competitors; they worked hard and played hard—on and off the dirt. She’d seen the buckle bunnies of all ages and sizes constantly vying for their attention.
But she, little city-slicker nobody Channing Kinkaid, had captured Colby’s interest.
So, for some unknown reason, Trevor and Colby courted her shamelessly at every opportunity. Sometimes separately. Sometimes double-teaming her with hefty doses of good ol’ boy charm. It made her wonder what it’d be like to have them double-teaming her in private.
Whoo-ee. With as hard as they rode livestock? They’d probably break the damn bed frame. Or her.
“Come on, Channing,” Colby cajoled. “One dance.”
Jarred from her fantasy of becoming a Colby/Trevor sandwich, she stammered, “I-I’m all wet. And I smell like beer.”
Colby’s hot gaze zoomed to her chest. “I ain’t complainin’.”
“You will be once I’m plastered against you and getting you wet.”
He bent to her ear and murmured, “Nuh-uh, shug. I like my women wet. Really wet. I like it when they get that wetness all over me. All over my fingers. All over my face. All over my—”
“Colby McKay!” Flustered by the image of his dark head burrowed between her legs, his mouth shiny-wet with her juices, she attempted to push him away. He didn’t budge. The man redefined rock solid. No wonder bulls and broncs had a tough time tossing him off.
“You ain’t as indignant as you’d like me to believe, Miz Channing. In fact—” he nipped her earlobe, sending tingles in an electric line directly to her nipples, “—I suspect a firecracker such as yourself prefers dirty talk.”
The subtle pine scent of Colby’s aftershave and the underlying hint of aroused male soaked into her skin more thoroughly than the beer. A purely sexual shiver worked loose from her head to the pointed toes of her cowgirl boots.
“Come on and dance with me. Let’s see if we can’t spread that wetness around a little.” Without waiting for her compliance, Colby tugged her toward the dance floor.
“Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” blasted from the speakers.
The second they were engulfed by the mass of dancers, Colby hauled her flush against his firm body. A big, strapping man, he was hard everywhere—from his brawny chest to his powerfully built thighs. No two-stepping for them. He clasped her right hand in his left, nestling his right palm in the small of her back. That single touch seared her flesh like a red-hot brand.
Lord. And the long hard thing poking her belly sure as shooting wasn’t his championship belt buckle.
“You okay?”
Channing nodded, even when her head spun with the idea the hottest cowboy on the circuit had a massive hard-on for her—right here in front of rodeo queens, stock contractors, old-timers and everyone else.
“See? This ain’t so bad, is it?”
“No. Actually, it’s really nice, Colby.” She rested her cheek on his chest and sighed softly.
“Nice? I’ll take that, though, I’d prefer naughty.” His hold on her tightened. “Be nicer yet if we were naked,” he whispered against her temple.
Naked line dancing. That might be interesting. Gave a new definition to the term swingers.
Booted feet shuffled and stomped in the sawdust. Men and women whirled in flashes of bright fringe and glittering rhinestones. Finally Colby spoke again. “Can I ask you something, sweetheart?”
“I guess.”
“How’d you end up with Jared?”
Because I didn’t see you first.
Channing didn’t look up; rather she studied the pearl studs on his plaid Western shirt. “We met after he did a bull-riding exhibition. We got to talking and I told him I wanted an adventure. We hooked up and here I am. Why?”
“So you ain’t goofy in love with him? Hopin’ he’ll put a ring on your finger at summer’s end?”
“No.” Truth be told, she suspected she’d made a mistake in choosing Jared. Beneath his enchanting Australian accent lurked a moody, possessive man with secrets. She had no idea what to do about it. “Why?”
“This don’t seem like your thing.”
“What? Traveling on the rodeo circuit?”
“Well, that too. But mostly I was talkin’ ’bout a classy broad like you shackin’ up with that lyin’ slimeball.”
Channing glanced up. Instead of acting snappy and defensive, she batted her eyelashes and sweetened her tone. “Why, Colby McKay, I didn’t realize you cared about my virtue.”
“It ain’t your virtue I’m concerned about.”
“Then what?”
His hungry gaze captured every nuance of her face, ultimately homing in on her mouth. Heat from his eyes raced down her spine, gathering in her core. She felt more exposed than if he’d stripped her buck naked.
“Jesus. Every time I look at you I lose my damn train of thought.”