Chapter Fifteen
Josh held himself still, staring down at her, entranced by the passion that seemed to make her face glow. Her eyes were half-closed, but she still watched him with urgency and need and even satisfaction, as if she knew what she did to him.
How could she not? He was trembling on top of her, and at last he thrust inside. Swallowing her cry with a kiss, he stayed still, enjoying the heaven of her slick, tight warmth, and used his tongue in her mouth the way he was using his body.
She was undulating against him, and he joined her in that age-old rhythm that swept them both away. Holding back took everything in him, but he tried to read every quiver of her body, and only when she was swept away in an orgasm that made her shudder over and over, did he let himself go, thrusting repeatedly until, with a groan, he stopped moving and lay forehead to forehead with her. Their bodies were slick with perspiration, and just seeing the faint sheen on her breasts made him want to start all over again.
Instead, he slid to the side and pulled her tight against him. She was staring at him wide-eyed.
“What?” he asked, cupping one beautiful breast with his hand and teasing the nipple.
“For a while there, I thought you were superhuman,” she said, smiling even as she shook her head.
“And I proved you wrong by how quickly I finished,” he answered ruefully.
“Oh, no, believe me, I couldn’t have taken much more. You waited just the right amount of time. And practice makes perfect.”
He smiled down at her, then rested his head in the crook of his arm and just relaxed. The breeze was slightly cool on the mountain, but the sun playing peekaboo with the leaves gave them enough warmth. Her nudity was just as elegant as her clothes, and he couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t stop thinking how lucky he was.
He thought about the men she’d dated so casually and knew he could never be that content, that easily sated.
“I thought once we’d made love,” he began, “that a part of me would relax.”
“I think a part of you is doing that right now,” she teased.
But he didn’t smile. “You’ve been like a fire that burned inside me from the moment we met.”
Her smile faded, and she watched him with wary intensity. “Josh… ?”
“And now that we’ve made love, that fire only feels hotter.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “I didn’t know your creativity extended to poetry.”
“I’m serious, Whitney. I won’t be content with bits of you doled out here and there. I want it all with you.”
She sat up, and he knew he’d scared her off when she reached for her bra.
“Josh, We’ve been dating yes, and it’s been fun—you were the one who told me that’s all dating was.”
He gently caught her arm and tried to ignore the wariness in her eyes, which saddened him. “I’m not going to pressure you, and I won’t bring it up again, but I wanted you to know where I stood. But as you know, I’m very good at being patient, and I’m going to keep courtin’ you”—he drawled the word lightly and felt some of the tension leave her—“for as long as it takes.”
She put her bra on, still watching him with faint confusion, but at least the wariness was gone. “For as long as it takes until what?”
He shrugged. “I guess I’ll know when it happens.”
She shook her head and donned the thong next, and he watched it slide up her thighs and barely withheld a groan as it covered the part of her he’d just had but not tasted.
He sat up and leaned toward that perfect juncture, but she held him back.
“Josh, we can’t stay out here all day,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because we both have work to do.”
“I thought I had you for the day.”
“True, but…”
She slipped her cute shirt on, and he knew that he’d lost her. For today, anyway.
He searched beneath the rumpled blanket until he found his jeans. “Okay, guess we’ve taken enough chances on being seen.”
She froze, both feet tucked into her jeans to the ankles. “Seen? Up here in the wilderness?”
“Well, other ranchers have allotments nearby. You never know…” He expected her to berate him or hurry into her clothes.
Instead, she gave him a seductive glance, and said, “Why didn’t you tell me? The fear of being caught might have made everything even better.”
“Not possible. And you’re a she-devil.”
“I try.”
They picked up their picnic, saddled their horses, and made their way slowly back down the mountain. Conversation was easy again, but Josh couldn’t forget that she wasn’t at all pleased he wanted something deeper with her. But he wasn’t dissuaded, especially after they returned to the ranch. They were seen by a group of middle-aged women whom Brooke was giving riding lessons to, and Josh saw them do a double take when he appeared. Ignoring the imminent dispersal of the women, Whitney put him against the wall in a dark corner of the barn and kissed him until he saw stars.
“Worried those ladies’ll lead me astray?” he asked huskily.
“You go ahead and think that, Josh Thalberg,” she answered, then kissed him again.
He was barely coherent when his sister began to return the first of the horses to the pasture beyond the barn. Only a few of them were kept in stalls during the winter—otherwise, they enjoyed the outdoors all year long. And then Steph arrived for a barrel-racing lesson with Brooke, and he found himself leaning against the fence at Whitney’s side, explaining the competition to her.
She could have left anytime, but she didn’t, and that gave him hope.
That night, Whitney went dancing at Outlaws with the girls, who wanted to show her country dancing at its finest. It was the perfect way to take her mind off Josh, who probably wouldn’t dare show up for fear of being mobbed—not that she’d invited him.
The next morning, she was groggy and tired. She should have been able to sleep after a day of riding, dancing—and sex. But instead, she’d lain restlessly in bed because every time she closed her eyes, she’d relived the memory of Josh’s hands practicing magic on her, the faintest whisper of his kisses.
He’d had control of every part of her body, and it unsettled her. He’d stopped her from working her own magic on him, and when he’d gotten her all hot and bothered, she’d simply forgotten. And she never forgot to make a man feel special. She usually enjoyed making sex a lavish production, being every man’s desire. After all, she had to live up to that underwear photo and the fantasies it seemed to inspire.
But Josh had slowed it down and made it all about her, the first guy who ever did. She didn’t like the feeling of vulnerability, of tenderness.
She couldn’t get back to sleep, of course, so she decided to go check out the renovations on the building. It was Sunday, the crew wouldn’t be working, so she could take her time examining the changes.
Sunday morning in Valentine, bells announced the start of church services, something her parents had never considered important. As a kid, she’d been glad not to wake up early; now, as an adult, she sometimes wondered what she was missing. As she walked to Leather and Lace, she passed lots of people heading toward St. John’s, the closest church.
She turned down her street, picking up her speed in her excitement to see the changes… and came to a stop in growing dismay. One of the plate-glass windows was partially shattered. Clenching her jaw, she hurried up the stairs, then gingerly walked across the porch, only to see that most of the glass had blown inward.
She unlocked the door, staring at the mess, knowing there hadn’t been a storm to blow something through. And then she saw a large rock where it had rolled to a stop against a toolbox.
Inhaling at the stab of pain that lanced her chest, she pulled out her cell and dialed 911. Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting on the front stairs when the sheriff arrived. He was an older gentleman in his sixties, a slight belly above his belt, but with shoulders stiff from lifelong military bearing. His white hair was styled in a crew cut, and his piercing green eyes focused on her as he held out a hand.
“Ms. Winslow? Sheriff Buchanan.”
She rose to her feet as they shook hands. “Sheriff, thanks so much for coming so promptly for a non-emergency. I did make that part clear, didn’t I?”
“You did, ma’am. But there’s no sense putting off something important. Vandalism hurts more than the building if you ask me.”
For a moment, she felt the sting of tears as she realized the truth of his statement. It wasn’t just about some punk with a rock, she knew that. It was just another sign that she and her store weren’t welcome in Valentine Valley.
A pickup pulled up to the curb, and she recognized Josh immediately. She wondered if it was the sheriff or one of his staff who’d felt the need to tell Josh what had happened. It made her almost angry, then she reminded herself that it wasn’t Josh she was angry with. He got out and approached, holding out a hand to the sheriff. He was wearing jeans and a light blue buttoned-down shirt, opened at his tan neck.
“Good to see you, Josh,” Sheriff Buchanan said. “I thought I heard you knew this young lady. She’ll need your support.”
Whitney tried to smile. “It’s not all that tragic, honestly. Just a rock. Probably a kid.”
Josh frowned as he stared at the damaged window. “Considering the opposition to Leather and Lace last winter, you can’t assume this was a random act.”
Sheriff Buchanan glanced from Josh to Whitney. “I heard something about that.”
“Who didn’t?” she asked with more sarcasm than humor.
“Was there someone particularly vocal against you?”
She hesitated and met Josh’s eyes. “I can’t believe…”
“Ma’am, just by saying a name, you’re not accusing anyone. I should know everyone who’d have a motive for these damages.”
“The leader of the opposition was Sylvester Galimi,” she said in a wooden voice, then briefly covered her eyes. “Oh, this is foolish. He speaks openly—he wouldn’t hide behind such a cowardly act.”
The sheriff wrote something in a notebook. “Anyone else?”
Whitney glanced at Josh. “I can’t think of anyone else who was as vocal. The rest just followed his lead. Once they lost their complaint to the town council—”
“Complaint?” the sheriff interrupted.
Josh said, “They tried to get her lingerie store classified as pornography, so that it would be denied a permit to open.”
“It didn’t work,” Whitney said, mildly annoyed that Josh had spoken for her. “The town council saw the silliness of it all, and I received my permit.”
“That was last winter, I believe?” Sheriff Buchanan said. “What took you so long to return and start up again?”
She sighed. “I was busy with my other two stores, and frankly, I was hoping some of the anger would die down.”
He glanced again at the broken window. “So who would have been here last?”
“Sweet Construction, and that was yesterday.”
“And Sheriff,” Josh added, “it’s not all that destructive, but someone wrote in chalk on her front sidewalk a week or so ago for her to go back to San Francisco.”
“How could I have forgotten?” Whitney asked dryly.
He closed his notebook. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. Maybe people saw someone lingering here last night. Sorry to meet you under such poor circumstances, Ms. Winslow.” He nodded to them both and left.
Realizing that she was hugging herself as she stared at the broken glass, Whitney dropped her hands to her side.
Josh put his arm around her waist. “You could have called me,” he said in a low voice.
She stared up at him, sensing a hint of anger, which quickened her own. “My first thought was the police. I would have told you when I saw you. Just because we slept together doesn’t mean you’re involved in the more personal aspects of my life.”
He arched a dark brow. “Sex isn’t personal? Oh, sorry, you did tell me it’s that way in San Francisco. But those men weren’t me.”
“Don’t get possessive, Josh.”
“Possessive? All I’m saying is that I care about you, every part of you, and not just your body. I’d like to be of help, not take over.”
She exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. I understand what you’re saying. It’s just that—when you showed up, I felt like I couldn’t be trusted to handle my own problems.” Her biggest worry with her parents.
“We both know that’s not true. Sheriff Buchanan’s clerk called the ranch, since she knew we were close to you. It didn’t occur to me that my arrival would bother you.”
“I know, I know.” She put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Can you forgive me?”
He gave her a gentle hug. “Nothing to forgive.”
She felt strangely safe in his arms and let herself relax and absorb his strength. Gradually, their bodies both seemed to remember what they’d done yesterday, and the intimacy went from comforting to arousing.
She stepped back.
Josh didn’t seem offended. “How about if I go pick up a sheet of plywood while you sweep up the glass?”
“Thanks. I’m sure the Sweet brothers can put in a new pane tomorrow.”
As she watched him measure the window opening, she couldn’t help wondering if someone might just break it again. It was such a troubling feeling.
It didn’t take all that long to dump the glass in the garbage, and Josh returned from Hal’s Hardware. He ignored the girls on their way home from church who snapped his picture and giggled.
When Whitney approached the pickup, she murmured, “I think the women of Valentine Valley have memorized the make and license plate of your pickup.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m ignoring them, remember? I’m not hiding or creating any kind of scene that would be even more fun to photograph. Eventually, they’ll get tired of me.”
She helped him carry the large piece of wood up the porch stairs and held it in place while he nailed it secure.
She stepped back and frowned. “It makes the store look like crap.”
“Luckily, it’s not open. In twenty-four hours, it’ll look like new. Now why don’t you show me around inside?”
And using that easygoing manner of his, he succeeded in calming her down much faster than she would have on her own. He took her out for Sunday brunch at the Silver Creek Café, where they held hands, looked into each other’s eyes, and even shared a conversation. Whitney told herself that things would be more normal between them now. The aftermath of sex was something she understood.
He dropped her off at The Adelaide, and apologized that he couldn’t come in. Sex would have taken her mind off her troubles, she grumbled to herself as she climbed the stairs to her room. So instead, she decided to concentrate on his troubles. When she still hadn’t received a response from the Facebook admin, she logged back in and decided to explore his fan page.
She discovered a fan-club tab she hadn’t noticed the other day, and, to her surprise, they were selling Josh’s autographed photo. Autographed? Now someone was trying to make money off him! It was only seven bucks, and she imagined at least half of that covered the photo and shipping, but still, with thirty thousand “likes,” a lot of fans might be desperate for something he’d supposedly touched. She used to get requests for her autograph, too, back in her Whitney Wild days, and she’d never understood it. There were just some people who liked mementoes.
The directions were easy: send seven dollars cash or money order to Josh’s Fan Club, at a Denver post office box. So who owned the PO box? Whitney knew it was pointless to call the postal service. The names of box owners were private by law. Maybe if she had one of the photos, she’d be able to discover something from it.
But send for it as herself? No way. If this person was truly a fan, he or she would know Josh was dating her. More likely it was someone out to make a quick buck, but Whitney didn’t want to take any chances.
So she called up her assistant to order a photo to his own address, then asked him to forward it on to her.
“Josh’s Fan Club?” Ryan teased. “Isn’t Josh the hot cowboy who’s doing that leatherwork for you?”
Whitney smiled. “So you’ve seen his picture?”
“Who didn’t? You sure you don’t need me up there?”
She laughed aloud. “Trust me, you’d be looking on from afar.”
“Pretty straight and macho, is he?”
“Very straight.”
“And it sounds like you’d know.”
“Ryan!” But she was smiling.
“Sorry, sorry, okay, fan-club photo. I’m on it. So when are you going to be back in town?”
“I honestly don’t know. But my managers are doing a great job, as are you. You can do without my actual presence for a while longer.”
But how long? she wondered as she hung up.
Until the renovations were done. And she’d need to hire a manager, of course, and several sales associates. It was time to get on with that. She opened the browser on her phone and started looking up local sign companies. She’d order a sign that would jut out from the building, so that people on Main Street couldn’t miss it when they glanced down Fourth Street. No one was going to stop her from opening the newest Leather and Lace.