Bad News Cowboy (12 page)

He'd finally done it. He'd succeeded in scaring her away. Well, it was about damn time.

He looked up and saw Nancy standing in the doorway, looking pale.

“You have a comment?” he asked.

Now he was being an ass to Nancy. Fantastic.

She shook her head slowly. “No. Your dinner will be out of the oven in half an hour. I'm going home.”

“Whatever you heard...none of it's repeatable.”

“I figured as much. I'm sort of insulted you felt you had to tell me that.”

“I have some trust issues,” he said, his tone hard.

Nancy arched her brows and took her purse off the hook by the door. “I can see why.” Then she paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob. “Don't do anything stupid.”

“Like drink myself under the table?”

“As long as you do that at home, it's probably your safest bet. Get drunk, pass out, don't do anything you'll regret.”

And with that, Nancy left, taking her judgment with her.

He imagined she had heard him talking to Kate, and while she wouldn't know who it was, it didn't really matter, seeing as everything he'd said was offensive no matter the context.

Fortunately, he wouldn't be given the chance to do anything he regretted, because Kate had hung up on him. Because Kate clearly wasn't coming to comfort him, since he'd likely succeeded in putting her off him for life.

It was for the best. Definitely for the best.

He went into the kitchen and opened up the oven door. There were enchiladas. That wasn't terrible. It was the one part of his day that wasn't terrible.

He put his hands flat on the kitchen counter and lowered his head, replaying the conversation he'd just had with Kate.

He had no right to talk to her that way. But he had even less of a right to touch her, and with him in the state he was in, if she came over now, begging for him to kiss her...

Yeah, it was better to warn her off.

Because that's how low you are. You would screw Kate if she asked for a kiss because you can't control your damned dick.

Yeah, that was where his dad had things wrong. It wasn't his mother's genes he worried about. It was the West genes. The ones that made you walk around like you were an invincible, bulletproof paragon capable of doing whatever the hell you wanted without having to pay for the consequences.

He raised his head when he heard a sharp pounding on the front door. He wondered if Nancy had forgotten something.

“Come in,” he called.

He heard footsteps on the hardwood floor, and they stopped right around the kitchen doorway. “I don't... I don't have sexy underwear or anything.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Kate was standing there looking like she was out of breath. The color high in her cheeks, and her braid in disarray, stray tendrils escaping, hanging loose around her face. She was wearing a T-shirt that was shaped like a rectangle, not doing anything to accentuate her figure, and a pair of jeans that had most certainly seen better days.

And she was the most terrifying, unwelcome, enticing sight he could have imagined.

“I got here as quickly as I could,” she said, her dark eyes trained on him.

“You weren't supposed to come.” It was all he could think to say. Well, he could swear again. But other than that, he had nothing else to say.

“I was never very good at doing what I was supposed to.”

“Katie.” He just said her name, because he was out of words. His mind wasn't forming sentences anymore; he was just feeling. Angry, desperate, turned on beyond what he felt capable of handling.

She took a step into the kitchen, a step toward him. “I have to keep telling you not to call me that.”

“Yeah, well, I'm a bastard. In every sense of the word.”

“You can be. But you aren't always.”

He blinked hard, trying to superimpose the image of Kate as a girl over the image of the woman walking toward him. It seemed like not that long ago that when he thought of her, he still thought of that skinny long-limbed girl with freckles and scrapes on her elbows. But not now.

And as hard as he tried, he couldn't recapture that vision now.

The past wasn't in the room with them, and he wished like hell it was.

Her dark eyes met his, concern evident in the crease between her brows. She reached out, pressed her hand on his face, her smooth skin scraping across the stubble on his jaw. “Are you okay?”

For just a moment he thought of the past. Thought of driving up to the front of the Garretts' house, seeing Kate sitting on the porch, a blank look on her face.

Kate rarely cried. She was too tough for that. Too tough for her own good.

Eli and Connor had been nowhere to be seen and he'd heard a crash coming from inside the house that told him they were probably dealing with one of their father's drunken benders.

So he'd sat down beside her, put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

And now she was asking him.

It made his chest feel tight, made it hard for him to breathe.

“I've never met him before.” Just like the admission he'd made on the phone, this one just spilled out.

“Why today?”

He forced out a laugh. “It wasn't for a reunion.”

“Tell me.”

“I can't.”

She put her other hand on his face, holding him steady, her eyes never leaving his. “He's an asshole.” Her voice was fierce, shaking.

“I didn't even tell you anything about him.”

“I don't need to know anything about him. If he knew where you were and he never met you until today, then he's useless. The worst piece of garbage in the world. Almost as bad as a mom who walks away from her two-year-old daughter and her two boys. She knew where we were and she never came back. It was her address for sixteen freaking years. She knew how to get back to it. She just never did. She's bad. Not us. He's bad. Not you.”

“Do you believe that?” About himself, about herself.

“Sometimes,” she said, the shaking in her voice becoming even more pronounced. “And sometimes I'm sure it was my fault even though I can't remember her face. I'm sure I must've done something.”

“He never even met me. I guess he just knew that I wasn't worth it,” Jack said.

“You are, though, you know.”

He reached up and grabbed her wrist, tugging her hand down from his face to his chest. “Do you think so, Katie?” His heart was raging, the promise he'd issued to her over the phone looming large over them.

“Yes.”

“You don't even like me. Everything I do makes you mad.”

“I do like you. Maybe that's why everything you do makes me mad.”

He knew exactly what she meant. Because the more he started to like her, the more tense he felt. His body's attempt at convincing itself he didn't want to be anywhere near her, when in fact he wanted to be as close to her as humanly possible.

For what purpose? To have those questions about her body answered?

It didn't get much more selfish than that.

But maybe that's just who you are.

Yeah, selfish was the only thing it could be. Because he couldn't give her anything else. The realization of how wrong it was to touch Kate made him feel slightly sick about his entire adult sex life. Because if it felt wrong to use Kate for sex, with nothing else on offer, it had been quite possibly wrong to use other women that way, too. Though they had most definitely been into it.

Still, he had made his excuses based on a sorting system in his brain that said some women were okay to have a good time with, while women like her were off-limits. He'd never thought it explicitly, not until that conversation with Kate about flirting. But once he outlined it then, he'd realized what a dick he was. And this was all underscoring it.

But no matter which way he twisted the reasoning, there was no justification for following through with the attraction that had popped up between Kate and him.

None at all.

But still, he had his hand wrapped around her wrist. Still, he was holding her palm to his chest.

“I never told you I was a virgin,” she said, her voice thin, almost a whisper.

“But you are.”

She looked down, swallowing hard. His heart rate increased as he waited for her to respond. That was one of those things that shouldn't matter, either. Even if she had slept with someone before, she was still off-limits to him.

But if she hadn't...

It would make their encounter more significant. Hell, he remembered his first time and there had been a lot of times after. Still remembered the woman. Two years older than him, more experienced. It had been fast and disappointing. For her. He had enjoyed the hell out of it.

But he had learned quickly that if he didn't figure out what he was doing, women wouldn't come after him for a repeat performance. So he'd gotten good. And he'd gotten good fast.

But in a long line of sexual experiences that had been hotter, better, that first one still stood out.

Being that first one for Kate would mean something. And he wasn't good with meaningful sex. Meaningless was the name of his game.

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”

He swore, but he didn't move away, keeping his hold on her. “Why do you want this?”

“Because I know you. I trust you. I know you'll make it good.” Her words were a balm he didn't deserve on his scarred, mangled-up soul. No one trusted him. Kate seemed to trust him. “But you have to want it, too. I don't want my first time to happen because I talked you into it.”

“You don't need to talk me into it,” he said, his voice almost unrecognizable to his own ears. “I've spent the past week trying to talk myself out of it. Because I can't offer you anything. Nothing more than sex.” He raised his hand, trace the outline of her upper lip with the edge of his thumb. “Make no mistake, badger-cat, it'll be good sex. I'll go slow. Taste every inch of you, not just because it'll make you mindless, not just because it will make you beg, but because I want to. Because I crave you. It will be more than good—it will be amazing. But it will still stop at sex. Nothing else.”

“A good first time isn't nothing.” Her cheeks were bright red, her words a thready whisper.

More evidence that he should back off now. She was too sweet. Too innocent.

“It's less than you deserve.”

“What did you want from your first time?”

“To get off. Simple as that.”

She closed her eyes, the blush remaining on her cheeks, a smile curving her lips. “I want that. I really want that.” Her lashes fluttered, her lids opening again. “I realized today that I've been standing still for a long time. Everyone is moving forward and I'm just the same. I'm tired of being the same.”

“This will change things,” he said.

“I know. I want things to change. More than that, I want you.”

He looked into her eyes, let his gaze drop to those soft, sweet lips. Kate Garrett contained the promise of hell wrapped up in a pretty little bit of heaven.

It would feel so good, but once it was all over, there would be nothing but regret and purgatory to deal with.

He knew it. It was wrong. It was bad. It was a betrayal of the two men who had stuck by him all of his life.

He'd protected Kate from some of the pain that came from living with a drunk. Had done his damnedest to make her laugh at impossible situations. Had punched Chad for daring to overstep with her.

He'd locked the door on so many of life's evils, shielded her from them. Only to discover he'd locked her in with an even bigger threat. Himself.

He was the fox in the henhouse. But even knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to eat her.

“Kiss me, Katie.”

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
ROUGH
COMMAND
on Jack's lips was enough to send Kate over the edge then and there. She was trembling. Had been ever since she'd hung up on him during their phone call earlier.

She'd been certain of two things during that call. He needed her, and he was trying to push her away. She'd decided she wasn't going to let him get away with that.

Someone had to be there for him. She wasn't going to leave him to go through this alone, not when he'd been there for her countless times over the years.

Anyway, his “threat” just wasn't all that scary.

He'd promised her that she wouldn't leave his house a virgin. And she was very much hoping he followed through with that promise.

But she wouldn't worry about that just yet. For now, she would just follow that deep, throaty command, enjoy the way it made her feel. Enjoy the way he said her name.

Katie.

That lush sensation of having velvet rubbed across her skin. The one she had resisted for so long because it had frightened her. Because it had confused her.

She wasn't confused now.

Though she was a little scared. The virginal nerves were to be expected, probably. She had never actually talked to anybody about virginity loss before. Because she'd had a tough time bonding with girls when she was in high school. And by the time she was out of high school, it was weird that she hadn't lost it—at least, she assumed. So she didn't really want to ask anyone anything, because that would mean admitting her status.

She liked her friends well enough, but she didn't really trust them with information like that. The commonality between herself and her friends was horses, not boys.

But her nerves were going to have to take a backseat, because Jack wanted her to kiss him. So she was going to.

She trailed her fingertips along the edge of his jaw, relishing the feel of his stubble beneath her fingertips. It was such a masculine thing.

She was used to men. She'd grown up in a house full of them. She was used to whiskers, used to heavy exposure to the top half of men's bodies as her brothers traipsed through the house in towels or just sweatpants. Accustomed to the way they talked, the way they swore, the way they kept house—or, in Connor's case, didn't.

But this was different. Different from all those easy, domestic male things she had been exposed to all of her life. Different from watching shirtless men sweat and build decks and barns, which she'd spent a fair amount of her time enjoying.

That kind of distant observation left her a degree removed. Allowed her to feel a little bit of excitement while holding herself back. Without ever risking anything.

Sort of like barrel racing on the amateur circuit when she could probably go pro.

She shook off that thought. She didn't need to have any serious non-Jack thoughts right now. And so she let her world shrink down, reduced to nothing more than the feel of his whiskers beneath her hand. Nothing more than the beat of her heart and the echoing beat at the apex of her thighs.

Her heart beat out a rusty, unfamiliar rhythm against her breastbone, one hand still rested on his chest, held there by his iron grip.

She leaned forward, hoping he couldn't tell that she was shaking. She slid her thumb along the outline of his lower lip, mimicking what he'd done to her earlier. A short, deep sound rumbled in his throat and she took it as confirmation she'd done something right.

“You're sure taking a long time to kiss me,” he said.

“I'm thinking.”

“Second thoughts?”

“No. Just thinking about how sexy you are,” she said, deciding she wasn't going to turn into a shrinking violet just because the prospect of getting naked with him loomed. He was still Jack. And she'd never been very good at watching what she said around Jack. “I've never seen a naked man before.”

A gust of air escaped his lips. “Dammit, Katie.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” she said.

“What if you don't like it?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his breath fanning across her cheek.

“I'd say the odds are pretty low. I mean, I like the way you look with clothes on. But I really like your skin. Your throat.”

“My throat?”

She swallowed hard, ignoring the little rash of embarrassment that broke out across her skin. “Yes. It's hot. Your Adam's apple. Because it's very much a man thing.”

“That's the strangest compliment I've ever gotten.”

“Well, I'm not finished yet.”

He chuckled, but it wasn't an easy sound. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you.”

“Your forearms.”

“Those are good, too?” he asked, a smile curving his wicked mouth.

“Really good,” she said, her throat dry now. “Your muscles, the dark hair. Your wrists. Your hands.”

He moved in just a little closer, his lips so close now all she would have to do was tip her chin up just slightly and she would close the distance between their mouths. “What about my hands?”

“They look strong. And when I imagine having them on me...all over me...”

“What do you imagine me doing to you with my hands, Katie?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper now.

“Touching me.”

He made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl, one that resonated deep inside her. “Not good enough. Tell me more. Tell me what you want.”

“T-touching my breasts.” She closed her eyes to try and get the rest of the words out without melting into a puddle of embarrassment. “Sliding down my back, holding on to my hips.”

“What about touching you between your thighs, baby?” he asked, his voice so rough now it was like a stranger's.

She opened her eyes and they clashed with his intense blue gaze. “Yes. I want that.”

“Good. Now, are you going to stop talking and kiss me?”

She figured that was a rhetorical question. So her answer was to press her mouth against his. There was no anger between them this time, no challenge, no dare. But it didn't defuse the heat, the passion that burned between them.

His lips were hot and firm, commanding. He directed the kiss with unerring skill, delving deep, sweeping his tongue across hers, the slick friction sending a sweet honeyed sensation down through her veins, all the way down, leaving her wet with wanting him.

He released his hold on her wrist, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her body tightly against his. He was all strength and warmth, comforting and terrifying at the same time. She could feel his arousal hardening against her stomach.

Jack Monaghan was hard. For her.

She couldn't help but smile at that. And then a little giggle bubbled up in her throat and managed to escape.

Jack broke the kiss, his mouth still hovering near hers. “Something funny, badger-cat?”

“No,” she said, unable to suppress the smile.

“Good.” Then he leaned forward and bit her bottom lip before kissing her again, harder than before.

The sharp pain from the bite shocked her, especially followed closely by the deep, unending pleasure that came from his wicked, skillful tongue. And then she couldn't remember if the bite had hurt at all or if it had just felt good. It all felt good. Jack felt good.

He moved his hands down her back, just as she'd told him she wanted him to. All the way down to her hips, holding her steady, held tight against his body, against his hardened erection.

This time she was the one who pulled back. She studied his face and was struck by how familiar and different he was all at the same time. This was Jack. Her Jack. The one who would always try to make her smile even while the world felt as if it was crumbling around her. The one who always gave her a hard time and tugged her braid and called her Katie.

He was that, but it was like she'd always been looking at him through a fog and suddenly it had lifted, revealing details, facets of him she'd never been able to see before. She'd caught glimpses of them, little moments of intensity, a look, a smile, but this was different. More. Like looking full on into the sun.

And she didn't want to look away.

“What?”

“Just looking at you,” she said.

“And?”

“You're the most handsome man I've ever seen,” she said, immediately feeling out of her league as the strange old-fashioned compliment hung in the air between them.

Something sharp and hot passed through his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

He moved his hand to her shoulder, then down the length of her arm, and curled his fingers around her wrist and drew it close to his mouth, pressing his lips firmly against her palm, his eyes never leaving hers. “You're beautiful, Kate Garrett.”

She shifted, leaning in and kissing him again. Because she was afraid that if she didn't, she was going to cry. And she'd already cried in front of him one too many times. Crying was stupid. It was passive. It didn't accomplish anything.

It most especially wouldn't accomplish her number one goal of the night, which was to get in bed with Jack.

The thought sent a shock wave down through her body. It was really happening. She was going to bed with Jack. Which was also a terribly old-fashioned way of thinking about things. But her thoughts had suddenly gone a little bit coy now that actual sex was imminent.

“I'm going to pick you up now,” he said, his lips moving against hers as he spoke.

“What?” But even as she asked the question, she found herself being swept up off the ground, cradled close to his chest.

“We're going upstairs.”

She looped her arms around his neck and held on while he carried her from the kitchen, through the living area and up the wooden stairs that led to the second floor of his home. She'd never been upstairs at Jack's house. There were only bedrooms up there. And she'd never been in his bedroom.

She shivered.

Jack paused midstride. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said, her teeth chattering.

“I'm only going to ask you this once. From this point forward I'm going to assume this is what you want. That even if you're nervous, you want this. You tell me right now if you aren't completely certain.”

She didn't hesitate. “I'm certain.”

“You are certain about what?” he asked, his voice uncompromising.

“I want to make love.” She could have bitten off her tongue. Why couldn't she have said something dirty like
screw
? Or at least straightforward like
have sex
? Why was she suddenly shy?

“You understand what this is, don't you? Nothing outside the space, outside the house, outside tonight, changes.”

Her heart twisted. “I understand.”

He nodded once, then continued on his journey up the stairs, down the hall. His bedroom door was partly cracked and he shoved it open the rest of the way with his knee, then kicked it closed behind him.

It was a big bedroom, with wood floors and a braided rug in the center. Beyond that was a large bed with a rustic wood headboard and footboard and a quilt spread over the mattress.

If there were more details to take in, she didn't grasp them. She was focused simply on the way Jack was holding her, on the purpose with which he was walking through the room, toward that bed.

He set her down on the edge of it and took a step back, looking at her.

Then he gripped the hem of his T-shirt and tugged it up over his head, exposing his body.

Her mouth went completely dry, her heart thundering so hard she was afraid it would sprout hooves and gallop straight through her chest.

She'd seen Jack without a shirt before, but she'd always done her best not to look. Always done her best not to feed the wicked little monster that lived inside of her, harboring a Jack obsession she'd always tried to pretend wasn't there.

So now she indulged herself. Taking in every detail, every inch of exposed skin. More than that, she let herself feel. Let the full impact of him hit her square in the chest and spread out, all the way to her toes, and hitting some very interesting places in between.

His chest was broad and muscular, tapering down to a narrow waist with well-defined abs. He had just the right amount of dark hair on his chest, thinning out as it spread downward, then becoming more pronounced again in a line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. A line she most definitely wanted to follow.

Happy trails to her indeed.

He took a step closer to her, and her eyes were drawn lower, to the front of his jeans and the aggressive bulge that was now at eye level. The fantasy she'd had earlier today in the truck outside the bridal store flashed through her mind.

She reached out, grabbing hold of his belt buckle, but he took firm hold of her and lowered her hands. “No. Not that. Not yet.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because we're not starting with something that's about me.”

She cleared her throat, feeling nervous, embarrassed. She'd been confident a moment ago, but maybe that wasn't something a woman was supposed to want. “I... I mean... I want...”

“Me, too. But I don't think I can handle it right now.”

“We're going to have to stop talking in euphemism, because I'm kind of worried we are talking about the same things, and I'm worried that I don't understand you,” she said, the words flowing out in a nervous rush.

He laughed, his chest pitching, his abs rippling with the motion. It wasn't an easy laugh; it was forced, strange. “I don't want you to suck me off right now, because I'll come in about ten seconds. Was that straightforward enough for you?”

Her face felt like it was on fire. “Yes.”

“Were we talking about the same thing?” She nodded, swallowing hard. “Good. I'm glad you want to.”

She felt relieved by that statement. Relieved that it was okay for her to want to taste him. Relieved that they were tracking.