Texas Outlaws: Billy

“Maybe, but this isn’t about a date.”

“What is it about?”

“It’s about sex, darlin’.” He pulled her closer, plastering them together from chest to thigh, holding her securely with one arm around her waist. “Lots of breath-stealing, bone-melting sex.”

Billy’s words slid into her ears, coaxing her to soften in his arms the way the warm heat of his body urged her to relax and let her guard down.

Fat chance.

The last thing she needed was to wind up in bed with a cowboy. For all her determination to find as many hunky, Wrangler-wearing hotties as possible, she wasn’t looking for one for herself. Sabrina Collins didn’t do cowboys. She’d seen firsthand just how unreliable they could be, and she certainly wasn’t interested in spending the rest of her life with one.

Then again, Billy Chisholm wasn’t exactly proposing marriage.

“You smell like cotton candy,” he murmured, his rich, deep voice sizzling over her nerve endings.

“A cotton-candy martini. The out-of-towner special over at the bar. About the sex thing, I’m really not interested.”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t you like sex?”

She gave him a pointed stare. “Maybe I don’t like you.”

“Sugar, you don’t even know me. I’m a great guy. Awesome.” The teasing light in his eyes eased the stiffness in her muscles and she felt the flutter of butterfly wings in her stomach. A good sign if she’d just run into a nice-looking guy at her local Starbucks. But Billy Chisholm wasn’t your average Joe and she wasn’t letting herself get sucked in by his Southern charm.

Still. He talked a good talk. She arched an eyebrow. “Awesome, huh?”

“In bed and out.”

“Most men who walk around talking about how awesome they are in the sack usually aren’t much to talk about.”

“I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

She wanted to.

Her hands crept up the hard wall of his chest, her arms twined around his neck and she leaned closer.

His heart beat against her breasts. His warm breath sent shivers down the bare column of her neck. His hands splayed at the base of her spine, one urging her even closer while the other crept its way up, as if memorizing every bump and groove, until he reached her neck. A few deft movements of his fingers and the tight ponytail she wore unraveled. Her hair spilled down her back.

His hand cradled the base of her scalp, massaging for a few blissful moments, making her legs tremble and her good intentions scramble.

For the next few moments, she forgot all about her website and the all-important fact that she was supposed to be working right now.

She tilted her head back and found him staring down at her, as if he wanted to scoop her over his shoulder and haul her home to bed.

She had a quick vision of him wearing nothing but his cowboy hat, looming over her, his muscles gleaming in the moonlight as he loved her within an inch of her life.

And then walked away the next morning.

And that was the problem in a nutshell.

Sabrina had been there and done that. After she’d left home at eighteen, she’d been hellbent on not falling in love, and so she’d focused on lust. She’d indulged in too many one-night stands during those slutty college years, and beyond. Until she’d watched one of her roommates, Kat, meet the man of her dreams and fall in love. That had been two years ago when Kat had been a kindred spirit. A faithful believer in one-night stands just like Sabrina. Until she’d met Harry. He was an accountant by trade and living proof that there were a few good men out there. He didn’t lie or cheat or try to charm his way out of a difficult situation. He relied on honesty and integrity and he made Kat feel like a queen.

Sabrina wanted a Harry of her own and so she’d stopped wasting her time with one-night stands.

Sure, she liked sex, and she sure missed it after eleven months of celibacy—the amount of time since her last relationship—but she also liked camaraderie. She wanted a man to make her pancakes the next morning. A man who called if he was running late after work. A man who wouldn’t turn tail and run at the first sign of commitment.

A man who could give her more than just a really great orgasm.

Not that she minded a really great orgasm. But she preferred the friendship that came with an actual relationship. And when she wasn’t in a relationship like now? She had a vibrator that could deliver without all the awkwardness that followed a brief sexual encounter.

No fumbling for clothing or making promises that would never be kept. A vibrator was simple. Easy. Honest.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea. If you’ll excuse me...” She didn’t wait for a response. She darted away from him and left him staring after her.

His gaze drilled into her, and it was all she could do to keep from running back and begging him to give her the ride of her life.

He could. She knew it. She felt it.

She headed for the rear exit. Out in the parking lot, she climbed behind the wheel of her ancient Bonneville. She gave one last look at the exit door, half expecting, half hoping that he would come after her. He didn’t, and a swell of disappointment went through her, quickly followed by a wave of relief.

The last thing, the very last thing she needed in her life, was to fall into bed with the exact type of man she’d sworn off of years ago.

Her father had been a cowboy. A charming, salt-of-the-earth type, who worked from sunrise to sunset and never complained. But while he had a strong work ethic, his moral code had desperately lacked. He’d had an easy grin and a weakness for loose-looking women. He’d cheated on Arlene Collins regularly, always smooth-talking his way back into the house after a night of carousing with every female in their desperately small town. Arlene had forgiven him, catered to him, loved him, in spite of his good-for-nothing ways. She’d been a minister’s daughter who’d taken her vows very seriously. Therefore, she’d stuck by him through all the bad times, eager to keep her marriage together and make it work. But she’d never really been happy because Dan Collins hadn’t been a forever kind of man. He’d been the play-the-field, charm-you-out-of-your-panties sort. The one-night-stand kind.

Just like Billy Chisholm.

Sabrina wasn’t making the same mistake her mother had. At this point in her life, she was done with just sex. When she invested herself in a man, it would be one who would—could—love her and only her. A man who wouldn’t spend every Saturday night cruising the local honky-tonk, picking up women, propositioning them.

Eventually, that is.

At this point in her life, she was busy with her career, dedicated to making her online-dating service a huge success. She needed a big payoff so that she could pay off her student loans, get herself out of debt and get on with her life. As a serious journalist. The website would give her the financial stability she needed right now. That’s why she was here in Lost Gun—for the money. Not to find a date, much less a one-night stand.

Especially a one-night stand.

Sabrina didn’t do one-nighters. And she most certainly didn’t do cowboys.

Not now. Not ever.

No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.

* * *

HER CAR WOULDN’T START. The truth sank in after Sabrina cranked the engine a record ten times, until the loud grumble turned into a faint series of clicks that filled her with a sense of dread.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened. The car was over ten years old. A clunker she’d inherited from her grandfather before leaving town all those years ago. While she did her best to keep up the oil changes and take care of her one and only means of transportation, she’d found herself stranded here lately more times than she could count. She needed a new car. Even more, she needed the money to afford a new car. She rested her forehead on the wheel and cursed the pile of junk for several seconds before gathering her resolve and popping the hood. Outside, she lifted the heavy metal, grabbed a rag she kept stashed in the front grill and started checking her battery connections.