Not Just a Cowboy (Texas Rescue) (8 page)

The feast wasn’t only one of touch. It was visual, as well. The sight of her thighs, parted before him in the dim light, was so arousing Luke stopped talking. He could only breathe for long, painful seconds. He’d already been hard, but there was aroused, and then there was
ready
. Ready could get damned uncomfortable.

He tore his gaze from her thighs, but looking at her foot resting delicately next to his was no help. Her foot was incredibly feminine compared to his, so yin to his yang with her polished, pedicured toes. The sight only drove home the fact that she was his opposite in the best, most feminine way.

The storm outside was relentless. He spoke beneath the low rumble of thunder. “Even your damned toes are sexy.”

He hadn’t meant to curse, or make it sound like an accusation, but inside his body, pleasure was losing to pain.

Patricia stretched her leg out and flexed her foot in response. “Do you know what that color of polish is called? Fire-engine red.”

She was killing him, no cleavage required, reclining against him trustingly, head resting on his shoulder as she spoke against his neck. She smelled clean, like she’d used shampoo and soap in girly scents. Her body looked ready and waiting, her open thighs forming a triangle. He was going to have to get up and walk away to regain some command of himself, yet he didn’t want to move.

His hand wrapped around her upper arm. “You’re strong. I noticed that today when we were putting up the tent. What do you do when you’re not running a mobile hospital?” It was a pretty blatant attempt to change the subject. Clumsy, but necessary.

If their bodies hadn’t been so close, he would have missed the way she stiffened almost imperceptibly. She’d been tempting him intentionally, then, wanting him to want her.

I’m not rejecting you, I’m just slowing things down.

He stroked her arm again, so that she’d see that he loved touching her. “I can’t picture you doing something as mundane as lifting weights at the gym scene. My guess is that you play tennis.”

“When I must.”

That was an unusual answer. He tucked his chin to kiss her temple, then smoothed her hair with his hand. He twisted one long, damp strand around his finger. Watched it unwind as he let go.

Into the intimate quiet, she said, “I sail.”

“Boats?” he asked, surprised. Then immediately, “Never mind, stupid question.”

“Do you sail?” she asked.

“I never have.”

She sat up a little higher and turned toward him. For the first time since they’d run in here, they made eye contact as she talked.

“You should try it sometime. Out on the water, speed is a beautiful thing. When you’ve caught the wind just right, you slice through the water without disturbing it. It’s quiet. Fast and quiet. I think you’d love it.”

“I think I would.” He rested his hand on his bent knee, ready to listen all night, because she settled back into him and started explaining more about what was clearly her life’s passion. He looked down at her body. Her bare feet and bare legs were no longer artfully arranged, yet they were all the sexier for being casually nestled against his.

She made little boat gestures with one hand as she talked, slicing this way and that through imaginary water. Her other hand rested on his.

“You can’t control the wind,” she said. “You have to work around it, tacking at different angles. Even if the wind doesn’t cooperate, you can use it to get where you want to go. You just have to be clever about it.”

He turned his palm up, and she slid her fingers between his. “Have you been sailing your whole life?” he asked.

“Since I was a very young teen. I first learned how at...” She twisted toward him once more. “At summer camp.”

For a moment, they laughed. Then she kissed him as she had by the ER and as she had under the tree, full on, burying both her hands in his hair. It was a relief to meet her need, to plunge into her warm, wet mouth. To hold her with hands that weren’t steady or slow or particularly gentle.

Greed ignited greed. She turned toward him fully, climbing into his lap and straddling him as best she could, but the bench was too wide and their position too awkward.

Luke’s thoughts were reduced to two-word bullets that tore through his mind.
God, yes. Too soon. Not here.

“Please,” she said, straining against him, frustrated. Patricia was begging him. All he could think was,
She shouldn’t have to beg me for anything
.

She took his wrist and moved his hand from where he cupped her cheek, dragging his hand over her collarbone, down her breasts, until his palm was spread on the impossible softness of her stomach. “Please,” she repeated, “you’ve touched me everywhere else.”

He was a patient man, but if she wanted to set the pace faster than he did, then maybe he didn’t know best. Her belly button was an erogenous indentation. He ran his fingertips over it, lightly, then slipped his fingers so easily under the drawstring of her loose cotton pants. She inhaled in anticipation. Luke realized he was controlling his breathing like he was wearing a mask in a fire.

The angle was wrong for his hand to do what she wanted. They were chest to chest, breathing heavily, able to kiss one another, but...

“Stand up,” he said quietly, “and turn around.”

They stood together, Luke behind her, and Patricia reached for the flashlight on the edge of the sink and turned it off. With her back to his chest, he pinned her in place against him with one arm across her middle. With his free hand, he lifted the edge of her shirt and let his fingertips find the smooth skin of her stomach once more. He slid his hand lower, under the drawstring of her shorts. A few inches under the drawstring was the elastic of her panties, and underneath that, his fingers slid into curls.

She groaned, and he hushed her gently. His fingers explored, wanting to find what made her feel best, but it was difficult to tell when his every stroke brought a response. He pressed in small circles, and she put her hand out to the edge of the sink to steady herself, tension building until her body gave in to sweet waves of shudders, one after the other. Then she sagged against him and he held her, savoring every after shock and the little tremors that shimmied through her.

The rain had stopped. Their breathing was loud in the new silence. The words in Luke’s mind were crazy and intense,
only you
and
perfect,
but again he heard
too soon, not here,
so he and Patricia panted into the silence until their breathing slowed.

The distinctive sound of wood on wood sounded nearby, a door opening and swinging shut on a tent across the way. There were voices outside.

The change in Patricia was immediate. All the tension returned to her body as she whirled to face him. “Security,” she breathed, nearly silent but completely petrified.

“They won’t come in here,” he assured her, speaking low.

“Yes, they will. They make rounds.”

She was so nervous, Luke swiped his towel off the bench and pulled her with him into one of the shower stalls. If the main door opened, they would be hidden from sight. They were both dressed but damp from the earlier rain, so he wrapped the towel around them for warmth and an extra layer of modesty that she seemed to need.

She clung to him under the towel as they listened. Several people were talking, murmuring as they walked to wherever they needed to go. The mess tent wasn’t far away; Luke was certain the night shift was taking advantage of the break in the weather to get one of the cold sandwiches that were available twenty-four hours a day.

Gradually, he felt Patricia relax.

“The camp counselors didn’t catch us,” she said.

He smiled, but he cupped her cheek in the dark, tilting her face up to his and resting his forehead on hers. He wished he could see her eyes. “We weren’t doing anything wrong. There’s no law against two adults kissing.”

Patricia was silent.

“Is there some Texas Rescue regulation I don’t know about?” Luke asked.

“Not that I know of,” she said, but only after a pause so long, he was willing to bet she’d mentally reviewed the rulebook first. “We should get to our sleeping quarters while the rain’s stopped. I’m, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t...you know.”

An insecure Patricia was an adorable Patricia. “No, I don’t know.”

“I didn’t reciprocate.”

“I love the way you talk dirty.”

That made her gasp, a tiny, indignant sound. She was so fun to tease, it almost took Luke’s mind off the pleasure-pain of his body.

“If you’d reciprocated, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to stand right now, let alone walk you to your quarters,” he lied. “Tonight has been plenty of fun. Have breakfast with me tomorrow.”

“I can’t. I can’t be doing this.”

“I’ve got no intention of doing this to you over breakfast, darlin’. Some things should be private. I’m just asking you to share a table and some soggy scrambled eggs.”

“It’s not that easy. People will wonder how I’ve come to know you so well, don’t you see? Murphy and Zach would wonder what’s happened between putting up the tent this morning and us having breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Luke didn’t like it. A little romance between adults should be no big deal, but Patricia was acting like it would be the end of the world. “You just trusted me completely, but being seen with me would destroy your reputation?”

In the dark, she reached for him, her palm cool against his jaw. “Don’t you see? It’s nearly impossible to be a female boss without being labeled as a bitch, but I think it would be even more difficult to be labeled a bimbo who chases after a cute fireman when she should be working. I’m trusting you to be discreet. Please.”

The “please” undid him. A woman like Patricia shouldn’t have to beg, not for completion, not for discretion. She was so very serious, and that bothered him, too. He wanted her to be happy, so he kept his answer light. “Well, since you pointed out how cute I am, I can see the potential problem. Your reputation is safe with me. Sneaking around will be fun, anyway.”

The rain started falling again, pelting the tent sporadically. She stepped out of the shower stall. “I’m not going to lock up. The other women think I left with the keys, so it would look odd if it were locked now. There’s nothing to steal here, anyway.”

Luke had to admire her attention to detail. He was also going to have to be truly creative when it came to hiding places, if he expected her to relax enough to kiss him again. They left together, but when they reached the main aisle, she stopped him a full tent away from the women’s sleeping quarters.

“You’re beautiful,” Luke said. “Sleep tight.”

He thought she’d leave him easily, but to his surprise, she reached for his hand. “I’ll only sleep well if I don’t hear any fire engines going out. Be safe.”

Then she squeezed his hand, let go and walked quickly and gracefully to the women’s tent, head held high. She could have been in high heels instead of flip flops.

She was a rare kind of woman, and she cared about him.

Luke decided not to question his luck.

Chapter Nine

P
atricia woke feeling strange once more. She’d slept like a baby on her air mattress with her sleep mask over her eyes.

Not like a baby. Like a satisfied adult.

Because of Luke Waterson. It had been vain to try to push him out of her mind yesterday morning. Today, it was impossible. He was so vivid to her now. No longer a handsome man viewed from a distance or a person with whom to match wits at an arm’s length. Now he was strong hands and warm skin. They’d been so close, she’d felt the bass of his voice through her body while they talked.

Luke was the reason she’d had another night of sound sleep. At this rate, she was going to finish this Texas Rescue mission more rested than she’d begun. The thought made her smile to herself. That would be a first.

Rain was falling. She listened to its steady patter on the fabric roof of the sleeping quarters. Last night, it had thundered and poured. Today, it was gentle, constant, almost comforting in a way, like the difference between sex and cuddling. She’d never been much for cuddling. King-size beds were her preference if she anticipated spending an entire night with a man.

But this morning, she could imagine Luke beside her, and she felt a little pang of longing for the way she envisioned him. She didn’t have a word for it. Close? Almost...welcoming? Or comforting, like the sound of this morning’s rain.

Rain.
Patricia yanked her sleep mask off. Rain wasn’t comforting on a Texas Rescue assignment. Rain meant floods. Rain meant mud and the challenges of keeping patients and equipment both clean and dry. Lord, she needed to snap out of it. A firefighter’s warm hands were making her brains turn to mush.

She blinked as light hit her eyes, impatiently squinting at the watch on her wrist without waiting for her eyes to adjust. Good lord. She’d slept so long, all the other cots and air mattresses that stretched the length of the tent were empty. The mess tent would soon end its hot breakfast hours. She’d miss her chance to see Luke, even if they were only going to nod politely at one another like distant acquaintances.

She pulled her navy polo shirt on over her stretchy sports bra and swiftly started brushing her hair. With an elastic band and a dozen bobby pins, she began twisting it up, rushing against the clock.

Why rush?

Missing Luke at breakfast would be for the best. She’d dismissed Marcel so easily when she’d needed to focus on securing Quinn MacDowell as a husband. Now that Quinn had fallen through as the man who could defeat Daddy Cargill’s demands, she needed to find a new candidate for a husband as soon as possible. She shouldn’t be rushing into a relationship with another Marcel.

Luke is nothing like Marcel
.

True, and that made it worse. If she couldn’t dismiss Luke easily, then he was a liability. He’d distract her from her husband hunt, and she’d fail to win her fight against her father. She let her hands fall to her lap, bobby pins resting in one palm like a child’s game of pick-up sticks.

Little girl.
Her father’s voice grated even in memory. He’d always called her “little girl,” and he still did. It had taken her years to realize it wasn’t a term of endearment.

Little girl,
you can’t expect me to release millions of dollars to a spinster. You’ve got no one to take care of. You don’t need the money.

Father, you know perfectly well the reason we have money in our trust fund is because I invest it wisely. I’m not a spinster. I’m single by choice.

Prove it. Land yourself a suitable husband within the year, and half the trust fund is yours. I’ll co-sign a money transfer to your personal account. You won’t have to wait for me to kick the bucket.

She’d stood, prepared to leave the bank president’s private office, insulted beyond the high tolerance she usually had for Daddy’s nastiness.

Daddy Cargill had stood, too, blocking her path to the door. It was an old trick and one of his favorites: negotiating while standing up. His height, a fluke of DNA he’d done nothing to deserve, gave him a psychological advantage over nearly every opponent. She’d had no choice but to stand there and wait as he dared her to disagree with his description of a suitable husband for a Cargill heiress.

Patricia had been seething inside. His games would never end. Cargill men had lived well into their eighties generation after generation. She had decades of this ahead of her, an entire life that was going to be spent cajoling and bargaining, dealing with him and his mistresses and enduring his whims.

I could call his bluff and marry a man like he’s describing. It wouldn’t be hard.

None of his fanciful ideas had ever offered her an out before. She could taste the freedom.

You have yourself a deal, Father.
The look on his face when she’d held out her hand had been priceless. It hadn’t lasted for a full second, but she’d seen it. He’d been forced to shake on his own deal, because their bankers had been avidly watching, eager to witness a living example of Texas lore. Everyone knew once a Cargill shook on a deal, there would be no welching, no cheating, no changing the terms. For two Cargills to shake hands was a once in a generation event.

The deal was set. All she needed was the husband.

Luke Waterson, young and sexy and unpaid as a volunteer fireman, did not meet the criteria. He was, in other words, a waste of Patricia’s time. Daddy Cargill himself might as well have put him in her path to distract her from gaining her financial independence.

Patricia stopped rushing. Very carefully, she placed each pin in her hair. A French twist took a few minutes longer than a chignon, but it was just as practical. In the end, underneath the elegant veneer expected of a Cargill heiress, Patricia was a practical woman.

She never ate breakfast, anyway. Coffee would do.

* * *

The mess tent was not empty. Patricia had donned her yellow boating slicker and taken the time to stop at administration. She needed her clipboard and a fresh battery for her walkie-talkie. Even so, when she walked through the wood-framed door, Luke and his two buddies were still sitting at one of the tables. A deck of cards were being dealt.

Patricia experienced another annoying clash of emotions. Irritation, that her plans to avoid him had failed. Pleasure, because the man was beautiful to look at, and he was looking at her. A quick wink, and his attention returned to his hand of cards.

It was raining, and she realized the fire crew had no assigned place to be except the cab of their engine—or at a fire. At another table, a cluster of women in nursing scrubs were chatting over coffee. They didn’t look guilty or jump from their chairs when Patricia entered, which was how Patricia knew they must have finished the night shift, and were unwinding before going to sleep for the day.

Unwinding apparently entailed gazing at the firemen quite a bit. Murphy seemed equal parts interested and embarrassed, making eye contact and then ducking his head to fiddle with the radio attached to his belt. Zach was eating it up, stretching his arms over his head and flexing as the women looked his way. And Luke, well, every time Patricia glanced his way, their eyes met. Either they had perfectly synchronized timing, or he was staring at her.

Please don’t be too obvious.

The day shift cook was pulling empty metal bins out of the steam table’s compartments. He seemed to enjoy making a terrific clatter. “Miss Cargill, you missed breakfast.”

“Good morning, Louis. Coffee’s fine.” Patricia started to pour herself a cup from the army-size container that held coffee for her team, twenty-four hours a day.

“I’ll get you a biscuit with some gravy.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble. I’ll grab a sandwich if I get hungry later.”

Please don’t make me stay here longer than I have to.

“You know the biscuits and gravy are the only tasty thing we get out of these prepackaged rations.” He began his usual tirade against the food that kept for years in plastic bags while he opened a warming drawer and produced a plateful of white cream gravy. “Lunch will be tasteless. Eat while you can.”

Patricia was unable to refuse. When someone was being gracious, she was too well trained to be anything but gracious back. “Thank you, Louis. I’ll see if I can get access to the hospital building’s cafeteria for you. They might have some produce that didn’t go bad with the power outage.”

She sat alone. She kept her back to the fire crew and her profile to the nurses. It was, she had to admit, exceedingly uncomfortable. She didn’t belong. It was like being in the sixth grade all over again, the new girl at Fayette Preparatory Boarding School.

Unwelcome childhood memories killed her appetite. Still, she ate, bite after bite, at an unhurried but steady pace. She’d risen to the challenge at Fayette, keeping her chin high the way her mother did when she returned home from one of her equestrian events to find a party of bathing beauties in her swimming pool...with her husband.

At eleven, Patricia had sat at the marble-topped table in the refined prep school dining hall, frightened and lonely, and imitated her mother. She’d raised one brow at anyone who dared to approach her. At breakfast, girls had scoffed at her and loudly asked each other who she thought she was. By lunch, they’d whispered that she was Daddy Cargill’s one and only child. By dinner, Patricia had been holding court, requesting her fellow students’ surnames before granting them permission to sit at her table.

It was nothing to sit alone this morning. Truly nothing a grown woman couldn’t handle.

“Patricia!” Luke called. “Come be our fourth, so we can play hearts.”

So vividly had she been reliving her Fayette Prep School awkwardness, Patricia felt shocked that someone had dared to speak to her. She turned to face Luke while keeping her chin high and one brow raised.

He raised one brow right back as he shuffled the cards. “Hurry up. I’m dealing.”

He was serious. She was the director. She didn’t play cards on duty. “I’m sorry, but I was just leaving to check on something.”

“This will be over fast. First one to a hundred points. Ten minutes, tops.” He pushed a metal folding chair out from the table for her with the toe of his boot.

Zach twisted in his seat to face her. “You know how to play hearts, don’t you?”

She nodded, surprised he was seconding Luke’s invitation, such as it was.

“Then you know it sucks with three people. Help us out. We helped you out yesterday.”

The nurses were silent, watching her. Louis was whistling, rain was falling, and Patricia couldn’t see a way out without appearing churlish. She sat at their table, Luke to her right, Zach to her left, and Murphy, who failed to make eye contact with anything but his cards, seated directly across.

She started enjoying herself, especially after she stuck Luke with the queen of spades, the card that caused the most damage in the game.

“Ouch,” Luke said, scooping the cards toward him with the same hand that had trailed its way up her bare leg last night.

Patricia pressed her lips together to cover her smile.

“Glad you’re so amused,” Luke said.

Apparently her attempt to hide her triumph hadn’t been totally successful.

The radio on his belt sounded an alarm. The volume was multiplied as all the men’s radios sounded the same three tones. She remembered that sound. Her heart jumped into her throat as the men around her came to their feet.

“Oh, no.” The words escaped her in genuine dismay. Murphy was practically out the door already, but Zach and Luke both turned to her. “I didn’t think you could have a fire in the middle of a long rain like this one.”

“Lightning,” Zach said. “It can set stuff on fire even when it’s wet.” He shrugged into the bulky beige overcoat they wore to fight fires. All three men had been using them as raincoats, she guessed.

Patricia set her cards down and put her hands in her lap. “Be safe, gentlemen.”

Luke stood with his coat slung over his shoulder. “Don’t let Zach here impress you too much. It’s probably nothing. A cat in a tree. A false alarm, like ninety percent of our calls are.”

Zach started toward the door, stopping to bid a flirtatious farewell to the nurses on his way out.

“Engine thirty-seven,” Luke said quietly. “But it’s probably nothing.”

“Thirty-seven. Thank you.”

Then he turned away, gave Zach a push toward the door and left.

Patricia gathered the cards up. She supposed she could keep them with the glove at her desk, all to be returned as soon as possible.

“Could we borrow those cards?” a nurse asked. “We’ll give them back to the guys.”

“Certainly.” Patricia gave them the cards, knowing full well the nurses were less interested in playing cards now and more interested in having a reason to seek out the fire crew later.

Zach seemed like the kind of guy who’d like to keep them all entertained. Murphy might overcome his shyness. And Luke, well, Patricia could imagine him turning on that lazy grin as the nurses suggested they have a little game of cards. But what Patricia wanted to imagine was a Luke who was too interested in her to notice a table full of nurses.

The way he treated me this morning.

Patricia stood and snatched up her walkie-talkie. She knew better. Men were men. For her to even begin to wish for something different with one man in particular was a sure sign that she was losing focus. She had long-range goals, short-term plans and an immediate job to do. Nothing in her life required the devotion of a cowboy.

It was time to get to work. She refilled her coffee as she thanked Louis again for the breakfast, then she headed back to her admin tent, pulling the hood of her yellow raincoat up as she walked. As she passed the new waiting room tent, her hand itched to trail itself along the guy lines. She kept it in her raincoat pocket.

The door to the admin tent had been zipped shut against the rain. She opened it, then kept her chin raised as she entered the admin tent. A few people nodded at her. Most just kept themselves looking very busy.