And just in time for Christmas you can ride two hot cowboys.
Ride a Cowboy
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“Dance with me, Molly.”
She opened her mouth to refuse him, but somehow instead, found herself rising from the booth and following him to the dance floor. Only two other couples were making use of the music. Chance tactfully led her to a corner where the lights didn’t hit them. She was stiff within the circle of his arms, moving like a windup doll, until one hand slid up her back to hold the nape of her neck.
“Relax, Molly.” His mouth was at her ear, his breath a warm breeze against her skin. “It’s just a dance. Sometimes it helps to shut out everything else and just fall into the music.”
She was trying, but his body was so warm against hers and there was no mistaking the hard thickness of his cock pushing against her through the denim of his jeans. His scent teased at her nostrils, a heady blend of something woodsy and the smell of leather and horses. She was sure he’d showered but somehow, for men who worked at ranching rather than playing, the aroma burned its way into their skin. She loved it. Always had. If she wanted to be truthful, it was almost an aphrodisiac. She pressed herself just a millimeter closer.
What she would have given all those years ago to be where she was right this minute. But a lot of water had washed over the dam since then, and the last thing she wanted was to have Chance McDaniel feeling sorry for her.
“I…haven’t danced in a while,” she said lamely as she tried to relax in his grip.
God. Could I sound any more idiotic?
He chuckled, a low rumbling sound. “I think it’s like riding a horse. You never really forget. I think you could probably say that about everything.”
His lean fingers massaged the knot at the nape of her neck, his arm holding her against him as they shifted their bodies minimally in place. The stroking of those fingers sent shivers down her spine, but they also coaxed her to relax and move in rhythm with him. She actually found herself leaning her head against his shoulder.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “I learned music can make you forget just about any damn thing.”
Eight Second Ride
Kyle Mitchell wanted to pry his eyes open but someone was pounding a drum inside his head so hard he was afraid to see daylight. Not only that, but whatever he was lying on was harder than a concrete floor and killing his back. He needed aspirin and coffee in large supply. He tried to raise his hands to press them against his aching temples but something jerked his right hand and prevented him from lifting it. Now he opened his eyes. And wished he hadn’t.
Unfortunately this wasn’t the first jail cell he’d been in, but he was pretty sure it was the worst. And he was pretty sure it hadn’t been modernized in the last fifty years. One wall consisted of the usual arrangement of bars with a portion of it hinged for a door. The sleeping arrangement, rather than a crummy cot that would have been a vast improvement, was a flat piece of wood with a mattress on it so thin he was sure he’d be able to see through it. And it was the kind that pulled down from the wall on chains.
And speaking of chain, he yanked at his right hand again and discovered he was handcuffed to one length of chain.
Damn! What the hell had happened? What had he gotten himself into now?
Squinting against the brightness of the light from the ceiling lights he looked down the length of his body.
He clapped his left hand over his waist in a sudden panic.
Champion belt buckle! Okay! Check.
He rubbed a hand over his square jaw, feeling the stubble of yesterday’s beard growth. Testing everywhere on his face he discovered his nose was tender but not broken, but the rest of his face felt as if a bull had stomped on it.
Wait. Was that what had happened? The last thing he remembered was lasting the full eight seconds on Sodbuster before landing in the dirt of the rodeo arena. Everything else was a blur.
“Well. It looks like you’re finally awake.”
The voice was pure music, soft, with a faint drawl. Squinting through the bars he thought for a minute his heart was going to stop beating. In the hallway looking in at him was about five-foot-four of the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen. Dark blonde curls tumbled down to her shoulders, framing a lightly tanned face with emerald green eyes peeking out from thick, thick lashes. The stiff fabric of the uniform shirt she wore couldn’t conceal the lush ripeness of her breasts any more than the pants hid her mouthwatering curves.
But what really shook him up was the star gleaming from its place of prominence on her shirt, right over one of those nicely rounded breasts.
Holy hell! This was the sheriff?
He looked at her and something inside turned over. He had an urgent need to see this woman naked in his bed, but not the way he did with the usual women he rolled in the sheets with. Not an eight-second ride and done. No, even in his pitiful condition he could imagine making slow, soul-searing love to her. Everything from his balls to his brain went on instant alert.