Almost a Cowboy by Em Petrova

it.”
    “Like…dancing?”
    She bobbed her head. “Clubbing. Homegrown bands and a couple drinks. C’mon, it will be fun.” She started rummaging through her duffle and came out with a short black dress. The slinky fabric didn’t bear even a wrinkle after their travels and would hug her curves deliciously.
    “If that dress is part of the proposal, I’m in. But I don’t have anything but jeans and T-shirts.”
    “That’s perfect. Add that hat and boots and mmmm.” Sparks lit her eyes as she studied him. He nudged his stiff cock to keep it from being pinched in his jeans, and she laughed. “Hold on to that thought.”
    By the time they left the hotel and strode through the streets of the downtown area, he’d caught a little of her excitement. The floral perfume she’d spritzed behind her knees, on the undersides of her wrists, and in her cleavage tormented him.
    “Where are we going? Have you been to Denver before?” he asked.
    Neon lights splashed the sidewalk. He stared at the ground ahead of them, startled to find there were no shadows.
    She hooked her arm under his, nestling against his side. “I’ve been here a few times.” As if guessing his thoughts, she added, “Alone.”
    A dark, shiny building with plenty of glass and red neon loomed up, and she tugged Utah toward the entrance. A bouncer stood there, beefy arms crossed. He took one look at Caroline and flicked his head for them to enter. He didn’t even ask for cover.
    As they stepped into the club, the music throbbed in Utah’s chest. He scanned the space—sexy bar, high-backed chairs, silvery dance floor pulsating with bodies.
    Young bodies. Is this how he and Caroline might have spent a Friday night in their youth? Somehow he didn’t think so. She was more of a jeans-wearing, pushing-off-the-porch-swing-with-a-bare-toe, and snuggling-while-looking-for-shooting-stars kind of gal.
    Wasn’t she?
    She linked their fingers and hauled him right onto the dance floor. Utah froze like a fox caught in the beam of a farmer’s flashlight. Music jarred his eardrums. Caroline’s face was alive in a way he’d never seen.
    It scared the hell out of him.
    She started to sway. The tapping of her heels was lost in the noise, and her mouth moved, but he couldn’t hear her.
    Leaning close, he clamped a proprietary hand on her hip. “What?”
    “Move! Pretend it’s the senior prom.”
    “Oh Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and tentatively shuffled his feet. Slow dancing he could do. This fast gyration was beyond a man like him.
    She crushed her body against his, throwing her arms around his neck. Her silken heat made him think of steamier nights. He lashed her to him and began to move.
    Their slow grinding motions ratcheted up his desire. His cock thrust against his jeans painfully. For long minutes, he lost himself in her eyes and in the feel of moving with her.
    She cupped his head and dragged him down to her mouth. The flicker of her tongue against his drew a long groan from him. She angled her head and kissed him deeply.
    Passion ruled. The music echoed in his ears, but somehow he only heard his tripping pulse and Caroline’s rough breathing.
    The song ended, and she tore herself from his embrace. He grasped at the air. She tossed him a dark, hooded look and vanished into the crowd.
    He shoved through bodies. Primped, overly made-up women gathered around him, but he only had eyes for his tempting little country girl.
    When he caught up to her, she was at the bar ordering drinks. She picked up two shot glasses and handed one to Utah. He wrapped his fingers around hers and held her gaze. Her cheeks were pink, and a dew of perspiration glinted on her throat and the swells of her breasts.
    As she raised the glass to her lips, she never removed her stare from his. He watched her toss down the drink like a pro.
    It had been a mighty long time since he’d drunk anything but beer. The strong smell of whiskey burned his nostrils. He knocked back