Cowboy Player: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 3 Read online

  “Oh man,” said Clark. “‘Troubadour’. This a good one. Dance with me, Mel.”

  He pulled her off the sofa before she could say anything. Wrapped up in the arms of a big cowboy was not a terrible place to be, so Melody danced with him, barefoot in her parents’ living room, the slow two-step a song both their bodies knew the words to. Her laughter died away, giving way to a quiet sense of vulnerability. The verses slid by like a dream, erasing the burden of loneliness she’d been carrying for so long. It had been months since she’d been this close to a man. It had been years since she’d felt this close to one.

  Clark could read her mind. “So what was his name again?” he asked softly. “Scott?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened?”

  “A slow-motion disaster, that’s what happened.” She rested her cheek against the hard, hot wall of Clark’s chest. “He was a musician. Fun. Exciting. He said I meant the world to him. But I suppose the world wasn’t enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  It was still hard to say aloud. “He cheated on me. It had been going on for months. When I found out and confronted him about it, he broke down said he was sorry. We tried to put it past us. We even went to therapy. But it was all a lie. He left me when my mom passed away.” At first, the pain had been excruciating, dulled only by grief and the weight of her new responsibilities. “Eight years, down the drain.”

  “That’s a long time. Did you ever talk about getting married?”

  “He said he didn’t like labels.” She sighed. “Which was also a lie, because he married the other woman in Vegas in February.”

  “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry.” Clark gave her a squeeze. “You know, if you were mine, I’d hold on to you for good.”

  “Sure. Until the next piece of ass came along.”

  “Never seen a piece of ass like yours.”

  “That’s the friend talking. Your dick might say otherwise.”

  “My dick, huh?” Clark laughed quietly. “You’re welcome to check with my dick yourself. He doesn’t talk loud, so you’ll have to get down on your knees to hear him.”

  “Jackass.”

  “Seriously, Mel. You don’t know what you’ve got going on. Smart as all get-out. Hell, you run circles around me, and I’m a genius. And you’re funny too. Ain’t many women who can make me laugh. You’re one of them.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Aw shucks, Ma. Next the cowboy told me I was real purty.”

  “Fuck pretty. You’re beautiful.”

  It was too much. Danger. “Clark—”

  “So beautiful. I always thought so.” He gave her a sad smile. “Honest to God.”

  The heat rising between them cooked her brain. She was at a loss for words. “Thanks.”

  “No thanks needed. Just stating the obvious.” They danced until the song ended on a ribbon of steel guitar. Clark leaned down and pressed his lips to her temple.

  Melody gasped.

  Instead of pulling away, he traced a slow, agonizing trail of kisses along her hairline until he was kissing her neck just behind her ear.

  Pleasure overloaded her nervous system, but her brain wouldn’t let her enjoy it. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “Something I’ve wanted to do for a long, long time.”

  “Oh God.” She gripped his rigid arms. Complicated feelings cascaded through her so quickly, she couldn’t identify one from the other.

  Still holding her, he looked into her eyes. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

  For the first time in twenty-eight years, she realized Clark’s eyes were brown. No—not brown. Swirled mahogany and gold, like bird’s-eye maple, with irises rimmed in dark chocolate. Her body ached under his warm gaze, ravenous for what he offered her but terrified of what they’d lose if she took it.

  “We’re friends,” she said. “I don’t want to throw that away.”

  “Nothing will change that.” He searched her face. “Do you think I’d hurt you?”

  “Not intentionally.” Loneliness welled up inside her. Her heart was a broken bucket at the bottom of a deep well. “And I know what it’s like when you think you know someone, and then you discover…” She trailed off.

  “But you know me,” he said. “I’m not hiding anything. You know me better than anyone, right?”

  She nodded.

  He was quiet for a moment. “One night’s not forever, Mel.” The expression on his face was unreadable. “We’re adults.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me no.”

  She closed her eyes. Could she? Should she? Lust flooded her bloodstream. “What if…I don’t want to tell you no?” she whispered.

  He pressed his body against hers. At once she felt his desire for her, hard and real and burning against her belly.

  “Then tell me yes,” he murmured.

  Desire trumped fear. She wanted this. She wanted him. Melody took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Yes.”

  Clark had big hands. One big hand cupped the back of Melody’s neck. He put two fingers under her chin and raised her head to meet his gaze. With a touch as gentle as his voice, he stroked her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb.

  “Just to be clear, Melody,” he whispered, “I’m asking to take you to bed. Is the answer still yes?”

  If the devil looked at her like that and asked for her immortal soul, she would still give the same answer: “Yes. God, yes.”

  Then Clark kissed her.

  Six foot two, hard edges and curves, thick limbs and broad shoulders and big muscles—it seemed odd that he’d have lips as soft and full as the ones he pressed to hers. Melody’s eyes fluttered closed as the man she saw as the definitive player kissed her as shyly as a teenager. The shape of his mouth melded sweetly to hers as his fingertips massaged her nape. Bit by bit, her conscious mind surrendered to the sensations. The warmth of his skin. The faint smell of gin on his breath. The sweet flavor of his mouth when, after what seemed like an eternity, he parted his lips and stroked the tip of her tongue with his.

  And all was lost.

  Melody reached up and ran her hands through his dark, soft hair as Clark slid his hands down her back. At once the gentle kiss became wild. She could feel him breathing hard as she opened her mouth wider to let him in. Their tongues entangled, Melody began to tremble, unable to process the tremendous intimacy of what they were doing. When she gripped his shoulders, he broke their kiss at last and with a sharp intake of breath, kissed her neck, sending delicious shivers up and down her spine. Her body felt at once both tight and loose—a bundle of tension, slowly warming and softening like molten metal under his touch.

  His hands slid down lower. His cupped her ass in his enormous hands and pulled her hard against him. She heard a low groan in his chest that reverberated against her solar plexus.

  “Christ,” he whispered against her throat. “Up. Get up.”

  She reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck and, when he grabbed the backs of her thighs, hopped into his arms. Short but by no means tiny, Melody felt self-conscious for only a moment until she realized that Clark was a milk-fed farm boy. She’d seen him wrestle his brothers. She’d seen him pick up and throw down two-hundred-and-fifty-pound calves. The man was as strong as an ox, and in his arms, she felt safe. He gave no indication that she weighed anything at all.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he said.

  She did. Every part of him was hard and lean. Between her thighs his torso was rigid as concrete. As he looked up at her, the words tumbled out before she could censor herself.

  “You’re one handsome motherfucker, you know that?”

  “Glad you think so.”

  He carried her to the sofa and let her down gently. As he knelt between her legs, Clark pressed soft kisses on her che
eks, her closed eyelids and her forehead. Then his kisses grew more wicked. He covered her neck with long, hot breathy kisses until Melody was sure her blood had turned to lava in her veins. He kissed her throat as he grazed the insides of her bare thighs with his fingers. He French-kissed her madly, eyes wide open and filled with gleeful challenge. And Melody, ignited with lust, had to face a strange fact—making out with Clark MacKinnon was not only taboo and hot as hell, it was fun.

  She leaned back. “Take off your shirt,” she whispered.

  Slowly, he grabbed the neck of his T-shirt and drew it over his head.

  Jesus Christ on a motorbike.

  Melody was sure she’d seen him shirtless before. Probably at the lake, on someone’s houseboat. At a barbecue, pitching horseshoes. Maybe on the ranch. But the difference between seeing and seeing couldn’t have been more real than it was in this moment. Clark was like a beautiful book that had sat on her shelf for years that she’d never bothered to take down and read.

  Broad shoulders capped with muscle. Rounded pecs and pale-brown nipples. His brothers were all big hairy bears, but Clark’s chest was nearly smooth, with just a light dusting of soft hair that trailed down between the aggressively carved muscles of his six-pack. His shallow belly button—almost an outie—made Melody smile. At the waistband of his jeans, deep lines of muscle peeked out above his hips. Constellations of tiny moles and freckles covered his ripped torso, beautiful imperfections.

  Captivated, she reached forward and touched him. His skin was hot. When her fingertips grazed his abs, he took her hand before she could go any lower.

  “Not yet.”

  He grabbed her by the waist and drew her down lower on the sofa until her hips were flush with the edge of the cushions. As he kissed her again, Melody felt his fingers pressing against the under curve of her breasts as his thumbs slowly, agonizingly circled her nipples through the fabric of her dress and bra.

  “God, I need to see you,” he said against her lips.

  He slid his hands underneath her dress and pulled the fabric up. Melody sat up as he removed the dress from her body, reached behind her and unhooked her bra. He set her back down and looked at her almost naked beneath him, his eyes wide and his jaw tight.

  “Gorgeous,” he whispered.

  More kisses. Her lips grew swollen and tender. His five-o’clock shadow abraded her chin and cheeks. Clark kissed a wicked trail down her throat between her breasts as he stroked her areola with the warm pads of his fingers. Just as she began to squirm, his hot mouth closed over her right nipple. As he suckled her, she threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling gently as a long, low moan escaped from her throat. Then he moved to her other nipple and did the same thing. When he rubbed the heel of his hand against her through her panties, bright pleasure swirled in her brain. When he slipped his fingers behind the lace and ran his fingers over her wet, slick flesh, her eyes shot open and she gasped.

  Clark flashed her a smile as he reached down and slid her panties down her legs. He threw them onto the sofa by her head, put his hands on her knees and drew her legs slowly apart, spreading her wide.

  “Do you know how long I’ve fantasized about this?” He touched her again, drawing his fingertips slowly from the bottom of her pussy up to the tip of her clit. “When you left for college, I thought I’d lost you forever. And then you came back.”

  Melody could barely register the words. “What?”

  Without saying anything else, Clark lowered his lips to her and with his hot tongue, followed the same trail that his fingers had just taken. Melody gasped and grabbed on to the sofa pillows. This was unreal.

  Barely breathing, she watched as Clark pressed his rough cheek against her inner thigh and looked at her. His warm, gentle breath on the most intimate part of her body. His eyes rested on her, scorching her like fire. With his fingertips, Clark stroked her tender pussy, parting the petals of her sex with his thumb and forefinger, exposing her clit. His lips were an inch away. Anticipation intensified the ache inside her, a longing so strong her skin grew feverish.

  “I need you, Mel,” he whispered, lowering his lips.

  The first licks were like wildfire, so pleasurable they were almost painful. Clark closed his eyes and Melody could see the shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks. With each hot caress of his tongue, she could sense him feeling out her reaction, learning what she responded to, memorizing what she liked. It didn’t take him long to find his rhythm. Melody shut her eyes and began to breathe harder as all the blood in her body rushed to meet him, her heart pumping furiously in her chest.

  Her ex-boyfriend had stopped going down on her years ago. For as long as she could remember, her only real orgasms were the ones she gave herself alone in bed or in the shower, furtive, shameful ones that were her only relief against the intense loneliness to which she’d resigned her life.

  She thought she was the only one who could make herself feel good.

  She was wrong.

  For a long time, Clark licked, caressed and sucked her. From the way he moaned and stroked her thighs and looked up at her reactions, he was enjoying himself. His wicked tongue never left her body. Her body drew so tight she could barely breathe. He had taken her to the edge of climax and back twice before she realized that her hands were cramping up from holding on to the sofa so tightly.

  With a smile as naughty as it was beautiful, Clark lifted his head and looked up at her.

  “Amazing,” he said.

  He stroked the drenched folds of her pussy, then slowly slid a finger into her. He drew it in and out, massaging her and stretching her gently. When he slid in a second finger, she gasped and clenched at him, hard, a monster of an orgasm threatening to break free.

  “Ready?” he whispered.

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  Clark closed his eyes and dove in. With the tip of his tongue, he swirled her clit with perfect pressure and perfect heat. He did it again and again and again, relentlessly, as his fingers thrust into her, stretching her tight. The mixture of pleasure and pain destroyed her resistance.

  “I’m going to come,” she whimpered. “Oh God.”

  She arched her back hard and the climax tore out of her, rushing through her nervous system and lighting up her spine like a roman candle. Goose bumps broke out all over her body, and her nipples hardened to tiny, erect points. The convulsions in her pussy were so strong, so endless, she wasn’t sure if she was having one orgasm or twenty. All she knew was that Clark had done this to her. Clark her buddy, Clark the player, Clark who was kneeling between her thighs wearing a smug grin, his dark eyes shining with nothing short of pure delight.

  When the climax finally receded and Clark removed his cowboy Casanova fingers from her person, Melody lay back on the sofa, a hot and panting mess. The needle on the record player chuffled rhythmically against the label, the music long done. It was the first time she’d noticed the sound. Her body was on fire, scorched from the inside out by the biggest orgasm she’d ever had in her life.

  “What the fuck, MacKinnon?” she said, staring up at the ceiling.

  Clark laughed softly as he kissed her forehead. “You ready to have that conversation with my dick now?”

  Chapter Two

  The Player

  “Strange what desire will make foolish people do.”

  —Chris Isaak

  Hell yeah.

  She came. He’d made her come.

  “What the fuck, MacKinnon?” she said, staring up at the ceiling.

  Clark laughed softly as he kissed her forehead. “You ready to have that conversation with my dick now?”

  The joke hid the rawness in his chest. She was more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Golden-brown skin, smooth as a dream, covered her tight, compact body. Her sexy hips and full breasts enticed his eyes and hands, and even now, after feasting on her, his mouth watered for mor
e of the sweet sexiness between her legs. The way she moved, the way she moaned his name, the way she came—she was everything he desired in women wrapped up in one woman. Melody.

  “Come on.” He helped her to her feet.

  “God, I hope Harmony didn’t hear anything,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

  She grabbed her clothes and turned off the record player. As he followed her down the dark hallway, Clark rubbed the aching erection in his jeans and tried not to feel a pang of annoyance. Who cared if Harmony heard? Who cared if anyone heard? He was tired of keeping his feelings a secret.

  The truth?

  He’d been in some form of love with Melody Santos ever since his little-boy heart could wrap itself around the concept of love.

  Years and years ago, when his dad’s best friend and ranch foreman died of a heart attack, Dale MacKinnon had promised to keep an eye on Nicasio Santos’s widow and two daughters. Which meant that at every birthday party, every First Communion, every Christmas and Easter for as long as he could remember, Clark ran around the ranch not just with his brothers, but with Harmony and Melody too.

  Harmony was always too young to do much of anything but get in the way, fall down and be the reason everyone else got in trouble. But Melody was a different story. She and Clark were the same age, and she was a tough cookie. She roped and rode and wrestled. She wasn’t afraid to get dirt on her church clothes or mud on her fancy shoes. Clark loved to play pranks on his brothers, and Melody was always his willing assistant, a source of misdirection and distraction for his victims. When the pranks were done, he made sure she never got in trouble. She never did.

  In school, they were always the brainiest kids in the room, but Melody always got the answers a split-second before him. Then, sophomore year, something changed. He started growing taller. And he didn’t stop. His older brothers, heartbreakers and jocks, had generously prepared a reputation for him to inherit. Girls—lots of them—started to show interest in him. When they started showing interest in what was in his pants, he obliged them.