Free One Hot Cowboy by Anne Marsh Page B

thought about taking seven,” she
    admitted.
    His hand closed over hers, tugging her
    close for a quick, hard kiss. “Why didn’t
    you?”
    An impish smile claimed her face as she
    kissed him back, her tongue tracing his
    bottom lip. “I got laid off,” she admitted.
    “Lost my job and couldn’t keep up with my
    expenses, so I figured it was smarter to
    come back here now, where I had the
    house, even if I couldn’t afford to fix it up
    yet.”
    When she smiled and talked about
    Auntie Dee’s house, her whole face lit up.
    He’d spent his life here, working his ass
    off to keep the ranch going. He’d seen the
    life sucked out of good men who’d poured
    themselves, heart and soul, into their
    places. His Rose was so alive. She played
    by an entirely different set of rules. Maybe,
    just maybe, Rose Jordan was a chance at
    pleasure, a different kind of living. He
    couldn’t pass her up.
    “I would have come for you,” he
    promised. “I wouldn’t have let you stay
    away from me forever.”
    “Promises,” she said lightly, but he
    could see the hunger in her eyes as she
    shifted away from him, reaching for the
    door. She had always been impatient,
    never able to wait. He was looking
    forward to making her do some waiting
    now. “You want to spank me, Cabe, for
    misbehaving?”
    Hell, now there was an image to make a
    man think twice. He could just see her, her
    delicious little ass all cherry pink while he
    heated her backside just a bit. Just before
    he kissed it all better.
    Getting out of the truck, he came around
    the side. Now she was waiting, her hand
    on the edge of the door. Not for him to
    open it but for him to take charge of the
    moment. Which was fine with him. He was
    damned tired of being two steps behind
    her. First time he’d seen her looking
    hesitant, though. Usually, Rose moved
    through life like she knew precisely where
    she was going and what she wanted.
    Maybe she realized that these sensations,
    the heat building between them, meant that
    things were going to change yet again.
    His Rose had weathered more than her
    fair share of changes.
    So he’d just have to convince her that
    this change was a good one. Once he had
    her in his arms and in his bed, he’d show
    her precisely how things had changed for
    the better between them. He’d show her
    just how good they could be together.
    Pulling open her door and reaching in
    for her, he swung her up into his arms.

    The first time she’d seen the ranch house
    a few days ago, she’d thought it both was
    and wasn’t what she’d expected of Cabe
    Dawson. He’d finished building it after
    she’d gone, and the result was an
    impressive,
    adobe-style
    ranch
    that
    screamed costly Southwestern design. It
    was four thousand square feet of high-end
    construction. A fireplace made with stones
    from the creek dominated the main space
    that stretched the length of the building.
    He’d clearly wanted a home that would
    last. It was the house of a man with plenty
    of money, a man who didn’t need to be
    standing ankle-deep in dust, fixing a
    watering trough. That was Cabe Dawson,
    though. He’d never sat back and waited for
    what he wanted. He’d gone out and
    worked his ass off. The current success of
    the ranch was due in no small part to his
    efforts. It was an open secret in Lonesome
    that his father had just about run the place
    into the ground. His wife’s aristocratic
    family had never thought much of him, and
    he’d lived down to their expectations.
    “A girl could get used to this.” She slid
    her arms around his neck, pressing her face
    against his skin. Each breath dragged the
    scent of him deeper into her. Man and
    outdoors, leather and sage. God, he
    smelled good.
    He pushed the truck door shut with one
    booted foot. They went into the house like
    that, him carrying her as if she was the
    bride in a story. She turned her face into
    his shirt collar. She wasn’t shy, but she
    didn’t want to share this moment with
    anyone