he grinned, causing his tanned skin to crinkle around his brown eyes. “Probably not.”
Jo’s breathing hitched. “But you’re not kicking my brash behind out onto the front porch.”
He shook his head slightly as he downed the rest of his beer. “No. I’m not.”
Jo swung her boots off the table and sat up straight. “So tell me, Boss, what exactly does that mean?”
He put his bottle down. “You want me to spell it out for you?”
“Uh-huh.”
His gaze raked over her face and then down the front of her tank. “I’m saying that I like your brash behind right where it is at the moment.”
“That’s all I needed to hear…”
TRACE WASN’T THE KIND OF guy who leaped without looking. He hadn’t had that luxury. Not for a long time. But when Jo’s boot heels had thudded against the wood floor when she’d come inside, he’d known he was going to sleep with her, no two ways about it. He’d spent too many nights wondering what it would be like to follow her into the stables and take her on one of those hay bales to even think twice when she launched herself into his arms. The assault she executed on his mouth left him wondering how long she’d been thinking about the same thing.
Jo tasted like beer and lavender. A combination that was surprising and intriguing. Obviously, she’d caught a shower sometime during the evening. Still…
He captured her hands, which were plucking at the buttons of his jeans. “I’m not one for sloppy seconds.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “No worries. There would have to be a first to be a second.”
He believed her. Partly because she had no reason to lie. Mostly because she hadn’t been insulted by his words.
He eyed her mouth, already swollen from his kisses, and groaned, kissing her again.
While Jo was all grit and gristle on the range, now she was soft and pliant, straddling his hips on the couch, barely breaking contact with his mouth as he helped her strip off her shirt and tank. That left only her lacy white bra, a scrap of material so delicate, so sexy, Trace found it momentarily difficult to concentrate on what he was doing.
He didn’t know what he’d expected. One of those stretchy sports bra thingies he’d seen some women jog in, maybe. But this…
He curved his fingers under her right breast, marveling at the way she filled the cup and his palm. Of course, he’d always been superaware that Jo was a female, but he’d never expected her to be so feminine. The effect on him was mind-blowing. The contradictions of the woman even now tugging off his T-shirt were fascinating.
He pulled his mouth from hers in order to fasten his lips over the stiff peak of her breast under the lacy material. He was rewarded with her soft gasp and her momentary stillness.
The power of making love to a woman never ceased to amaze him. Giving, taking, surrendering to the moment in search of sensations that went well beyond what you’d anticipated.
He reached around her and unhooked her bra, watching as the material sprang away from her breasts, causing them to bounce slightly. His mouth watered as he lowered his head to finally taste a nipple without anything in between.
Jo sat up tall and proud, pressing her pelvis against his as her eyes drifted shut. Trace grasped her slender hips, feeling her hair tease his fingers as it cascaded down her bare back.
Sweet Jesus, but the woman was beautiful. Considering they didn’t come any tougher than Jo Atchison, the juxtaposition was a potent one.
Even as he laved her left breast, giving the pouting flesh the same attention he had the right one, he reached for the catch to her jeans, reveling in the way her stomach muscles trembled against the backs of his fingers as he worked.
Soon they were both stripped down, boots discarded, clothes flung aside, skin to skin.
And how soft her skin was. Trace couldn’t seem to get enough of touching her, running his hands over her bare back, her plump thighs, her smoothly rounded behind.
His fingertips scraped against something on the back of her hip. A scar? A birthmark?
She wrapped her fingers around his erection and he hissed. Okay, she was soft almost everywhere but her hands. Just like any cowboy, she had calluses that no amount of scrubbing and lotion could hope to soften.
Strangely, though, he found the sensation tantalizingly different than what he was used to. It helped that she wasn’t hesitant or shy. She openly looked at his stiff member, as if memorizing every ridge, every vein, rubbing the rough pad of her thumb over the top and then massaging the droplets of semen she found there down his throbbing shaft.
“Condom,” he said under his breath, the image of his bedside drawer coming to mind.
Jo produced a foil packet and smiled. “A girl should never leave home without them.”
Trace chuckled and kissed her, and then froze as she tore open the packet and smoothed the lubricated latex over his hard-on with quick efficiency.
She was all business. And he couldn’t be happier. It was nice knowing exactly what she wanted. Especially since he had every intention of giving it to her.
She straddled his hips again and began to position herself above him. But he grasped her silky bottom and pressed her back against the cushions at his side, nudging her knees farther apart, making room for himself as she gasped and grabbed his shoulders, her dark lashes casting shadows beneath her blue, blue eyes.
He held himself aloft, giving her the opportunity to change her mind. Instead, she linked her ankles behind his back and lifted herself against him, restlessly reaching for his sheathed member and positioning him against her slick portal.
Trace groaned and entered her. She was much tighter than he’d expected. He ground his teeth, fighting the desire to thrust in to the hilt, and instead withdrew, watching as her mouth bowed open and her breasts trembled from need. He entered her again, sinking another inch into her honeyed depths. He was about to pull back out when she used the power of her legs to force him the rest of the way down, until her pelvis met his.
All coherent thought fled from Trace’s crowded brain…
Chapter Four
JO HAD IMAGINED this moment in a thousand different ways. But she hadn’t anticipated the little details that combined to blow her mind. Like the way Trace looked down at her, his expression reflecting an internal battle—ride her like the wild mustang she was, or try to tame her with soft whispers.
She wanted to be broken.
More, she wanted to break him.
Guessing that the intimacy of being face-to-face was what held him back, she shifted until she was free, and then rolled over and raised herself up on all fours, lifting her bottom and reaching between her legs to reestablish the connection.
His groan told her he approved of the new position. Within seconds, he was filling
