MisplacedCowboy by Mari Carr and Lexxie Couper Page B

laughed. “Kerri, my mate. I thank you for the beer.”
    Kerrie smirked. “No you don’t. But I thank you for being dreamy
and making my girl here positively glow.”
    Monet’s heart, only having just thought about returning to
her chest, leapt into her throat again. Glow? Oh God, was it that obvious?
    Dylan’s gaze roamed over Monet. “She’s a bit all right,
isn’t she?”
    “That she is,” Kerrie was saying, but Monet barely heard
him. Not when Dylan was looking at her with such smoldering hunger. Such
undeniable want. She swallowed.
    It took a long stretch of silence before she realized the
curator had left them. Where he was, she didn’t know. She licked her lips and
looked around the gallery, seeing two years of her art life on display. The
exhibition had been meant as a statement on desire’s place in society, its
control on people’s lives. Who knew she’d be a victim to that very control
herself?
    “Can I ask a question, love?”
    She swung back to Dylan, her pulse quickening when she found
him standing before her. His hat was low on his head, his eyes shaded by the
brim. She drew in a swift breath, the subtle scent of clean soap and a hint of
eucalyptus doing nothing to settle her turbulent state.
    “Does how much money I have make a difference?”
    “To who?”
    “To us.”
    “There’s an us?”
    His nostrils flared. “Bloody oath, there’s an us .”
    She shook her head. “No. It doesn’t make a difference. When
we first met I thought you were just a cowboy, that’s all. I didn’t realize you
were some über-successful ranch owner. It just…threw me a little is all.”
    “The same way you’ve thrown me, Monet? Like I have no idea
which way is up and if it’s night or day?”
    “Should I say sorry?”
    “No.” He moved closer. “You shouldn’t. You should let me
kiss you.”
    His lips crushed hers, fierce, demanding. Dominating. It was
nothing like any kiss he’d given her before. It wasn’t playful. It was
primitive. Powerful. It made Monet’s pussy constrict, aching to be stretched,
filled. She whimpered into his mouth, her hands sliding up his chest, her hips
pressing to his.
    His tongue delved into her mouth, taking and giving
pleasure. She groaned, the ache in the pit of her belly, between her thighs,
growing hotter. Tighter. If he touched her there now, she would come. Just like
that. She wanted him that much.
    Then take him back home and fuck him. Tonight. Now.
    With more effort than it should have taken, she broke away
from the kiss, holding him at arm’s length, her palms pressed flat to his hard
chest. “Dylan, if we don’t stop kissing…” She paused, her pulse so fast, so
loud in her ears she could barely hear the words forming. “I want you. I want
to make love to you. But…”
    A frown pulled at his forehead. His Adam’s apple jumped up
and down his throat. He drew a slow breath, his chest swelling under her palms.
“Annie.”
    The single word passed his lips. Low, deep and cut with that
accent. That Australian accent.
    Monet’s pussy throbbed. Her clit ached with engorged need.
She let her hands slip down his chest to his belt, over his hip. “Annie,” she
whispered, pressing her forehead to his broad chest.
    Damn it, she’d never been so dismayed to hear her best
friend’s name.
    “How ’bout we go back to your apartment and make a phone
call?” He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her head, giving her a
small smile. “Whether they answer or not, I need to get something off my
chest.”
    Her breath grew shallow. “And what’s that?”
    “How fucking much I want to make love to you.”
    She stared up into his eyes, nodded once and then, her
fingers threaded through his, began to walk to the gallery’s exit.
    She’d never been so nervous about going home. Or so damn
excited.
    The taxi ride took forever. Or at least it felt that way.
Neither she nor Dylan said a word. They sat side-by-side, his palm resting high
on her inner thigh, his