id="u83e60cc4-fc06-520a-81cf-9ab6e5d18261">
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Maybe.” He buried his nose behind her ear and nibbled the soft skin. “Want me to stop?”
He continued to kiss her, nuzzling along her jaw to her mouth. Full lips. Soft. Sweet. Just like the woman. He deepened the kiss, waiting for her to open for him.
“Georgie?” He murmured her name against her lips.
She leaned back and stared at him, looking helpless and unsure.
“Sweet pea? What is it?”
“I’ve wanted this … you … I’ve dreamed about it … but …”
“Shh, darlin’. This is good. We’re good.” And it shocked him to realize he spoke the truth. This wasn’t a simple seduction. He liked Georgie. As a person. And was just now discovering how truly sexy she was. Coming into a relationship from this direction was a revelation. “We’re more than good, Georgie.”
He recognized her surrender in the way her eyes softened and went unfocused, in the way her arms crept around his neck, in the way her lips sought his and her body pressed against him. “Will you stay with me tonight, Georgie? In my bed?”
* * *
The Boss and His Cowgirl is part of the Red Dirt Royalty series: These Oklahoma millionaires work hard and play harder
The Boss and His Cowgirl
Silver James
SILVER JAMES likes walks on the wild side and coffee. Okay. She LOVES coffee. A cowgirl at heart, she’s been an army officer’s wife and mum, and worked in the legal field, fire service and law enforcement. Now retired from the real world, she lives in Oklahoma, spending her days writing with the assistance of two Newfoundlands, the cat who rules them all and the characters living in her imagination.
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To Jenny, Connie, Mac and Warriors in Pink everywhere.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Epilogue
Clayton Barron owned the room—held the emotions, the very hearts and minds of his audience in the palm of his hand. He controlled them with the power of his voice and the words he uttered with such complete conviction. He was in charge, just the way he preferred it. He’d been born, bred and raised to be a US senator—and more. Now into his second term, he stood at the podium of the convention of the Western States Landowners Association in Phoenix, Arizona, and the words rolled off his tongue, his voice infused with sincerity.
Georgeanne Dreyfus, his communications director, had written and fine-tuned the speech. The phrases she’d crafted pushed all the right buttons for this audience. Just as they’d practiced at the hotel last night, he paused for a beat then raised his chin and squared his shoulders.
“I understand your frustration. My great-great-grandfather settled the Crown B Ranch long before Oklahoma achieved statehood. He worked that ranch with his own hands. He survived storms, fires, droughts and floods all so he could leave the land—our birthright—to his children and their children.” He inhaled and shifted his expression to reflect a hint of arrogance. “It’s time we acknowledge our family legacies. We live on the land. Work it every single day of our lives, from sunrise to dark. It’s time we tell the government to back off. It’s time they stop tying our hands with their arbitrary rules and regulations. It’s time we take back what is ours.”
The room erupted into cheers, whistles and loud applause. He basked in the crowd’s admiration.
