Page 22 of Vaquero
Meg clapped both hands on the shoulders of this big, gruff, too-quiet man.
He cocked his head.
She’d startled him. Well, good. Surprise was a better look in those dark chocolate eyes than that damned stoicism. Thank goodness, there was a tree behind him. Putting all her weight into it, she shoved Julio backward against the sturdy trunk.
He let out a manly “oomph,” but Meg wasn’t offering any quarter, not until he knew precisely how she felt about him. In for a penny, in for a pound. Jerking his shirt up out of his pants, she let her fingers smooth up his belly, then to his chest before he could tell her to stop.
Julio seemed flummoxed, but he was breathing hard and his belly quivered under her touch. Her heart took flight. She’d seen enough of his physique to know he was built like a toned, sculpted Clydesdale.
The desperate beating of butterfly wings fluttered low in her belly. She’d never done anything so brazen. What had seemed like the perfect sneak attack, took her breath now.
But she wanted more.
Rubbing her palms up the warm ridges of taut, hard muscle under that shirt took a lot of nerve. This was no little boy Meg was playing with. Julio was all man, his belly and chest carved from a slab of warm marble. The valley between his pecs felt more like a steep precipice than a slope. This guy was ripped, but his flat, male nipples sprang to life at her touch.
So did hers. Heat coiled in her breasts at the testosterone pouring off Julio. Her entire body flushed with the fire she’d intentionally set. And she was falling.
Before he could open his mouth to argue, she covered his lips and swallowed his words. Then purposefully ran her tongue over the damned seam he’d pressed so tightly into place. Darn this foolish, stubborn man. He groaned, yet even that sounded more of restraint than pleasure. Worse, he refused to let her in.
Wanting more from this suppressed warrior than refusal, she pressed her belly to the zipper of his tactical pants, nudging the gear bag dangling off his shoulder and out of her way. This man had quite the impressive bulge behind that zipper. Wasn’t that a surprise?
Kiss me, damn it. Really kiss me. I know you want to.
One hand went possessively to the back of his neck. Her thumb came to rest at the base of his skull. Her nostrils flared at the heady scent of the aroused male in her arms. Part sweat and part musk, the subtle hint of men’s cologne or aftershave enhanced both odors, turning them into aphrodisiacs. She had him right where she wanted him now.
If only he’d do something besides stand there and take it. But he didn’t lift his arms to hold her or to push her away. Meg really wanted that stoic act to mean something more than goodbye. But after licking his lips and growling her frustration at him, she had to admit, this was a mistake.
Julio didn’t want her. He was a one-track kind of guy. But, unlike most other males, that one track had nothing to do with sex. Or her. Or what she very much wanted to do to him.
Sucking in a deep breath of what-the-hell-have-I-done, she forced her capricious wild side to stand down. Swallowing hard, she stepped back. She’d come to her senses. If any guy had done what she’d just done, it would’ve been termed attempted rape. At the very least, assault.
Meg licked her own lips, suddenly dry with embarrassment. Her lashes fell, hiding what she should’ve guessed all along. Handicapped people were buzz-kills. This all-American, red-blooded male could have any woman. Why would Julio ever settle for a nearly hairless, scrawny woman with big boobs? Even when she’d all but molested him and… Yeah. That.
She got it. Hell, she’d suspected it before. Now he’d confirmed it. If this wasn’t about her handicap, then, for sure, despite wearing no ring, Julio was married. He belonged to that rare breed of men. He was a faithful man, err, husband. Damn. Whoever the lady in his life was, she was lucky. And Meg was a fool.
It sure would’ve helped if he’d worn a ring. Married men should do that. But she should’ve asked, too. He’d just seemed so sad, and the feminine loser in Meg had interpreted that male sadness into a solvable puzzle she could’ve deciphered with enough time, comfort, kindness, and… yes. A healthy dose of lust. At least a kiss that meant something besides goodbye.
“I, ah…” Crap, it was hard to talk with her heart pounding in her throat. “I’m sorry. Won’t do that again. Did I, umm, hurt you?” As if that were even remotely possible.
A warm male finger settled under her chin, forcing her head up. Humiliated, she focused her gaze on the hollow of his tanned neck, instead of meeting his eyes. This guy was ruggedly scrumptious on so many levels. Even his neck was all male. Strong. Resolute. Clean shaven. Lickable...
But yeah, no. She’d read Julio wrong. That mistake was on her, not him. He was the good guy here. She was the village idiot. Now she knew how guys felt when they took a chance and got turned down by the lady they thought they loved. Only Julio hadn’t turned her down. Yet.
But he would.
“Look at me, Meg,” he murmured, his voice as rough as sandpaper over her flaming raw shame. “Please?”
She shook her head. “Nah. Already said I was sorry.”I’ve humiliated myself enough for one day.“Guess it’s really time for you to go. Bye. See you around.”But probably not. You’re too honorable.
Gently, his hands went to both sides of her hard head. Man, this day just kept getting worse. What man on earth wanted a bald woman in his bed?
He cupped her jaw, his thumbs on her cheeks, holding her still. His breath drifted into her face. He’d gotten too close.
Meg squeezed her eyes to forestall the tears. If this was his way of saying goodbye, it wasn’t fair. He was breaking her heart. “Please. Just leave, Juarez. I’ll make sure the kids—”
He kissed her then. His lips fell soft and warm—on her forehead. The manly scrape of his scruff over her skin brought the sweetest, saddest knowledge to her hopeful heart. This was his way of leaving. Treat her like a kid instead of a woman. Deny the only gift she had to offer. She’d never see him again. He meant to disappear into the history books. The story of her life.
Meg reached for his wrists then, needing that small physical contact to keep from falling apart. Okay, so maybe the puzzle she’d been supposed to unscramble had been her, not him. But ever since Ted’s utter betrayal… Ever since that damned stroke… She’d tried so hard to be an attractive woman again. Not just any woman, but a sensual, loving female who could catch some worthy male’s eye. Maybe turn his head. Make him look twice. Or something. Anything but this wretched goodbye scene.
