Cowboy Strong. Kelli Ireland
a mad dash for the door before she could ask him to stay. It had started out as a relief. Now? Kenzie wasn’t as comfortable about his urgency to get out of her room once they were both satisfied. And it was always her room.
She turned away from him, worrying her bottom lip with such ferocity it hurt.
“It’s not like you to turn your back on me, Malone.” From her peripheral vision, she watched the man step closer and tip the brim of his hat up to better reveal those dark brown eyes. “What’s bothering you?”
The simple question, so softly worded, totally caught her off guard. He’d always been playful. This quiet concern was new, and it threw her off her game. It was the only reason she had for answering, “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“You.” Heat rushed across her cheeks. This wasn’t how they worked, and she doubted he’d take the change well.
She didn’t see him move, but suddenly he’d spun her around and pressed the front of her body against the darkest corner of the stall wall. Running his hands up her arms, he stretched her out, her wrists captured in one hand.
Kenzie yanked on her wrists and arched her back.
Ty kicked her feet wide and, bending at the knees, rubbed the ridge of his impressive erection up and down the seam of her ass. Bending forward to cover her, his lips brushed the edge of her ear as he spoke. “Ground rules stay the same as those we set at regionals. Winner gets his—or her—fantasy night. Or do you want to modify the game for the big show?”
His hot breath tickled her ear and made her shiver.
Her body responded of its own accord, her back arching again to better present her ass, her arms pulling against his hands, her head canting farther to the side so he might have better access to her neck. His actions fed a primal need in her to be taken, claimed, while her mind screamed that they were in public, could be caught. And wasn’t that the crux of being with Ty? There was always a risk, always that touch of spontaneity that was his calling card, that thing that always made sex as fun as it was pleasurable.
Ty let her neck go without warning. Then he stretched her arms higher, forcing her to move to follow them up the wall. “When did little Kenzie Malone decide she liked a little exhibitionism?” he whispered, moist lips barely brushing the top of her ear.
“When did the cowboy who established love ’em and leave ’em decide to stick around long enough to do it right?” she countered.
Ty grabbed her hip and spun her to face him. Wedging a thigh between her legs, he rubbed against her sex with firm strokes. Not once did he tear his gaze from hers. “Where’s this coming from, Kenzie?”
“If you’d park your boots beside the bed instead of being so damn afraid to take them off at all, I would imagine there would be a lot you’d learn about the women you call ‘lover,’ Covington. Including me.” The brazen statement held within it a poorly disguised challenge, one he clearly heard.
He hauled his body back, eyes wide, and let go of her arms before spinning for the door and stalking out.
She never had the chance to ask him to stay.
THE NIGHT WAS passing slower than any Ty could remember. The second hand on the clock ticked and paused, ticked and paused, seemingly searching for the energy to tick again. He tossed and turned, went down to check on Gizmo, then went back up to his hotel room to toss and turn again. He needed to blow off a little steam, and sex was his preferred method.
And his mind was locked on one particular redhead, a woman he’d had numerous times but never could get out of his system.
It wasn’t as though Ty was actually into exhibitionism. He’d just wanted to push the fringes of experience and try something new, and she’d always been safe—as well as seriously fun—to play with. And bless the powers that be, darling Kenzie hadn’t balked. His pulse quickened. Hell, if anything, she’d asked him for more. But he hadn’t been certain how much “more” was wise in the barn.
He’d also had a fleeting moment of insecurity, wondering if she’d want more of what he’d offered just then or more of him in general. The former he could provide, and gladly. He’d always liked women, had always been insistent that everyone left satisfied. But him offering more than what the moment afforded all parties? No. That type of “more” had never been on the table. Ever.
His rolled over and punched his pillow.
Earlier, the competitors had drawn for their bracket positions, and he’d drawn third out of fifty riders. It was a crappy pick. He’d have much preferred to ride somewhere between thirtieth and thirty-fifth so he knew how hard to push Gizmo and how much showmanship was required to keep his horse in the top ten while still preserving enough energy to really clean up if he was called to a tiebreaker.
Flopping onto his back, he stared at the shadowed ceiling. Insomnia sucked. Bad. Insomnia alone sucked worse. He really needed some feminine company to get his mind off all the people who’d be watching him and Gizmo, both live and on TV. The pressure of those anticipated stares grew heavy in the silence, then heavier still, until he thought he might not be able to draw a breath due to the weight on his chest.
The bedcovers tangled around his feet as he lurched upward. He got his feet underneath him, shoved his room key in the pocket of the complimentary robe before tugging it on and then grabbed his cell as he headed for the door.
He hit 6 on speed dial and waited as the call connected. When she answered, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Why are you calling me—” covers rustled and her jaw cracked as she yawned “—at one thirty in the morning?”
Thoughts of her in bed, her lithe body clad in little—or nothing—made him adjust his robe for better coverage. “What room are you in?”
“You’re looking for a booty call from the wrong woman. I’m sleeping.”
“You lost the wager.” He spoke so fast his words ran together.
Silence.
“I beat you at regionals, so I entered nationals with a points lead. Means I get my fantasy fulfilled first,” he pressed.
“We aren’t on the boards yet.”
Her cautious tone worried him, made his response sharper than he’d intended. “Actually, we are. I went to check on Gizmo and Indie earlier tonight, make sure they were settled, and end-of-season scores have been posted.”
“Well,” she mused, “I suppose that puts you on top of me.”
His cock kicked hard enough there was no hiding it. Thankfully, the hallway was empty. “On top’s not where I want to be.”
She chuckled, the sound sleep heavy, sultry. “You realize that if I beat you here, I’ll top you in points and earnings for the year.”
His brow creased. “No. Just until the next rodeo season starts.”
“Not by your logic. You’re saying you get to have your fantasy tonight because you’re ahead in points in a competition that hasn’t started. Well, this exact same competition won’t start again until December next year, so I could feasibly be ahead of you in points until they post next year’s regional totals on the nationals boards. Same thing you’re doing, just building out the timeline.”
His mouth went dry and he stopped, resting his shoulder against the wall. “You’re making me think this was a bad idea.”
“Good or bad, it was your idea, Tyson,” she said softly. “Room 1134. Show up and own it, or hang up and don’t. But make up your mind in the next five minutes or I’m going back to sleep and I won’t answer after that. Not the phone, and definitely not the door.”
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