Page 70 of Country Music Cowboy
He was waiting. The jolt of connection had her gripping the metal railing that ran the inside of the elevator. The crooked smile had her grip tighten.
Sawyer knew about them but…well, there were some things Sawyer didn’t need to know—or see.
When they reached the floor the label had rented, Loretta hurried to her room. She’d give him ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. But five minutes later, she was seriously considering throwing caution to the wind and banging on Travis’s hotel room.
It’s not like she hadn’t spent the last week in his bed. Where had this sudden urgency come from? The song. The song they’d be singing over and over for the next few months. If this was the reaction she had every time they sang it, things were going to get super awkward, super quick.
Get it together.She grabbed her pajamas and headed into the bathroom for a cold shower.
But she’d barely set foot under the water when there was a knock at her door. She hurried, grabbing a towel and almost slipping as she skidded across the marble floor, padded across the carpet, and walked down the hall of her suite to the door.
Travis. “I was about ready to kick the damn door down—”
She grabbed the front of his shirt, tugged him inside, and pushed the door closed—propelling him back against the solid surface and twining her arms around his neck.
His lips traveled along her neck. “You’re not wearing any clothes.”
“You’re wearing too many clothes.” She was already working the button at his waist free.
“Not for long.” He took her hand and headed back the way she’d come, shedding clothes as he went. By the time they’d reached her bathroom, he’d tossed her towel over his shoulder and was busy nuzzling the swell of her left breast.
Loretta was breathing hard but determined. With a good tug, his jeans were gone and her hand wrapped around the long, hard proof of his arousal. At the contact, he groaned—arching into her.
“I want your hands and mouth.” She said against his lips. “I want you close and deep.”
***
Travis rested his hand on the swell of Loretta’s hip, breathing hard against the back of her neck. He liked her ass. He liked her thigh and calf and the spot behind her knee that made her pant… Damn if there wasn’t a part of her he didn’t like. And, by now, he was feeling mighty comfortable with pretty much every inch of her.
One thing he liked most? The sounds she made. He was the loud one, that was true. But it made every little gasp and moan, every hitch or rasp of her breath that much hotter. He worked hard for those little victories, knowing she couldn’t hold back—knowing she wanted him so bad.
She lay on her stomach, panting, all soft and sweat-slicked beneath him.
“Travis?” Her voice was soft. Not sleepy. Wary.
“Loretta?” He leaned forward to press a kiss against her shoulder blade.
She turned her head on the pillow, glancing over her shoulder. “Did you know Guy was going to ask you about that night?”
“I suspected as much.” He pressed another kiss against her shoulder blade then rolled onto his back, at her side. “It was the first interview.” He stared up at the ceiling and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m ready for all the firsts to be over. I’m ready to move on.”
She was watching him. “And the woman?”
He glanced at her. “The woman from the video? I didn’t know about that.” He shook his head. “It sort of pissed me off.”
“Why?” She turned onto her side, obviously surprised, to face him.
“Because her story makes what I did okay, in a way.” He shook his head again. “But there wasn’t any justification for scaring the shit out of that boy.”
She seemed to be considering his words. “I hear what you’re saying about the kid, but… Travis, that could have happened whether you were drunk or not. If that had happened and I’d seen it? I’d have taken a tire iron to the man’s truck after that—drunk or sober. Hell, he’d have been glad it was only his truck.”
He smiled. “You’d make one hell of an avenging angel.”
She shook her head, studying him for a long time before she asked, “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone what happened?”
“I didn’t want to be let off the hook. It wasn’t about the dick or his truck—it was about the kid.” He swallowed. “I put that look on his face. That fear. I did that. He was scared of me. In that moment, I might as well have been the asshat beating the shit out of his wife.” His throat tightened, so tight he had to force the rest of the words out. “That’s the way she’d looked—that’s the sort of fear he’d inspired. He was a complete asshole. And so was I.”
Part of him wanted her to argue with him. But the other part appreciated that she didn’t. She’d listened to him enough to hear what he was trying to say. Maybe that’s why he kept talking.
