Burn for Cowboy (Stampede Sizzlers) Read Online Free Page A

don’t win, you don’t eat.”
    “Gold medal,” she said, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
    “Gold medal,” he repeated.
    “Hey, little love,” she said in a deep voice, mimicking his words, “you know what would be a neat getaway? The Calgary Stampede. Getaway,” she said in her normal voice, “my ass.”
    His hand gave her ass cheek a sharp slap. “It’s a nice ass. I gave you a parade. I bought you jewelry and a hat. In a few hours you’ll get fireworks. You’re eating a candy apple. And earlier I beat your ass with a belt. How much more of a getaway do you need?”
    Meri grinned then stretched up to kiss his jaw. His hand squeezed the ass he had taken a belt to earlier. He returned to his scouting, watching everything from the way the cowboy settled onto the horse’s back to the way he landed at six seconds. That cowboy’s name was not crossed off the list.
    Her gaze wandered around the people watching the happenings down in the dirt. There were a few suits scattered throughout but not many. Most were in citified country gear like her. Jeans, a western shirt, though hers was just a plaid button shirt over her tank top, and a cowboy hat.
    The Stampede, she realized, was an equalizer. You didn’t know if you were sitting beside a millionaire or a stay-at-home mom.  Meri turned to look at the sea of people behind her. She had the feeling they understood as much about the various rodeo events as she did. But it was like skating. You knew when something went right and when someone landed on their ass, you knew when something went wrong. So you cheered when it was good, and you gasped when it went bad.
    Toying with the fingers curled over her thigh, Meri turned her attention beyond the people to look at the field where some guy clung to his horse. There were seats down below. Talk about getting close to the action. “How come we aren’t sitting down there?”
    “You know what it smells like down in the infield? Shit. Shit and sweat.”
    “So we’ll be down there tomorrow?”
    His lips curled. He made a note on the paper.  “I wanted a bigger scope today. You can see more here. Down there you’re up close and personal with the dirt and ride. Eat your apple, Meredith.”
    She studied his profile as he worked, making her way through the layer of sticky sugar to get to the Macintosh apple beneath. She knew his face better than anyone else’s. The bump in his nose, the scar by his eyebrow from a hockey stick, the square line of his jaw. The black hair that had a few more strands of grey than when she first met him. It wasn’t a gentle face.
    When she looked at him she didn’t think that Michael Rossi was a sweetheart of a man.
    She looked at him and thought of sex. Silly but true. He was raw and edgy, hard and unrelenting. Power and strength.
    Sex.
    He turned, looking away from the – what had he called it? – infield and met her gaze. Her heart raced hotly in her chest and it felt like flashes of heat exploded in her stomach. This sexually aggressive, dominant male was hers. She belonged to him. As always a whisper of disbelief moved through her.
    The hand on her hip slid over her denim-clad thigh then between her legs. The massage was anything but soothing and need began to flicker to life as he touched her. Automatically she shifted so the heel of his hand rested over the piercing she had gotten for him three months ago. She couldn’t look away from the bottomless brown of his eyes as he worked his strong fingers against her pussy until she was wet and throbbing. Her fingers clung to the wooden stick of her treat like it was a lifeline. The crowd gave an enthusiastic cheer; he squeezed and rubbed.
    “You made me miss a ride. No orgasm for you.” He wrote a question mark beside the name and returned to watching, though his hand continued between her legs until she swore she was going to erupt into flames. “Eat your apple, Meri.”
    Need and want warred within her. Eat? Eat what?
    He kept up