A Cowboy's Woman (10 page)

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Authors: Cathy Gillen Thacker

BOOK: A Cowboy's Woman
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Shane wanted to know what had been in her heart and mind, too. “Because you enjoyed pretending to be his date?” he asked softly.
“No.” Greta raked her teeth across her lower lip. “Because I was his friend. And I understood his conundrum. And if you want to know the truth,” she stated, even more honestly, “after the years spent on the fringes in high school, I enjoyed being part of the ‘popular' crowd. It was
fun
being the center of attention.”
That Shane knew about. There was nothing he liked better than being the center of attention himself. “Well, just see the ‘fun' stops as long as you're married to me,” he grumbled right back
Greta planted her hands on her hips and clearly would have moved off the counter if he had stepped aside to let her. “Is that why you kissed me like that?” she demanded, looking thoroughly ticked off.
“When?” Shane asked, not sure which of their deliciously sexy kisses she was alluding.
“When you came in and found me with Beau.”
Oh. That.
“I kissed you because it's the normal thing
to do when you come in and greet your wife after a day spent apart.”
“Not that way, you don't.” She pushed at him with her knees, signaling she wanted to get down.
“What way?” Enjoying the feel of her, so warm and fiesty and close, Shane kept his hands planted firmly on either side of her and refused to budge. Having no success using her strong sexy legs as leverage, Greta plucked at his hands. Again he held fast.
“As if you were saying to him, ‘This is my woman, buddy, now keep your mitts off”'
Shane grinned, amused. “Is that how you think I kissed you?” he asked. He liked the way she looked, cheeks pink, blue eyes full of temper, soft bare lips on the verge of pouting.
“Isn't it?” Greta shot back emotionally. Evidently giving up on prying his hands from the counter, she moved her hands to press against his shoulders.
“No,” Shane said, leaning his weight into her palms even as he planted his hands between her knees, pushed them apart and stepped in between them. Grabbing her by the hips, he tugged her toward him so swiftly she barely had time to gasp her indignation before her legs were wrapped around him and she was straddling his waist. Tunneling a hand through her upswept hair, he tilted her head back and lifted her lips to his. “
This,”
he told her emphatically as he slowly, deliberately lowered his mouth, “is how I kiss you when I want to put my stamp of possession on you.”
 
GRETA SAW THE KISS COMING. Felt it. Wanted it. Yearned for it. And then his lips were on hers, possessing her in a way she had only dreamed about, making her heart pound, her spirits soar and her senses swim.
She moaned, whether in protest or surrender she could not say, as he kissed her, plundered her, consumed her with his mouth. Lips, teeth, tongue—he used them all to maximum advantage, conjuring up heat and speed and a dreamlike feeling of well-being unlike anything she had ever known. Needing, wanting, with a groan of pleasure and an ocean of desire, she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer yet. Overwhelmed by the hot, salty taste of him, she ran her hands over his cheekbones, kissed the voluptuously soft corners of his mouth, delved deep.
The tantalizing traces of his aftershave mingled with the clean fragrance of soap and the masculine scents of sweat and sun. He was hard, relentless, irresistible in his pursuit of her. She felt his hands move from her hips to her thighs, pushing her skirt higher still. And then his work-roughened hands were bypassing the barrier of lace to the soft, silky skin beneath. She arched as he touched her, the fabric of his jeans rubbing deliciously against her inner thighs. And then his hands were moving higher still, slipping past the lowest vestiges of her tummy to her waist, to the snaps on her blouse. Seconds later, the denim was open to her navel. Cool air rushed over her fevered skin. And still he kissed her, his lips warm and sure. Strength flowing through him to her, he brushed the straps aside. His hands palmed her breasts, molding and caressing.
 
SHANE HADN'T MEANT to do more than kiss Greta, but as her breasts swelled warmly and her nipples pearled against his palms, he knew there was no turning back. One way or another he was going to make love to her. Neither of them would rest until he did. Maybe it wouldn't be here. Maybe it wouldn't be now, he thought
as their kiss turned even more sensual. But it would happen and it would happen soon. And when it did, it would have nothing at all to do with the “deal” they'd made.
Until then, he realized reluctantly, slowly bringing the erotic kiss to a halt, there were choices to be made. He doubted seriously that making love here was something Greta would choose.
Slowly he lifted his head.
Slowly their eyes met.
Greta blinked, clearly as stunned by the unbridled passion they'd felt as he was. A turn of events that made him feel damn good. Greta grabbed the edges of her blouse and fit them together. “What do you think you're doing?” she demanded irritably, pushing him away.
“Besides showing you what a this-is-my-woman kind of kiss is all about?” Shane asked, knowing they'd discovered something special here...something that went far beyond the charade they'd cooked up to teach their parents a lesson about meddling.
“Besides that,” Greta echoed breathlessly as she quickly tugged her blouse and bra into place.
Lower half throbbing, Shane watched her do up the snaps he'd just undone. “Well then, I guess I'd have to say we were practicing for our wedding reception,” he said.
 
GRETA ROLLED HER EYES as she smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. “First of all, I hope we will have broken up before that occurs,” she told him sternly, doing her best to appear as unaffected by their passion as he apparently was.
Shane guffawed. “Not likely, given all that's at stake.”
“Wait a minute,” Greta interrupted, putting up a hand
as she led the way back into the dance hall. She headed up the half dozen or so steps to the DJ's booth, taking them two at a time. “I thought we were only going to stay married a week or so.”
His actions a lazy counterpoint to hers, Shane was, nevertheless, right behind her. “That was the original plan.” His low voice was self-assured and faintly baiting.
Greta lifted her chin and angled her head back to see his face. She didn't like the sound of this. Aware her heart was pounding, she searched his face for any clue of what he was up to now. “But...?” she prodded lightly.
Shane reached over to turn off the sound system. “But I've been thinking about your business and mine, he said calmly, as the dance hall fell silent once again. He swaggered closer, his steps long and lazy. In tight-fitting jeans, boots and one of his custom-made Western shirts worn open at the throat, he looked rugged and every bit as at ease in the business world as he was in a rodeo arena. ”Our professional reputations might do better if we appeared a little more stable than reckless,” he pointed out practically.
“Now
you consider that!” she flung at him furiously, wishing she'd never agreed to join in this crazy escapade of his. Just being close to him, never mind thinking of what they'd started—and both declined to finish—in the dance hall kitchen, made her heart skip a beat. Greta chided herself for the hopelessly romantic reaction. She knew better than to let her romantic fantasies and wishes cloud her thinking, especially when it came to dealing with men who had designs on her. Which Shane now clearly did! Never mind they'd be consummating a marriage
they didn't intend to keep. He was going to try to bed her soon; she'd bet her bottom dollar on it!
“Hey.” Shane flattened both hands on his chest. “We did what we had to do to save your reputation.”
Greta turned away from Shane, trying not to think how incredibly alive he made her feel whenever she was around him. “True,” she murmured, conceding his point. Small towns like Laramie were murder when it came to gossip and everyone knowing everyone else's business.
Shane came around to sit on a table in front of her. “Anyway, I don't think we should rush out of our marriage quite as quickly as we rushed into it. It might be better for us all around if it at least looked like we gave it the good old Texas try before the infatuation ended and we crashed and burned.”
Greta picked up the play lists the DJ she had hired had given her. She had to make her selections and mark them all before opening night. “And how long do you think that will take?” She stuffed them in her briefcase, along with copies of the insurance papers her father had asked her to sign that morning.
“A couple weeks, at least.”
Greta's eyes widened at the thought of staying married to Shane and continuing this charade for that long. “Shane!”
He regarded her steadily. “From a business point of view, you have to admit it makes sense. And bottom line, isn't business what it's all about?” Shane asked softly, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “For both of us?”
Greta threw up her hands and reluctantly gave in. Grabbing her briefcase, keys and handbag, she skipped back down the stairs before he could kiss her again. “All right. I'll agree to stay married a little longer than we
originally thought we'd have to,” she told him over her shoulder, already heading for the back door. “But as far as the rest of it goes, as far as the reception our parents are throwing, we're not going to kiss at that...not like we just did!” Because then their parents would jump to all sorts of conclusions—namely that the two of them were falling head over heels in love with each other. And they'd never give up on the ill-fated union.
“I agree,” Shane said gravely, following her out the service entrance, then waiting while she locked up. He braced a shoulder on the wall. “That was much too sexy a kiss for a wedding reception,” he teased with a wink. “Kisses like that belong on the honeymoon.”
Greta pivoted away from him and headed for her car. Unable to believe how wantonly she had just behaved, she said sternly, “Will you stop teasing me and get serious?” She was beginning to see why women fell for bad boys! They got a woman into trouble before she knew it, but it was so much fun being with one, that afterward she almost didn't mind.
“Okay.” Shane waited for her to unlock her car door, open up all the doors and let the hot air out. “Seriously—?”
“Seriously,” Greta confirmed.
“Let's get out of here and go back to the ranch before we're tempted to do it all over again.”
 
GRETA HAD THOUGHT he was joking, Shane realized, as he got in his pickup and she got in her sports car and he followed her home to the ranch he'd just purchased for himself. But he hadn't been. He'd never wanted to possess a woman the way he wanted to possess her. And it hadn't—as he'd led her to believe—just started now. If he were totally honest, he'd have to admit that he'd
been keenly aware of her the whole time they'd been growing up, but especially in high school. Except she'd been such a sweet kid then, two years younger and so vulnerable. Unlike him, she'd been so earnest in her desire to please. And like him, she'd been under so much pressure to achieve from her folks. Back then, she hadn't possessed nearly the poise and self-assurance she had now. Back then, the only time she had been able to shake off her almost painful self-consciousness and really come alive was when she was dancing with the school's dance line at football and basketball games. Back then, he hadn't dared come within a ten-foot pole of her for fear that he would somehow damage her life by succumbing to temptation and behaving more like a guy on a quest than the big brother she had so obviously needed.
So he'd done the right thing, the gentlemanly thing, and walked away from her without a backward glance. And what had happened in the meantime? She'd grown up. Blossomed. Seen nearly as much of the country as he had, following the whims of her career as a dancer. And she'd become so close to Beauregard Chamberlain that he'd not only become the big brother figure Shane now wished he had been for her, but was secretly bankrolling her new dinner and dance club.
Seeing her in Beau's arms had been like getting a knife in the gut. More telling yet, he didn't want Greta turning to Beau for anything. He wanted Greta turning to him. But how likely was that to happen? Shane wondered as Travis's words came back to haunt him.
Give it up, little brother. You can't compete with that.
And much as Shane was loath to admit it, Travis had been right. At least to a point. Shane couldn't give Greta the access to unlimited millions the way Beau could. Heck, he couldn't even give her a nice place to live.
He would like to fix up the ranch house, but what he knew about decorating could fit on the head of a pin. Greta obviously had a clue about such things. He had only to look at what she'd done with the dance hall to know that. He could ask his mother to help him out on that score, of course, or Jackson's new wife, Lacey, or even Wade's. But if he did that, then they'd wonder why his own wife wasn't tending to such things. They'd wonder why she hadn't just jumped in and started making the ranch house a home, or at least, had plans to do so in the future as soon as she had time. But, Shane thought, sighing, that wasn't likely to happen, either, so it was a good thing he'd seen to the absolute essentials while he was out buying horses.

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