Espino, Stacey - Hardcore Cowboys [Ride 'em Hard 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Stacey Espino Page A

Carson brothers. She could imagine the type of woman they’d all fall in love with—a small-town, country girl, used to horses and cattle. Her hair would be the color of wheat, her eyes reflecting the blue sky. Probably a virgin, too. Basically the exact opposite of Samantha.
    She pulled on the navy-blue jogging pants, which were a mile too long, considering all three of the men were well over six feet tall. After rolling up the cuffs and drawing the waist tight, she attempted to put on the long-sleeved shirt. Her joints were sore, like she’d pumped too much iron the day before. Reaching her arms above her head was too much too soon. Holding the shirt in front of her, she called for Wyatt.
    He must have been glued to the door because he entered right after she spoke. “You okay?” Wyatt halted, his gaze sliding down her body. Damn, she could feel it all the way to her clit.
    “I can’t get my shirt on. Can you help me?”
    “Sure, darlin’.” He raised his hands slightly and then dropped them, appearing inept or perhaps a bit embarrassed. If anything, she’d think Wyatt was a take-charge man, not one to shy around a partially naked woman. No, he just felt sorry for her and her near-death scare. There wasn’t a submissive bone in his body.
    She turned around to offer her back and passed him the shirt at her side. “Just stick it over my head, then I can manage the rest.” Her breasts were bare, and he could probably get a good glimpse over her shoulders with his uncommon height. For some reason she wanted him to notice her, even if nothing could come from a simple attraction.
    He brushed her hair to one side, moving slower than necessary, his fingers dragging along her clammy skin. His hands were strong and callused, a man’s hands. Her ex’s had been soft since he spent all his time behind a keyboard and even got professional manicures twice a month—not like the Carson brothers. Inwardly she sighed, concentrating on Wyatt’s touch. It would have been a simple enough task to slip the material over her head and tug in down her shoulders. But after moving her hair out of the way, one finger trailed a line down the length of her neck.
    Her breath hitched. Any touch was deliberate. Every second her heart beat faster. She knew deep down she’d never refuse Wyatt if he made the first move. Not because she felt indebted, but because she felt a connection to her rescuer, and only a blind woman wouldn’t be attracted to the cowboy.
    “How does your skin feel? Numb or sensitive?” He was only concerned with her health again. Disappointment assaulted her, pulling her rising spirits down like a weight.
    “I’d say sensitive.” She could feel everything, as if her flesh were hotwired to his touch. Her peripheral vision caught him tossing the shirt she’d offered onto the bed. Then he cupped her shoulders, his hands so warm. As slow as melting butter, he smoothed his hands down her arms to her wrists. He had to bend down to reach so low, his hot breath marking her neck like a brand. What was happening? She closed her eyes, her head lolling on her neck.
    “Do you trust me, Samantha?” His hands shackled her wrists, sending a spike of nerves and anticipation coursing through her veins.
    She nodded, not needing to think about it. Of course she trusted Wyatt and the twins. They had saved her, brought her back to health, and never asked anything of her. Wouldn’t she have noticed a darker, crueler side to Wyatt’s character by now if it existed?
    “Maybe you should think twice about that.” He pulled her wrists behind her back and gave a little tug so her back was pressed to his front.
    She felt so exposed, her small breasts thrusting out. Touch me. Dammit, but she wanted him to take charge, stop being a gentleman. All her adult years had been spent working, struggling. She had little time for relationships, and the ones she had were disappointments. What would it feel to have a real man rock her body? Would she