Texas Outlaws: Billy Page 3

  He could. She knew it. She felt it.

  She headed for the rear exit. Out in the parking lot, she climbed behind the wheel of her ancient Bonneville. She gave one last look at the exit door, half expecting, half hoping that he would come after her. He didn’t, and a swell of disappointment went through her, quickly followed by a wave of relief.

  The last thing, the very last thing she needed in her life, was to fall into bed with the exact type of man she’d sworn off of years ago.

  Her father had been a cowboy. A charming, salt-of-the-earth type, who worked from sunrise to sunset and never complained. But while he had a strong work ethic, his moral code had desperately lacked. He’d had an easy grin and a weakness for loose-looking women. He’d cheated on Arlene Collins regularly, always smooth-talking his way back into the house after a night of carousing with every female in their desperately small town. Arlene had forgiven him, catered to him, loved him, in spite of his good-for-nothing ways. She’d been a minister’s daughter who’d taken her vows very seriously. Therefore, she’d stuck by him through all the bad times, eager to keep her marriage together and make it work. But she’d never really been happy because Dan Collins hadn’t been a forever kind of man. He’d been the play-the-field, charm-you-out-of-your-panties sort. The one-night-stand kind.

  Just like Billy Chisholm.

  Sabrina wasn’t making the same mistake her mother had. At this point in her life, she was done with just sex. When she invested herself in a man, it would be one who would—could—love her and only her. A man who wouldn’t spend every Saturday night cruising the local honky-tonk, picking up women, propositioning them.

  Eventually, that is.

  At this point in her life, she was busy with her career, dedicated to making her online-dating service a huge success. She needed a big payoff so that she could pay off her student loans, get herself out of debt and get on with her life. As a serious journalist. The website would give her the financial stability she needed right now. That’s why she was here in Lost Gun—for the money. Not to find a date, much less a one-night stand.

  Especially a one-night stand.

  Sabrina didn’t do one-nighters. And she most certainly didn’t do cowboys.

  Not now. Not ever.

  No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.

  * * *

  HER CAR WOULDN’T START. The truth sank in after Sabrina cranked the engine a record ten times, until the loud grumble turned into a faint series of clicks that filled her with a sense of dread.

  It wasn’t the first time it had happened. The car was over ten years old. A clunker she’d inherited from her grandfather before leaving town all those years ago. While she did her best to keep up the oil changes and take care of her one and only means of transportation, she’d found herself stranded here lately more times than she could count. She needed a new car. Even more, she needed the money to afford a new car. She rested her forehead on the wheel and cursed the pile of junk for several seconds before gathering her resolve and popping the hood. Outside, she lifted the heavy metal, grabbed a rag she kept stashed in the front grill and started checking her battery connections.

  Corrosion had built up and she damned herself for not shelling out the hundred bucks to buy a new one before leaving L.A. But she was on a budget. One that barely allowed for the secondhand shoes on her feet and the designer skirt she’d picked up at a thrift store in Hollywood. Clothes that made her feel like a million bucks even though her bank account reflected anything but. Still. If she’d learned anything from marketing guru Livi, it was that success was all about projecting a certain image. About building a brand.

  And her brand as a high-powered executive for the next big website did not involve shoving her face under a hood and praying for divine intervention.

  She thought about going back inside and hunting down Livi. Her friend, never short on cash thanks to a decent trust fund from her parents, had picked up her own rental car when they’d arrived in town so that they could split up and cover more territory. The rental wasn’t anything extravagant—this was Lost Gun, after all—but it ran. They’d met here at the kick-off dance after Sabrina had spent the day at the fairgrounds while Livi had visited a nearby working ranch rumored to employ the hottest ranch hands in the entire county. Livi would give her a lift back to their motel.

  Sabrina weighed her options. Calling or texting were both out because Livi was notorious for ignoring her phone when in the arms of a hot, hunky man. That meant Sabrina would have to go back inside and risk running into Billy Chisholm again.

  She ditched the idea and fiddled a few more minutes with the connections. Sliding behind the wheel, she cranked the engine again.

  Click. Click. Click.

  “It’s flooded,” Billy’s deep voice slid along her nerve endings and put her entire body on instant alert. He leaned down, his handsome face filling up the driver’s window. The scent of clean soap and raw, sexy male teased her nostrils. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath and reached for her cell phone. “I guess it’s time to call a tow truck.”

  “Good luck.”

  She eyed him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That there’s only one tow truck in town, sugar, and it belongs to George Kotch,” he murmured as if that explained it all. When she didn’t seem the least bit enlightened, he added, “He’s about a hundred years old and tires out real easy.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s already after ten. By now, he’s already eaten his bowl of ice cream, taken out his dentures and called it a night. Hell, he’s probably been asleep a good five hours or so.”

  “Lovely,” she muttered.

  “On the bright side, he’s up at the crack of dawn. He’ll surely have you out of here and over at the filling station by the time they open. You’ll get first dibs in the garage.”

  “Lucky me. What about a cab service?”

  He shook his head. “Red’s got a thing for TV. Started with soap operas and progressed to late night TV.”

  “Good Samaritan?”

  His grin was slow and extremely sexy. “At your service.”

  “You want to give me a ride?”

  His grin grew wider. “In the worst way.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about more than just driving me somewhere?”

  “Because I am.” His expression grew serious and his eyes glittered. “I want you and I’d bet my next buckle that you feel the same even if you don’t seem all that anxious to admit it.” He glanced around at the parking lot full of cars. Yet there wasn’t a soul around. Everyone was back inside, dancing and drinking it up. “Seems like fate if you ask me. You run off in a tiff and bam, the car won’t start. Maybe someone upstairs is trying to tell you that I’m not such a bad guy.”

  “No, you’re a cowboy.” Which was worse. Much worse.

  At the same time, there did seem something almost inevitable about the way he’d shown up right when she needed a hand. That, and he was right. She did want him. More than she wanted her next breath. Her last relationship had been nearly a year ago and she’d been flying solo ever since. She craved a little physical contact in the worst way. So much so that she found herself thinking about him and the way he smiled and smelled and looked so indescribably good. And all when she should have been thinking about the website and how they were going to make their quota.

  Yep, she had a craving, all right. One that wasn’t going to go away unless she satisfied it in a major way.

  “I’m staying at the Lost Gun Motel,” she heard herself murmur.

  Something dark and dangerous and oh so mesmerizing sparked in his violet eyes. “Well, what do you know? So am I.” He opened the car door. “My pickup’s just right down the row.” His grin faded and a look of pur
e determination carved his expression. “Let’s go.”

  Warning bells clamored in her head, but the only thing she seemed conscious of was the frantic beat of her heart.

  The excitement.

  The anticipation.

  The need.

  “Just so we’re clear,” she managed to say despite the heat zipping up and down her spine, “this is just sex. We won’t be exchanging phone numbers or going out on a date or anything like that.”

  He nodded. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  “I’m not interested in getting to know you as a person. This is just physical.”

  He nodded. “Purely physical.”

  She squelched an unexpected rush of disappointment at his words and concentrated on the trembling in her hands and the desire coiling in her belly. “Then lead the way.”

  4

  BILLY CHISHOLM’S HANDS actually trembled as he shoved the key into the lock of the Lost Gun Motel, a clean but ancient establishment just off the main strip of town. It had been a long, long time since he’d been this worked up. This hot. This hard. This...anxious.

  The knowledge would have been enough to send him running for the next county if the circumstances had been different—if Sabrina had been any of the dozens of marriage-minded women who’d been in hot pursuit since his oldest brother had found the love of his life and gone off the market.

  Now Billy was the resident bad boy, which wasn’t a bad thing on account of he liked being bad. He liked making noise and breaking rules and living life.

  He liked the rush from all three.

  At one time, so did every available woman in town. The trouble was, where they’d once wanted a good time back in high school, they now wanted a walk down the aisle. Marriage. Kids.

  They wanted Billy Chisholm to grow up, man up and settle down, and each and every one thought she’d be the one to make it happen. To rope, tie and tame him before he knew what was happening.

  Not this cowboy.

  He liked being single. Hell, he loved it. He didn’t have to answer to anyone. To worry about anyone. To hurt anyone.

  He was the offspring of the most irresponsible man in the county. Silas Chisholm had been a two-bit criminal who’d pulled off the most impressive heist in the county, before pissing it away because of a case of white lightning and a lit cigarette. And all without a thought for his three young sons. The man had been selfish. Unpredictable. Unreliable.

  Bad to the bone.

  And out of all three boys, Billy was just as bad.

  But while he looked like Silas, and even acted like him on occasion, he also knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of someone else’s bad decisions, and so he’d made up his mind to never, ever put someone else in that position. The last thing Billy Chisholm would ever do was get himself lassoed by any one woman.

  Even one as hot and sexy as this one.

  But Sabrina Collins didn’t want to marry him. With her high heels and tasteful clothes and reluctant demeanor, she was as far removed from Lost Gun as a woman could get. She had big city written all over her, even if she did drive a clunker. Even more, she was a stranger. A single stranger. And judging by the way she licked her lips, she wanted the same thing from him that he wanted from her—sex.

  He pushed open the door, stepped back and let her precede him inside. He expected more of an exotic fragrance from her, given her big-city appearance and the whiff of cotton candy he’d caught back at the dance courtesy of the flowing martinis. The scent had long since disappeared. Instead, the warm scent of apples and cinnamon filled his nostrils as she eased past him. She smelled like sweet, fresh-from-the-oven apple pie, and his nostrils flared. A warning sounded somewhere in the back of his brain, but it wasn’t loud enough to push past the sudden hammering of his heart. A bolt of need shot through his body and his muscles bunched. He barely resisted the urge to haul her into his arms, back her up against the wall and take her hard and fast right there under the bare porch light, the june bugs bumping overhead.

  He fought the crazy urge because Billy Chisholm didn’t do fast and furious. He didn’t lose his head where women were concerned. He stayed firmly in the saddle, calm and controlled.

  Laying a woman down on a soft mattress, peeling away the clothes one piece at a time and taking things slow. That was the way to go. The way he always went, because losing his head wasn’t part of the proposition. A man said things he didn’t mean when he lost his head.

  He followed her inside, closing the door behind them. A click sounded as she turned on a nearby lamp. A pale yellow glow pushed back the shadows and illuminated the interior. The room was far from fancy, but it was neat and clean. An unfinished pine dresser sat in the far corner, an ancient-looking television rested on top. A king-size bed took up the rest of the space. Calico curtains covered the one window near a window air-conditioning unit. A matching comforter draped across the bed. The slightly scarred hardwood floor gleamed from a recent polishing. He had his own place outside of town—just a small cabin he’d been building over the past year—but during rodeo time he hated to waste his time driving back and forth, and so he’d opted to rent a room here.

  “It’s not the Crown Plaza, but it should do.”

  “I’ve never stayed at the Plaza.” She licked her lips again and he had the gut feeling that she’d never done this sort of thing before. And then his gaze caught hers and he knew deep down that this was, indeed, a first for her.

  Not a one-night stand. No, she seemed to know her way around when it came to that.

  The first had more to do with him. She’d never done this with a man like him before.

  “You’re not usually into cowboys, are you?”

  “Never.” His blood rushed even faster at her admission. A crazy reaction because Billy wasn’t in the habit of being the first anything when it came to women. Be it the first cowboy or the first one-night stand or the first man to actually cause an orgasm. Rather, he steered clear of any situation that might set him apart in a woman’s mind and make him more than just a really good lay.

  He stiffened, his fingers tightening on the room key. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  “You’re right about that.” The hesitant light in her gaze faded into a wave of bright blue heat as she stepped closer. “It’s not good at all.” Another step and her nipples touched his chest. “You’re so not my type.”

  Before he could blink, she shifted things into high speed, pressed herself against him and thrust her tongue into the heated depths of his mouth, kissing him, devouring him, shaking his sanity and his precious control.

  Before he could think, his body reacted. His hands went to her tight, round ass, and he pulled her even closer. He rubbed his throbbing erection against the cradle of her pelvis. His fingers bunched material until he reached the hem of the skirt and felt her bare flesh beneath. Her thighs were hot to the touch. Soft. Quivering.

  Holy shit.

  Urging her backward, he eased her down onto the bed. He captured her mouth in a deep, intense kiss that lasted several heartbeats before he pulled away and stepped back. He drew a much-needed breath, determined to get himself in check and hop back into the driver’s seat. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He unfastened the button on his jeans and pushed the zipper down. The pressure eased and the edges gaped and he could actually breathe for a few seconds.

  Until she pushed to a sitting position and leaned forward.

  Her fingers touched the dark purple head of his erection where it pushed up above the waistband of his briefs. The air lodged in his throat and he ground his teeth against a burst of white-hot pleasure. Her touch was so damn soft and he was so hard and...

  He needed to touch her.

  To see her.

  He reached for the hem of her blouse an
d pulled it up and over her head. One dark nipple pushed through the lace-patterned cup of her black bra. He leaned over and flicked his tongue over the rock-hard tip. She gasped and he drew the nub deeper into his mouth, sucking her through the flimsy covering.

  Her fingers threaded through his hair and held him close. He relished the taste of her flesh for several heart-pounding moments before he pulled away. He gripped the cups of her bra and pulled them down and under the fullness of her breasts. The bra plumped her and her ripe nipples raised in invitation.

  When he didn’t lower his head and suckle her again, she reached for him. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Easy, darlin’. We’ll get to it.” But not yet. He meant to take his time. He always took his time and now was no different.

  She was no different.

  Even if she was softer and warmer and sweeter than any woman he’d ever been with.

  He unzipped her skirt and peeled it from her body in a slow, tantalizing motion that stirred goose bumps in her soft flesh. Trailing his fingers back up the way they’d come, he hooked his fingers at the thin straps of her panties and followed the same path down her long legs. When he had her naked, with the exception of the bra pulled beneath her luscious breasts, he leaned up and let his gaze sweep the length of her.

  She was definitely not from around here, he realized when his attention settled on the barely-there strip of pubic hair that told him she’d been waxed at some big-city salon rather than the local Hair Saloon.

  “Did you get this back in L.A.?” He trailed a finger down the barely-there strip of hair and watched her tremble.

  “Yes.”

  “I like it.” He traced the slit that separated her lush pink lips and a groan trembled from her mouth. Her legs fell open and the soft pink flesh parted for him.

  He dipped his fingertip into her steamy heat and watched her pupils dilate. Her mouth opened and she gasped. And then he went deeper, until her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell back. He worked her, sliding his finger in and out until her essence coated his flesh and a drop trickled over his knuckle.