Pregnant By The Cowboy Ceo. Catherine Mann
until everything felt...more. The tangy scent of his aftershave swirled inside her with every breath. Music muffled from the other room serenaded them, syncing their bodies into the most fundamental of dances.
And then thoughts disintegrated, the pace speeding, rising, bliss swelling inside her until she bit her lip to hold back a cry of pleasure that would betray their hideaway at any moment. He skimmed down the shoulder of her dress, dipping his head to take her breast in his mouth. That warm, moist tug took away the last of her restraint. Her head falling back, she surrendered to the orgasm sparkling through her like the facets off a diamond. The hoarse low sound of his release as he thrust deeply one last time sent another shimmer through her, leaving her languid, replete.
Using a last whisper of energy, she lolled forward. Her head rested on his shoulder as she waited for her racing heart to slow. His hands glided up and down her spine, easing her back to her feet, holding her up.
He smoothed her dress into place again and pressed a kiss to her temple. “We should tal—”
She shook her head. “Please. Don’t say anything.” She tugged her capped sleeve back over her shoulder and skimmed along her hair, the French braid having stayed miraculously in place, right down to the jeweled flower pin she’d clipped to the end of the braid. “Let’s go back out. Go to separate sides of the room. And when, or if, we meet...it will be for the first time. Let this be what it is.”
A fantasy. A once-in-a-lifetime crazy encounter—and she didn’t want to hear it was commonplace for him. Didn’t want to think about what she’d just done. Not while her body still trembled with pleasure and her heartbeat pulsed an erratic rhythm.
She didn’t wait for his answer.
Reaching behind her, she simply unlocked the door, tucking out and around. Her legs were less than steady as she made her way back to the ballroom, and the sound of his footsteps close behind her didn’t help. Was he following her? Was he going to insist or make a scene?
A mix of anticipation and dread made her chest tight with nerves.
The cool blast of the air conditioner in the hall rushed over her heated skin, goose bumps rising along her arms. The band still played, having picked up the speed with vintage Johnny Cash.
And before she could clear her head, she realized her grandmother had blocked her path. Mariah McNair looked regal but frail as she clutched her cane.
The tangy scent of masculine aftershave teased Amie’s nose. Was it wafting from him behind her? Or just clinging to her body to remind her of what she’d done?
Her grandmother gripped the cane in a hand bearing sparkling jeweled rings. One of them was an amethyst heart Amie had designed as a teenager. With her other hand, Mariah took hers in a cool grasp, her skin paper thin and covered with bruises from IVs. Despite her frailty, Mariah’s grip was firm, confident. “Amie, dear, I was just looking for you to introduce you. But I see you and Preston have met.”
Foreboding iced out residual passion. “Preston?”
Her brain worked overtime to make the pieces fit any other way but the one she feared.
Yet the magnetic, compelling man she’d just given herself to in a coat closet stepped around her, his eyebrows now pinched together as he whispered, “Amie?”
Her stomach dropped as if she’d just fallen down an elevator shaft. Dawning realization robbed her of speech, her mouth bone dry.
Her grandmother squeezed Amie’s hand as she smiled at Preston.
“I’m so glad you’ve had a chance to get to know our new CEO.” Mariah extended her hand to the man. “Welcome to the Hidden Gem Ranch.”
Two Months Later
Preston Armstrong was not a fan of weddings. Not even when he’d been the groom. Since his divorce ten years ago, he was even less entertained by overpriced ceremonial gatherings. He considered himself a practical businessman. That mind-set had taken him from a poor childhood to the top of the corporate ladder.
So, attending a marriage ceremony and seeing Amie McNair front and center of attention as a bridesmaid took his irritation to a whole deeper level—even now at the reception. Especially given that she’d ignored him for the past two months.
And most especially since she looked sexy as hell in a peach-colored bridesmaid’s dress. Weren’t those gowns supposed to be ugly, hated by bridal attendants around the world? But then, beautiful Amie with her luscious curves and confidence could probably make a burlap sack look sexy as hell. She’d won all those beauty-pageant titles for a reason.
Although he thought she was more alluring now with her at-ease boho look than the old runway-glitz photos that still periodically showed up in the social pages. Even her signature-designed coral teardrop earrings and necklace held his attention. Particularly the way that pendant nestled between the swell of her breasts.
He tipped his aged bourbon back, the sounds of the reception wrapping around him as he put in his required appearance at the McNair wedding event. He glanced at his watch, figuring he had to put in another half hour before he could check out and head back to the office. It was quiet there at night. He got more work done.
If Amie would talk to him alone for five damn minutes, he could reassure her that the closet encounter would never have happened if he’d known who she was. From the horrified expression on her face when her grandmother introduced them, clearly Amie didn’t want anything to do with him either.
Business and pleasure should be kept separate. Always.
He didn’t have the time or patience for awkwardness. He was confident. In charge. But that had all changed the minute he’d looked across the social function and saw a woman who’d flipped his world upside down.
This whole wedding week had gone to a new level of uncomfortable, to say the least. Being around Amie at work, they could keep things professional, if tense. It wasn’t easy with all those thoughts of their explosive encounter hammering through his memory, but he managed to keep his boardroom calm intact.
However, the parties this week reminded him too much of that night he’d met her at the newlyweds’ engagement shindig.
He’d meant it when he’d told her that impulsive encounter wasn’t the norm for him. While he wasn’t a monk, impetuous sex with strangers had never been his style. He’d spent a large part of his adult life married and monogamous. Then after his divorce, affairs had been careful, sensual but civil, with no long-term expectations.
He had affairs. Not hookups. And he sure as hell didn’t have anonymous sex with a woman more than a decade younger than him.
Until Amie. Nothing about her followed a familiar pattern for him.
Keeping his hands to himself today was an exercise in torture, just as at work. Hints of her sucker punched his libido. The soft scent of her perfume lingering in his office after a meeting. The heat of her as she stood near him in a crowded elevator. And the list went on since she worked in the same building, her role as a renowned gemologist crucial to some of the most popular Diamonds in the Rough jewelry lines.
Up on the small stage in the oversize barn, the country band returned from their break, taking their place again and picking up instruments. Although to call it a barn didn’t do the space justice. The reception was being held at the McNairs’ hobby ranch, Hidden Gem, so the place was high end rustic, just like the company jewels.
Gold chandeliers and puffs of white flowers dangled from the rough-hewn rafters. Strings of lights crisscrossed the ceiling, creating a starlit-night atmosphere. Bouquets of baby’s breath and roses tied with burlap bows on the tables made him recall his earlier thought about Amie classing up a burlap sack. The inside had been transformed into rustic elegance, with gold chairs and white tulle draped throughout.
At the entry