Cowboys Like Us. Vicki Thompson Lewis

him to her apartment. “We’ll have to g-go outside,” she said. “The s-stairs to my apartment are on the outside of the building.” Damn. She never stuttered.

      “Caro.” He laid a gentle hand on her arm.

      “What?” She whirled to face him, nearly stabbing him in the chest with her keys.

      He rubbed her arm. “You don’t have to go through with this if it makes you nervous.”

      “But I want to.” And now that he’d touched her—on purpose, and not accidentally while they’d been working together—she really wanted to. Nervous though she might be, she yearned for him in a way that was shocking in its intensity.

      His voice dropped to a soft murmur. “You’re sure?”

      Her answer came from some deeply buried part of herself, one that she’d never allowed to surface. “Kiss me and you’ll find out how sure I am.”

      “Good idea.” His grip tightened on her arm and he guided her forward while he cupped the back of her head with his other hand, fingers spread.

      She stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped noticing anything but his mouth as he drew her closer. He had a beautiful mouth, sculpted enough to be masculine, full enough to be sensual. She closed her eyes and trembled in anticipation.

      “I’ve wanted to do this all night.” His breath was warm on her lips. He brushed her mouth with his. “You’re shaking.”

      “I know.”

      His lips stroked over hers again. “It’ll be okay.”

      “I know.”

      Then he settled in, and it was more than okay.

      His kiss was velvet and sleek, rich and luxurious, slow and sweet. He savored her mouth as if tasting expensive brandy served in a crystal goblet. She had never felt so cherished.

      Her keys clattered to the floor as she took his head in her hands. She wanted more. She wanted everything. Angling her mouth over his, she invited him deeper. He accepted the invitation with a firm thrust of his tongue.

      Yes. She whimpered and he pulled her in close, sliding his arm around her waist and pressing her against his very hard, very aroused body as he continued to kiss the living daylights out of her.

      Dear heaven, he really was a professional athlete, with all the toned muscles that job required. She’d known that intellectually, but experiencing it physically was more exciting than she’d imagined. She stroked his supple back, his broad shoulders, his tight buns.

      With a groan he lifted his head and gazed down at her in the dusky light. His voice was hoarse. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s go.”

      She struggled to breathe.

      Releasing her, he scooped up her keys as if fielding a baseball, and put them in her hand. “If we don’t get out of here right now, we’ll never make it up there.”

      “Then let’s go.” She moved toward the front door on unsteady legs. As she opened it, she thought she heard soft laughter coming from somewhere behind her. She turned. “What’s so funny?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Didn’t you laugh just now?”

      “No. I thought it was the door hinge.”

      She paused, playing the sound over again in her head. “Guess so.” It hadn’t been a door hinge, but she wasn’t going to go ghost-hunting tonight. She had more important things on her mind.

      SMALL-TOWN GIRLS PACKED a sensual punch, Logan concluded as he fought to stay cool while climbing the narrow set of stairs behind Caro. Her hot little body sang a siren’s song with every creak of the steps. He swore steam was coming off her denim-clad fanny.

      Although he hadn’t indulged himself with a woman recently, in the past he’d been involved with sophisticates who dressed in expensive lingerie, women who were into sex toys and flavored body paint. Not a single one had turned him on the way Caro had with her blushing request for vending-machine condoms.

      When she’d invited him to kiss her, he’d gone up in flames. Where had she learned to talk like that? When she paired her down-home cuteness with sex-kitten suggestions, she became an irresistible combo of sweetness and sin that made him wild for her.

      He’d bought three condoms, and those had been hard-won. Despite a few whacks with his fist, the machine hadn’t wanted to cooperate. He’d finally decided three would do. He still wanted to end the night in Grandma Judy’s guest room, for appearance’s sake.

      Now he wondered if three would be enough, after all. He might not be able to force himself to leave before dawn, and he was a real fan of sex in the morning.

      Caro reached the landing and seemed to have lost her jitters, because she opened the door without fumbling. He took the last two steps in one leap and followed her inside, his heart hammering and his johnson aching.

      She hit a switch beside the door and a floor lamp in one corner illuminated a small living room on the right and a tiny kitchen on the left. Both were spotless, with cozy touches like gingham curtains at the kitchen window and colorful throw pillows on the leather sofa.

      As he clicked the lock on the front door, she turned to him. “I could offer—”

      “Just you.” He tossed his hat like a Frisbee toward the sofa. He didn’t look to see if it had landed as he pulled her into his arms. “Offer yourself, and I’ll be a happy man.”

      “I can do that.” Sliding out of his arms, she backed toward the hallway. “Follow me.”

      “You’ve got it.”

      “First, the shirts.” She took hold of her lapels and pulled. Snaps popped like cap guns, and the cotton bra covering her pert breasts didn’t fool him in the least. She might not be wearing something obviously sexy, but he saw the fire in her hazel eyes. She was a volcano ready to erupt.

      He was so busy looking at what her open shirt revealed that he didn’t follow orders.

      “Your shirt, Logan.”

      He sure as hell didn’t want to hold up the program. He wrenched open his shirt, shrugged out of it and tossed it to the floor as he continued down the hall.

      At the doorway to her bedroom, she reached for another switch, and lamps on twin nightstands winked on. “You said you liked light.”

      “I do.” He gestured toward her bra. “Are you going to take that off, or shall I?”

      She backed into the room with a soft smile. “I will.” She reached behind her back to unhook it. “You’ve had a long night.”

      “Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He started to unbuckle his belt, but his hands stilled as she slipped off her bra. She might prefer cotton, but breasts as full and perfect as hers deserved designer silk. Her wine-colored nipples puckered under his gaze.

      His fingers flexed and he took a step closer. “I want—”

      “And you’ll have.” She backed to the other side of the small room, putting the bed between them. “But I can take off my clothes faster than you can.” She waved at him. “Continue with what you were doing.”

      He had to laugh. She was the most logical little sexy thing he’d ever come across. He had to admit she was right, especially when it came to dealing with belts and boots.

      He tried to be quick about it, he really did. He managed to pull off his boots, but after that, she became a major distraction. When she leaned down to take hers off, her breasts quivered enticingly.

      Then she began to wiggle out of her jeans, causing more breast shimmy. The soft denim caught on the elastic of her panties and they came off along with the jeans. She stood naked before him, and that required his undivided attention.

      As she