Going Cowboy Crazy by Katie Lane

excluded, allher sexual experiences had been with men she’d known for at least six months. Men who lived in houses with foundations, good-sized tiled bathrooms, and at least 300-thread-count sheets. Men who drove conservative cars without gun racks and disposed of aluminum cans in recycling containers instead of in the bed of their trucks.
    Yet even knowing this, she still wanted Slate, wanted him like she’d never wanted anything in her life. More than low-rise designer jeans or artery-clogging, chemical-infused pizza. She had spent the entire day fantasizing about kissing that cocky grin from his face, and nibbling a trail down the strong column of his throat, and ripping the snaps on his western shirt apart to expose all that tanned, smooth skin to her fingertips.
    And what made it even worse was that Slate wanted that, too. It was there in his desire-steeped eyes and in every teasing note of his voice. In the heated brush of his fingers and his wicked grins. It was in his cheerful whistling as he did the laundry and the care with which he smoothed the sheets over the bed.
    So why was she cowering behind the door when she could be drinking tequila with a gorgeous redneck who was an extremely good kisser?
    Because it was hard to do away with thirty years of conditioned behavior in one day. Hard to throw her cautious nature to the wind and take a ride on the wild side. And she had no doubt that having sex with Slate would be a wild ride—one she would regret taking for the rest of her life.
    The trailer was dark when she eased open the bedroom door. Buster greeted her with a wagging tail and wet tongue, following behind her as she hesitantly took the three steps needed to reach the living room. In thefaint light spilling in from the cracked window, she could just make out Slate’s tall form stretched out on the couch. It looked as if he was asleep, which was probably a sign from God. Unfortunately, her parents were more metaphysical than religious, so she took a step closer.
    The floor creaked, and his head came up.
    “Faith?”
    “Oh… you’re still awake.” She tugged at her T-shirt and pressed one big toe over the other. “I thought you might be asleep. Although I don’t know how you can sleep on that little couch, seeing as you’re so tall—how tall are you? Six-one? Two? My father would’ve fit on the couch perfectly—he was short, like me—not that we have the same genes or anything but—”
    “Did you need something?” His voice sounded nothing like the teasing cowboy who’d done such a good job of seducing her all day.
    “Need something?” She hit an unusually high note. “Well, I was just thinking that maybe we could… umm… I thought that we could—I mean if you wanted to—”
    “Look, Faith.” Slate sat up. “Between finding your car and work, tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. So unless there’s something you want…”
    Faith swallowed. “Yes… well….” She cleared her throat. “There is something I wanted.”
    “What would that be?”
    “You.” The word just popped out of Faith’s mouth and hung there.
    In the thick, painful silence that followed, she pretty much wanted to crawl out the front door and never look back. But before she could move, Slate sprang up from the couch.
    “Well, that works out real nice, darlin’.” Within two steps, he had her in his arms. He buried his nose in her neck and inhaled deeply, almost as if he wanted to breathe her in. “Because I’m about to combust from wanting you.”
    His fingers pressed into the muscles of her back, coaxing her up to her toes, as his lips found hers. The kiss was hot and greedy—one sizzling slide of wet heat followed by another—and another, until Faith didn’t know where one stopped and the other began. She grew dizzy on desire—or perhaps from lack of oxygen—and her head fell back as he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck.
    “I tried not to want you,” she whispered. “We’re so