Gentling the Cowboy by Ruth Cardello

was a release after the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on. Maybe it was temporary insanity due to excess sexual frustration. Whatever it was, she hid her forehead in Tony’s chest and gave in to a fit of laughter. She laughed until tears were running down her face, then settled back onto her heels to wipe a hand across her wet cheeks.
    When she peered up, Tony was glowering down at her again. Sarah raised a hand and touched one of his cheeks gently.
    He inhaled sharply and covered her hand with one of his own. Then he turned away, took her horse by the reins, and handed them to her. “Might as well head back.”
    Sarah swung herself up onto her horse and waited for him to join her on his own. As they rode side by side back into the open field, Sarah couldn’t help but say, “If you want, you can threaten me again when we get back to your house. I thought it was really hot.”
    A slight flush spread up his neck and across his cheeks before he turned his face away, and they rode again in silence.
    Which was a good thing, because he missed the huge smile that spread across Sarah’s face.
    You might fool everyone else, Tony Carlton, but I’m onto you.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    A few hours later, Sarah sat in a swing on Tony’s porch with her notepad and pen on her lap. After helping her check that Scooter was indeed unhurt by his excursion, Tony had announced he had a few things to do that afternoon—alone. David said he’d headed into town.
    Not exactly how I thought our return would go.
    She smiled as she imagined them galloping to the porch, both coming to a sliding stop just in time. He’d jump down, pull her from Scooter, toss her over his shoulder, and, taking the stairs two at a time, whisk her into his bedroom.
    Not scowl at me and announce you’ll be back later.
    Jerk.
    Texas, you are a big fat tease.
    What am I supposed to do? Sit here, revving my private engines and wait?
    I hate you, Tony Carlton.
    I still want to rip off your clothes and kiss every one of those muscles I clung to during the ride, but that doesn’t mean you can dump me at your house like I don’t matter.
    I’m going to teach you a little lesson when you get home. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat at the thought. Anger is sexy.
    She whipped open her notebook and turned to the first scene of Ridden Hard. The scene was missing tension, the building passion of push and pull between characters. No wonder the heroine didn’t orgasm.
    Sarah closed her eyes and imagined she was in the scene with Tony. She pulled from how she’d felt since she first met him and began to write.
     
     
    I park at the end of Holt’s driveway and curse the heavy rain that makes it impossible for me to see if his car is there. I should come back later. I should wait for him to invite me over, but he’s all I can think about. Right. Wrong. It doesn’t matter.
    I can’t stay away. My Jimmy Choo shoes fall victim to the mud, but I don’t care. I step out of them and place them beside the door. The rain has plastered my white cotton dress to my body, the transparency of it only increasing the heat between my thighs.
    As soon as he answers the door he’ll instantly see my nipples pushing through the wet material in anticipation of his touch. I won’t have to tell him how eager I am to feel his mouth on them.
    I knock once.
    No answer.
    I knock twice and eagerly push my long, red curls back from my face.
    I shiver from the pleasure of knowing that I’ll be in his arms in seconds.
    Still no answer.
    I try the door and find it unlocked. I step inside, leaving small puddles in his hallway. The clock on the wall ticks away in an otherwise silent house. Five thirty.
    He should be home, but he’s not.
    I should leave, but I’ve come too far.
    I step out of my dress, letting it fall to the floor in a wet heap in the middle of the hall. I walk toward the downstairs bathroom and shed my wet bra and panties along the way, leaving them like a trail of crumbs for