Free Tempting the Cowboy by Elizabeth Otto Page B

grabbed Cole’s hand for a hearty shake. “What did your daddy say, Maeve?” He cleared his throat a couple times and dug up an Irish accent. “Me tinks me garrl fell from da heavens. Only arhn angel can ’ave eyes dat blue.”
    The fire snapped and cracked to his mother’s laughter. Cole sat back on the log, some of his fiddle euphoria fading off. Maeve slid her arm around Jim’s shoulder as they laughed. Rylan encouraged Jim to keep talking with his good old brogue. What was this? Cole shuffled his boot in the dirt. They were laughing, teasing, carrying on like…like the Haywoods used to years ago.
    Before his brother left for the Marines. Before his wife took his money and ran. Before his asshole father died.
    “Did you hear me?” Rylan was looking at him, her skin cast gold in the firelight. He blinked slowly just to take her all in. Her eyes were wide and dark, cheekbones swathed in shadow, her lips tantalizing in the flickering glow. Cole’s eyes fell to her neck, to the open top buttons of her shirt and the material capturing her breasts just right. His jeans got uncomfortably tight as he imagined cupping them in his hands.
    “Hmm?” His gaze snapped back to hers. Shit, she looked beautiful.
    “I asked how long you’ve been playing. You’re exceptional.”
    Exceptional? Decent, at best. At least, that’s how Livy had made him feel about it. She’d hated the fiddle, hated it when he’d played. So he’d put the instrument away, for her. “Ma started me out when I was seven.”
    It was unsettling to have her eyes on him like this. “I hope you’ll play again soon.” She stood, stretching her back so her breasts leaned into the fabric. Turning to Maeve and Jim, she excused herself. Cole took two big steps to Rylan’s side.
    “I’ll walk you back.” Before he could think, he put a hand to her lower back and guided her around the log bench. He almost faltered from the soft, warm impact of her body on his palm but maintained his stride. She tensed briefly under his touch, and he felt a little shiver shake her body. Cold? No way. It had to be at least seventy degrees out still. The thought that his touch made her react that way bolstered the feeling that this was right.
    That being next to her felt so good.
    That touching her felt so right.
    The fiddle and banjo serenaded them away from the campfire. She glanced at him once as they crossed the yard but didn’t speak. They climbed the stairs on the side of the deck, Rylan two steps ahead of him, her brown braid swaying along her back. He had a bracing urge to undo the strands and run his fingers through them. She paused at the top of the steps, leaning her hip against the railing under the soft porch light. Cole stopped beside her, realizing how easy it would be to put a hand on either side of the railing and trap her between his arms. Then he could press against her and feel those perfect breasts against his chest. Her lips would be soft, her mouth hot and wet when he kissed her and plunged his tongue inside, crushing her against him and driving his hips against her…
    She eyed him shyly as she stepped away, almost as if she knew what he was thinking, her fingers running along the smooth wooden railing until they slid off the edge. Cole reached out and caught her hand before it could fall to her side. Her fingers curled around his palm at the same time she drew a quick breath. His thumb swept the back of her hand before he entwined his fingers softly with hers.
    Rylan tipped her chin up, moonlight highlighting the flush on her cheeks and the plump, delicious promise of her mouth. A mouth that parted just a fraction before she sucked her lower lip in and worried it between her teeth. Her fingers clenched and released around his. Cole watched her intently as he rubbed his thumb in small circles over her soft palm. A tremor went through her, and his heart swelled.
    Her eyes flashed silver, and Cole’s breath hitched as he pressed his torso against