Page 28 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

I exhale, admitting defeat. I’m not used to having anyone in my corner, and now I have three men ready to come to my aid. It’ll take some getting used to.

I reach to open the car door and Maverick tuts. “Hell no, you sit right there!” He makes his way around my side of the car and helps me out. “Ma’am.” He removes his hat in a broad, theatrical sweeping gesture, bending down to almost skim the dusty ground with it. I can’t help but smile. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses me with an old-world flourish and eye contact so fierce, I blush.

He unloads the bags of clothing and the drugstore items and takes them inside. I love the way that no one needs to lock the door. It’s just always open for whoever wants to come inside. Neither Clint nor Jesse are home, which is a relief as having to go over everything that happened in town is not something I’m keen on doing right now. All I want to do is hide away for a bit.

“I’m going to unpack. I’ve got some chores to do upstairs.”

“I’ll carry these bags up for you,” Maverick says, already striding into the hallway. I guess I don’t have a choice. I follow him up, hoping he’s going to have a burning desire to get back to work, but when he drops the bags onto the floor next to my bed, he turns and reaches out for my hand.

“Today wasn’t what I hoped it would be. I wanted you to have a good time… I wanted it to feel like a treat.”

His bewitching, smiling eyes search mine, and I try my hardest to smile so he doesn’t feel bad. “It was fun, and you treated me to more than I would ever have asked for.”

He touches my cheek. “You’re as sweet as your blueberry muffins, you know that?”

I shrug, embarrassed. My sister, Molly, is sweet. I feel tough but brittle. Wearing a hard shell on the outside to protect my fragile interior. It brings a lump to my throat to wonder what I would have been like if I didn’t have to deal with my past.

“Can I kiss you, muffin?” Maverick’s eyes focus on my mouth, and he folds his lips in, releasing them with a sheen.

I’m trembling inside, uncertain about myself and what all of this means to me. But I’m not uncertain about Maverick. Despite Mindy’s criticism, I can feel his good soul like an aura emanating from him. I want to press myself up against him so his good energy can envelop me and push away the tinge of gray that’s clung to me since Mom died. I want him to break through my toughened exterior so I can be the sweet girl he thinks I am.

Instead of answering, I press up onto my toes and rest my lips against his. With a soft moan, his mouth takes over, teasing me with kisses that feel sweet and tender. His hand slides over my ribs to rest on my waist. He takes his time as if he wants to explore slowly enough for me to get used to him. When his hands slide lower to grip my ass, I grip his shirt in my fists.

“So perfect,” he murmurs in between kisses. My hands have a life of their own, drifting over the fabric of his shirt, mapping his muscled chest as I grow familiar with the slide of his tongue over mine. Each cowboy has their own way of kissing and touching, different but so in tune with me, it’s like listening to three of my favorite songs from three different artists.

My fingers toy with his buttons, wanting to feel skin, and he draws back when my palm slides over his warm abs. “Taylor.” The rasp in his voice sends heat between my thighs that turns into a deep ache.

“Maverick.” My voice carries its own huskiness.

“We don’t have to.”

My flinch at his words is a reaction I can’t control, but he’s quick to clarify.

“I want to, muffin. So damn much.” To illustrate, he pulls my hand down to his crotch and presses it against his very hard cock. “See how much.”

I gasp at the unfamiliar hardness that pulses behind my palm. He’s big and so solid, and I flush imagining what it’ll be like to feel the heat of him.

“But do you?”

I nod. The need to feel his arms and the security they offer makes me tremble. Sex can’t fix anything, really. But it can make me forget for a while.

“Yes,” I whisper.

When he lifts my shirt over my head, I’m the one who unfastens my bra. It’s ratty and old and too small so leaving it on isn’t going to tantalize anyone.

“Jesus, Taylor.” Maverick’s eyes widen, and he reaches out to cup my breasts. I’m already wriggling out of my joggers, and I’m naked before he’s even unfastened a button of his own.

I’m the one who slides his shirt from his body, discovering his tan, muscular shoulders and chest, and rolling abs dusted lightly with just a little soft brown hair. He’s radiating so much warmth I get the urge to press my face against him and nuzzle against his gorgeous body, but I have more to unwrap.

His belt is harder to undo so he helps me, dropping his jeans and pulling his socks from his feet. Only his tight black boxer briefs remain between us, but they leave very little to the imagination.

Before I get a chance to remove the final layer, he scoops me under my ass, lifting me from my feet, a small foil packet crinkling in his grip. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, laughing brightly as he kisses between my breasts.

“You’re sweet as pie,” he murmurs.

“Which pie?”

“Peach pie. My favorite.”

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