The White Cowboy - Complete BWWM Romance Box Set (10 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Brandon did as he was told, then settled on a kitchen stool to watch her hobble around the kitchen. He felt some guilt about her cooking when injured, but in the little time he'd known Gemma, he figured she wouldn't let him help. "You don't have to do this."

Her gaze turned full onto him, her dark brown eyes taking him in. "I do. If I'm the only one you trust with your recipes, then I'm going to test some while I'm here."

He pointed. "But the crutches."

She waved a hand. "I'll figure it out. I'll be fine."

The recipe he'd chosen was for sautéed chicken breasts in a lemon, with a white wine sauce over rice. His recipe was actually two together, one for the rice and one for the chicken. She might have him make the salad.

"So I'm going to measure the rice. Then I'll heat the pan and put in olive oil. Let that heat, then put in the shallots."

"Cut up the shallots first," he said.

She read the recipe again. "Right. Minced." She stared at the shallot and then the board. "Chopped finely?"

He fidgeted in his chair. "Right."

She frowned. "What's the easiest way to do that?"

"Slice the peeled shallot in half, then put one half on its flat side. Slice it part way, then slice it horizontally."

With the halved shallot on its flat side, she wasn't sure what to do next. He came around next to her. "Watch."

He showed her, and then she did it with the second half.

"Perfect."

"Maybe you should put that into the recipe or into a chapter on techniques."

***

Gemma wasn't sure she could have successfully cooked this meal without Brandon's input. She hadn't learned much in working in restaurants, but she'd never been on her own, so she'd never had to cook.

But now she would be. "Can I take a picture of these recipes? So that I have them."

"You aren't saving them on your laptop?"

"No I'm saving them to the flash drive."

"Okay, I guess."

"I'll take some pictures of other recipes after I'm done. When I cook them, I'll let you know how they turn out."

"Sounds fair."

He was like a toddler sitting at the counter. He obviously wanted to do something and wasn't used to just sitting. Well, he'd just have to wait. She needed to test this recipe.

The rice was cooking, so now she had to brown the chicken breast. Brandon had pounded the meat flat for her. "You could set our places."

He did so, then sat down again with a grim face. She wanted to laugh, but didn't think he'd be amused as she was. She heated the oil, then put in the chicken breasts. They sizzled, and she turned on the hood over the cooktop.

"How many minutes on each side?" she asked.

"I'd give them about three because they are thin."

"That's something else you can put in the recipe. Don't assume someone knows how to do that."

"Good point."

She made a note on the recipe for him. The chicken smelled good, she had to admit. "How about you make the salad?"

"Sure."

He pulled all the ingredients out of the refrigerator, then set to work on fulfilling her request. She enjoyed the maleness of his presence beside her. He exuded confidence, and she thought he could take on any task.

She flipped the chicken breast, turned on the oven to warm and put a platter in there like the recipe said. "For some things you really have explicit directions. For others, you skip over vital points."

"I guess it's good that you're trying this out. How's your foot doing?"

"It's fine, though I'd rather be doing this without the crutches, I really don't want to put any weight on it."

***

Brandon cut up vegetables for the salad, glad to be doing something. He wasn't one to sit still, except to read or sleep.

Besides, he found it sexy that she was cooking. Even sexier that she was cooking one of his dishes. She was right. Someone else had to make these recipes. Clint couldn't do it.  Clint heated things up, he didn't cook.

Brandon couldn't wait to taste the dish. It was one of his favorites because of its simplicity. That's what the cookbook was about. Simple food for simple people. No airs, no fancy ingredients.

There was a knock on the door. He finished the last of the chopping. "I'll get that. It might be Clint. Can I invite him to dinner?"

She turned to him, biting her lip. "I hate to turn him away, but I'm nervous."

"He'll eat anything."

She shrugged. "Then sure."

As expected, Clint was at the door. "I wanted to check on that cow one more time."

"Thanks Clint," Brandon said. "Come in. Dinner's almost ready."

"I'm not intruding?"

"No, not at all," Brandon said as he closed the door against a now brutal wind. "Gemma's trying out one of my recipes."

"Okay."

Brandon led him into the kitchen.

"Hi, Clint," Gemma said, her face a big smile.

"Hello Gemma. Brandon actually let you into his kitchen?"

"I insisted. Someone had to try out these recipes for his cookbook."

"I'm impressed he told you about that. I've been bugging him for a while to put them all together."

"And now I've been ganged up on and it's getting done," Brandon said.

Gemma chuckled. Clint just nodded as he slid onto the stool. Brandon put down silverware for him.

"Smells pretty good," Clint said.

"Hopefully it'll taste good."

***

Gemma devoured the dish she had made. "That was amazing. "

Brandon smiled at her. "Glad you like it. Are you still going to the bar tonight?"

Clint had eaten and left with the leftovers. Gemma liked him a lot, and hoped to get to know him a little better the next day. She suspected that he would be pretty closed-mouthed, which she considered a challenge.

"If you don't mind driving me," she said.

He had sat back in his chair with his hand on his stomach. "No, I don't."

"Will you stay?"

She crossed her fingers under the counter. She wasn't sure why she wanted him there so badly. Possibly because she wanted to impress him, and singing was something she could do as opposed to cooking.

Her first attempt at one of his recipes had been a success, but she wasn't sure that it wasn't just a fluke.

"Of course," he said.

Her smile was so big it hurt her face.

"The mike opens at nine. I know you're an early to bed guy, so will this be okay?"

"Seeing as I didn't get much sleep last night, I hope so."

That was the first he'd mentioned last night. They'd been dancing around it all day.

"Well, not sure what to say to that, but you weren't complaining last night."

He rested his elbows on the counter. His gaze took her in, and his eyes had darkened "No, I guess I wasn't."

She figured he regretted saying anything. She wasn't going to let it go. "I was hoping for a repeat performance tonight."

He looked troubled, and her heart sank. Had she been that horrible? No one had ever complained before. Most men liked that she told them what pleased her.

"But your foot," he said.

"I'll be off it if you're on top." Gemma wanted to laugh. She thought she might have detected a little pink in his face. He blushed, and she found that super sexy.

He seemed to shake himself. "What if I hurt it?"

She wanted to touch him right now, but if they did that, they'd never make it to the bar. At this moment, she could not have been happier than Clint had left. The air crackled with the sexual electricity between them. "I'm sure we can work around it."

He shook his head. "I'm not sure that is good idea."

He was trying to let her down easily. He didn't want to sleep with her again. The hurt threatened to choke her, but she wouldn't show that to him. She tucked her crutches under her arms and hobbled to the door. "Well, think about it. The offer still stands."

***

So how was he supposed to not think about her naked? How, damn it? And why had she put the offer on the table? He filled the sink to wash dishes while he pondered that.

Frowning down at the water, he wondered if he'd make it out alive from all from this encounter. The day after tomorrow, she'd be gone.

Which did he want more? For her to stay, or for her to go?

Could he really go back to his solitary existence?

He looked down to talk to his dog, but he wasn't there. Probably still at Gemma's feet. He laughed. He knew what Spike would vote for.

With the dishes done, he had nothing else to do in the kitchen, so he went into the living room. Gemma had returned to typing up his recipes.

"I can find someone to make these recipes for you,” she said. “Someone you can trust."

He wasn't sold on that idea, or on what he was going to do with the recipes once they were typed up. Trying to find a publisher was a big risk, and self-publishing held as many risks.

Plus, not being tech savvy, he wasn't sure he could publish them himself.

He was out of his depths in more ways than one. He settled on the rocker. "We'll see."

"No, you really need someone else to make them. They can give feedback on wording," she said.

He shrugged. "We'll see."

"You are frustrating. These recipes are so good."

He rubbed his chin. Her eyes lit up when she spoke, showing her passion. He wondered if he could have that same passion for this. Jessica had taken it away. Would Gemma give it back to him? "I'll think about it. Okay?"

"Please do."

"In the meantime, don't mention it to anyone."

She looked around. "I think your dog already knows, and he isn't telling anyone."

"In case your family calls."

"Fine."

As he left the room, he wasn't completely convinced that she would comply.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gemma finished one last recipe, then hobbled to the bathroom to do her hair and makeup. She'd never tried it while balancing on crutches, but she had no choice.

A performer needed to look good, or at least look the part, and her current wardrobe would impress no one but those who worked from home. She'd brought jeans and a nicer shirt into the bathroom, but she wasn't sure how she would get the pants on.

She'd been wearing sweatpants today.

"Damn."

Frowning at herself in the mirror, she decided to save that for last.

She applied her foundation, then  lipstick and smoky eyeliner. She'd transformed herself from a girl you'd meet in the grocery store to a girl whose autograph you'd scream for. She hoped it wasn't all too much for the small town.

"Brandon?" she said through the open bathroom door.

He'd been puttering in the kitchen. He came around the corner, and his face with its wide-open mouth said it all. "Yeah?"

"Is this too much make-up?"

He flinched. "I'm going to go with yes."

She bit her lip. "I went overboard."

"A little, sorry."

"No, I'm glad you’re honest. I'm going to wash my face and start again. Can I get your help in a few minutes?"

"With what?"

"Getting my pants on."

He blinked. "Okay."

She washed her face, then began again with a lighter hand. When she finished, she called him back again. "I know you know how to take my pants off, but can you help me get them back on?"

***

Brandon didn't know what to say first. She stood with her doe eyes pleading with him, but her statement had been so sexually charged.

Should he respond or just help her?

"This might be easier in my bedroom."

Really? He probably should have thought that through. That didn't make the situation any better. She smiled at him. Probably enjoying his discomfort.

Damn. "Grab your pants," he said before scooping her up.

He strode into the bedroom as if he brought women into his bedroom to put their pants on every day. His own pants became tight. Down, boy. We're dressing not undressing.

He put her on the bed as gently as he could. Her purple lacy underwear barely covered her. Thankfully, she had her top still on.

"Shall we try the hurt leg first?"

"Whatever you want," she said, her voice low and husky. She cleared her throat, and her ears went red.

He froze. She was feeling it as well. She leaned back on her elbows, giving him better access to her legs. He knelt and took the pants in his hands.

He'd never put pants on a woman. He never put pants on anyone but himself. "Uh."

"Put them on one leg then the other, but only part way up. Then I'll stand and we can get them up the rest of the way."

He looked up at her. "You've done this before?"

"On someone much smaller than I am. I have nieces and nephews."

He bunched up the pants leg, then slid it over her wrapped foot.

"Ouch."

He stopped. "Sorry."

She reached down for her pants, but he shooed away her hands.

"Here. Get them on the leg."

"I'm trying," he said.

"Don't bunch them up."

She touched his hand, and his arm tingled. Was she feeling this too? He did his best not to jolt away from her. He let go of his handful of the pants leg. Then he slid just the top of the pants over her foot.

She hooked her fingers into the belt loops and slid them up further. "Now the other leg."

He did as she directed. She was able to pull the pants on her legs above her knees.

"Now help me up," she said.

She planted her good foot on the ground as he shifted her onto it. He held onto her, enjoying her closeness. Her scent filled his nostrils, and he wanted to push her back on the bed and yank off the pants they’d so carefully just put on.

***

When Gemma looked up at Brandon, his eyes had darkened. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

She was thinking the same thing. Hopefully feeling the same things as he was. She wanted him. Simple and so complicated at the same time.

"Let's reverse this project," she said, her voice husky to her own ears. She heard her own desperation.

He cleared his throat. "Do we have time?"

"If we're quick."

"Then we have time, but not to do it right."

She tugged at his shirt. She'd live with quick and dirty just to have him inside of her. "Let's do it anyway."

He smiled then pulled her pants back down her legs. "You are so sexy."

"You aren't too bad yourself, cowboy."

He shifted her back on the bed, then crawled on top. She tugged at his shirt buttons; they gave way under her fingers, and then she had unfettered access to his chest. Muscles from real work were so sexy.

She couldn't stop touching him. She loved the hard planes and soft hair on his chest. She'd miss this when she was gone.

He nibbled his way down her neck, his other hand deep into her hair, as if he were afraid she'd move.

"Gemma."

His voice held the same desperation hers had. It turned on her on even more that he wanted her this badly. Her. Not anyone else.

This hot sexy cowboy who could be on the front of magazines, wanted her. Gemma from New Jersey.

"Brandon."

"I love my name on your lips," he murmured into her ear.

"I love your hands on me," she said.

He'd moved one to play with her nipple through her shirt.

He unbuttoned her blouse and removed her bra.

***

Brandon couldn't help but take in the sight of her. Naked, ready and willing. On his bed.

With nothing but his clothes holding them back, he removed them. Then he slid his body back onto her. She was so soft.

"Ouch."

"Oh, crap. I hurt your foot."

She grabbed him. "Don't stop. Don't you dare."

He studied her eyes, now half-lidded, he hoped from passion. He didn't want to stop, but he would rather stop than hurt her. "But your foot."

"We'll figure it out," she said. She wrapped her good leg around him. His erection nudged at her, and she took it in her hand. "I know the place for this."

He entered her warm, wet canal, and wanted to die right there. Each time he made love to her it got better and better. How could that be?

His eyes fell closed as he began to stroke in and out. They didn't have much time, but he didn't want her to regret this decision.

Again as he did everything in his power to make her cum.

Then he felt it. "Give it up for me Gemma."

Her leg tightened around him, her head flung back, white teeth clenched. She let it go. Then he could.

In and out, faster, as if he wouldn't ever make love again. And then he was over the edge. Falling and flying and wanting it to never end.

With a last thrust, he was done, and leaned on one elbow to smile at her.

She stroked his face. "Now that was worth it."

***

Gemma loved being this close to him. Especially after they'd made love. He held her gently as she balanced on her good foot, sliding the tight pants up her legs. When she managed to pull them all the way up, she said. "Let me sit now."

He guided her with strong hands back to his bed. She wouldn't ask him to zipper her pants. He might explode, she thought. She might explode. Even though they'd just finished making love, she still wanted more. Wanting him again seemed to be her constant state.

Distance could cure that.

Instead she lay back on the bed as if she were zipping a too small pair of pants. With her zipper up, she sat back up. "Do I look okay?"

"You look great."

He was staring, so he must mean it. "Can you get me my crutches?"

"How much time do we have?"

"Twenty or so minutes."

He came back with her crutches, then he backed out of his bedroom Figuring he didn't trust himself with her current position, she smiled.

"I'll shave and freshen up. And put a clean shirt on."

"Sounds like a plan."

She didn't move until he closed the bathroom door. She heard water running, then she let out the breath she'd been holding. It had taken all of her self-control not to beg him to take off her pants. And make love to her. Again.

"What am I thinking?" she said as she made her way out to the living room.

Settling on the couch, she tuned her guitar. Satisfied she was ready to go, and with a playlist ready in her mind, she tapped her hand on her thigh, waiting for Brandon to finish.

He finally emerged from the hallway with a blue snap shirt that brought out his eyes even more. He'd changed his work jeans to black ones. He looked very polished compared to his everyday attire.

She smiled. "You look great."

He shrugged as if that weren't important, but to her it was. He was making an effort for her, and that made him even sexier in her book. She didn't like the polished metro-sexual guys or the gold-chained wannabe rappers that she encountered in New Jersey.

She liked a guy who was comfortable enough to wear something simple. Brandon clearly did, and he rocked it.

***

Brandon hadn't worn the shirt since his rodeo days. It was probably the nicest one he owned. He didn't have a suit or a tux; he had never needed one.

But he wanted to look nice to go out tonight. He figured it would be important to Gemma.

"Are you ready?" he said.

She stared at him, as if admiring what he looked like.

"Yes, I am. Can you carry my guitar? Then I can get myself at least to the truck." He brought her coat to her and helped her on with it. "Thanks."

"Give me a moment to warm up the truck," he said.

Outside, the cold, biting wind made him cringe. He liked winter, but sometimes it was too harsh even for him.

He started the truck, then went back for her guitar. He placed in the foot well of her side of the truck. By the time he got back to her, the truck was warm.

Well, as warm as it would be. It would heat up on their ride.

Gemma hobbled to the truck, then handed him the crutches as she hung onto the door.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she said.

He lifted her into the truck, then shut the door.

Sliding into the vehicle he gave her a quick smile. Then he drove towards the bar where he was going to spend the evening. He hoped for a pool table, but it had been in need of repair last time he'd been in the bar.

"Do you go to his place often?"

"I haven't been in a year or so," he said. "I don't frequent bars often."

"Is it the only one in town?"

"Yes. There was another one, but the owner retired and moved to Florida."

She tugged her coat tighter. "I can understand. This is brutally cold tonight."

"You warm enough?"

"I am now, but that wind cut right through me getting to the truck."

"Yep, Iowa winters are not for the faint of heart."