Going Cowboy Crazy Read Free

forward.
    “Lookie what the cat drug in, Slate!”
    The loud conversation came to a dead halt, along with Faith’s breath as every eye turned to her. But she wasn’t overly concerned with the other occupants of the room. Only with the man who lifted his head, then froze withhis fingers steepled over the skinny end of the pool cue. He remained that way for what seemed like hours. Or what seemed like hours to a woman whose knees had suddenly turned as limp as her hat hair.
    Someone coughed, and slowly, he lifted his hand from the table and unfolded his body.
    He was tall. At least, he looked tall to a woman who wasn’t over five foot four in heels. His chest wasn’t big enough to land a 747 on but it looked solid enough to hold up a weak-kneed woman. It tapered down to smooth flat cotton tucked into a leather belt minus the huge buckle. His jeans weren’t tight or pressed with a long crease like most of the men in the room; instead the soft well-worn denim molded to his body, defining his long legs, muscular thighs, and slim hips.
    The hand that wasn’t holding the cue stick lifted to push the misshaped sweat-stained cowboy hat back on his high forehead, and a pair of hazel eyes stared back at her—a mixture of rich browns and deep greens. The eyes sat above a long, slim nose that boasted a tiny white scar across the bridge and a mouth that was almost too perfect to belong to a man. It wasn’t too wide or too small, the top lip peaking nicely over the full bottom.
    The corners hitched up in a smile.
    “Hog?”
    Hog?
    Her mind was still trying to deal with the raw sensuality of the man who stood before her; there was no way it could deal with the whole “hog” thing. Especially when the man leaned his pool cue against the edge of the table and took a step toward her.
    She prepared herself for the loud whoop and the roughmanhandling that would follow. But what she was not prepared for was the gentleness of the fingers that slid through her hair, or the coiled strength of the hand that pulled her closer, or the heat of the body that pressed up against hers. And she was definitely not prepared for the soft lips that swooped down to bestow a kiss.
    It wasn’t a long kiss or even a deep one. It was merely a touch. A teasing brush. A sweep of sweet, moist flesh against startled gloss. But it was enough. Enough to cause Faith’s heart to bang against her ribs and her breath to leave her lungs.
    Wow.
    Her hands came up and pressed against the hard wall of his chest in an effort to balance her suddenly tipsy world. Her eyelids, which she hadn’t even realized she’d closed, fluttered open. Unlike her, he didn’t look passion-drugged. Just cocky and confident.
    “Don’t tell me I left you speechless, darlin’.” The words drizzled off his tongue like honey off a spoon, with very little twang and a whole lot of southern sizzle.
    She swallowed hard as Kenny spoke.
    “She can’t talk. She’s got that there lar-in-gitis, probably from all that actin’ she’s been doin’.”
    A smirk a mile wide spread across Slate’s devastating, handsome face. “Is that so? Well now, ain’t that an interesting state of affairs.”
    “Who cares if she can talk, Coach.” A man behind him yelled. “You call that a welcome-home kiss?”
    Two other men joined in.
    “Yeah, Slate, I kiss my cousin better than that.”
    “That’s ’cause you’re married to her.”
    “And you got a problem with that?”
    “Shut up, you two,” Kenny said. “Come on, Slate, remind her of what she’s been missin’ out on. Give her the good stuff.”
    A look of resignation entered those hazel eyes, a strange bedfellow for the dazzling grin. “Sorry, Hog,” he whispered, right before he dipped his head for another taste. Except, this time, his lips were slightly parted, and the soft kiss brought with it the promise of wet heat.
    If it hadn’t been a year since she’d been kissed, she probably could’ve ignored the tremor that raced through