How a Cowboy Stole Her Heart by Donna Alward

his intentions; when she said nothing he simply reached around her and turned the knob. She gave a little squeak as his hands spanned her waist and he lifted her over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him. “Clay…”
    â€œBe quiet,” he commanded, and she swallowed but obeyed. He was looking at her as they stood in the shadows, the only light in the entryway coming from porch light shining through the windows. In the semi-dark he appeared even more dangerous, more forbidden. Mysterious, which to Meg sounded ludicrous considering she’d known him her whole life.
    But not this Clay. Not the man who just now was reaching out, cupping her head in his wide, capable hand. She wanted this. She’d wanted it for so long, had given up any and all chances of it happening. Maybe another chance would never come. Maybe…she bit down on her lip as she looked at Clay. Cancer had taught her to live each day to the fullest. She was tired of being afraid. His thumb rubbed against her cheek gently. Why shouldn’t she take just this much when it was offered?
    So she released her lip and tipped her head up, silently inviting him to kiss her again.
    He cradled her face in both his hands now and Meg fought for breath as his mouth descended, not with the crash and fury of the first kiss but slowly, deliberately. He took his time now, teasing, tempting, settling into the contact with a sense of inevitability that rocked her world and made her yearn for far more than a good-night kiss or a single night to remember.
    â€œI’ve wanted to do this all day,” he confessed, and Meg’s body came alive hearing the soft but urgent words. His mouth was on hers again, making her weak in the knees. She pushed away the warning that sounded in her head when Clay lowered his hands and unbuttoned her coat. It was just a coat. It was fine. She let it fall to the floor and curled a hand around his neck, pulling him closer, tasting. He tasted like the chocolate mousse from the dessert, flavored with a hint of tart raspberry coulis.
    Clay slid one hand over her left shoulder and down, his fingertips sliding over her breast. At first Meg shuddered, feeling utterly feminine and sexual for the first time in months. But as Clay made an impassioned sound in his throat Meg came to her senses. He didn’t know, couldn’t know what surgery had cost her. It was too risky, too frightening. What if he’d used the other hand? He would have slid his fingers over something that wasn’t real. Clay mattered. For the sake of their friendship, it had to stop here.
    She pushed against him, making enough room that she could slide past his body and into the warmth of the kitchen. She hugged her arms around herself. How could she have forgotten so easily? Meg felt the color drain from her face as her body chilled. It was an embarrassment she had no desire to endure.
    â€œMeg.” Clay followed her into the kitchen. Just the way he said her name, soft but with a bit of wariness, put her on edge.
    â€œI can’t do this,” she said quietly, knowing he had no idea how much saying it was tearing her apart. The peace she’d made—with herself, with her disease—evaporated, leaving her angry and full of self-loathing. Now, when she finally had what she’d always wanted in her grasp, who she wanted, she had to push him away. “You don’t want this,” she said, stronger now. “You don’t want me. You should go.”
    He reached over and turned on the kitchen light, flooding them in brightness. Meg hated the glare. Hated the idea of being so visible , inside and out.
    â€œWhat the hell just happened?” He frowned at her, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion.
    Meg knew what he meant and deliberately misunderstood. “Why don’t you tell me? You were the one whoinsisted on walking me to the door. Who wouldn’t let me open…”
    â€œThat’s not