Free Emily's Cowboy by Donna Gallagher Page B

She could see them now in her mind—his blue eyes a shade darker, filled with passion for her as he watched her bring herself to orgasm without being able to touch her. She imagined that it would not take her long to achieve a climax after having spent so much time pleasuring him—she would be wet and needy and ready to explode—but she would draw it out for him. She’d manipulate her own nipples with her fingertips, pinch and roll them, maybe lean in near his lips so that he could have a quick taste of the protruding red nubs, but only a short taste, just enough to leave him wanting, ready to forgive her. To trust her again to love him forever.
    “Hellooo…? Emily, you still in there, Cowgirl? I’m thinking by the look on your face you have a few ideas how to help ‘ole Cowboy on the road to recovery then. That’s a hell of a wicked grin you’re sporting. Almost feel sorry for the guy.”
    Emily’s face was burning and it had nothing to do with her scars—it was from the heat of her embarrassment over Rook’s accurate observation of her thoughts. She loved the fact that Rook had taken to calling her Cowgirl, especially as it was a fitting match for his name for Gareth—Cowboy.
    “Yep, busted. I do have a few interesting ideas rolling around in my head. Ideas I think might be quite persuasive.” She giggled, a sound she had forgotten she could make. It sounded strange, girlish. Carefree. The attention Rook was giving her, the look on his face, was hysterical.
    “Rook… Stop looking at me like that.” Emily grinned, rubbing her hands together in wicked delight over her plans. “Your buddy will be safe in my hands…I promise. It just may take him a while to recover.”
    “Well, I seem to have missed out on something big, by the look of you two. ‘Thick as thieves’, I think the saying goes.” Pippa joined them, a large bowl of bolognese in her hands, her eyes twinkling. She was clearly amused at the sight of Rook’s and Emily’s mirth. “You two aren’t thinking up any nasty scenarios for my good friend, now, are you? I won’t feed you—either of you—if you have anything too wicked in mind. Poor Gareth.”
    The laughter, hers and Rook’s, mingled together even louder at Pippa’s lighthearted threats, and for Emily it was so welcome, such a tonic to her soul that she was beginning to believe that everything would work out fine.
    How could it not, with so many people in her corner? Gareth didn’t stand a chance. All she had to do was meet a few people, and if they were anything like Rook and Pippa, how hard could it be? She would answer the questions about her face, give the details of the fire, get it all out in the open, ignore the stares, and her life would be perfect.

Chapter Eleven
     
     
     
    It had taken all of Gareth’s resolve not to go, on bended knee, and beg Emily to forgive him, to forget what he had said, to give him another chance, but he had stayed strong.
    Strong and abjectly miserable.
    Training had not helped, had not lessened the pain. Not wanting to be around anyone or to have to explain his mood, Gareth had kept a low profile. He had gone straight home after training, hidden out in his cave of misery, pretended it would be all right, that he would eventually feel better, get over Emily. He especially had not wanted to be around Pippa. Not only would she have picked up on his misery immediately, but her life was so happy now. She and Rook were always giving each other loving glances, cuddling and kissing, and had their hands on each other constantly. Gareth hadn’t thought he could take it, the constant reminder of how things should be with him and Emily.
    So he was looking forward to the day’s game—couldn’t wait to take the field, wanted to pour out his frustrations on the opposition. He could already imagine the feel of running the ball up into a wall of defence, craved the pain that would be inflicted on his body under the punishing demands of the full-body