Hometown Cowboy Page 9

  “It’s fine,” Lance said through the beginning of a smile. “It didn’t bother me.”

  Mmm-hmmm. Right. She turned to him, not caring that her face was on fire. “The thing is…it kind of seemed like it did bother you. Like you got all rigid and glared at me. So I wanted you to know, I didn’t mean to make a scene.” Though it seemed to be one of her specialties in life.

  “You’re right.” He wore a full-on smile now, the one that quirked his lips and tugged at the corners of his eyes. “I did get all rigid and glare at you.”

  Well, at least he admitted it. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” Because she would keep her distance. No more humiliating herself in front of Lance. Tomorrow was a new day.

  Lance said nothing, but his eyes stayed with hers as he started to roll the edge of his T-shirt, up over the button fly of his jeans, up over a carved, tanned six-pack…

  Heat sparked in her chest. She shouldn’t be looking. Shouldn’t be ogling. What was he doing? This was highly unfair…

  Finally, he rolled the shirt up his chest…

  “Holy mother of God.” She gawked at the blood-soaked bandage and the purple and blue splotches that mottled his skin.

  “That’s why I was so rigid,” he said, rolling the shirt back down. “And that’s why I glared. It hurt.”

  Air hissed out of her mouth. “Lance. Geez.” How in the world was the man even standing? Breathing?

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ve had worse.”

  Worse? Her ribs ached just thinking about it. She shook her head and tossed the towel aside. “Why do you do that to yourself?” She couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine subjecting herself to pain like that day in and day out.

  “Why do you rescue wounded and lost animals?” he asked her pointedly.

  “Because I love it.” She did, but that wasn’t the whole reason, and it seemed Lance knew that, because he waited for her to expand.

  “And…?” he prompted when she didn’t speak.

  Damn, he was more perceptive than she’d given him credit for. “Aaannd,” she sassed. “Because it’s something I can do to carry on my father’s legacy.” It gave her a connection to him, a way to honor him.

  “We have a lot in common,” he said as though resting his case.

  Maybe so. But dwelling on the things they had in common would not help her put out the flames of infatuation. “You need to redo that bandage,” she said, changing the subject. “Did you even clean the wound?”

  “No,” he admitted, standing straighter. “I was training all afternoon.”

  Now it was her turn to glare at him. “Training? Your ribs might be broken. And not to mention, that cut should probably be stitched. It’s definitely going to scar.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” he insisted stubbornly.

  Not a big deal. Ha! He might be perceptive but he was not as smart as she’d thought. “Have you ever heard of infection? You would not believe the infections I’ve treated. Wounds fester, Lance. They get full of bacteria and then they get worse and worse until—”

  “Fine,” he interrupted before she could offer him the gory details. “I’ll wash it out.”

  “Wash it out.” She shook her head, already heading for the first aid kit she’d seen in the bathroom earlier. “We can’t just wash it out. We’re using the strong stuff.” She marched back into the kitchen and laid out the kit, seeing what she had to work with.

  “Take off your shirt,” she ordered.

  “Gladly.” That naughty smile of his flashed, but she shamed him with a look. This was not a joke. She’s seen animals go septic as the result of an infected wound.

  He peeled off the shirt gingerly, as if every movement caused him pain, and she forced herself not to examine the muscles, the hard flesh. She had to go into full doctor mode.

  Leaning in, she carefully removed the bandage and examined the wound. It had started on one side as a puncture wound, then tore across his flesh with jagged margins. “This is going to hurt,” she informed him.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “It already does.”

  Jessa glanced around. He wouldn’t make it through this without something…

  There. On top of the fridge sat a small collection of Jack Daniel’s bottles. She hurried over and reached for one, then unscrewed the cap. “Here.” She held it out to Lance.

  He accepted with a grin. “You trying to get me drunk?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed, digging through drawers until she found a clean rag. “Trust me. You’re going to want to be good and drunk for this.” Especially if one of his ribs happened to be cracked underneath that gash. The thought brought on a shiver. How had he trained all afternoon with an injury like this?

  “All right, then. Bottoms up.” Lance raised the bottle to his lips and took a hearty gulp.

  Jessa ran the washrag underneath scalding hot water and squirted on some of the antibacterial soap. “Take another shot,” she said, inspecting the wound again. A bandage wasn’t gonna cut it. They needed something to hold the edges together.

  Lance obeyed, albeit wincing. He set down the bottle and swiped his arm across his mouth. “God, that stuff is awful.”

  The words surprised her. “You don’t drink?”

  “Sure, a beer once in a while. When I’m not training. But I’ve never liked the hard stuff.”

  “Well, you’ll like it now. Trust me.” She nodded toward the bottle.

  Making a disgusted face, Lance downed another shot. “Gah.” He pushed it far away. “That’s enough. I’ll be fine.”

  “Suit yourself.” Jessa approached him with the cloth. “I’ll start by cleaning the edges of the wound. We have to clear away the dried blood so we can flush it out.” It was best to start prepping him now. This would be the easy part.

  Lance straightened his upper body, tensing those carved muscles. “Right. Okay. Go for it.”

  Doctor mode, she reminded herself, deliberately overlooking the way his upper body flexed. It was just flesh and muscle. Lots of muscle…

  Ahem. She steadied her hands and carefully pressed the cloth against his skin, lightly running it along the cut’s borders.

  His chest expanded with a breath, and he let it out slowly.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “No worse than I’ve been hurting,” he answered with gritted teeth.

  She pulled back a little. “I’m trying to be careful.” But that would be difficult as soon as she got into the wound. Hence the use of whiskey. “I have to flush it out a bit.” She hurried to the sink and filled a glass with hot water. “This’ll sting,” she warned. Holding a towel beneath the cut, she poured water over the damaged flesh.

  Sure enough, Lance flinched, but she kept her hand and the towel strong against his lower chest.

  When the cup had emptied, she blotted the wound with the towel. “You really should have this stitched up,” she said again.

  “I’m not going to the hospital.” His voice had gotten a bit lazy. It appeared the whiskey had done its job.

  “Well, I can try to pull it all together with butterfly strips.” She riffled through the first aid kit until she found the antibacterial ointment, gauze, and tape.

  With the cleaning part over, Lance seemed to relax. “So why did you think I was glaring at you earlier?” he asked, searching out her eyes.

  Shrugging, she carefully swabbed the ointment thoroughly over the wound. “I guess I thought you were annoyed.”

  His shoulders flinched, but he seemed focused on her instead of the pain. “Why?”

  “Because I made a scene.” With a towel, she carefully cleaned off the excess ointment, then cut the gauze. “Because I was worried about you.” Using some butterfly strips, she secured the bandage and pulled the edges of his skin together.

  “Why would I mind if you were worried about me?” he asked, gazing down at her, his eyes soft and open.

  “I don’t know.” She gently pressed her
fingers against the wound, making sure the dressing would hold. “You seemed put off. Just like you were when I accidentally kissed you.”

  Lance’s breathing had gone shallow, but he didn’t wince. “I already told you. I didn’t mind the kiss. You’re the one who said you shouldn’t be kissing anyone.”

  “I shouldn’t,” she insisted defiantly, peeling the paper off a large bandage, and thanking God she had something to focus on besides his eyes. She plastered the sticky waterproof covering over the dressing and stepped back to admire her work. Yes, her work. Not his pecs…

  “Then why did you kiss me?” Lance asked. His voice had deepened, no longer flippant and teasing, but somewhat solemn.

  He asked as though he really wanted to know.

  Because I couldn’t stop myself. Because he’d been so kind and careful and comforting to her that morning. Because his lips were warm and somehow soft, even though the rest of him was so rugged. She cleared her throat. “I already told you. I was extra emotional that day.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You sure that’s all it was?”

  “Of course,” she lied, straight to his face, locking her jaw for good measure.

  “That’s a shame. Because I happen to think you’re PDF, too.” There was a light in his eyes—a heat that made them downright dangerous.

  She looked away. “That’s the whiskey talking, cowboy,” she said through a forced laugh.

  His huge hand reached up and cupped her cheek, steering her gaze back to his. “No. It’s not.”

  Air lodged in her lungs, giving her chest that wonderful, tight sensation, like any moment it would burst open and the flood of desire would carry her away.

  No. No more getting carried away.

  “It’s not the whiskey,” he murmured, his face lowering to hers. “You’re stunning. And funny. And good.”

  See him as he is… Naomi’s words echoed back to her. She did. She saw everything in his eyes. They were so close. So clear. Holding her gaze with a shameless tenderness.

  “Kiss me again, Jessa,” he tempted. “And I’ll prove how much I don’t mind.”

  This time she did laugh. She couldn’t hold it back. Pressure had built inside of her, and it had to come out somehow. “You’re not attracted to me.” Lance Cortez didn’t want her…

  He took her hand and pressed her palm to the crotch of his jeans.

  Beneath her fingers a hard bulge made her gasp. Wow. Okay, so that was quite impressive…

  “That’s how much I want you,” he uttered. “I haven’t kissed you. Haven’t even touched you. I’m hard just looking at you. Just being near you.” He let go of her hand.

  She quickly pulled it to her side. She was not supposed to be doing this. Not now. And yet she couldn’t run away. Couldn’t even move. Lance still had his shirt off. Oh, why did he have to have his shirt off? He had a body made for touching. So tight and hard, sturdy and strong.

  He watched her, saying nothing. Doing nothing. Just watching her.

  Naomi had a point. He wasn’t marriage material. But should that matter? It wasn’t like she was ready to get married tomorrow or anything.

  And Lance was still standing there. Shirtless. Watching her with those sexy heavy-lidded eyes.

  This was her problem. She overanalyzed things. Thought too much. Tried to plan. A very good-looking man was standing right in front of her. Muscles gleaming in the soft light. Wanting her so badly his groin had to be aching. Asking her to kiss him.

  Screw it. No more planning. She might have sworn off relationships, but technically she hadn’t sworn off kissing. A surge of adrenaline empowered her. “You’re sure?” she asked, desire flooding her throat. Her feet shuffled closer to him, until she stood against his solid body. “You want me to kiss you? Because your life might never be the same after this.”

  “That’s quite the promise.” His gaze lowered to her lips.

  Jessa swallowed hard. Had she ever kissed a man? Well, besides that awkward moment with Lance on the mountain. She’d never instigated it. Men usually kissed her. Should she just go for it and press her lips into his? Maul him? Ease into it?

  “You sure know how to build anticipation,” Lance teased.

  Her face flamed. “Sorry. I’m…I guess I’ve never been the one to start it…” And awkward Jessa was back.

  “I can start it,” he offered. “If it makes you feel better.”

  “Um, yes please.”

  His smile grew and his gaze captured hers. They were magnetic, those eyes. The power of his gaze held her still, everything except for her shoulders, which rose and fell with expectant breaths. Nerves seemed to flow through her blood and lodge in her chest, filling it until it pulled tight at the seams again.

  Taking his sweet time, Lance slid his fingers underneath her chin and drew her face to his, eyes watching hers—no, conquering hers—overriding the subtle knowledge that this was not the best idea she’d ever had.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to be doing this,” he murmured, his lips nearly fused to hers.

  Talk about building anticipation. That deep, rich coffee scent. The way the stubble on his face grazed her skin. Jessa’s head got light. “I talked myself into it,” she whispered, bracing her hand securely against the countertop next to him so she didn’t collapse.

  “I’m glad.” His fingers stroked the skin at her jaw as his lips lowered over hers.

  Her eyes fell shut and blocked out everything except for the feel of his mouth, the curve of it, the wet warmth, the way his lips melted into hers. They were firm, but tender, too, so skilled and wonderful it broke open her chest.

  Heat flowed in until she was dizzy with it, drowning in it, but just as she lost the power to stand on her own, Lance’s hands moved to her hips and hitched her closer to his body. She let herself lean into him, sliding her hands up his ripped chest, lightly sweeping her fingers over the bandage. God, he was perfection.

  His lips moved to her ear, while his fingers carefully brushed her hair out of the way. “I think you’re right,” he breathed. “My life might never be the same.” His tongue traced the ridge of her ear while his heavy breaths grazed her neck and made her legs falter.

  He must’ve felt her wobble, because he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her body against his. “Damn, Jessa…” He kissed his way down her neck. “You smell good.”

  “Vanilla sugar shower gel,” she gasped, letting her head tilt to the side.

  “Mmmm. I like it.” He slid his tongue back up her neck and his lips found hers again. This time he kissed her harder, like he wanted more.

  Yes. More. There could be so much more…

  Lance shifted, guiding her until her back was against the refrigerator. Things were falling, magnets and papers, but none of that mattered because Lance was pressed against her, his tongue stroking hers, his hips grinding against her body. The feel of him hard and desperate against her sent her heart spiraling. A frantic moan escaped, and Lance smiled against her lips. She let her head fall back so she could draw in a breath, but she hit the refrigerator.

  A loud crash froze her. Lance pulled away. Those bottles of Jack Daniel’s that had been on top of the fridge now lay next to their feet.

  “At least they didn’t break.” Lance started to laugh but she pressed her hand against his mouth. “It’s not funny! What if your dad—”

  “What in God’s name is that racket?” came from down the hall.

  “Oh no,” she hissed. “Oh God…”

  Lance still had a big silly grin on his face. “It’s nothing, Dad,” he called, but the man came charging around the corner anyway.

  Jessa pushed back and pretended to inspect the bandage. “Well, there we go. Everything looks good.” She glanced up and forced a smile, but she’d like to bet he could see the vein in her forehead pulsing. “Hey, Luis. Sorry about the noise. I was bandaging Lance up and we accidentally knocked over the bottles.” Her bright red face had to be a dead giveaway that the whole sentence was a lie.
Not to mention her dilated eyes.

  “Uh. Thanks, Jessa,” Lance said, reaching past her for his shirt.

  “No problem,” she intoned, as if answering a complete stranger. “Next time, don’t wait so long to get it cleaned up.”

  A spark smiled in his eyes. “I definitely won’t.”

  Whew. She fought the compulsion to fan her face with a towel.

  “Guess I should get going then.” Lance clapped his dad’s shoulder on his way out the door. “Night, Pops.”

  Luis didn’t respond. He simply watched his son leave, then he turned to Jessa. “So nothing’s going on between you two.”

  She invoked her laser focus to put away the first aid supplies. “Uh-huh. Nope. Nothing.”

  “From what I could tell that was a whole lot of nothing,” Luis muttered as he plodded back down the hall.

  That was one way to put it. A whole lot of nothing.

  Chapter Nine

  The world came back into focus slowly, the way it did when he woke from a dead sleep. Cold air blasted his face. The door slammed shut behind him. Lance stuttered to a stop on the front porch. He should go back in there. Shouldn’t end the night with Jessa like that. Should he? Hell. He didn’t know. It was still hard to think, but it had nothing to do with the shots of whiskey he’d downed.

  He faced the door. What had just happened in there? He’d never planned on kissing her. He’d only wanted to check in, make sure his dad hadn’t given her a hard time today. But then she’d ordered his shirt off. And the way she got so close, her delicate fingers pressing against his skin. It should’ve hurt like hell while she worked on him, but instead it only charged him up, making his body ache with the need for more until it was all he could think about.

  She’d taken her time cleaning the cut, applying the bandages so carefully. She’d taken care of him. No one had ever taken care of him…

  On the other side of the door, lights glowed. Which meant she hadn’t gone to bed yet. Knowing his father, he’d gone back to bed right away. Probably pretended he didn’t suspect anything, just like he always had when Lance was growing up. If he pretended he didn’t see, they didn’t have to talk about it. For once, he was glad Luis didn’t like to meddle.