Taken, Not Spurred (Lone Star Burn #1)(9)
Author: Ruth Cardello

With a hand on the doorknob, he turned and raised one eyebrow in question.

Stay.

Nothing in his expression indicated that he would be the slightest bit tempted to, so instead she said, “Thank you.”

He nodded and closed the door behind him.

Sarah tossed her notebook on the oak nightstand beside the bed and flopped onto a mattress that felt as cold and unwelcoming as the man who had led her to it.

Just because Texas wasn’t living up to her fantasy, the trip wasn’t a complete wash. I didn’t come here to meet a man. Honestly, I didn’t really come to see Lucy, either. I came to find my story.

She rolled onto her stomach and reached for her notebook. Pen met paper with an enthusiasm she’d feared she’d never experience. First she recorded what she didn’t want to forget about the trip, then she tried to capture as much as possible of the story she’d been outlining in her head all day. Two hours later, she flipped back to the first page, reread everything she’d written, and then wrote her painful realizations at the end:

– I’ll need more than my personal experience if this book is going to have sex scenes.

– Is that really how it was? No wonder we broke up. Why did it take me this long to realize how bad it was?

– Twenty-five and I’ve never orgasmed.

What is my problem?

Maybe I was born with a hyperactive imagination but subpar bits and pieces.

Looking around the room and feeling a bit guilty, Sarah stepped out of her shoes, pants, and underwear, then slid beneath the flowered quilt. She ran her hand down her stomach and over her short pubic hair.

Everyone does it.

Some even suggest it as a way to improve your sex life. If you know what pleases you, then you can guide your partner and all that crap.

She had to admit that it felt good to touch herself. She rubbed back and forth a few times, stopping occasionally when she was convinced she heard a sound at the door. She rubbed harder. She rubbed faster. She flipped onto her stomach and rubbed herself against her hand.

Ow, hand cramp. Great. She gave up with a pathetic sigh of resignation and buried her face in her pillow in disgust. Oh, God, I have problems.

Rolling onto her side, she reached for her notebook again and wrote a sarcastic note in the margin:

First attempt at masturbation—fail. Change book title to Ultimate Celibacy: When Even You Don’t Want You.

Sarah added a few more lines, then threw the notebook back onto the nightstand. I thought we had a deal, Texas. You are seriously disappointing me.

Down the hall, clad only in cotton boxers, Tony lay on top of his bedding with his hands clasped behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. I should have thrown her out the moment I met her. No one is as innocent as she pretends to be. The whole story about confusing my horse ranch with a cattle ranch sounded far-fetched from the beginning, but I wanted to believe the implausible could be true.

He should have told her to leave when he caught her with the damning evidence of her notebook. He’d spent too many years avoiding interviews and banning reporters from his property to change now just because she had a body a man wanted to bury himself in. He closed his eyes as if that would diminish how vividly he could remember her long, lean thighs and those deliciously high boots. Whoever she worked for had chosen poorly if they thought that a pair of perfectly shaped breasts and a tight ass would be enough for her to gain an exclusive interview.

So why is she still here?

The reason was standing erect and proud, straining beneath the thin cotton of his shorts. His cock didn’t care if his blonde angel was capable of deception. Was she sleeping? Was she lying there imagining, as he was, what would happen if he crossed the hall and knocked on her door?

I should let her believe she’s conned me and test exactly how far she’s willing to go to get her story. Hell, if she’s good enough, I might even give her a quote to take with her when I throw her cute little ass off my property tomorrow.

No use hoping it doesn’t come to that.

Tony rolled onto his side and punched the pillow before settling his head on it. Even after seeing the notebook, there was a part of him that didn’t want to believe he’d been wrong about her. Those brown eyes were so deceptively open and trusting. The memory of them warmed his heart in a way that confused him.

There’s a slim chance she’s not a reporter.

Why the hell else would she have been taking notes by her car?

What was it about Sarah that made him want to prove her innocence?

He didn’t like puzzles when it came to people. In fact, it had been a long time since he’d cared enough to question anyone’s motivation for anything. Over the past five years, he’d lost interest in most everything. There’d been a time when he’d found a thrill in unlocking the potential of a horse, but even that had waned.

Slowly dying.

Until today.

He slid a hand beneath the elastic of his shorts, took his pulsing cock into his hand, and closed his eyes. His callused palm was a poor substitute for the hot, wet mouth he wanted around him. Not just any mouth—the one that had pouted at him when he’d told Sarah she couldn’t leave. He imagined her opening the door to his bedroom and finding him jacking off.

A smile would spread across her face. She would slowly strip and saunter to the side of his bed, naked and aroused. Tony kept an even pump going while he pictured how she would look. He’d seen enough of her in the shower to be able to picture her all too clearly in his mind. He knew how round and firm her breasts were and how delightfully dark her nipples looked against her otherwise fair skin.

She’d boldly prowl to the bed, placing a foot on either side of his torso, giving him the perfect view of her wet and eager pussy. One of her hands would cup a breast and circle her nipple until it was standing straight with arousal. Her other hand would caress her clit with slow, rhythmic precision until she could no longer contain her moans. Then she’d slip her middle finger inside herself while continuing to rub the heel of her hand against her pink folds.

He jerked in his own hand and tore his boxers off, then relaxed onto his back as he pictured her throwing her head back, her long blonde mane loose and wild down her back, begging for him to bury his hands in it. She’d nibble that lush bottom lip of hers and shudder above him as she brought herself to orgasm. Her juices would run down her hand and she’d turn her hungry mouth to him. She’d swivel, sinking to her knees so her still-swollen folds were easily within his tongue’s reach, and she’d take him deeply into her mouth.