Free Falling For A Cowboy by Anne Carrole

voice roll ed over her like a soothing lullaby . “ … I ’ ll ask first if I can kiss you . Just kiss you, honey. That ’ s all. ” His wine-laced breath blew hot on her skin, t he last sentences half-whisper ed in her ear .
    In an involuntary movement , h er head nodded in agreement. Oh G od, what if he asked permission for everything? And she granted it ? She doubted she had the willpower to act different ly . From the moment he ’ d stood at her door she ’ d wanted to kiss him and more . H aving spent the evening with him, want had turned to need.
    His hand caressed her cheek, leaving a rough trail of heat as he traced her jaw line. Her pur é ed insides began to quiver.
    “ I ’ m going to take it slow, darling, ” he drawled in her ear . He shifted so she was staring right into shining eyes beckoning her to trust him. But he wanted her for only one reason and the trust he was seeking was probably just her acknowledgement that he ’ d be a good lover, nothing more.
    Part of her wanted to settle for that . Seeing him on her sofa, feeling his touch , her desire had ratcheted up to a whole new level—to a plane she ’ d never been on before . N ot with Bradley or the few, very few, boys who ’ d taken her out in high school . There was no future here —n o white picket fence , n o stability , n othing but this night. Maybe it was enough.
    He brushed his lips across hers. The quiver s increased. “ That ’ s it. Just a kiss. ” His hand went to her waist, the warmth seeping through her shirt . Again, h e brushed her lips with his.
    Why did she have to feel so much from just his touch ? Her insides were jumbled, her hands shaky , and her mouth had gone dry .
    “ I want you, honey, ” he said and his mouth came down on hers, hard, demanding , and tasting of wine. His one hand held her head while his other stroked her back as though he was petting a kitten . Sensuous stroking that made her womb clench, stroking that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
    She opened for him . H is tongue flick ed against hers, probing and tasting . She probed and tasted him in return . He pressed her closer . S he snuggled up to him . Before she knew it, she was on his lap . While his mouth did a number on hers, h er arms wrapped around his neck, her breasts pressed against his solid chest , and her knees cradl ed his hips . His long, hard, length pushed against her center . There, right there . Moisture beaded between her thighs . All the time his mouth pulled her further into his vortex . Whatever resistance she ’ d managed before had evaporated . She closed her eye s and gave in.
    Her hips moved against his hard flesh while his hands rubbed her back in encouragement . She slipped up and down, denim rubbing against cotton, the friction of the fabric creating wonderful sensations . Mirroring her desire, his tongue darted in and out in rhythm , as his mouth consumed hers. Nothing mattered, nothing counted but this moment with this man who wanted her.
    She burned to get closer, to have more. But what if it was only tonight ?
    She was only dimly aware of the phone ringing . It sounded distant, like it was in someone else ’ s house . Not hers. The answer ing machine. The answer ing machine would get it.
    He halted his assault , his lips hovering over her mouth, as if waiting for a signal from her . She continued the kiss . The answer machine clicked on.
    “ It ’ s Tara Lynn . Pick up or I ’ ll think something is wrong and storm over there. ”
    Damn .
    He broke the kiss. “ You ’ d better answer that, honey . She sounds like she means it. ” His voice was deep, rich , and husky .
    She opened her eyes . Hooded lids, glassy pupils , and a sexy grin greet ed her. Damn again.
    “ Dusty , p ick up , ” t he machine cackled.
    Why did Tara Lynn have to be such a conscientious friend ? She fumbled for the phone stationed on the end table between the MP3 player and the vase with silk roses.
    “ Hello. ”
    “ Thank God