Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

“Will says that’s just a story. Old Ferg—your grandfather—sifted through every inch of ground and never found it.” Sky glanced upward. “It’ll be dark before long. Come on.”

She followed him along the winding trail into the depths of the main canyon. Halting the horses, he swung off the gelding and dropped the reins. Lauren dismount

ed to stand beside him on the smooth sand at the base of the cliff.

“Look there.” He guided her gaze upward. Stylized figures of men, women, and animals were etched across the cliff face, cast into relief by the slanting light. Lauren could make out warbonneted chiefs, deer, cougars and bison, birds and horses—dozens of horses, their leaping, galloping poses frozen in time.

“Beautiful . . . and so sad,” Lauren murmured, recalling the history she’d read, how the Comanches had been the finest horsemen on the plains until the army had defeated them in these canyons and slaughtered all their beloved horses—slaughtered them by the hundreds and hundreds—to make sure the tribe would never rise up again. Here in this place, the heartbreak became real.

Without a word, Sky turned and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was rough and hungry, his sex a straining ridge against her belly. Frantic with need, Lauren melted against him. She wanted his hands on her skin, the weight of him between her legs. She wanted the feel of him thrusting inside her, filling her, owning the secret depths of her body.

Clumsy with eagerness, her hands fumbled with the front of his shirt. With a mutter of impatience he ripped the garment open and tossed it onto the sand. When he took her in his arms again the feel of his golden skin was like being wrapped in sunlight. She breathed in his mossy aroma, her tongue tasting the subtle, salty sweetness in the hollow of his throat, her fingers ranging over his body, coming to rest on a nipple. He groaned as it puckered and hardened beneath her touch.

Freeing the hem of her shirt, he slid his hands up her ribs. The front fastener of her bra came apart with a skillful twist. Lauren’s breath caught as his hand closed over one breast, cupping its weight, stroking its sensitive surface. She butted against him, grinding like a stripper to heighten the shimmers that were already rocketing through her body. She was spiraling out of control, and she didn’t care. All she knew was that she was dripping wet and she wanted him—every splendid inch of him.

“Please . . . don’t wait,” she muttered.

He chuckled against her ear. “Does that mean the same as don’t stop?”

“That comes later—” She gasped as he yanked her jeans and lace panties off her hips and lowered her onto the shirt he’d flung to the sand. While she wriggled the rest of the way out of her jeans and boots, he dropped his Wranglers and paused to add protection.

Lauren lay back on the shirt, gazing up at him. Standing there naked with the sunset glowing on his skin, he took her breath away. He was all power and grace, all muscle and sinew and jaw-dropping sex. If ever there was a magnificent figure of a man, it was Sky Fletcher. And for the moment, at least, he was all hers. A freshly healed pink scar, deep and ugly, marked his left side below the ribs. Lauren remembered what Beau had told her about his being shot and almost dying. Right now it was as if his life was a gift to her.

For the space of a breath he turned away to kick his clothes aside. Only then did Lauren see the other scars, faded and white, that streaked across his back like the marks of a whip. The awareness struck her that there was much more to this man than she knew. But right now all she could think of was wanting him.

Her fingers stirred, beckoning him. “Come here, you,” she whispered.

With a raw laugh he dropped between her outstretched legs. Her knees came up to clasp his hips as he pushed into her, gliding on her slickness, his swollen size filling her so tightly that the first climax rushed through her body even before he began to move.

“Oh . . .” she breathed as the wave ebbed.

He grinned down at her transfixed face. “Finished already?” Giggling like a schoolgirl, she pulled his head down for a kiss. His tongue teased hers in a playful dance. With Sky there were no complications, no promises, no guilt, just pure, giddy, mind-blowing pleasure.

He began his thrusts with exquisite restraint, pulling back and sliding in deep, giving her time to feel every subtle change in the contact of their bodies. Soon what began as a delicious tingle rose, swirled, turned urgent. Her breaths became whimpers of need. Her hands clasped his taut buttocks, driving him harder.

She felt his control shatter. Breath rasping, he thrust like a stallion, driving into her deeper, faster, their wild ride ending in a burst of fireworks that would put the Fourth of July to shame.

Sky lay still for a moment, his breath easing out in a long exhalation. Pushing forward, he feathered a kiss on the tip of Lauren’s nose. His smile was shameless. “Next time I’d like to show you what can happen when we don’t have to hurry,” he said.

Next time.

From a man like Sky Fletcher, that was as close to a commitment as she was going to get.

“Where the hell have you been, Lauren? I’ve been calling your cell for the past couple of hours.”

As she walked in the front door, her father’s demanding voice shattered the mellow aura that had floated around her all the way home.

“I went to work at the Tylers’,” she said. “I told you I was going. And if nobody answered my phone it was because I left my purse in the car.”

“You didn’t check for messages?”

“Sorry, no.” After a twilight ride back to the car with Sky, checking her phone had been the last thing on her mind.

“Well, Josh Hardesty called me. He’s still willing to push for the governor’s endorsement, and he wants to take you out again. I gave him your number, but when he couldn’t reach you, I said I’d try you and get back to him.”

“You gave Josh Hardesty my cell number? Can’t you get it through your head that I never want to see him again?” Biting back anger, Lauren stepped out of the entry and into the lamplight. Her father’s eyes widened at the sight of her tangled hair and rumpled shirt.

“Lord almighty, you look like you’ve been rolling in a horse trough. What’ve you been up to?” His eye narrowed. “Never mind, I can guess. Hardesty mentioned that when he picked you up at the Tylers’ you’d just come back from a so-called riding lesson with that half-breed cowboy, Fletcher.”