Free A Cowboy for Christmas by Em Petrova Page A

away.
    “All right, Dusty.”
    “Good. Now gimme a good luck kiss.”
    How could she resist when he was leaning toward her like that, his scents of pure male hitting her system the way a bull ran through a red flag? She found herself swaying into his arms. He cupped her jaw tenderly and laid one on her that curled her toes.
    When the camera flash exploded behind her closed eyelids, she jerked away. He turned to the photographer with a grin. “Find someone else to harass, buddy. She’s shy.”
    The man smiled and went on his way, but she felt far from composed. “He’s going to splash that all over the media.”
    “Yeah, so?” He sounded pretty damn joyful about it.
    “Soooo…my father.”
    He blinked at her, obviously not understanding. “What about him?”
    “No mixing business and pleasure. If he sees it, there could be trouble.”
    Dusty brought her close with a hand on her lower spine. His eyes were dark and daring. “You’re a grown woman. Are you telling me your daddy dictates who you date?”
    Before she could question the word “date,” more people surrounded him—this time cowboys. Bronc riders, bull riders. Bull fighters even. And that team roping pair that was just as sexy in person as they were on TV.
    Feeling like fanning herself, she slipped out of the mob. Dusty was getting teased and slapped on the back. She tossed him a wave and headed toward her seat. The ladies around her didn’t speak as she sat down. When a popcorn seller came around, she bought a bag. When the first buttery kernel passed her lips, she realized how hungry she was. Dusty had kept her in bed all day, orgasming. The least he could have done was give her some Gatorade.
    Or one of the Rawhide energy bars.
    Smiling, she munched and watched the event get rolling. Some rides were successes, others not so much. One bronc rider was carried out on a stretcher, unconscious after taking a hoof to the temple.
    She scooted to the edge of her seat, worried for the man she was quickly becoming attached to. If anything happened to Dusty, she’d feel terrible.
    Dusty’s face hit the big screen, and the crowd went nuts. Avalee added her voice to the din. He spat into the dirt and nudged his hat, and then he flicked his fingers as his way of releasing tension before the ride. Funny how she knew that about him. Just as she knew how he loved her tongue gliding around his rim while she sucked his cock.
    Squirming now, she clasped her hands and waited.
    “Dusty Waite’s entering round three with a whippy horse. Black Snake Groaner is the ride of choice tonight for Dusty. He’s killing it in the saddle here at Finals, folks. But a bad ride tonight could mean Juan Varuso takes his place.”
    She held her breath. Dusty was on the back of Black Snake Groaner, a pure black mount. The animal tried to throw him even now. What would happen when the gate opened?
    A rattle of metal and then Dusty was off, whipped right and left. The horse kicked high, urging the crowd to its feet. She stood too, straining to see the rider. His entire body was thrown out of the saddle four times…five.
    “C’mon, Dusty!” Her cry was swallowed by the noise. He was tossed, his neck jerking as if he were a boneless doll. He recovered, arm high, posture perfect as the beast went into another spin. The buzzer heralded the end of his ride.
    He leaped off, hit his knees and placed his hands together in prayer. She screamed with the crowd. She shifted her attention from the man to the big screen, prepared to see his score.
    Instead she saw her and Dusty together, lips locked while the announcer questioned her role in Dusty’s good ride. She stopped breathing.
    Her eyes were closed and the look on his face…God, it was tender and intense and filled with focus—for her.
    Her heart was tripping fast. Everyone in the arena as well as national TV had seen it too.
    She steeled herself for a call from the president of Rawhide foods—her father.
    * * * * *
    Avalee was as edgy