Ann Major - Cowboy at Midnight

Because she didn’t want to think about the cemetery or the past, because she wanted to use him to blot it all out, she arched her left eyebrow flirtatiously. “So, what’s your name, cowboy?”

“Steve.” With blunt, expert fingers, he cupped her triangular chin. His warm breath fanned tendrils of her hair against her ear.

She relaxed a little as the western music, which was a mournful lament about lost love and death, ebbed and flowed around them.

“Steve,” she murmured huskily. “Steve. I’ve never known a Steve.”

“What’s yours?”

“Sally, er, Jones.”

“Sally?” He bent to kiss her again, and this time she parted her lips. For a long moment his mouth clung to hers. When he fused his body to hers, her heart clamored for even more.

“Take it home, you two. If it’s that good, save it for the bedroom,” a cowboy quipped as he and his partner glided past them on the dance floor.

“You want to?” Steve asked her. “I’ve got a hotel room.”

“Uncomplicated sex?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t have called it that.”

There’s no such thing as uncomplicated sex when two people feel as passionately about each other as we do. Somebody always has an agenda.

“Kiss me first,” she murmured, “and I’ll decide.”

“So this is a test?”

“Of sorts. Scared you won’t pass?” She stared teasingly into his dark eyes. “You are scared, aren’t you? In spite of all your practice with other women?”

“There haven’t been all that many, really,” he muttered, looking slightly offended.

He was a lot more arrogant when he was scared, she thought as he nuzzled the side of her throat with his mouth.

“A test, huh? All or nothing? I like that. So you’re a risk taker.”

“Not a good trait really.” She smiled nervously. “And you could decide you don’t want me.”

“Not a chance, darlin’.” His grip tightened on her. “Not a chance in hell.”

Thrilled beyond measure at the passion in his determined voice, she felt her heart skip lightly and then pound violently even before his mouth, which was gentle and sweet, claimed hers again. His warm lips slanted across hers, lingering softly until she moaned for more, until she clutched his neck, growing feverish with impatience for him to deepen the kiss.

But he didn’t.

“Yes or no?” he whispered on a muted groan, pulling away, nibbling her upper lip before releasing it. “Pass or fail?”

The withdrawal of his mouth touched off a well-spring of hunger in her. Not that she was about to let on.

“You call that a kiss?” she teased, puckering her lips in wanton invitation.

He laughed. “I call it a start of something we can finish later. I like how disappointed you look and sound ’cause I stopped so fast, darlin’. You want more and we both know it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He let her go. “Well?” His low voice was gruffer. “Yes or no? Pass or fail?”

She pressed her lips tightly against her teeth. “If I say no, will you just start flirting with some other woman?”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, turning her palm so that he could press his mouth against her flesh. When he did, his kiss sent flames through her.

“Yes or no?” he growled.

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