Free Marry Me, Cowboy (Copper Mountain Rodeo) by Lilian Darcy

very private. Tegan could hear the leather belt of Jamie’s jeans creak as he moved. “Do you know what’s different with us today?” she said. “This is the first time we haven’t had other people around. First time it’s been just us.”
    Jamie dropped his voice low. “You think that’s why this is happening?”
    “Why what’s happening?” she said stupidly.
    Stupidly, because she was only pretending. She knew exactly what was happening.
    He called her on it, muttering, “You know what it is,” with his eyes fixed on her face. “Do you want to?”
    “Yes.” She took the six inch step that brought her right up against him, the sides of their boots nudging each other, and stretches of soft denim brushing together. She could smell him, delicious and salty and male, and she could feel his heat. “Yes, I do.”
    “You want me to get out my junk right now and do you before the steer wrestling starts?” he drawled at her with a teasing quirk on his lips, eyes glinting.
    She tucked in the corner of her mouth and rolled her eyes. “Jamie, that is the most romantic thing I have ever heard.”
    He reached out and hauled her that final, critical inch, so that it wasn’t just feet and thighs touching now, it was pretty much everything. “I wasn’t going for romantic.”
    “I got that, trust me. What were you going for?”
    “Just keepin’ it real, babe,” he drawled again, mocking both of them.
    “I think I like you much better when you’re not talking.”
    “That can be arranged.” And he didn’t say another word, just lifted her butt onto the counter, unsnapped her jeans, pulled the zipper halfway down, and her pony club T-shirt off over her head, and began to kiss her everywhere.
    They both knew there wasn’t a lot of time, if he was going to track down Dawson O’Dell for the steer wrestling and make his scheduled draw time. Tegan decided... raggedly... that she really wasn’t a proper girl, to be wanting it like this. Their first time, in a rush, broad daylight, cramped setting, smelling of dirt and leather and horse. But, apart from a weird taste for western bling, she’d never cared all that much about being a proper girl.
    Jamie made love to her as if she was all woman.
    He unhooked her bra and threw it on the lower bunk, closed his cupped palms over her breasts and buried his face in the deepened valley he’d made. He had rough hands and she loved it. The way they moved, clever and strong and single-minded. The way they felt, blunt and scrapy on her skin, but almost reverent.
    He was good at this. Who knew? He was talented, incredible.
    His hands slowed at just the right times. They went light as a feather before she could ask. He seemed to know how good the ball of his thumb would feel across her nipple, and how much the sucking moist heat of his mouth would make her gasp.
    They really did not have much time.
    She pushed him away and started fumbling at the front of his shirt. “You getting this off or what?”
    “You getting off your jeans? I started ‘em for you.”
    They both scrabbled at their clothes and then stood there naked. Grinned at each other for a stupid moment and then came together again. He had the best body. “I got protection,” he said.
    “I was going to ask.”
    “I know you were. You’re not dumb.”
    “Shoot, you really are romantic.”
    “I can be. You wait.”
    “Till when?”
    “Till next time.”
    “You better be a little bit romantic this time, Jamie MacCreadie, or there might not be a next.”
    “You going to just keep talking?”
    “That’s right, you don’t like that, do you?”
    “Neither do you, didn’t you just decide?” He pulled on her hips and brought the two of them together again, groin to groin, junk to junk. Did girls have junk?
    Ooh, she had it now. She had his , hard and big and hot against her. She swelled and softened down there. It was unbelievably good, feeling this. He felt hard and big and hot all over. Mouth, chest, hands.