Read Online Going Cowboy Crazy by Katie Lane - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katie Lane
Ads: Link
try to figure out why he suddenly felt so damned happy. Happiness was something to enjoy, not analyze.
With a smile tugging at his lips, he popped the truck in gear and made a big circle in the empty lot before he drove off the curb. Faith’s body jostled back against the seat, and he glanced down at the jiggling dollops of her breasts.
His smile deepened.
“But where are you taking me?” she asked.
“With me, darlin’. You’re coming with me.”
Chapter Five
F AITH WOKE WITH A START AND STARED in confusion at the dingy sheet that was thumbtacked over the small window. She would’ve remained confused for at least a few seconds more if a sloppy wet tongue hadn’t slid from her chin up to her forehead.
“Yuck!” She sat up and wiped the back of her hand across her face.
“Now, sugar pie.” A honey-drizzled voice came from the doorway. “He’s just kissin’ you good mornin’.”
Her gaze snapped up, and her breath caught.
Slate stood in the doorway dressed in nothing but a pair of faded jeans with a frayed hole in one knee and what looked like blue paint on the other. The loose waistband rode low on his lean hips, displaying a curved line of pale skin that made her heart trip faster. His body didn’t have the bulging muscles of the bodybuilders who worked themselves into a sweaty lather at her gym. Just smooth, defined hills and lean valleys that flexed and released as he moved around the bed.
“Good mornin’.” He leaned down, and his lips did alazy sweep over hers. He pulled back and sent her a dazzling smile, his hair sleep-tousled and his eyes drowsy.
Everything inside her melted, completely obliterating the valid excuses she’d spent most the night coming up with. It wasn’t the long trip, the pain of losing her mother, the stress of trying to locate her sister, or the three shots of tequila that had turned her from an introverted prude to an immoral slut.
It was this man.
This golden-haired redneck with his smooth southern drawl and devilish grin that had kept her up for most of the night fighting against the strong desire to strip naked and join him on the tiny plaid couch he’d too readily occupied. She’d won the battle. Except staring at the tempting piece of manhood before her, she didn’t feel like much of a winner. In fact, she felt like The Biggest Loser—starved and deprived.
“Don’t tell me, you’ve got laryngitis again, darlin’.” His gaze sizzled its way down the T-shirt he’d loaned her and stopped at the words written across the front. And since it was his T-shirt she figured it wasn’t the phrase
Women Want Me, Fish Fear Me
that caught his attention.
Faith tried to pull the sheet up over her breasts, but it was tucked under her leg. She tugged, and the 10-count fabric ripped.
Horrified, she stared down at the long tear. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”
Slate stared, too, but not at the ripped material as much as the bare leg it exposed. “No harm, no foul, darlin’. Bubba needed new sheets anyway.”
“Bubba?” She slipped her leg farther under the sheet. “These aren’t your sheets?”
His hot eyes followed the line of her leg beneath the thin material. “Nope.”
She glanced around the room, its only furniture the sagging mattress and a scarred chest of drawers with the bottom drawer missing. “Just what do they pay a high school coach?”
“Not nearly enough, sweetheart.” His gaze drifted up to the valley between her legs. “Not nearly enough.”
Faith’s breath caught as he lifted his head, and she stared into twin pools of heat. But before she could turn into the immoral slut, Buster bumped against Slate’s leg and whined pitifully.
“You just went out, boy,” Slate said, his eyes never leaving Faith. But the whining grew louder until he was forced to acknowledge the dog. “All right, all right.” He moved toward the door in a wondrous display of lean back muscles. Glancing over one smooth, tanned shoulder, he sent her a sexy wink.
With a smile tugging at his lips, he popped the truck in gear and made a big circle in the empty lot before he drove off the curb. Faith’s body jostled back against the seat, and he glanced down at the jiggling dollops of her breasts.
His smile deepened.
“But where are you taking me?” she asked.
“With me, darlin’. You’re coming with me.”
Chapter Five
F AITH WOKE WITH A START AND STARED in confusion at the dingy sheet that was thumbtacked over the small window. She would’ve remained confused for at least a few seconds more if a sloppy wet tongue hadn’t slid from her chin up to her forehead.
“Yuck!” She sat up and wiped the back of her hand across her face.
“Now, sugar pie.” A honey-drizzled voice came from the doorway. “He’s just kissin’ you good mornin’.”
Her gaze snapped up, and her breath caught.
Slate stood in the doorway dressed in nothing but a pair of faded jeans with a frayed hole in one knee and what looked like blue paint on the other. The loose waistband rode low on his lean hips, displaying a curved line of pale skin that made her heart trip faster. His body didn’t have the bulging muscles of the bodybuilders who worked themselves into a sweaty lather at her gym. Just smooth, defined hills and lean valleys that flexed and released as he moved around the bed.
“Good mornin’.” He leaned down, and his lips did alazy sweep over hers. He pulled back and sent her a dazzling smile, his hair sleep-tousled and his eyes drowsy.
Everything inside her melted, completely obliterating the valid excuses she’d spent most the night coming up with. It wasn’t the long trip, the pain of losing her mother, the stress of trying to locate her sister, or the three shots of tequila that had turned her from an introverted prude to an immoral slut.
It was this man.
This golden-haired redneck with his smooth southern drawl and devilish grin that had kept her up for most of the night fighting against the strong desire to strip naked and join him on the tiny plaid couch he’d too readily occupied. She’d won the battle. Except staring at the tempting piece of manhood before her, she didn’t feel like much of a winner. In fact, she felt like The Biggest Loser—starved and deprived.
“Don’t tell me, you’ve got laryngitis again, darlin’.” His gaze sizzled its way down the T-shirt he’d loaned her and stopped at the words written across the front. And since it was his T-shirt she figured it wasn’t the phrase
Women Want Me, Fish Fear Me
that caught his attention.
Faith tried to pull the sheet up over her breasts, but it was tucked under her leg. She tugged, and the 10-count fabric ripped.
Horrified, she stared down at the long tear. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”
Slate stared, too, but not at the ripped material as much as the bare leg it exposed. “No harm, no foul, darlin’. Bubba needed new sheets anyway.”
“Bubba?” She slipped her leg farther under the sheet. “These aren’t your sheets?”
His hot eyes followed the line of her leg beneath the thin material. “Nope.”
She glanced around the room, its only furniture the sagging mattress and a scarred chest of drawers with the bottom drawer missing. “Just what do they pay a high school coach?”
“Not nearly enough, sweetheart.” His gaze drifted up to the valley between her legs. “Not nearly enough.”
Faith’s breath caught as he lifted his head, and she stared into twin pools of heat. But before she could turn into the immoral slut, Buster bumped against Slate’s leg and whined pitifully.
“You just went out, boy,” Slate said, his eyes never leaving Faith. But the whining grew louder until he was forced to acknowledge the dog. “All right, all right.” He moved toward the door in a wondrous display of lean back muscles. Glancing over one smooth, tanned shoulder, he sent her a sexy wink.
Similar Books
