A Cowboy's Woman (8 page)

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Authors: Cathy Gillen Thacker

BOOK: A Cowboy's Woman
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Grinning wickedly, Shane reached over and switched off the light. The covers lifted, and he slipped beneath the sheets. “Sorry, but—” she felt rather than saw him roll over onto his back “—this is how I sleep.”
Greta's eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. “In the buff?”
“You could, too.” Shane chuckled softly as he burrowed down into the mattress. “I wouldn't mind.”
“I just bet you wouldn't,” Greta huffed, bristling at the unbridled lust—not love—in his voice. Honestly, she didn't know why she had ever thought—for one wild and crazy second—his bad-boy antics were attractive!
Greta pounded her pillow and rolled onto her side, facing away from him—as far as she could go without failing off the edge of the bed. “Mad at me, aren't you?” Shane asked.
“What do you think?” Greta grumbled back as she struggled to get comfortable once again.
Shane stretched lazily, taking up even more of the bed, his brawny hair-roughened leg coming into contact with hers from the tip of her toes to the curve of her
hips. “I think if you don't calm down, it's going to be a long night,” he said.
That did it! Greta threw back the covers on her side, bounded out of the bed and whipped around to turn on the bedside light once again. She stood over him, hands on her hips, hating the fact he looked so damn sexy. “What happens if I insist you put on a pair of pajamas?”
Shane shaded his eyes with a hand turned palm-out. “Don't own any.”
Refusing to give up, Greta insisted, “Jeans then.”
He taunted her with an impudent smile and predicted, “You'd lose.”
Greta fixed him with a withering stare. “Boxers.”
Shane shrugged and kept his eyes firmly on hers. “Don't own any of those, either.”
“Briefs?”
“You're getting warm.” Shane winked. “But if I wore briefs—” Shane angled a thumb at his chest “—
I
wouldn't be able to sleep.”
Greta shook her head in indignation. “Then that would be your problem, wouldn't it?”
“Considering how small this bed is,” Shane said, his heated glance roving over her from head to toe before settling back on her face, “it would be
our
problem.”
Greta rolled her eyes and gave up. Deciding she had wasted enough time arguing with him when she should be sleeping, she left the bedside lamp on and stomped back over to her side of the bed. “Fine,” she snapped, waggling a censuring finger at him. “Just keep your... your—”
“Toes?” Shane queried with an innocence that set her teeth on edge.
“—on your side.”
Shane saluted her mockingly. “Will do.”
“And Shane?”
“Hmm?” Gallantly he held back the covers for her and tried not to think how sexy she looked in the thigh-length cotton nightshirt.
She ripped the covers out of his hand and covered herself to her chin. “I'm paying you back for this. I swear it.”
 
AN HOUR LATER, a still-fuming Greta had finally drifted off to sleep. Shane had switched off the bedside lamp again and was still wide awake. He knew Greta thought he'd come to bed the way he had because he was hoping she'd let him take advantage of the situation and her. When the truth was he hadn't worn briefs because it wasn't his habit to wear anything to bed. And that being the case, he hadn't thought to take any clean ones into the bathroom with him. By the time he'd remembered, he'd already been standing under the spray, scrubbing himself from head to toe. His situation set, he'd been curious about what her reaction would be if he again came to bed in the buff.
Now he knew.
She'd been furious. As well as aroused.
He could've remedied the situation in an instant, of course, by putting something—anything—on, but he hadn't. Maybe because he knew, given the lusty state his body was in, that it was just as well she was mad at him. The last thing they needed was to consummate this temporary marriage of theirs. When it was plain to see that, deep down, she was as sweet and innocent as he was cynical. When it was easy to see that his new bride was not the kind of woman who would take lovemaking lightly.
And if she weren't mad at him, they might lie here
whispering in the dark. One thing could lead to another. Before they knew it, they might be sharing another kiss. And then maybe another, and perhaps a touch or two, and who the heck knew what would happen after that?
No, Shane decided firmly. The two of them had an agenda here. To teach their parents a lesson about meddling in their love lives. Meantime they did not need to be mistaking lust for love or a blossoming friendship for the kind of lifelong compatibility lasting marriages were based on. She needed to stay on her side of the bed—which she was—and he needed to stay on his. That was the best way—the only way—to handle this.
Chapter Five
S
hane wasn't sure what time he fell asleep, but he woke at dawn with an enormous feeling of well-being. He was lying on his back in the center of the cozy double bed. Greta was curled up beside him. One of her long, silky thighs lay across his, and she had her head on his chest, her arm draped around his waist, her palm flattened on his lower abdomen. It was obvious by the deep, slow meter of her breathing and the rhythmic rise and fall of her soft, curvaceous breasts that she was sound asleep. Just as it became very clear, very quickly, that his body was most definitely not. In fact, as she cuddled closer, rubbing the silk of her hair and face against his skin, and her fingers inched even lower, his body was wide awake and raring to go.
The pulse of his yearning picking up as steadily as his heartbeat; he wanted nothing more than to turn her onto her back, lower his lips to hers and make her his. Right here. Right now. But he couldn't do that, and because he couldn't, he decided he had to get up and get going before she awoke and realized how aroused he was. Ever so carefully Shane eased his arm from beneath her head. Before he could scoot over, Greta started sleepily. She opened her eyes. Focusing on him, she
smiled drowsily, dropped her head back to his chest and cuddled even closer.
Shane's lower half jumped alertly. Before he could stop it, his arousal brushed the edge of her hand. Greta sighed and snuggled closer still, her palm closing over the most heated part of him. This time he couldn't help it. He did let out a low, tortured groan.
Greta's eyes opened again. She looked at him curiously, struggling to understand—as she woke—where she was and what she was doing. She blinked, clearly not understanding what her head was doing on his chest. “How did I—we—” she murmured slowly. Focusing on his pained expression, realizing what she now cradled gently in her hand, she gasped in mortification and promptly released him.
Too late, Shane thought with no small trace of irony. He was aching like a teenager. The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked her up and down. “I don't know about you, but that sure as shootin' woke me up,” he drawled as Greta vaulted to a sitting position and scrambled to the far edge of the bed.
Face flaming, she pressed a hand to her breasts. “Mercy!” she exclaimed.
Unable to help himself from touching her again, Shane shifted a strand of hair away from her face. “I wish you'd had some,” Shane drawled, wondering how he was ever going to get his body to relax enough to be able to get out of this bed. One thing was certain, he wasn't going anywhere right away.
“I was dreaming!” Greta explained as she shoved a hand through her wildly tousled blond curls.
Looking at the state of her nipples—which were pearled beneath the soft, clinging cotton of her nightshirt—it was easy to see what she'd been dreaming
about. “Trust me.” His lower half still throbbing, Shane continued, “What you were doing to me, was no dream.”
“Don't blame me!” Greta's lower lip shot out petulantly, and she turned her glance away. “It wouldn't have happened if you'd worn some type of clothing to bed.”
“Oh, I don't know about that.” Shane clasped her shoulders, crowding her and forcing her to face him. “Cuddly thing that you are, you probably would've found a way to snuggle up. And let me tell you, nothing I had on would have stopped this—” he indicated his erection beneath the sheets “—if your hand was curled around me like that.”
Color flooding her cheeks, Greta pushed his hands away, got up and grabbed her robe. She slipped it on and belted it with trembling fingers. “We can't sleep here again tonight,” she declared.
Shane knew he was going to be aching all day and then some. “I agree.” Aware he'd never wanted a woman the way he wanted Greta now, he looked at her steadily. “Tonight, we're sleeping at my ranch.”
 
GRETA DIDN'T CLARIFY their future living-and-sleeping arrangements with Shane then, because she didn't want to take a chance on waking Wade and Josie, who, after being up half the night “honeymooning,” were still sound asleep. So she left the bedroom and tiptoed to the bathroom, where she quickly pulled herself together and got ready to go to work. By the time she was dressed and had packed up her small bag of belongings, Shane was downstairs, waiting and pacing.
He grabbed her bag for her, and wordlessly they left the house.
Shane tossed her bag into the back but stopped her, a hand on her shoulder, before she could get in her car. “We need to talk.”
Did they? Was there anything he could say that would erase the memory of the way he'd felt, all hot and velvety, in her hand? Was there anything that could erase the melting feeling of need deep inside her? He took her into the warm, strong cradle of his arms. “We'll have breakfast in town,” Shane continued, as if the matter were already decided.
Greta shook her head as her hands came up to splay across his chest. “I haven't got time for that. I've got a ton of deliveries coming, and they're putting up the window coverings this morning.” She put up a hand before he could say anything else. “It'll have to be later.” When she'd had more time to compose herself and figure out how to handle this. “Say this evening.”
He leaned forward, gave her an all-too-brief, all-too-casual kiss on the lips, then stepped back and looked at her in a way that made her heart skip a beat. “You're not always going to get your own way with me, you know,” he said.
Trembling at the proprietary promise she saw in his gray eyes, Greta pushed away from him. “But I will this morning.” She jumped in her car, shouted a breezy, “See you!” started the engine and drove away. She had the whole day to figure out how to somehow take charge of this situation. Meanwhile, she had a business to run.
Thirty minutes later Greta entered the dance hall. Five minutes after that her father popped in with a stack of insurance papers to sign. “I thought we were going to do this at four o'clock,” Greta said as she kissed Bart hello and ushered him inside, then set about making a
pot of coffee in the commercial kitchen. While it brewed, she led her father back to the closest dining area.
Bart held her chair for her, then sat down at the table opposite her. “We were, but I saw your car when I was driving past and figured I'd go ahead and bring them by, get them out of the way.” Briefly they discussed the coverage Greta had asked her father's insurance company to provide. Agreeing all was in order, Greta signed everywhere she was supposed to sign and wrote a check to cover the first six months.
Bakery box in hand, Shane walked in the front door. He grinned at his new father-in-law and carried the aromatic goodies over to the table. “You're just in time. I've got two kinds of muffins and three kinds of donuts.”
“Works for me.”
It was all Greta could do not to scowl at Shane. He was not supposed to be kissing up to her father or trying to win his approval—just the opposite! “If you keep this up, they'll never want us to get an annulment,” she whispered to Shane as the two of them went back to the kitchen to gather up some plates, napkins and coffee cups.
“Oh, don't get your knickers in a knot,” Shane said right back, leaning over her so he could speak seductively in her ear. “It's just breakfast.”
Greta blew out an aggravated breath. “I told you I didn't have time!” she hissed.
Shane braced his arms on either side of her and leaned in even closer. “And I told you we had to talk!”
Bart stuck his head around the corner. “Need any help?” he asked jovially, studying them shrewdly all the while.
Greta forced a smile as Shane wrapped a possessive
arm about her shoulders. “No, Dad, we're fine.” Determined to maintain as much physical distance between them as possible, Greta squeezed Shane's hand, then stepped out of reach and went back to pouring the coffee.
Shane looked back at Bart. “I was just telling Greta I've got to go to San Angelo to take a look at a horse I'm thinking of buying and to purchase a pressure washer for the stables, and as long as I'm there, I thought I'd buy some furniture for the ranch house.”
Greta understood why he wanted to combine the three activities. There were no furniture stores in Laramie. He could order a big-ticket item like a pressure cleaner from the local hardware store, but he'd have to wait to have it shipped. In San Angelo, he could buy a pressure cleaner, even some furniture, and possibly take both home with him the same day.
Shane looked at Greta steadily as she handed him a steaming mug. “I thought you might like to go with me and pick out the bare essentials.”
Meaning what? Greta wondered. A bed? She arched a brow, not sure whether she was surprised or pleased by his persistence, just knowing she was surprised. “Today?”
Shane leaned negligently against the long, stainless steel counter and shrugged his broad shoulders affably. Like her, he was keeping up an oh-so-casual demeanor. “We've gotta have somewhere to sleep tonight—unless you want to camp out on the floor.”
Greta didn't even want to think about sleeping with him again. Last night and this morning had been disturbing enough, throwing her senses into a turmoil she'd be weeks, maybe even months, recovering from.
“I could have you back here around lunchtime. Maybe a little later,” Shane promised.
“Trust me on this. You won't be happy with what he gets unless you have a say in it, honey,” Bart said as Greta handed him his coffee.
That would have been true if she actually planned on living there for more than a week or so, but since she didn't, Greta didn't really feel she had any right to say anything about what kind of furniture Shane wanted. Greta stirred cream and sugar into her coffee. “I'm sure whatever Shane picks out will be fine.”
“You don't want to go with me, then?” Shane asked, studying the coffeemaker with more than necessary care.
Greta shook her head. To her dismay both men looked disappointed.
“Well, I better get a move on then,” Shane drained the rest of his coffee in one gulp and set his mug back on the counter.
“Aren't you going to stay and have some breakfast?” Greta asked, thinking of the array of baked goods he'd brought.
Shane shook his head. “I'll grab something on the road. See you tonight.”
Greta struggled between guilt and relief. She continued to eye him coolly. “What time?”
Shane shrugged, remote now. “I don't know. Late afternoon, maybe suppertime.”
Shane said goodbye to Bart, gave Greta a husbandly kiss on the cheek and hugged her, then headed out the door.
“You should have gone with him, honey,” Bart said as soon as Shane had left.
Greta knew she'd hurt Shane, brushing him off that way. Even if she was only doing what she was supposed
to do—which was prove to everyone once and for all that she and Shane were not suited for each other. Tearing her eyes from Shane's handsome shoulders and sexy stride, Greta turned back to Bart. “Dad—”
“He's trying to make a home for the two of you. He deserves your help.”
He deserved something all right, for putting me on the spot like that.
“And I'll do what I can,” Greta promised. Short of actually being a wife. Or sleeping in the same bed with him again. Or having hot, wild, sex with him. Or falling head over heels in love with him.
Bart regarded her with fatherly concern. “Look, honey, I wouldn't have advised you to enter into this hasty marriage, but now that you have, you owe it to Shane to be the best wife you can possibly be.”
 
“YOUR FATHER TOLD ME what happened,” Tillie said a scant half hour later.
Greta directed the two men carrying the plantation shutters into the dance hall to stack them beneath the windows where they were going to be put up. Another two workers were busy installing the hardware that would hold the window coverings in place. Greta waved her mother away from all the activity and put her hands over her ears to shut out the sound of the electric drills and screwdrivers. “Mom, really, this isn't a good time.”
“Then when would be?” Tillie followed Greta into the dance hall kitchen, which was in an equal state of chaotic disarray, with boxes stacked everywhere. “ I hate to say it, Greta, but maybe you should delay opening your dinner and dance hall for another few weeks, until you've got your home set up.”
Greta slit open a box and began unwrapping stainless steel baking pans and piling them on the counter. “According
to Lilah the ranch house is as filthy as can be and has absolutely no furniture,” Tillie continued.
Finished, Greta folded up the empty box and put it in a stack for recycling. “Shane's fixing that, Mom. He's buying some furniture this morning.”
Tillie followed Greta to the next box and continued to stand over her. “What about cleaning the place?”
Greta shuddered at the memory of those bathrooms that had not been cleaned in a very very long time. “I'll get to it when I can, Mom.”
And until then
, a little voice said,
what are you going to do about taking a shower?
“Maybe we can check into a hotel or something.”

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