Free Rough Rider by Victoria Vane Page A

close to her soft, bare thighs.
    She regarded him with a wrinkled brow. “Do you want me to try that shoulder? Or not?”
    â€œYeah.” He moved into position, figuring the case would be a lot worse if she positioned her ass between his thighs, but changed his mind a minute later. No matter whose ass or thighs went where, the position was pretty damned intimate.
    Her hands began at his neck, her thumbs circling firm but gentle over his spine. He let his head drop to his chest with a groan. Holy shit, that felt good. Damned good.
    She slid her hands a bit lower, her fingers probing deeper into his shoulder muscles. Her hands were strong, and confident, delivering a medicinal mix of pleasure and pain. He’d never had anyone touch him like this—not even Rachel. And his body responded to it.
    â€œYou’d better stop that now, Red.” Standing up would only make his condition more evident so he scooted forward, away from her reach.
    â€œDid I hurt you?” she asked.
    â€œNo,” he replied tightly. “I just don’t want it to end up the other way around.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI told you, a man and woman can’t be friends. Sooner or later he’ll want to get into her jeans. Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you got me achin’ to do just that.”
    â€œAching?” she repeated dumbly.
    â€œYeah, Red…as in blue balls.” He shifted in growing discomfort knowing he’d get no relief tonight. “Maybe you should climb up into that gooseneck now.”
    â€œIs that what you want me to do?”
    â€œWhat I want?” He gave a deprecating laugh. “You shouldn’t ask questions like that, sweetheart. You’ll never get the truth out of a man with a hard-on.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “I can hardly deny what’s staring you right in the face.”
    Her gaze dropped. Her brown eyes widened.
    He covered his face and blew out a long breath. Maybe it was the injury that had his head all screwed up, or the alcohol he shouldn’t have drunk. Or more likely, it was pent-up frustration from long-term abstinence. Whatever it was, his resistance was crumbling to dust with vanilla-scented Janice staring at his dick.
    â€œShit, Janice. You’re not making this easy on me. I’m trying my damnedest to act like a gentleman.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she asked, her gaze flickering back to his face. “What did I do?”
    â€œHell, you don’t have to do anything when you’re looking at me that way.”
    â€œWhat way?” she asked, her soft brown eyes searching his.
    Her whole demeanor was a provocative mix of earthy innocence. Her hands were strong and gentle. Her eyes, honest, and guileless. Everything about Janice felt so warm and inviting, in stark contrast to Rachel who ran hot and cold with nothing in between. For almost five years Rachel had strung him along, teasing with promises and vacillations. Now here was Janice—warm, welcoming, and smelling good enough to eat. His gaze dropped to her mouth, to lips that softly parted. Her unspoken invitation was the straw that broke the cowboy’s back.
    * * *
    Janice knew what she was doing—at least she told herself she did. She’d never dreamed of anyone but Dirk. It seemed like she’d waited half her life hoping he’d notice her—and now here he was—and he’d definitely noticed. Maybe she was taking unfair advantage of the situation. He was on the rebound. Though he’d never admit it, he was hurting bad and not just on the outside. She knew he and Rachel would eventually patch things up. Her eyes were open on that score, but right here, right now, none of that mattered. This was Dirk.
    Her breath came in rapid puffs. She shut her eyes in anticipation, waiting and willing him to commit himself.
    His fingers cupped her chin, firm and gentle at the same time. Her body tensed and