Faith in the Cowboy (Taming the Cowboy) Read Online Free PDF Page B

slid her hands down his chest. This time when she grabbed the fabric, she gave into her desire and tugged, popping the snaps, spreading the shirt and slipping her hands inside.
    She may have moaned when her fingers brushed over his warm skin, the crisp chest hair. He broke the kiss to watch her explore him, gliding her fingers over his pecs, following the indentation of his sternum. She eased back to open his shirt the rest of the way, revealing hard abs, and God, defined obliques. This time, she definitely whimpered. He chuckled and captured her hands, bringing them to his lips, brushing his mouth back and forth over her knuckles, the contrast of soft skin and bristled hair sending sparks right through her.
    God, it was good to feel alive.
    He released her to find the hem of her shirt and he eased back to pull it over her head, his rough fingertips grazing the skin of her waist, tickling her. She flinched and giggled, making him smile as he tossed her top aside.
    The giggles dried up in her throat when he looked at her breasts and his eyes darkened.
    She didn’t have pretty bras, hadn’t since before she met Miguel. Her boobs were too big, for one, and when she was with Miguel, he’d been so jealous, he’d accused her of buying pretty bras to seduce other men. Since she’d been on her own, well, she didn’t have money to spend on them. The bra currently turning West on was plain and utilitarian.
    But based on the way West was looking at her, it didn’t matter. She arched her back, just a bit, and he almost swallowed his tongue. He slid the straps down her arms, his touch reverent, the rasp of his calluses making her nipples tighten, the heat of his breath against the tops of her breasts making her whole body bow, arching toward him, needing...just needing.
    She held her breath as he flipped the cups down, baring her nipples. His breath gusted faster against her skin as he reached behind to unhook her bra. Instead of taking her breasts in his hands, as she expected, he pulled her against him, skin to skin, oh God, so good, and kissed her, his hands stroking up and down her back, until she was one mass of sensation—his skin against hers, his chest hair against her nipples, the caresses that sent twinges of anticipation between her legs.
    His thumbs rested on her waistband a moment as his tongue explored her mouth. He slid his touch between them, and up to cup her breasts, rasping his fingertips back and forth across her nipples. She sagged in his arms until he lowered her to the bed, following her down, his mouth traveling from her cheek to her ear. Arching her throat, she offered him the tender skin. As if he knew just what she needed, he dragged his lips up and down.
    God, she was wet, so ready for him. She parted her legs, wanting his weight over her, but he held himself off her on those strong arms.
    He kissed the hollow of her throat, then blew a cool breath over her chest before dropping kisses along her sternum. His stubble teased the tops of her breasts, tearing a frustrated groan from her. He laughed against her skin and turned his head to draw a dark nipple into his mouth, holding her gaze as he tongued it against the roof of his mouth, then suckled, his cheeks going hollow.
    Everything inside her went as tight as a bowstring. She gripped his arms, then released them to push aside his shirt, sliding her palms up his back, tracing the tensed muscles there. She’d thought men like him were only in magazines.
    “You’re beautiful,” she breathed, then felt her face heat when he released her breast to smile at her.
    He rose on his knees and peeled the shirt off the rest of the way, God, more than beautiful, shoulders wide and strong, flat stomach. The light from behind him cast interesting shadows on his chest, but she saw scars, too, one across his ribs, one across his bicep. She couldn’t help herself from reaching for them, rubbing her fingers across them.
    He leaned forward and rubbed his own thumb