Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Quinn had loved watching Jo ride in. She’d tied her hair back with a scarf and worn an old brown hat that gave her a rough-and-tumble tomboy look he thoroughly enjoyed. She sat straight in the saddle, her tummy in and her breasts thrust forward as she laughed and talked with Benny. Nice.
Years of riding had obviously made her feel completely at home in the saddle. He doubted she was the least bit worried about falling off. He’d spent a little more time on Hyper this afternoon, and he’d been constantly worried about falling off. With good reason. He had bruises on top of bruises.
Wondering if he’d ever achieve that relaxed look on a horse, he studied the way Jo sat and how she gripped with her thighs. Then he had to stop studying her. Focusing on her while her thighs were open and her hips rocked gently in response to the horse was not a good idea.
He’d really done himself in this time. He couldn’t back out of his agreement because Jo might lose the ranch and he’d feel guilty for not helping her.
Yet the longer he stayed at the Bar None the more desperately he wanted to make love to her.
Tomorrow was the rodeo and dance, and by Sunday he’d probably need to hit the road.
His head understood perfectly that he should keep his hands off of her until then. The rest of him wanted to argue.
Thinking about Jo had screwed up his usually excellent concentration on the task at hand.
Consequently, as she’d returned to the ranch, he had yet to rope the post. Fred had told him not to quit until he lassoed that sucker at least once, and he’d begun to wonder if he’d be out here after dark with a flashlight, still trying after everyone else had turned in.
He wanted to have some roping ability in case something came up during the rodeo, but he seemed to have no talent for it.
Then he had an inspiration. Squinting at the post, he imagined it was Jo standing there, daring him to throw a loop around her.
The concept took some effort, because Jo had interesting curves that the post lacked and a waterfall of fragrant hair and.
.. okay, so the concept took tremendous effort.
But finally he stared at the post so long it became Jo—saucy as you please, head thrown back, a taunting look in her brown eyes, a smile on those full lips.
Quinn took a deep breath. Now this he could get into.
Twirling the rope over his head, he concentrated on the image of settling a rope around those lovely shoulders and pulling Jo closer and closer and.
.. Flick. He sent the rope sailing as he’d done a hundred times this afternoon. And he roped the post.
Better yet, Jo had seen him do it and had called out some encouragement. Of course she also had to mention that the post wasn’t moving, a fact he knew very well. He had to perfect this stage before he could advance to moving targets.
He decided to try again. This time he added an embellishment and imagined Jo standing in the corral, impudent as hell, with no clothes on.
He roped the post even more competently than before.
Apparently all he needed was the appropriate goal.
Smiling, he loosened the rope from around the post and coiled it again.
“Looks like you made some progress this afternoon.”
Quinn turned to see Jo walking into the corral. In a few seconds she’d be the same distance from him as the post, but a little to the left of it.
“I’m learning.” He built his loop and swung it over his head again. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
“Chances are nobody will expect you to perform tomorrow.”
“I know, but I’d still like to have the basics down.” He twirled the rope and thought about his next move. If he missed he’d look really stupid. So he wouldn’t miss.
“I hate to tell you, but the basics won’t do you much good if somebody wants you to demonstrate your roping skills. They’ll expect you to rope something alive, not a post planted in the ground.”
“Maybe all I need is a little more practice.” He turned toward her, took a split second to gauge the distance and tossed the loop.
She stared at him, openmouthed, as the loop dropped over her head.
Using every new skill he’d gained, plus some instinct he didn’t know he had, he pulled at exactly the right moment, and the rope tightened around her arms, pinning them to her body. With a quick movement he cinched it.
“Quinn!”
Keeping the line taught, he went hand over hand toward her, watching her intently the whole way. She did her best to look indignant, but the effect was spoiled by the eagerness in her eyes. Finally he stood next to her. “How’s that?”
“Very clever, Monroe.” Her breathing was quick, urgent. “You can let me go now.”
“I guess I could.” He kept the rope taut with one hand while he pulled the glove off his other hand with his teeth. He loved the way her eyes darkened and flashed as she watched him. He tucked the glove in his belt. “Then again, I’ve never roped a woman before. Shouldn’t I get a prize for that?”
“I’ve never heard of one. In Montana the men don’t generally go around roping women.”
“Maybe they should try it.” He’d acted on impulse, not realizing how secluded the corral was. Benny and Fred would have no reason to pass on their way to the house for dinner. “It gets the women hot.” He took off her hat and set it on the post. Then he took off his and dropped it on top of hers.
“Does not.”
He loosened the scarf from her hair, pulled it over her curls and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Does, too.” He brushed his knuckles over her throat and down the V in her blouse, taking great satisfaction in the shiver he produced. “You want me to kiss you so bad you can hardly stand it.”
“Listen to you.” She sounded breathless. “One lucky toss and your head’s swelled up like a balloon.”
“That’s not the only part of me swelling up, honey-bunch.” He tunneled his fingers through her hair and cupped the back of her head. “But I have the feeling you’re getting mighty stirred up, too.”
Her lips parted in anticipation. “Your macho routine doesn’t do a thing for me.”
He leaned closer, keeping his grip firm on the rope. “Oh, I think it does.”
“Wrong,” she whispered.
His lips hovered over hers. “Let’s see,” he said softly, and took his prize.
If every roping session ended with this sort of reward, he’d give up his banking career.
He took everything her ripe mouth offered, and she was offering plenty.
She wasn’t just hot, she was steaming. He shifted the angle of his mouth, then shifted again, trying to get deeper, trying to touch the essence of her.
She responded with a hunger that took his breath away.
With a groan he tugged on the rope, snugging her against him.
As he pressed his body to hers, he remembered how her hips had moved rhythmically as she rode in this afternoon.
He remembered her passion this morning — the velvet of her breasts, the erotic taste of her.
And he wondered if not making love to her, not ever making love to her, would drive him crazy.
Fear of that prompted him to finally lift his mouth from hers and loosen the rope. It dropped to the ground at her feet. “I’ve tried not to want you, Jo.” He gasped for air. “It’s not working.”
She lifted her arms and wound them around his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ve tried, too. I thought about you all afternoon.”
“Good.” He continued to cradle her head as he stroked her back with his gloved hand.
“Not good. This can go nowhere, as you very well realize. Unless, of course, I blow your cover.”
“Don’t do that. Just make love to me. I’m developing a condition.”
“A condition?” She lifted her head to look into his eyes. “What condition?”
“Denim-tightis. It’s fatal if left untreated.”
A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “I offered you sweats.”
“Cowboys don’t wear sweats.” He cupped her bottom and brought her tight against him. “They take care of the problem so their jeans fit right again.”
Her voice grew husky. “Do you think it’s that simple?”
“Probably not.” His aching erection sought her heat. “My jeans may never fit when I’m around you. But it’s worth a try. I really don’t think Brian Hastings would wear sweats to a country dance, do you?”
“No.” Amusement and desire flared in her eyes. But gradually her expression grew serious. “What I meant was that making love is not a simple solution to the problem in any sense. Just suppose we make love tonight.”
“I like supposing that.” His heart hammered as he rocked gently against her hips. “Let’s do suppose that. Let’s seriously suppose that.”
“Quinn, quit joking around. I’m—” She paused and cleared the huskiness from her throat. “I’m trying to make a point.”
“So am I. Going to bed may not be a permanent cure for my condition, but I’m willing to settle for symptomatic relief.”
“And then what? Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“Fortunately followed by Saturday night.” He leaned forward and nibbled on her earlobe. “Another opportunity to treat my potentially fatal problem.” He ran his tongue around the pink inner shell of her ear.
She moaned. “The point is—”
“Yes?” He loved the way she turned into a rag doll in his arms, so supple, so willing. He considered scooping her up and carrying her into the barn, except that Benny and Fred might still be in there, and what he had in mind required privacy.
She took a deep breath and attempted to push him away, but it was only a halfhearted effort. Her words came out in a determined rush. “The point is that Saturday’s your big coming-out party, which means it would be very advisable for you to leave on Sunday, before people get suspicious.”
He had no wish to think about the leaving-on-Sunday part. “Tonight could be the granddaddy of all coming-out parties, with your participation.”
“Quinn, will you stop thinking about your... problem and listen?”
“It’s hard.” He lifted his head and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Very hard.”
Breathless laughter trembled on her lips. “Honestly, you act as if you’ve never been sexually frustrated before in your life. Has every woman except me tumbled directly into your bed?”
“Not by a long shot. But this is not mere sexual frustration. This is sexual torture. To be more specific, I could represent my previous sexual frustrations by, say, a gnat, and my present one by, say, a wolf spider.”
“Really?” She looked sort of pleased with the news.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I’ve asked myself the same thing, Josephine. I don’t know. All I know is that if I’m forced to drive away from here on Sunday without ever making love to you, I might have to throw myself off the top of the Empire State Building.”
Her cheeks grew pink, and her eyes sparkled. “How you exaggerate. Besides, they’ve put up barriers so people can’t throw themselves off the Empire State Building.”
“Then I’d have to tie a cement block to my feet and jump off the George Washington Bridge.
And I’d probably land on a garbage scow and sink over my head into the muck, like Luke Skywalker in Star Wars, only I wouldn’t ever come up again.
I’ll die covered in slime.” He kneaded her firm bottom with his gloved hand.
“I’m sure you don’t want that on your conscience. ”
“You sure know how to treat a girl, Quinn.” Her chin had a saucy tilt, but her bedroom eyes gave her away. “First you rope her and then you whisper sweet nothings about garbage scows and slime.”
“It’s a gift.” He smiled. “Take pity on me, Jo. I’m a desperate man.”
“But this is all we’d ever have.”
“I know.” His smile faded. “And I know that’s a problem for you. It could be a problem for me. If I could find the off switch on this obsession I’d use it. That was my plan, to shut down that part of me. Turns out I’m not as strong as I thought I was.”
“I need some time to think.”
Quinn glanced around. Dusk was upon them.
After dusk came night, and it might be the longest, most frustrating one of his life if Jo shut him down.
She thought he was kidding about the Empire State Building and the George Washington Bridge.
And he was, sort of. But he’d never wanted any woman like this, and he wasn’t sure life would be worth living if he’d never know the ecstasy of holding Jo’s warm, responsive and totally naked body in his arms. “How much time?”
“You can see my bedroom window from the bunkhouse.”
“I guess. I never checked.”
“Well, take my word for it. You can. By eleven tonight everyone will be asleep.”
“Not everyone.”
“Everyone else, then. I’ll turn my light out at ten-thirty. If I flash it twice at eleven, meet me at the barn. I’ll bring a blanket.”
“We’re doing this outside?” Quinn got a quick picture of all sorts of creatures slithering around and decided he’d have to deal with it. “Hey, outside’s fine. Outside’s terrific. I love outside.”
“I was thinking the hayloft.”
That was only marginally better in Quinn’s estimation, but he smiled, trying to demonstrate extreme confidence. “Fine. The hayloft it is. Sounds great. A roll in the hay. I’m there. I’m—”
“But if I don’t flash my light twice, then that means I think it would be better if we stay with our original plan and not make love while you’re here.”
Quinn had temporarily forgotten that she hadn’t committed to the plan. The realization hit him like a medicine ball in the gut. “Oh.” He was afraid he looked like an abandoned cocker spaniel as he gazed at her. This craving was turning him into a pathetic shadow of his former self. “Please flash.”
“I still think we’d be making a terrible mistake, Quinn. You’re thinking short-term.”
“Very short. Like from now until eleven tonight. What if you fall asleep and forget?”
“No chance.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his. “Watch my window,” she whispered. Then she eased out of his arms, retrieved her hat and headed in the direction of the house.
Quinn stood in the shadows and knew exactly how Samson must have felt when bewitched by Delilah. Marc Anthony when captivated by Cleopatra. A woman had never wielded this much power over him, had never turned him into a beggar.
He picked up the rope and walked away from the post. He could barely see it in the darkness, but that made his new technique easier. He hardly had to squint to mentally turn the post into Jo. Rope me, and I’m yours for the night, cowboy. He twirled the rope, let it sail and neatly roped the post.