Mocha Latte (Silk Stocking Inn #3) Read online

  I pulled off my saddle and followed him.

  He lifted the saddles back onto their racks. Before I could walk back out, he took hold of my hand. He turned me to face him and pushed my chin up with the side of his finger. His focus went straight to my lips again. I crossed my toes in my boots that this was leading to the much anticipated kiss.

  “Two rules for this weekend.”

  “Yes?” The waver in my voice caught me off guard just as the moment had.

  “These lips—” He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip. “Are mine for the next forty-eight hours.” He dropped his brazen gaze to my body. “This delectable set of curves are mine too. And, most importantly, you leave here forgetting everything about that dimwit asshole except that he is a dimwit asshole.” He lowered his mouth to mine and pressed it over my lips. It was a gentle, teasing kiss that did not disappoint and left me nearly frantic with wanting more. Just one, easy kiss and my mind fuzzed up with erotic urges and images.

  He lifted his face. I opened my eyes and gazed up bleary eyed at him. “Three,” I said on a sigh. “That was three rules.”

  “Was it? Lost count.” He lowered his mouth to mine again. He smelled of man’s soap, hay and the sweet grit of the work day. It was the best damn fragrance in the world.

  “See what you’ve already done to me, woman? And I’ve only kissed you. You just might have my head spinnin’ before this weekend is over.”

  Chapter 10

  Jackson had things to finish up in the barn and I, feeling beyond giddy from the flirting, something we’d quickly gotten down to an art, headed back to the inn for a much needed shower and rest.

  Coco was just coming down the stairs as I reached them. “I just put some fresh towels and a little something for sleep time in your room.” She was always wearing a smile that seemed to indicate that she knew even my innermost thoughts. “Sometimes it’s fun to wear something that feels just a bit naughty, don’t you agree? It’s a luxury we girls should never ignore. I’ve made some chocolate chip cookies. I’ll bring you up one. I’ll leave it outside your door in case you’re in the shower.”

  “Thanks so much, Coco. This place is wonderful. Five star all the way. Actually, your baking might even be in a star rating system of its own.”

  “Well, good night then, Becca. See you in the morning.”

  I stepped inside the room. It looked even cozier in the deep shadows of night. I walked to the window to lower the drapes. In the distance, I could see Jackson walking out of the barn. His broad shoulders and cool swaggering stride unfurled heat in my pussy, a profound reaction I hadn’t expected. I dropped the drapes and wondered where the man slept. I supposed it was possible that he had a room downstairs.

  The bathroom had been updated with the glass and tile of a modern bathroom. The shower was spa-like, and I spent far too long in the warm mist, not wanting to leave its comfort. I’d needed this, all of this, cowboy included. In one short evening, Jackson had restored some of the confidence I’d lost.

  I coaxed myself out of the shower and was reminded that Coco had left something for me to wear to bed. I patted myself dry. Even her towels were ethereal. I walked into the bedroom and saw, for the first time, a shimmery pink puddle of fabric sitting on the antique dresser.

  I hurried over, excited to see what she’d left for me. I lifted up the light-as-air garment. Although, calling it a garment might have been a stretch. It was more a whisper of satiny material held together by gossamer and lace. The nightie was in the short baby-doll style one might wear on a wedding night, with two panels that opened down the middle. The satin panels were attached to a bra-like top that was made from a material so sheer, it wouldn’t conceal the tiniest freckle. The straps were spaghetti thin, and the matching panties were a thong consisting of thin lace and a pink satin triangle. I was standing alone in a room and only holding the lingerie, but it made me blush pink to think of wearing it.

  Then Coco’s words came back to me about wearing something naughty now and then just because. It was certainly overtly sexy and feminine. And I needed to feel sexy and feminine. What could it hurt? Not to mention, my work clothes and the jeans and shirt that I’d worn to the barn, weren’t really suitable or comfortable for sleeping.

  I dropped the towel and slipped it on. I allowed myself a few minutes of modeling the itsy bitsy nightie in the mirror. It was definitely the height of provocative. Instantly, it made me feel, just as Coco had suggested, naughty. And I had to admit, I looked pretty good in it too. I briefly imagined myself taking a selfie and sending it to Nate. Just as quickly, I wanted to kick myself for even thinking it. Nate had lost his privilege of seeing me in see-through lingerie. I so needed to get that asshole out of my head for good.

  The scent of brown sugar seeped under the door, and I quickly remembered the promise of a chocolate chip cookie. I looked down at my attire, or lack thereof, and reached for the shirt I’d worn down to the barn. It smelled distinctively of horse, and I was flowery fresh from my shower. The cookie was right outside the door. Chocolate chip was well worth the risk.

  I opened the door and peered out, keeping my scantily clad body hidden from the empty hallway. I leaned my head out farther. Unfortunately, the cookie couldn’t be reached from where I stood. It looked utterly delicious, and I had no intention of leaving it in the hallway.

  I looked both ways, as if crossing a busy street rather than stepping into a completely deserted hallway. I heard some light rustling in the room across the way, which was unexpected because Jackson had mentioned that I was the only guest this weekend. I dashed around the edge of the door and leaned down to pick up the plate. A breeze, an unexplained movement of air, brushed my half-naked bottom, and my bedroom door snapped soundly shut.

  The cookie nearly slid off the plate, but I caught it before tragedy struck. I hadn’t locked the door. I reached for the knob with my free hand. The knob turned, but the door was stuck. I rocked it with one hand, sure it would pop open. It didn’t.

  Always being the multi-task type, I slid a buttery edge of the cookie into my mouth, put the plate on the ground and used both hands to open the door. It didn’t budge. I shook it wildly, sure that there had to be some way to open it. The knob was turning, assuring me it wasn’t locked.

  I heard a door behind me open, and another cool breeze tickled my naked ass and lifted the shimmery panels of the nightie up like wings. I froze in horror, sure that I’d turn around and face some nice elderly couple who had decided to stay the night, or worse, two teenage boys who were just running down to the kitchen to get cookies.

  “Need some help with that door?” His deep, already familiar voice should have calmed my earlier terror, but the feeling only intensified. Had I been delusional about the way I looked in the scant piece of satin? I was suddenly feeling more ridiculous and self-conscious than I had in my entire life.

  I turned around, so worried about the lingerie that I’d completely forgotten about the cookie dangling from my mouth. I bit down and the rest of the cookie dropped to the floor. I stared down at it, and temporarily wondered if I could apply the five second rule at such a vulnerable time. Probably not a good idea. I slowly lifted my gaze.

  Jackson had taken time to pull on his jeans, but he hadn’t bothered to button the fly. My eyes traveled along the black line of hair as it dissolved away to naked skin beneath the opening on his pants. I swallowed hard as I took in the rest of him. His bare chest and shoulders were taut with the muscles of a man who didn’t shy away from hard work . . . and hard play, no doubt. I curled my fingers to keep from reaching out and running my hands over his tanned skin.

  “Holy shit, woman.” Jackson’s green eyes darkened to emeralds as he boldly looked me up and down. “You trying to send me to an early grave?”

  I lifted my hands hesitantly to my sides. “Do you like it?”

  He star
ed far longer than would be considered chivalrous at my nearly naked breasts and then lifted his heavy, heated gaze to my face. “What the hell do you think? Came out to help you with your door, but sure didn’t expect this kind of a thank you. You just made my night, Spunky.”

  My body was trembling with nerves, but my mind was telling me to take the chance. It was my weekend away, away from everything that had happened. My new welcome to a decidedly more exciting social life.

  “I’d invite you in if I could get the door to open.”

  Without hesitation, he reached past me, shrouding me with his incredible body heat as he leaned forward stopping just inches from me. Behind me the door clicked easily open.

  His smooth brow arched, and he grinned down at me as if this had all been an act.

  “I promise you it wouldn’t open.”

  “I believe ya. I got the door open. Is the invite still good?”

  I hesitated, naturally. I hadn’t been with another man in six years. My confidence in that area was lacking completely. After so many years with the same man, sex had become rather pedestrian, unfortunately. We followed a plan, almost as if our entire sex life had been outlined and we had to stick to that outline or risk an unhappy ending. Maybe it was that routine in bed that had pushed Nate out the door? Even though I hadn’t been solely to blame for our dull, predictable sex life.

  Jackson took my hesitation as a no. “Well, I’ll leave you alone then. Just thought you might be up for some fun.” He glanced pointedly down at my erotic sleepwear. “Shame to waste that patch of satin on a night alone though.” He turned to walk back to his room. The smooth, well-toned expanse of his broad back made my pulse race.

  I took a deep breath. “Jackson?”

  He turned back to face me. A little shortness of breath accompanied my racing pulse.

  “The invitation still stands—if you’re interested.”

  “Interested?” A short laugh followed as he raked his fingers through his dark hair. “Looking at you standing there in that sexy nightgown, Becca, gives interested a whole new meaning.” He took hold of my arm and pulled me into his strong embrace. His mouth came down hard over mine.

  It was as if his kiss had lifted my feet from the floor and stopped time and motion. I hadn’t even felt myself move. I hadn’t heard the door shut behind us. By the time I’d gained my composure long enough to open my eyes and find out if I was dreaming or not, I was standing in Jackson’s arms inside the solitude of my lushly furnished bedroom.

  Jackson’s mouth stayed pressed against mine as he lowered his arms and slid his hands between the panels of the nightie. He stopped long enough to gaze down at the skin he’d exposed. “Every inch of you is fucking priceless, Becca,” he muttered quietly.

  His words made me smile. “I’ve been called many things,” I sighed as his hand smoothed over the skin of my stomach. “But never priceless.”

  Jackson lowered his head as his hands came up along my arms and slid the thin straps off my shoulders. The nearly transparent lace fell beneath my breasts.

  He pressed his mouth on the round swell. “Fucking priceless,” he muttered again.

  My arms wrapped around his head as I held him against my breast. His tongue flicked against my nipple, teasing it to a hard, tight bud. I ran my hands down over his rock hard shoulders and back. The muscles in his body tensed and stretched as he kissed and caressed my skin.

  My pussy was aching to be touched, kissed and caressed as well, but he took his time, almost as if he didn’t want to scare me off. A breath of disappointment ushered from my lips as he lifted his mouth away from me. His green eyes were enough to melt me into a puddle at his feet. But I held it together, even with the pulse between my legs nearly screaming out for him.

  “I meant what I said in the barn.” He reached up and dragged his callused thumb along my bottom lip. “These lips.” He dropped his gaze to my body. “These curves. Mine for the weekend.”

  A shiver of excitement coursed through me as he spoke, confident, demanding and impossible to say no to.

  “Do you trust me enough to give yourself to me for a weekend, Rebecca?”

  “Trust you? Heck no.”

  His face smoothed in disappointment.

  I reached up and curled my hands around his neck before he had a chance to pull away. “If I did, then this wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

  His mouth tilted slightly. “Is that a yes?”

  “You have forty-eight hours, cowboy, to make me believe that I’m truly priceless.”

  Jackson’s hands came up, and he took hold of my face. “Easy as buttermilk pie.” His mouth pressed against mine.

  Chapter 11

  Not wanting to be completely reckless in a world where reality could easily come back to bite you in the butt, Jackson and I had the obligatory conversation about protection. I was on the pill, and after discovering that my fiancé had been with someone else, I’d hastened myself to the doctor for a quick blood test. Jackson had recently donated blood. So we had those questions out of the way. He’d returned to his room to shower, something he’d been on his way to do before rescuing me from the hallway.

  I sat amongst the sea of pillows on the bed and flipped through a magazine that had been left on the nightstand, a periodical completely devoted to raising chickens. I was nearly a chick rearing expert by the time Jackson knocked on the door.

  The sound of it made me tremble with nerves. I’d never done anything remotely close to this, and I wished that in the interim, rather than increase my knowledge about chickens, I’d gone downstairs for a glass of wine. Maybe two.

  “Come in.” I sounded like a frightened child.

  Coco’s face poked inside, and I covered myself with the magazine. As if she’d read my mind, she walked in with a tray carrying a carafe half filled with red wine and a glass.

  “Coco, it’s as if I have my own personal fairy godmother this weekend. I was just thinking about a glass of wine. It will—it will help me sleep. Sometimes I have a hard time getting a good night’s rest in a strange place.” I’d lost the frightened child tone, and now I was talking overly loud and fast, like anyone with a guilty conscience might speak.

  She lowered the tray onto my nightstand. A few of the phantom age lines appeared and then smoothed away. “Then I’m glad to grant you this wish.” She winked as if there was far more to the quip than she was letting on. Magical or not, she always seemed to know what I was thinking.

  Coco looked pointedly at the magazine covering my nearly naked body. “I’ll let you get back to the chickens then.” She walked toward the door. “The section on chicken feed is very informative.” She closed the door behind her.

  I kept my fingers crossed that she would not run into Jackson coming across the hallway.

  ***

  Turned out there was no worry of Coco running into Jackson. I’d gotten through chicken feeding and even memorized the characteristics of certain breeds. There was still no sign of Jackson. The half bottle of wine was down to its last drops, and my excitement was too. Apparently, sleep had been far more alluring to Jackson than me in my skimpy baby doll. There was no way not to feel completely disappointed and embarrassed.

  I turned off the lamp, dropped the magazine on the nightstand and finished the drops of wine. Feeling sufficiently buzzed and humiliated, I burrowed down under the quilt and closed my eyes.

  I hadn’t drifted into sleep as much as I’d floated into a wine filled cloud. My head was spinning, and some of the harsh edges of being stood up were dulling. In the midst of the warm cocoon of downy feathers and darkness, I felt fresh air brush over my forehead, the only part of me still above blankets.

  “You still in there, Spunky?” The deep voice zapped me from my wine haze. His big fingers pushed the top of the quilt down so my eyes were visible. Hi
s hair had been washed and brushed back, and he’d put on a blue shirt and jeans. He cleaned up spectacularly.

  “Thought you got swallowed up by this big ole bed.” Without another word or response from me, and in one swift movement, he had me peeled from my quilted cave and in his arms.

  He kissed me lightly on the mouth and then licked his bottom lip. “Hmm, wine. I like it. How much did you have?”

  I lifted my hand with about an inch of space between my thumb and forefinger.

  “With the way you’re struggling to keep those beautiful eyes open, I thought it had been more.”

  “Well, that’s how much I poured into the glass each time.”

  “Each time?”

  “Well, not each time. The last bit was so small, I decided to just chug it from the bottle. Not one of my classier moments, but I didn’t want to waste any.” I looked at him with as much direct focus as I could muster. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “No chance of that, baby.” He tossed me up a couple of inches to get a better grasp of me and headed to the door.

  “Where are you taking me in my state of undress?” Suddenly, the notion of my scanty attire shocked me closer to sobriety. I wriggled in his arms. “You’re not carrying me out of the room like this, are you?”

  “Uh, as I recall the last time I saw you, you were standing in this in the hallway with a cookie dangling from those amazing lips.”

  “That was accidental exposure and you know it.”

  He sighed and lowered my feet to the ground. “Guess it will be too cold anyhow. Just a minute.” He lifted a finger at me. “Don’t move.” He left the room, and I wondered if my bout of self-consciousness had spoiled the fun. He returned seconds later with a denim jacket. With a gentleman’s touch, he put the coat on me. I was swimming in it, and my hands disappeared at the ends of the sleeves. The bottom came mid-thigh. It was faded and soft and lined with flannel, flannel that had the distinct fragrance of the man himself. It was a leathery, grassy cowboy smell that made me feel homesick and, at the same time, giddy with the thought of being with Jackson.