Rescued (A McKenzie Ridge Novel Book 1) by Stephanie St. Klaire Page B
Authors: Stephanie St. Klaire
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front of her. He looked so good, it was almost cliché. She felt her face heat, her palms sweat, and her womanhood awaken at the sound of the alarm her most private parts were sounding. She was screwed, or would be shortly, if the night ended the way she had been daydreaming about the past 24 hours, thanks to that kiss. Dawson Tayler had her in the palm of his hand and she hoped he knew it as much as she hoped he didn’t. He was as much dangerous in that outfit as he was sexy, and she had no idea how she would make it through the night with her clothes still on.
She decided in that moment that the question she had been pondering some time now was obvious, she wasn’t looking for love, but a romp in the sack with this bucking bull, and it was going to happen. The cowboy look granted her clarity and delivered the answers to everything that she had been questioning about Dawson Tayler. She needed to get sweaty with this man, get him out of her system, in a down and dirty, naked kind of sweat, and she wasn’t ashamed at all.
“Daisies are my favorite, that was very sweaty. Sweet! Man, it’s hot today, uh, thank you.”
Granny Lou walked up to say hello to Dawson, and of course check out his ass in those jeans, so she would have something to report back to the geriatric mafia, and because she wasn’t dead yet, as she would say. She commented on the lovely flowers, offering to take them in and put them in water so they could get on their way. She promised to lock up after she grabbed a certain bag she was there to pick up in the first place.
“Now you two have a good time tonight, I won’t expect to see ya till morning. Ride’em cowboy, yee-haw!” She gave them a wink and Sam a quick elbow bump to the ribs, giggling all the way inside. “Friends my ass.”
***
Ending just short of the curve of her ass, he couldn’t help but notice the rise of her skirt, that led to his own rise, as he helped her into his truck, thank God for tall trucks and short skirts. He wished he had a taller truck. This was going to be the longest, stiffest, ten-minute drive of his life. She was going to be his undoing, Lord, have mercy, he couldn’t wait.
Sam was delightfully aware of the effect she was having on Dawson, by the sweat gathering at his brow, the fact that he wouldn’t even look her way the entire drive, and the fact that he kept clearing his throat, but didn’t say a word. She was also painfully aware of what a turn on it was, knowing what she was doing to him. Tonight would be full of sitting sideways and crossed legs. Oh yes, turned on cowboy Dawson was much hotter than everyday hot Dawson. Sweet Jesus, this was the best idea she’d had in a very long time. She would pray for her sins later.
The quick drive allowed him to gather his thoughts and get his raging teenage boy like hormones under control. In a matter of minutes, a short skirt clad ass managed to set him back a couple of decades, to teenage hormone hell, where the word boob was enough to embarrass him, in a not so becoming way. What was it with this woman? How did she manage to get under his skin after all this time? What was different about tonight and why hadn’t he thought of this sooner?
***
Regaining his composure, he held her hand helping her out of the truck and never let it go. He was pushing her boundaries and she was beginning to like it, a lot. Sam managed to throw out her independent, I don’t need a man, tendencies without a single inner feminist protest. She enjoyed Dawson leading the way, taking charge, taking care of her, it was comfortable, she felt nurtured and cared for, and it was a fucking turn on. His alpha swagger was sexy and hot, she’d follow it anywhere. The eyes of every single woman they passed, and some not so single woman, tracked him everywhere they went, followed by deep throaty “ohs” and breathy sighs, she didn’t blame them at all, he was smoldering with those emerald eyes, unshaven face, and a panty melting body
She decided in that moment that the question she had been pondering some time now was obvious, she wasn’t looking for love, but a romp in the sack with this bucking bull, and it was going to happen. The cowboy look granted her clarity and delivered the answers to everything that she had been questioning about Dawson Tayler. She needed to get sweaty with this man, get him out of her system, in a down and dirty, naked kind of sweat, and she wasn’t ashamed at all.
“Daisies are my favorite, that was very sweaty. Sweet! Man, it’s hot today, uh, thank you.”
Granny Lou walked up to say hello to Dawson, and of course check out his ass in those jeans, so she would have something to report back to the geriatric mafia, and because she wasn’t dead yet, as she would say. She commented on the lovely flowers, offering to take them in and put them in water so they could get on their way. She promised to lock up after she grabbed a certain bag she was there to pick up in the first place.
“Now you two have a good time tonight, I won’t expect to see ya till morning. Ride’em cowboy, yee-haw!” She gave them a wink and Sam a quick elbow bump to the ribs, giggling all the way inside. “Friends my ass.”
***
Ending just short of the curve of her ass, he couldn’t help but notice the rise of her skirt, that led to his own rise, as he helped her into his truck, thank God for tall trucks and short skirts. He wished he had a taller truck. This was going to be the longest, stiffest, ten-minute drive of his life. She was going to be his undoing, Lord, have mercy, he couldn’t wait.
Sam was delightfully aware of the effect she was having on Dawson, by the sweat gathering at his brow, the fact that he wouldn’t even look her way the entire drive, and the fact that he kept clearing his throat, but didn’t say a word. She was also painfully aware of what a turn on it was, knowing what she was doing to him. Tonight would be full of sitting sideways and crossed legs. Oh yes, turned on cowboy Dawson was much hotter than everyday hot Dawson. Sweet Jesus, this was the best idea she’d had in a very long time. She would pray for her sins later.
The quick drive allowed him to gather his thoughts and get his raging teenage boy like hormones under control. In a matter of minutes, a short skirt clad ass managed to set him back a couple of decades, to teenage hormone hell, where the word boob was enough to embarrass him, in a not so becoming way. What was it with this woman? How did she manage to get under his skin after all this time? What was different about tonight and why hadn’t he thought of this sooner?
***
Regaining his composure, he held her hand helping her out of the truck and never let it go. He was pushing her boundaries and she was beginning to like it, a lot. Sam managed to throw out her independent, I don’t need a man, tendencies without a single inner feminist protest. She enjoyed Dawson leading the way, taking charge, taking care of her, it was comfortable, she felt nurtured and cared for, and it was a fucking turn on. His alpha swagger was sexy and hot, she’d follow it anywhere. The eyes of every single woman they passed, and some not so single woman, tracked him everywhere they went, followed by deep throaty “ohs” and breathy sighs, she didn’t blame them at all, he was smoldering with those emerald eyes, unshaven face, and a panty melting body
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