Cowboy Resurrection: Cowboy Cocktail, Book 2 Read Online Free PDF

Miss Snooty-pants, this ain’t the Bay Area. No ocean, no fog. But we have our own secret spots.” He chomped on the fry as he watched her face. “In fact, let’s go for a drive after lunch.”
    “This afternoon?” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got another meeting at three. I shouldn’t—”
    “Don’t worry. The place I want to take you—it’s not far.”
    * * * * *
    “Turn here,” Dean said.
    After a twenty-minute drive down the highway, he directed her down an old fire road that wound around a blond, dry hill of grass. The road was unpaved but wide and well maintained. There was nothing out here but scorched grass and an occasional gnarled oak, dwarfed by the lack of water, providing small spots of shade in the blazing midday heat.
    “Keep going,” he said.
    They turned around the bend and on the western-facing side of one of the hills, the dry grass was carpeted in bright orange, as if someone had spilled cans of paint across the landscape.
    “This is the spot.”
    She gasped. “What is this? Did someone plant this?”
    He shook his head. “Wildflowers. They grow on their own.”
    “Why here?”
    “It’s cooler on this slope.”
    “What kinds of flowers are they?”
    “California poppies.”
    She stopped the car in the middle of the road and they walked out. The riotous color grabbed her eyes and wouldn’t let go. Everything dulled in comparison to that vivid orange. The dry grasses that just a moment ago seemed so yellow had turned a dull straw color. Even the clear blue sky appeared grayer.
    Only Dean MacKinnon’s eyes stood out, those pools of cool, pure blue. He looked at her to see if she liked what he was showing her.
    “Beautiful,” she said quietly. She walked gingerly through the field of flowers. “How did you find this place?”
    “The flowers grow here every year. Even dry years. We used to ride horses all up and down these hills. Never paid much mind to whose property was whose, although we probably should have.”
    “Bet you brought a couple of girls up here to impress them,” she said.
    He said nothing but followed her out into the middle of the field until they were surrounded by poppies. The color deadened her other senses, and when Dean leaned over to kiss her neck, she jumped in surprise.
    “Shh.” Dean reached down and picked a poppy from the thick carpet at their feet. With surprising delicacy, he tucked it behind her ear and brushed the hair away from her neck and shoulders. He gazed at her a moment like a man admiring his handiwork. The blossom was warm and velvety against her skin.
    She looked up into his eyes, and her lust rose in response to the heat she saw there. She stepped forward and rested her hands on his rock-hard shoulders. Without a word, he put his arms around her and kissed her. Full lips, wicked tongue. Her hands slid down around his curving triceps. He was solid, bull-like—a thick, handsome man and a dynamite kisser. Monica was so turned on, she didn’t trust herself to speak when Dean pulled back.
    “So,” he whispered against her lips. “What do you want?”
    “I don’t know.” Her voice was barely audible, a ghost of air carried away by the wind.
    “I think you know.” He kissed her again, and before she knew what was happening, he’d pulled her down to the ground with him. The dry grass and soft blanket of flowers crinkled like hot paper beneath them. He sat down and she straddled him, her knees crushing petals that looked like orange fire in the desert.
    Dean took off his hat, placed it on the ground, and traced a trail of hot kisses down the side of her neck. Pleasure ran a circuit through her body, firing her nerve endings as her lust rose to high tide.
    She dug her hands through his dark hair. It was silky, long enough to curl. When he began to lay hot, open-mouthed kisses on her throat, she grabbed his hair in her fingers and tugged at it gently. A low moan rumbled in his chest.
    His lips found hers again. They quickly