For the twentieth time, Cauy Warner checked the time on his cell and then looked back at the gate. Behind him, the crowd jeered as yet another bull rider crashed to the ground. The scent of cotton candy, hot dogs and kettle corn mixed uneasily with the raw smells of the rodeo. He hardly noticed the noise and the dust, his attention fixed on the entrance where he hoped to see a miracle.
Suddenly, there she was. He studied her from under the deep brim of his Stetson from the feet up. Red cowboy boots, an embroidered denim skirt and a silky halter top. With that amount of bare skin on show, he hoped she’d slapped on plenty of sunscreen. To his eyes she still looked like a teenager. He remained near the gate, one elbow propped behind him, one booted foot crossed over the other.
He waited until she turned around and slowly raised his head until he could meet her eyes. Her smile held a hint of uncertainty. No surprise, really, considering the last time they met she’d told him to go to hell.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Hey, Jen. Long time no see.”
Her smile didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. She tucked a wayward strand of black hair behind her ear. She’d always done that when she was nervous. Hell, over the years he’d done it for her a thousand times or more.
He waited for her to say more but she didn’t. What did you say to a man who walked away ten years ago and never looked back? He checked her fingers. No rings, but that didn’t mean much these days.
He gestured toward the nearest concession stand. “Shall we grab a cold one?”
She nodded, and began to walk away from him. When he caught up with her in two easy strides and cupped her elbow, she stiffened but didn’t pull away from his casual touch. Damn, she felt fine. He inhaled her familiar butterscotch scent and was instantly drawn into the past—her eager body moving under his, his cock buried deep inside her until he knew he had to come long and hard into her welcoming warmth or die.