Cowboy is Mine (Cowboys of Nirvana Book 5)
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Authors: Rhonda Lee Carver
RHONDA LEE CARVER
COWBOY IS MINE
2016 Rhonda Lee Carver
Copyright 2016 Rhonda Lee Carver
All rights reserved
Cowboy is Mine (Book 5, Cowboys of Nirvana)
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission from the author, Rhonda Lee Carver—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages written in a review. For information, please contact Rhonda Lee Carver @
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This work is fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue in this work are from the author’s imagination and creation. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, dead or alive, is completely coincidental.
This book is for your personal pleasure. Ebooks are not transferrable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. If you have enjoyed this book and wish to share with another reader(s) please purchase another copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, purchase a copy. Thank you for appreciating the hard work the author invested into this book.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
KRISTA WYATT SITUATED herself against the edge of the desk in what she hoped was a figure-flattering position just as the door opened. Willard, her boyfriend of six months, popped in, his attention on the stack of papers he was fumbling through. A good five seconds passed when he finally realized he wasn’t alone. He jumped, flung his arms and the papers flew up around his head, then floated down around his feet onto the tiled floor. He blinked twice, his mouth fell open, and he pushed his black, wide-rimmed glasses further up on his nose. “Wh-what’s…going…on?”
She’d never seen him so unglued.
Hitting play on the boom box, then pushing away from the desk, she sashayed her way across the room, moving her hips perfectly to the sensual beat of the popular song. She stopped in front of him and stuck out one hip. “Hey, Mr. Taxman, I can’t pay my taxes. Can you give a girl a break?” she said in a sultry voice, giving her hair a dramatic toss over her shoulder. Rolling her hips from side to side, she planted what she hoped was an alluring smile on her painted lips. This took guts considering she’d never danced professionally, but she’d Googled ‘how to strip dance’ and the directions were quite simple. Chest out, stomach in and be natural. Was it possible to be natural when nothing about this was particularly normal? The pose did show off the tops of her breasts overflowing from the pretty bejeweled corset she’d bought at the boudoir shop in the city. She still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to cram her size six body into the size four top, and she had no clue if she’d be capable of getting it off without scissors and a forklift. The material was itchy and she swore she was breaking out in hives, but she was here now and determined to make the best of the situation.
“Huh?” Willard stammered, his face turning three shades of red. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Okay…you can do this, Krista. He just needs warmed up.
Lifting her arms high above her head, she slowly moved one hand down the length of her forearm then threaded her fingers into her hair that she’d spent an hour turning into sexy textured waves. It didn’t help that she was caught in the rain going from her car into the building, and now the tresses were more like a scouring pad. She gave her head a slight shake, moaned deep in her stomach, and then covered the remaining space between them—carefully in the tall, red heels that could double as weapons. In fact, if she didn’t fall and kill herself, she planned to keep them at her bedside for protection.
Hearing a bothered groan from poor Willard, she was suddenly worried about him. His color was growing more concerning by the second. He just stood there, mouth agape, sweating profusely.
This may take a little more work.
She ran her finger down his striped tie and fisted the material, tugging him closer. “I said, Mr. Taxman, I need a break. Do you accept sexual favors in exchange for default?”
“I only crunch the numbers,” he muttered. “You didn’t pay your taxes?”
She blinked. Giving the tie a slight toss, it landed over his shoulder and he hurried to straighten it into place. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back up again. “I don’t think you’ll need these.” She had other plans for his hands besides bothering with his broken glasses. She took them off his face, folded the plastic ear pieces, and dropped them into the front pocket of his dress shirt.
“I can’t see very well without them.”
That was good. He wouldn’t see any clumsy movements she made.
Slowly, she circled him, stopping behind him and walking her fingers along his shoulders, then into his hair to give the locks a tousle. She didn’t realize until now that he had a bald spot and wore too much gel. Had she ever really looked at him?
This isn’t the time, silly.
Coming back around to face him, she held his gaze while licking her bottom lip. She knew this little trick always worked on men.
“Krista…I…”
“No words are needed unless it’s dirty talk, bad boy.” She traced her fingers down her throat, along the plump curve of one breast and settled them lightly at the deep cleavage.
When he didn’t make a move, she rolled her hips rhythmically, shimmying her bottom. “I think it’s time we took things to the next level,” she whimpered as she turned on her heel and went back to his desk, slid up onto the cluttered top and spread her legs ever-so-slightly.
He kicked the door closed.
“Yes. Get brazen!” She smiled. “That’s how I like it!”
He marched across the room, his loafers squeaking, and he completely bypassed her as he hit stop on the music. He seemed flustered as he faced her, one corner of his mouth dipped into a frown. “Krista…”
“Yes?” She sat up straight, attempting to read his expression. What she got from it wasn’t good, not good at all. What man didn’t like a strip tease?
“You’re wrinkling my tax forms,” he said.
“Oh.” She giggled and slipped from the desk, straightening the papers into a neat stack. “I hope I didn’t leave an ass print.” All humor left her when he didn’t crack even a sliver of a smile. “Oh come on, party pooper. I know you’ve had a rough week, so I thought I’d inspire better days. I realize this has caught you by surprise, but that’s part of the spontaneity.”
“This is my office. We can’t do this here. This is not the time or place.”
“I know this is your office, Willy. I haven’t seen you in forever and I thought this would cheer you up…maybe put some ideas in your head.” She wagged her brows. “Maybe I was hoping you’d swipe everything off your desk then drag me on top, just like they do in the movies.”
“That would be a mess and illogical.” He went to the papers on the floor and bent to pick them up, mumbling something under his breath.
Sighing, she joined him, but he didn’t meet her gaze as she handed over her small stack of documents. The air turned stagnant and her chest twisted. “It’s our six-month anniversary and we haven’t…well, we haven’t consummated our relationship. I just thought—”
“You weren’t thinking,” he said a little too harshly. “You should have called first. What if I had a client with me when I walked in?”
“Apparently I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. That’s okay, you know, to not think every little detail through. Just dive in and see where life takes you. We should do that, Willy. Let’s drop everything and fly to Las Vegas. Or take a long drive and stay in a remote cabin in the hills. This is a lovely time of year. You said you love bird watching. I’ve never tried it, but I’m willing to give it a go.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m too busy. I told you that.”
“Yes, several times.” She crossed her arms over her waist.
“And you chose to do this anyway?”
Feeling like a stripper who left the stage without any cash tucked in her panties, she realized the moment had passed and she needed to recoup. She’d only wanted to get Willard’s attention, but instead opened a whole new can of worms. “Aren’t you being a bit harsh?”
He sighed. “My earlier meeting didn’t go very well. These new accountants coming in couldn’t spot an elephant in a tutu if their life depended on it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I don’t have a job where I can stop what I’m doing any time of the day and do something crazy. I’m an accountant and we have to have a clear head at all times.”
“You told me you wanted to see me too.”
“Not for a romp in my office, Krista,” he huffed. “Just understand that this isn’t going to happen. Not here and not like this.”
“Are you saying that you aren’t interested in having sex with me?”
“I’m saying that I have a client coming in soon. Weren’t you working on something yourself? I thought you had a book to finish up.” He went to his desk and dropped the stack of papers onto the middle.
“I completed my book this morning. I wanted to celebrate.” She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear.
“Look. You know I’m not spontaneous. I thought you liked that I’m stable and secure?”
“Being stable and secure doesn’t mean you can’t live a little.” Willard was right about his lack of spontaneity. She’d known from the start that a man who starched his underwear and had a planner with a detailed schedule that he followed religiously probably wouldn’t be the most likely to have wanton sex on his desk, fly off to Vegas, or even have an unplanned dinner. Yet, that’s what she’d wanted, organized and managed, or at least she thought she wanted a man like Willard. Someone she could depend on with no hidden agenda or surprises. She once liked his predictability and that he didn’t need to fill his schedule with social events and be the star of every occasion.
However, she was beginning to feel that Willard’s lack of enthusiasm was zapping her creativity. And honestly, the lack of intimacy was a deal breaker. Holding hands. Kissing. Playful touches. She wanted those things. She didn’t need someone who knew exactly what each of his days would look like, down to what he’d have to eat and watch on TV—she’d watched enough wildlife documentaries to last a lifetime. In fact, being that it was Tuesday, she bet he had sushi. “What did you eat today, Willy?”
“A gourmet sandwich of gouda and grilled peppers.”
“Really?” Had he actually stepped out of the norm?
“And sashimi, of course. The store was giving away the sandwiches as samples, and you know I can’t refuse free food.”
Just as I thought.
Going to the chair where her clothes were neatly folded, she pulled on the loose-fitting jacket, zipped it high on her neck, and dragged on the short skirt over her slinky lace panties—not even one rip or tear in the material. Bummer. “I thought this would be romantic,” she mumbled, not even sure he heard until he cleared his throat.
“You call this romantic? Having sex in my office never did seem appealing to me. All of the germs floating around. A person could catch staph infection.” He came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders, drawing her back against his chest that always seemed a little skinny to her. Was he interested in anything but crunching numbers? “Come on, Krista. How about going home, lighting some candles and making me dinner? You know it’s salmon night. That’s a romantic evening. I should be out of here by eight.” He dropped his hands and, two seconds later, she heard the squeaking of his chair.
She turned and found him sitting, opening a file and spreading out paperwork into a neat row. She had a strong urge to blow really hard and see where the papers landed. No, she wouldn’t sink that low.
Staring at him, she wondered what she ever saw in him. She’d found his ‘nerd’ ways charming and his lack of obsessive need to get into her panties refreshing. Now she’d be happy to take them off for him. Most guys wanted to take things in fast reverse. Sleep together, then date. She knew because that’s how her last relationship was, and she didn’t want a sexy playboy again. He’d left enough shrapnel behind that she’d learned her lesson.
“You know, Willard, I’ve been wondering if you and I really have anything in common. I guess I do enjoy being impulsive, living by the seat of my pants, taking a flight or drive when the mood strikes me, and even having sex, whether it’s at the office or in the backseat of a car. I’m adventurous and that’s not a flaw.”
“I think I’ve been very patient in accepting your impetuous ways. You wanted pizza last Friday and what did I do? I stopped over at the pizza place and got us a pie,” he said.
“That was three Friday’s ago.” She gritted her teeth.
“I think we both know it’s the stories, Krista. You write these ideals of romance and fantasies, excitement and adventure. You need to have the capability of separating reality and pretend.”
“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
He shrugged, which made the top button of his shirt come open. “I’m only saying that you live in a fantasy world shown by the books you write. Don’t you get tired of writing about ghosts and spirits? Love? It really seems you’re disconnected from realism. Life is truly meant to be boring, predictable.”
She blinked. “They’re called paranormal books and just so you know, that fantasy world you’re talking about pays my rent and puts food on my table.” Things went from bad, to very bad. “And I believe in love and passion. It exists.”
But not between us.
“Come on, Krista. Wouldn’t you rather do something with yourself? How about teaching? Or becoming a nurse? Isn’t it time you went to college and earned a degree?”
“Seriously?”
“I just don’t think I’m cut out to be with someone who believes in such silly notions. There’s scientific evidence for everything. Every ghost sighting or paranormal activity has an explanation.”
How had she missed his asshole tendencies?
“Want to know something, Willard? I don’t think I’m cut out for being with a narrow-minded, boring prick who has a dick the size of a hot dog!” The words were out and she was stunned. What had she just done? It was too late to concern herself with the outburst. Grabbing her boom box, she stomped toward her exit, refusing the desire to throw something at his head. She’d never, in all of her twenty-nine years, been so insulted that she wanted to strangle someone. If he couldn’t handle the fact that she wrote paranormal stories based on true events, then he didn’t have a place in her life. Good riddance! In fact, if she’d never told him that she wrote under the pen name Kris Fox, he would have never known. No one in Bridge, Ohio knew she wrote bestselling books, and that’s how she wanted to keep it. Living in a small town, she liked her privacy. She’d been the only child of a Baptist minister and loyal mother. Growing up in a house with strict rules, she’d practically gone crazy trying to be the sweet daughter her parents wanted, and she swore she’d only be herself from that point on.