Lone Star Baby Scandal. Lauren Canan

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СКАЧАТЬ could never be discussed or thought of again except in her dreams.

      He turned a switch and the lights dimmed. He pressed her backward against a wall and his hungry lips again found hers. His shirt and jacket hit the floor before he turned all his attention to her. Leaning over, he kissed her ear, alternately nipping and kissing down her throat until he returned to her mouth, his tongue filling the deep recesses until she couldn’t suppress the moan that emerged from deep in her throat. She knew a moment of freedom from the constraints of her strapless gown as it slid down her body to the floor.

      Then she was in his arms as he carried her to the master bedroom, his long strides eating up the carpet. When he put her down, the silken sheets of the bed felt cool against her back as Clay disposed of her panties. Then he was hovering above her, directing her lips to his in the darkness. He kissed her jaw, taking little nips as he went toward her ear. It was seduction of the purest form by the master of the game.

      “You are so damned sexy,” he whispered in her ear, causing chills to run over her skin. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment you walked through my door.”

      He continued to kiss his way down her body, nipping at her throat, sucking first one breast then the other, playing with the stiff peaks, teasing until she wanted to scream. Then he suckled her rosy tips, stopping just short of painful, and the feeling burned hot all the way to her core. Then he moved farther down, as though intent on tasting all of her. As he found the spot at the center of her being, he pushed her legs apart and claimed her forever. She opened to him without any rational thought, her mind sent in a whirlwind by what he was doing. She wanted more. But even in her delirium she knew who it was that was about to push her over the edge. Her boss. She couldn’t follow the thought far enough to care. Before any further doubts could work their way into her mind, she was exploding, gasping for air, clutching him as the climax went on and on.

      One heavy hand remained on her stomach while he opened a drawer next to the bed with the other. She heard the almost silent tear of a packet. Repositioning himself over her he entered her then. Time and all conscious thought disappeared. All she knew was Clay, his scent and the slight rasping of his five-o’clock shadow as he kissed her with full abandon. What was he doing to her body? Incredible things. Touches that singed her until she was drowning in the abyss of his arms. His deep, raspy voice broke the silence as he encouraged her, praised her, whispering raw demands that sent her over the top yet again. Eventually he came with her, his big body straining as they both soared to the heavens. By then she was so inundated with his touches she couldn’t rationalize how many times or how long he’d made love to her. Finally, he separated their bodies, placing her head on his broad shoulder, holding her close. She could hear his rapid heartbeat and feel his lungs gasp for air. With a smile, she closed her eyes and nothing existed but the two of them and the gentle, loving space around them.

      * * *

      “Sophie?” Clay’s deep voice brought her out of the daydream. “Sophie! Hello? Are you okay?”

      A heated blush ran up her neck and over her face as reality came slamming back. She was seated at her desk, staring blindly at her monitor while the phones rang and Clay called her name. She had to get a grip on herself. She kept reliving their one night of passion, first in her dreams then during the day while she was at work. It had to stop. They were attracted to each other but their encounter had taken place more than two months ago and it would not be repeated. It was past time to let it go and move on. Each time he had offered to talk about it, she would find a way to stop him. She didn’t want to talk about it. The night had settled inside her heart as a treasured memory. It had happened. It wouldn’t happen again. End of subject.

      “Yes. Ah...yes. Yep. I’m fine.”

      “I’ve been calling your name for five minutes. Are you sure you feel up to working today?”

      “Yes. Really, I’m good.” She struggled for composure and cleared her throat. If he had any idea of her wayward thoughts, he would never let her live it down. “Just a slight headache. I’ll be fine,” she lied and reached for the phone.

      Clay laid a file folder on her desk with a sticky note attached bearing instructions. Then pursing his lips as though hiding a smile, he walked out the door.

      Sophie hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath and released it now in a sigh. It was almost as if he knew what she’d been thinking. Impossible. He couldn’t read minds. Could he?

      * * *

      Clay Everett stood in the massive glass-walled lobby of the main barn at the Flying E Ranch. He was surrounded by countless photographs and awards. In the corner were silver-embedded saddles on their holding racks with matching bridles hanging over the horn. Oversize belt buckles with gold and silver inlays were displayed in black velvet-lined shadow boxes. Trophies and large silver cups, the competition date and event imprinted on the front of each, rested on the enormous mantel of the natural-stone fireplace. Still more lined the bookcases around the large room. In between were dozens of action shots of various bulls and horses as they tried with all their might to tear their equally determined rider off their back. If you looked at some close enough, you could hear the angry cries of the animal, recognize the fury in its eyes. But you could also see the grit and determination in the rider’s eyes. For the bull, eight seconds to kill. For the cowboy, eight seconds to walk away a champion.

      Then there were older pictures of a young boy: riding his first bull, roping his first calf, his legs barely reaching the shortened stirrups of the saddle. The largest picture in the room was of a man holding up a two-by-six-foot check, made payable to Clayton Everett in the sum of one million dollars, proclaiming him the new American Rodeo Champion. Standing next to him were his barn manager, George Cullen, and Sophie Prescott, his secretary and maybe his best friend in the world.

      He wandered out of the foyer, down the main hall to the east wing. Climbing up a few bleacher steps that overlooked one of the outside arenas and the sloping fertile pastureland beyond, he sat down, marveling at the view all around him. He would never tire of it. Rolling hills, the few that existed in this area, and white pipe fencing as far as his eyes could see. In the distance a herd of longhorns grazed on the irrigated spring grasses. In the first part of October, hundreds of breeders of Texas longhorn cattle would gather at the Lazy E Arena in Guthrie, Oklahoma, to find out who owned bragging rights to the bull with the longest horns in the world. Word had reached him that his ten-year-old bull, Crackers, had horns three-tenths of an inch longer than his chief competitor’s. That should have made Clay happy. But there was more to life than watching horns grow on a damn cow. No one knew it better that he did.

      It had been Sophie’s idea to move his office from his Dallas headquarters to the ranch. At least temporarily. But the arrangement had turned permanent after almost two years. The maze of awards from his cowboy days had been cleared out and moved to the main barn lobby and the workings of his current office had been moved in. Sophie had overseen the move and, as usual, he couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d slid into the burgundy leather chair behind the massive mahogany desk like it was still at the high-rise in Dallas. Everything, from files to computers to office equipment to Sophie’s office, had been arranged almost exactly the way it had been at the other location, thereby eliminating the need to learn a new setup. He could find his way around the new office blindfolded.

      He’d given Sophie free license to do what she wanted with the trophies and awards that had hung for years in the current office space. She’d done it all while he was still in the hospital, his gut torn open by an angry bull named Iron Heart, his left leg shattered by pounding hooves. In the blink of an eye, Clay had been thrown from the animal and gorged before landing squarely on his head, the compression causing him to break his neck, barely missing his spinal cord. It had taken less than six seconds, from the moment the chute door opened to the crack he heard from within and СКАЧАТЬ