace, belying the casual disregard of her words, whether she wanted them to or not.

Aware that his nipples were still erect, too, Matt folded his arms behind his head and lay back against the pillows, watching her. Wanting her.

Wondering if she had any idea how completely desirable he found her. Or how much he wanted to repeat their mind-blowing sex.

“Then what is the point?” he asked softly, irritated that she felt it necessary to lie to him about what she was really feeling.

Color flooding her cheeks, she pulled her tank top over her head.

She looked even sexier clad in just panties, bra and tank, her long silky legs and dainty feet planted defiantly apart.

Jen snatched her jeans off the floor and tugged them up over her knees.

The stone-colored fabric, worn and soft, pulled taut across her flat tummy. The waistband rested just above the line of her panties, revealing her sexy belly button. And cupping her sleek thighs and delectably round butt in a way that drove him crazy.

He sighed in disappointment as she tugged the hem of her tank down over her hips, cutting off his view of bare, silky skin.

A mixture of exasperation and defiance gleamed in her eyes. “You want honesty?”

Matt lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing but.” He was certain, one wrong word from him and he’d never have the chance to lure her into his bed again.

Jen came close enough to perch on the foot of the mattress. Still safely out of reach, she gave him a level look. “I meant what I said to you earlier. I accept that I’m done with roller-coaster romance and dreams of happily ever after. I know it’s never going to happen to me. I don’t expect it…and I don’t want it.”

“Then what do you want?”

She bent over to tug on her socks and boots. “To just take life as it comes. One day at a time. I don’t want this…hookup…to have any repercussions.”

“It won’t.”

Jen shot him a skeptical look. “I don’t want to think about it or talk about it or expect that it will happen again. Because…” she leaned against the wall, arms folded decisively in front of her “…it’s not going to, Matt.”

He couldn’t say he was surprised she was backing off, since she was no more inclined to let someone in than he was.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t react differently now. Especially when the chemistry was this good. “Why not?” He rose from the bed and began to dress, too. She caught his eye and went still.

He tracked the lift of her breasts as she held her breath. “It was good. “

“Very good,” she confirmed, jerking her gaze away. “And that’s where I want to leave it.”

* * *

“DID YOU GET EVERYTHING you needed?” Celia asked, via phone, later in the day.

Jen looked around the studio with satisfaction. Flexible wire, sculpting tools and measuring tape were laid out next to containers of clay. She had scanned into her laptop the pictures she was going to use as her models. Special software had converted those images into three dimensional models, complete with precise measurements, that she could translate to whatever scale she wanted. Jen still wanted to blow up those same photos to poster size so she could have them set up all around her, for further inspiration while she worked. But that, she figured, could wait until the following day.

Right now, she wanted to keep working on the sketches of the first proposed sculpture.

“Yes. I unpacked and set up this afternoon.” Jen sighed. After my colossal mistake.

“How are things with Matt Briscoe?”

Jen kept her tone noncommittal. “About as you’d expect.” Sexy. Difficult. Too fun. And way too confusing!

Celia chuckled. “Hmm. I thought I glimpsed a little attraction there, beneath all the guff.”

Good thing you can’t see us now, then, Jen thought, her body still thrilling at the reckless way they’d made love that afternoon.

What had gotten into her, anyway?

Why was Matt Briscoe able to get past her defenses so easily?

And when had she lost all common sense? Hadn’t she learned the last time not to fall for a rich guy?

If she wanted to know how far apart she and Matt were on that score, all she had to do was think about his casual attitude regarding the cost of her van repairs.

A sum that was ridiculously expensive to her meant nothing to him.

Lovemaking that—if she was honest—meant everything to her probably meant very little to him, as well.

And though Jen had acted as if she could have sex for the pure physical pleasure of it, she knew deep down that just wasn’t true. With her, feelings were always involved.

Her heart had already been crushed once, by someone out of her league financially. She didn’t need to have it trampled again.

So it was best to do what she had told Matt this afternoon, and just leave things as they were. Over. Done. Kaput.

“Jen?” Celia asked. “Are you still there?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She shook off all romantic notions and once again focused on her friend from childhood. “How are things with you and Cy?”

Celia groaned. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I saw my OB today. I’m three centimeters dilated. The doc said the baby can come any time now. She wants me to keep my bag packed.”

Jen smiled and tried not to feel a little pang of envy, since she’d likely never have a baby of her own. “That’s great, Celia. Cy must be so excited.”

“Oh, he is!”

They talked a little more about the upcoming birth and delivery, before getting down to gallery business, and then promised to talk again the next day.

Happy about the two sales that had transpired in her absence—and what that meant for the gallery books—Jen hung up.

Hearing the heavy thud of footsteps, she turned toward the door.

Emmett Briscoe appeared there. “Am I interrupting?”

Jen put her cell phone aside and rose to greet him, immediately concerned by how he looked. “Come in,” she urged gently.

Emmett shuffled toward her, clearly favoring one leg. He appeared tired and wan. Perspiration dotted his forehead.

“Are you all right? Did you fall?”

He shook his head and drew a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his face. “I think I got a little overheated when I was coming inside just now.”

It looked like a heck of a lot more than that. Jen slipped a hand beneath his elbow and guided him to a chair. “Forgive me for saying so,” she said carefully, “but you look ill. We should get you to a doctor.”

Grimly, Emmett shook his head again.

“At least call Matt.”

“Absolutely not,” he thundered, mopping his forehead once again. “Matt is the last person you should tell.”

Well, something wasn’t right. Emmett’s left leg was trembling, while his right seemed perfectly fine. As were his hands. Which, Jen recalled, was the opposite of what had been going on this morning. Then, one of his hands had been trembling, and his legs had been fine.

She pulled up a chair and sat facing him, clasping his hands. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” She waited for him to look her in the eye. “And don’t give me the hangover business again, because I know one when I see one and this is not it.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat. “You’re right. It isn’t.”

The raw emotion in his voice frightened her. Jen gripped his hands more tightly. “Then what is it?” she asked, trying not to sound upset.

Emmett swallowed. Moisture glistened in his faded blue eyes. “Parkinson’s, most likely.”

What did he mean, most likely? “Have you seen a doctor?” Jen asked quietly.

“No.” He mopped his forehead again, then he stared at her with steely determination. “And I’m not going to, either. Matt and I spent years watching his mother deteriorate, bit by bit. I’m not about to make the rest of my son’s life about being my nursemaid. And that’s what it would turn into. We both know that.”

Jen couldn’t argue. Matt was very protective of his dad.

But what if it wasn’t Parkinson’s disease? What if it was something else? What if early treatment might make all the difference in the prognosis?

“Matt’s going to notice your symptoms,” Jen warned.

“No. He’s not. And you know why? Because he doesn’t want to see them.” The rancher sighed. “I understand that. I didn’t see Margarite’s infirmities, either, when she first got sick, because I couldn’t bear the thought of anything really being wrong with her. So I convinced myself that she was just tired, or coming down with a cold, or getting over a virus. Anything and everything but what was really happening.”

Jen knew what he meant. “I did the same thing when my dad was in the last stages of liver failure.” Her voice cracked. “I—I couldn’t admit to myself that he was…”

“Dying?”

She nodded, then fell silent. Memories overwhelmed her and tears pricked her eyes.

Emmett reached out and patted her arm. For a moment the two of them sat in silence, comforting each other.

“Besides,” he said eventually, “I take great pains to avoid Matt on those days that are really bad.”

She bit her lip. “You don’t think he’ll get suspicious?”

Emmett shrugged, still confiding in her as naturally as if she were family. “For a while, he thought I was seeing a woman.”

Matt had thought it might be Jen. At least that first day when he’d come to see her in her Austin studio…

“I’ve shared this with you in the strictest confidence,” Emmett continued sincerely. “You are not to tell Matt any of it. And I need you to swear on all you hold dear that you will keep quiet.”

Jen knew what an important first step this was. The big, brash, larger-than-life Texas rancher had admitted to her he was ill. He was trusting her to help him. And she would.

“Yes. I promise,” she said quietly, meaning it with all her heart.

Emmett’s leg trembled harder. Jen put her hand on his knee to stop the involuntary shaking. “I won’t tell anyone,” she reiterated, applying gentle pressure. “Not until you—”

She was about to say “change your mind and give me the okay,” when Emmett’s head jerked up.

The rancher looked past her, flushed guiltily and pushed her hand off his leg.

The hair on the back of her neck prickling, Jen turned in the direction of his gaze and encountered the person she least wanted to see.

Standing in the doorway, looking angry as hell, was the man she had made wild, passionate love with just a few hours before.

Matt Briscoe stomped in.

“Won’t tell anyone what?” he demanded.

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