SHELBY THREW A handful of tinsel at the tree. Not “on” the tree. But rather “at” it. The way a pissed-off pitcher would hurl a ball at a batter.
And that was her cue that she probably wasn’t in the right mood for decorating the five-foot Douglas fir that she’d just hauled from her truck and into her living room. Before she tackled delicate glass balls and other breakables, she probably needed to settle down some. Not easy, though, with so many unsettled thoughts going through her head.
Callen was one of those thoughts.
Actually, he was several of them. For a man who seemed to enjoy kissing her, he wasn’t moving on to the next step. And they were under a deadline, less than two weeks to go until he left for Dallas. But she’d already made the “last” first move yesterday by going to his office and kissing him. The next move—if there was one—would have to come from him, and that was why her mood was so sour.
Gavin was contributing to the sourness, too, and the proof of that was in her trash can. The dozen red roses that had been waiting for her on her porch when she’d got back from buying the Christmas tree. They’d sat there in a shiny gold box with a white satin ribbon.
“Just thinking of you,” the card had read. “Much love, Gavin.”
Shelby had put down the tree long enough to take the flowers to the kitchen and drop them in the trash. It riled her, eyelash to toenails, that Gavin was pulling this now. And she doubted it was because he actually wanted her back. No. It was more likely because he’d heard about her kissing Callen.
Maybe Gavin thought he could save her from Callen and a second broken heart, or perhaps he just wanted her now because he thought someone else did, but either way, the flowers had just added another layer to her crappy mood.
The cat, who’d perched itself under the tree, looked up at her with disdain. Most would have likely told Shelby that she was reading into that feline expression, but she knew her own cat. Knew that looks of disdain were Elvira’s specialty. Along with eyeballed accusations of you haven’t fed me human food, which we both know is far superior to that slop currently in my bowl.
Actually, that was the most common look from Elvira, and Shelby was getting it now, too, along with the disdain from the tinsel-tossing show of temper.
Taking her temper with her, Shelby went out the back door and to her barn to check on the horses. It wasn’t a necessary chore; she’d already done it that morning and again in the afternoon, but she could take the mare she was training through a few routines. Maybe even go out for a ride. She nixed the ride, though, when she stepped outside and felt the icy chill. The clouds had gone dark, too, which meant more sleet.
Why couldn’t it just snow and make everything pretty and white?
Why couldn’t Gavin just leave her alone?
Why couldn’t Callen just come over and have sex with her?
Clearly, she wasn’t putting out the right vibes in the universe since she didn’t have the answer to any of those questions.
Since the weather wasn’t going to cooperate, she went into the barn and decided to add another layer of hay to the stalls just in case any of the horses came in search of a warm place for the night.
Shelby put on her worn leather work gloves, hooked her hands under the strong twine of one of the hay bales that she’d stacked against the wall. She was in the process of hauling it to one of the stalls when she saw the movement from the corner of her eye.
And Callen stepped in.
Since she hadn’t heard him drive up, she froze there a moment, the weight of the hay straining against her muscles, and she considered if he was a mirage or a figment of her temper.
“You really can lift a hay bale by yourself,” he said.
So, no mirage. The sound of his voice and the sight of him—the real him—melted her temper and had her smiling. And dropping the hay bale.
Damn it.
It landed on her foot, and while her boot had protected her from a break, it still hurt like the devil. Plus, she’d blown her whole image as a hay-hoisting horsewoman.
“You okay?” He went to her and took her by the arm. Her first instinct was to shake off his grip since he was doing it because of her stupid injury, but she wanted his hand on her even if it was a pity grip.
“I’m fine.” That was possibly true, but she was certain if she had to walk right now that there’d be a limp involved. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”
“I didn’t. I rode up.” He tipped his head toward her yard, and she saw the bay mare by the oak tree just outside her kitchen window.
“Sweet Caroline,” she said, recognizing her. “She’s one of Dad’s horses, and she’s not so sweet.”
“Yeah, I found out as much. When I stopped by the ranch, Mateo mentioned that Buck had told him not to ride the mare. He also said she spooked easily, but that the horse hadn’t been out in days and could probably use some exercise.”
“So, you rode her here,” Shelby concluded. And just like that, her mood improved considerably. There were plenty of places Callen could have ridden the horse, and he’d come here.
“Buck wasn’t home,” he said as they started out of the barn, and, yes, she limped a little. “Rosy thought he was here.”
Her mood dipped a notch. Callen was looking for her father. Still, he had come here looking for him, so she’d take that as a nibble. “No. I haven’t seen Dad today. Why did Rosy think he’d come to see me?”
Callen lifted his shoulder, shook his head, and the double nonverbal response sent up a red flag. A flag she soon forgot about when Callen started jogging ahead of her. “Let me put Sweet Caroline in the barn so we can talk. Mateo wasn’t sure if she’d go wandering off or not.”
“She will,” Shelby assured him. “Sweet Caroline is one of my training failures.” But you couldn’t train out what was essentially an untrainable pissy equine personality. Why her dad had wanted to buy the horse, she’d never know.
While Callen tucked the mare away in the barn, Shelby tried to work out the pain in her foot and had just about managed it when he made his way back to her. No kiss, but Callen did slip his arm around her waist when they went onto the porch and inside. Since he kept glancing down at her foot, he had likely done that to compensate for the embarrassing injury.
“I’ve got beer,” she offered when they were in the kitchen. “I could attempt something more wintery like hot chocolate, but it’d be from a box.”
“The boxed stuff is fine,” he said, surprising her.
Hot chocolate was a “chat by the fire” choice of beverage as opposed to beer, which could have been a gateway to tipsy sex. Well, if they’d had the whole six-pack, it could be.
“There’s a reporter from San Antonio at the ranch talking to Rosy,” Callen continued as she went into the pantry and came back with the hot chocolate. She was pleased that it was the kind with double marshmallows. A sugar high might substitute for gateway tipsy.
“Yes, Rosy told me about that.” She boiled some water in a glass measuring cup in the microwave. “The reporter’s an old friend of Rosy’s from the days when she used to do taxidermy shows and wants to do a story on all the foster kids coming in for the wedding.”
Callen took off his coat, put it on the back of a barstool and strolled into the living room, which was only a few yards away. Since her place had an open floor plan, she didn’t lose sight of him as he studied the Christmas tree. Specifically, the wad of tinsel that dripped like gold mucus from the tree and onto the floor. No one would assume the placement had been a voluntary decorating choice. Ditto for the gold flower box that she’d stomped and left on the floor next to the door.
“Exactly how many of Buck’s kids will be coming?” he asked.
“Dozens. Only a handful can’t. One of them is Cleo Delaney. Remember her?” She poured the hot water over the cocoa mix, stirred it up and brought the cups into the living room.
Callen smiled. “Yeah. Judd will be disappointed that she won’t be there.”
“So, you knew that Judd and Cleo once had a thing,” she commented.
“Sex,” he corrected, and he sent her a look from over the rim of his mug. “You were too young then to have known about such things. But you knew.”
“I was thirteen or so. Not that young. And Cleo asked me to help her put makeup on the love bite that Judd had left on her neck. I filled in the blanks as to how it got there. I filled in more blanks when I saw one on the top of her boob.”
Callen made a sound as if impressed by his brother’s ability to leave suck marks. Actually, Shelby had been impressed, too, because that had been around the same time she’d noticed that Callen was a hot boy who could possibly leave suck marks on her—if he’d kissed her. Well, he could have if he hadn’t been two years older and living under the threat of castration from her father.
They stood there, both now looking at the nearly bare tree with the same level of interest as if it’d been covered with eye-catching ornaments.
“How’d your visit go with your brothers?” she asked just as Callen asked, “Did Gavin really kiss you on Main Street?”
Well, crud. She hadn’t expected the gossip to stay out of his ear reach, but Shelby hadn’t especially wanted to discuss that particular mood-killing deed with him, either.
“Yes,” she admitted on a huff. She downed a swig of hot chocolate as if it were a whiskey shot and then slapped the mug on the coffee table. “Emphasis on Gavin being the one who did the kissing. Not me. I was just the shocked, pissed-off recipient.”
He stayed quiet a moment. Tipped his head to the box. “The shocked, pissed-off recipient of the flowers, too?”
“No, by the time I got those, the shock had worn off, and I was just pissed. He’s like a kid who wants what he doesn’t have. And you know what the real kicker is? I’ll catch the flak from some folks, including his family and snooty sister, who think I should give him another chance. I don’t want another chance. And that’s why I threw the tinsel at the tree and stomped on the flower box.”
There was too much emotion in her voice—too much information, as well—and she tried to soften her tone when she added, “I don’t want Gavin.”
There.
She’d softened it, all right. It had come out like a sultry purr with a whole bunch of hidden meaning attached. Well, big hidden meaning, anyway.
I don’t want Gavin because I want you, Callen Laramie.
“You don’t want Gavin because you want me,” Callen said, making her wonder if she’d blurted out her thoughts after all. It didn’t seem to be a question or clarification.
Callen set his double marshmallow cocoa on the coffee table, and in the same motion, he hooked his arm around her and kissed her. Maybe it was the unexpected movement or just the sheer intensity, but she heard Elvira hiss and scamper out of the room.
Shelby did some scampering, too. Deeper into Callen’s arms. Also deeper into the kiss.
Maybe because this wasn’t her first rodeo with him in the kissing corral, her body went from “thank you!” to full throttle. It was all fire, fire, fire. And it was hot, hot, hot.
Callen seemed to be in the same mode because his grip was mighty tight, and that kiss was as hungry as they came. Maybe he was trying to hurry before he could talk himself out of this, but she didn’t mind the speed. It was exactly what her overly aroused body was after. She wanted suck marks, groping and sex. What she got was her back against the wall as Callen moved her there.
Which wasn’t a bad start since Callen went with her.
Sort of. He spun her around, putting the front of her against the wall, and that meant the kissing stopped. Shelby started to protest but hushed when he pushed aside her hair and kissed the back of her neck. And his hands started to slide down the front of her body. Down her breasts, to her stomach.
And lower.
She gave up any notion whatsoever of protesting.
Callen kept kissing her neck and used his tongue, and the front of his body gave her back and butt some sweet torturous pressure. But the best pressure—oh yes—came when he unhooked her belt, followed by unzipping her jeans, and he slid his hand right down into her panties.
She definitely wouldn’t have protested even if she had been capable of speaking. She wasn’t. That was because all the air in her lungs vanished and she turned to molten gold.
He gave her a few of those well-placed bumps with his body, to let her feel his erection, and he slipped his fingers inside her. She cursed him, though it came out garbled. Definitely not a sexy purr, but it seemed to urge him on anyway because his other hand went up her shirt and to her breasts.
Double touching her.
And bringing her very close to an orgasm.
While an orgasm with Callen greatly appealed to her, Shelby wanted more than his hands and nudges from his erection. She wanted him inside her and was pretty sure he wanted the same. That said, he seemed to be struggling with himself. Maybe trying to take off the sexual edge for her so they could have a conversation about why this wasn’t a good idea.
Shelby reminded him just how good of an idea it was when she reached back, slipping her hand between them and over the front of his jeans.
Now Callen cursed her, and it didn’t come out garbled. She used the moment to turn the tables on him. Or rather to turn herself, and she managed it while his hand was still in her pants. Quite an accomplishment, but Callen had an accomplishment of his own. He spoke clearly and without profanity.
“Get naked now,” he ordered.
“Right back at you,” she insisted.
And the race was on. That hot, hot, hot fire turned into a blazing plume, and Shelby promised herself that later she’d do some much-slower fooling around with the cowboy whose shirt she was fighting to get off him. For now, though, she just needed to soothe this pressure-cooker heat or she was going to go up like that blazing plume.
She got her boots off and then his shirt. He got hers off, and he did it so much better because he even managed to tongue-kiss one of her breasts as he pushed down her bra. And this time, he slid his hand in the back of her jeans, over her butt, and used his grip to align the front of her zipper to the front of his while he kissed her out of her mind.
Shelby wanted to tell him that the continued foreplay wasn’t necessary, but she was caught up in the tidal wave/plume now and just had to go along with wherever he was taking her.
In this case, the couch.
Probably because it was right there. He eased her down, and those clever multitasking hands of his pulled off her jeans and panties while he barely missed a breath kissing her. Not just her mouth, either. But her breasts and stomach. He probably would have gone lower, but her hands weren’t nearly so clever, and she was interfering with his mouth so she could get to his jeans.
He helped with that, and back to multitasking again, he took out a condom from his wallet before he hiked his jeans and shorts down over his hips and gave Shelby her first look at some very impressive Callen Laramie full frontal nudity.
Oh my.
He’d been worth the wait.
She only got a glimpse of the full frontal, though, which was fine for now since he moved on to other things. He ripped open the condom wrapper with his teeth, got that sucker on and moved onto the couch with her.
“Hard and fast for now,” he said to her like a warning.
That sounded good to her because that for now meant she could play with him later. For now, he played her. In the best possible way, of course. Full frontal pushed into her.
Hard and fast, just as he’d promised.
And it sent her flying straight toward the moon. She hadn’t counted on fast being this fast, but she figured she reached the moon in under a minute. Incredibly amazing, though, for just a short ride.
The orgasm rippled through her, doing its orgasm thing of first making her think she was going to die and then letting her know she had spent every ounce of available energy she had.
But Callen wasn’t spent.
Still very hard and deep inside her, he stopped and looked down at her. “Hard and fast again,” he drawled.
She nearly laughed and wanted to tell him that she wasn’t a multiple-climax sort of woman. She was more the sort who had sex, cuddled and then crashed. But before she could say anything, he started to move inside her.
He kissed her again.
Then he slid his hand between their bodies. The journey was much easier now since they were slick with sweat, and he touched her. Adding some pressure in just the right spot while he continued those deep, long strokes.
The fire reignited. Not some puny little ember or flame, either. Full-blown. And she went from sated to wanting a whole lot more.
This time took longer. Maybe ten minutes, maybe six days. Shelby knew she’d lost her ability to measure time. But she sure knew how to measure something else.
That Callen could follow through on his “again.”
Apparently, she was a multiple-climax sort of woman after all.
* * *
DRINKING COFFEE, CALLEN stood at Shelby’s kitchen window and looked out at the frost that glittered on the ground. There was a soft white mist rising above it, just enough to let through the rays of morning sun. It was such a calm, pastoral scene with the horse grazing in the background.
Completely opposite to the nonpastoral scene going on inside him.
He’d come here to go ahead and tell Shelby about Buck. And to give a logical argument about why they shouldn’t be lovers. He’d accomplished neither of those things and instead had had sex.
Oh, and spent the night with her.
Best not to leave that off his list of things he’d screwed up. Now folks in town would notice that he hadn’t come back to the inn, and everyone would know he’d been with Shelby. It didn’t matter that his truck was at Buck’s. People would still know. Callen didn’t care about that for himself, but Shelby had to live here.
She’d have to live with this.
Plus, staying the night was a gazillion steps beyond just having sex. Couch sex could fall into the impulsive “we couldn’t help ourselves” category. But carrying her to bed, sleeping next to her, snuggling. Those were steps beyond. Steps that could cause her to get hurt.
At least he hadn’t gone back for another round with her when they’d been in bed. Callen couldn’t take credit for that, though. He’d only had one condom, and even he wasn’t stupid enough to drive Shelby’s truck into town to buy condoms.
This might be the twenty-first century, but Coldwater could be backward when it came to things like that. As archaic as it sounded, Shelby’s reputation could be soiled. This could also piss off Gavin and his family to the point where Silla might start another Dookie Head campaign—this time against Shelby.
When he heard the footsteps behind him, Callen braced himself to see Shelby come walking in naked. After all, he’d left her naked in bed when he’d got up, grabbed a quick shower and then come into the kitchen to make some coffee. But she was fully clothed in her jeans and shirt. No boots but she had on socks.
He hated that he felt the punch of disappointment that he wasn’t going to get another gawk at her.
She smiled, went to him, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she stole his coffee and drank nearly all of it before she handed him back the cup. Then she kissed him.
He hated, too, that he also wanted more of that kiss, but he eased back and met her gaze. “I’ll probably go to hell for this.”
“Well, at least you’ll go there with all your parts intact,” she pointed out. “No castration.”
“There is that, but hell is still hell.”
She smiled, brushed her temptress mouth over his again. “Then you should make it worth it,” she purred against his lips.
Callen didn’t like to lie to himself, and he knew if he’d had a condom that he would have nailed her right there against the kitchen sink. After all, you could only send a man to hell once. He could go out with a bang—literally.
“I need to see Rosy this morning.” She finally moved away from him and poured some coffee in a go-cup. “Wedding dress fitting. But you’re welcome to stay. Or maybe you want to ride over there with me to get your truck.”
He couldn’t say no fast enough to that last part. It was early Monday morning, which meant Buck would be there. He didn’t want to face him that way. Not with the aura of Shelby sex glistening around him like frost.
Nope.
He’d ride Sweet Caroline back, deal with Buck’s reaction to what the man would almost certainly guess had happened. And then Callen would remind Buck that his deadline was up and that he was going to have to come clean to Rosy and Shelby.
In other words, a shit day.
Shelby put on her coat that he took from a peg by the back door, and she touched her fingers to the bunched-up part of his forehead. “There are no strings on this, Callen. In two weeks, give or take a day, you walk. I know that.”
“Do you?” And he searched her eyes, looking for any signs that she was just blowing smoke.
She wasn’t. Or at least she believed what she was telling him, and because of that, Callen wanted to believe it, too. It would help with the shit day looming.
“Buy some more condoms,” Shelby said, her voice all husky and smoky. “I want to play with you later.”
And with that hard-on-triggering comment, she smiled like a horny siren and walked out into the cold Monday morning.