The Cowboy's Christmas Proposition Read online

  “Great. Just...great.”

  He thought it was. Quin under his roof for an indeterminate period of time? Check. A chance for her to get to know him? Check. A chance to get her into his bed? Double check.

  * * *

  Quin hid in the bathroom—and what a bathroom it was, with a huge whirlpool tub, a shower big enough for six and a heated floor. The fluffy robe hanging on the hook swamped her but it would do. After a few minutes of silence, she opened the door a crack and peeked out. Deke was nowhere to be seen and the bedroom door had been closed.

  She was in the process of holding a pair of soft, faded jeans up to her waist when Deke tapped on the door. Quin clutched the robe closed and held her breath. The door didn’t open as Deke’s muffled voice filtered through the wood.

  “Feel free to go through the dresser and my closet. Grab whatever you need.”

  “Thank you,” she called back. She had one pair of panties and the sports bra she wore under her uniform. Unless the guy was a real pervert and he kept fan souvenirs, she doubted he’d have any lingerie stashed in his drawers. But if he was a boxer kind of guy, she could improvise. Because there was no way in the world she was going commando with Deacon around. He was lethal to the female libido. She wanted as many layers as she could pile on.

  Not that she was afraid of him. Nope. Not at all. It was her reaction to the man that was terrifying. He made her stupid when his dimple appeared. And when he sang to the baby? She swore she could feel it in her womb and her biological clock jangled like an old-fashioned alarm clock.

  Wearing a pair of his boxers—and she so wasn’t going to think about the intimacy of that—Quin tried on the pair of jeans she was holding. They fit surprisingly well, if a little loose in the waist so that they rode lower on her hips than she was used to. She snagged a white T-shirt, shrugged into it and followed up with a baggy sweatshirt on top.

  Armored in borrowed clothes, she ventured into the main part of the house. The baby was rocking in a swing contraption, eyes closed, one fist in her mouth. Deke had changed out of his wet jeans and now wore a dry pair slung low on his hips, topped by a T-shirt that molded to his chest and arms like a second skin. How was he not freezing?

  Deke turned around, and a slow smile creased his cheeks. That was so not fair. Quin struggled to control her breathing and heart rate.

  “I started some soup. Hope you like grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  Dark came early while they waited on the soup. The wind continued to howl and the snow drifted higher around the windows. This entire day had been a disaster. She stared out the window at the swirling snow. Deke appeared beside her.

  “Want to decorate the tree after we eat?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. It’s in the mudroom and I’d already dragged the decorations out of the attic. I haven’t put up a tree in years but I really want one now.” His dimple flashed at her as he smiled.

  She hadn’t put up a tree in her condo in...never. Decorating with Deacon sounded like fun. “Okay, sure.”

  The soup was hot, the grilled cheese gooey; the simple meal was oddly filling. She offered to do dishes while Deacon brought in the tree and got it set up.

  He opened a box of ornaments and she admired the collection nestled on cotton batting. “Wow.”

  “Mom got these for me to celebrate my first concert tour. There’s an ornament for each city we played.”

  Deke opened a plastic crate and found the tree lights. “Ah, good. Let’s hope they work.” He plugged them in and sure enough, the entire string lit up. She continued unpacking ornaments while he wound the lights through the branches of the Scotch pine.

  When he stood back to admire his work, Quin couldn’t help but tease him. “Don’t you think there’s a hole there on the left?”

  He narrowed his gaze, studying the tree. “Where?”

  Quin got up and pointed to a spot. “There.” Then she moved the string up one branch. She backed away and nodded. “Perfect.”

  Deacon laughed and shook his finger. “I see what you did there.”

  As they decorated, Deke stopped to reminisce about some of the ornaments. Quin suspected each one had a story because they were all unique, but some seemed extra special to him. When the last one, a blown-glass New Orleans street car, was placed on the tree, Deacon reached for a small wooden box he’d set aside.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to her. Inside was another original—a hand-painted porcelain angel.

  Quin was almost afraid to touch the delicate tree-topper. “She’s lovely.”

  “I found her in a little shop in San Antonio.”

  She glanced up at the warmth in his voice. Quin made to hand it back but Deke shook his head. “Nope. The honor is yours. Up you go.”

  Before she knew what he had in mind, she was sitting on his shoulders, angel in her hand. She could just reach the very top of the tree to get the angel firmly clamped and braced. When Deke lowered her to the floor, his arm slipped around her shoulders as they gazed at the tree. She noticed that he’d arranged lights at the crown of the tree to highlight the angel.

  “Beautiful.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  That was when Quin realized he was looking at her, and his expression sent shivers through her.

  * * *

  Day three of my captivity, Quin thought, the unspoken words sounding wry in her head. Despite the sexual tension that was so thick they could swim through it, she and Deke were getting along. She’d discovered he was funny, with a dry sense of humor. He was patient, as evidenced by the way he dealt with Noelle. And he was a talented musician. He’d serenaded her several times while she was curled up on the couch with a book. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d read for pleasure.

  The storm still showed no signs of losing its bluster. The electricity had flickered a time or two, but held steady. Deke assured her that the emergency generator would keep lights on and the fridge running if they lost power. At the moment, she was flipping through channels on the TV that dominated one wall of the great room. Deke was puttering around in the kitchen.

  One of the daytime talk shows caught her attention when a picture of Deacon flashed on the screen and she paused to watch. What the five women were saying was just...drivel. And patently untrue.

  She called to him. “You don’t deserve this. To be paid back for your kindness with headlines and innuendos like these?” Quin glowered at the talking heads chatting on TV.

  Deacon handed her a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and a chocolate-dipped pretzel for a stir stick. Dropping to the couch beside her, he tasted his coffee before answering. His voice held the shrug his shoulders hadn’t made.

  “It’s how they make their living, Quin. I’m fair game.” He looked mischievous and added, “Besides, they’re staking out the Nashville condo because Bent Star leaked that I’d be spending the holidays there.”

  “Smart. But what they’re saying still isn’t fair.”

  Laughing, he said, “Neither is the fact I have to get out in the snow, trudge to the barn and feed the horses.”

  “Can’t your foreman do that?”

  Deke’s brow furrowed and he looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would I make him get out in the cold to drive over here, and do something I can do quicker and easier? They’re my horses. My responsibility.”

  Quin leaned back, studied him with her cop senses turned on. He truly didn’t understand why she’d think he’d do anything else. This man had depths she was only beginning to fathom. That should scare her just a bit. Okay, a lot. She didn’t want a relationship. Didn’t want the complications or the investment—of time or emotion. And she certainly didn’t want him to kiss her again. No way.

  When Noelle fussed from where she lay in a portable playpen-and-crib contraption, Deacon was up and striding to her before Quin could even process there was a problem. She watched him pick up the infant and soothe her with the sweet lullaby he’d written just for the baby.
/>   That darn biological clock kept right on ticking, sounding like the alarm clock the Peter Pan crocodile had swallowed. Tick. Tock.

  * * *

  After changing and resettling Noelle, Deke plopped back on the couch and realized Quin was still watching that dumb talk show.

  Her head tilted as she focused on him. He resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. Then she asked, “You really don’t care?”

  “What is it the kids say these days? Haters gonna hate?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m in the public eye, Quin. There are always rumors and innuendos. This deal about the baby is just one more. I don’t pay much attention. That’s why record company PR people make the big bucks.”

  She laughed, and Deke wanted to hear her do that more often. The sound was bright and shiny, like the Christmas lights he’d strung on the tree. He’d enjoyed decorating the tree with Quin. With her and Noelle in the house, the place felt like Christmas, felt like a real home. Not wanting to fully acknowledge that, he tuned back into the conversation.

  “So, you aren’t a social-media addict like so many of the celebrities?”

  It was his turn to laugh, though he exaggerated a grimace. “I’m told I have a Twitter account. But seriously? A hundred and forty characters? Does that include spaces and periods?”

  “I guess this means I probably can’t stalk you on Facebook, either.”

  “There’s a fan page for the band, but no, I’m not on there.” Deke scratched his head and pushed hair off his forehead. “I’m pretty much a country boy. I mean—” He swept a hand around the room. “Not exactly Beverly Hills standards.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Looks luxurious to me. And even though we’re snowed in, the house still has electricity. Heat. And most important from a cabin-fever standpoint, cable TV. That makes you special.”

  Deke wanted to make Quin feel special, and he wanted to taste her again. He leaned forward and without thinking too deeply about his intentions, said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “Are you asking or telling?”

  “Yes.”

  Fifteen

  Deke didn’t need to hear Quin’s sharp intake of breath to know her answer. Her hands were already reaching for him. He dipped his head, caught her bottom lip between his teeth and nipped. Then he kissed her slowly and gently, but very, very thoroughly. As long as the baby stayed asleep, he had all the time in the world to seduce this woman.

  Her fingers clutched his shoulders as her body tensed, even though her lips softened against his. She was such a study of opposites and he couldn’t wait to explore every last inch of her. He released her mouth, found the spot on her neck where her pulse beat rapidly. Deke wanted to strip her down, spread her and enjoy her in every way.

  He didn’t have to be told to go slow as he leashed his own urgency. This was not the time. He’d take it slow and easy, like teasing a tune out of his guitar. That was the key. He would learn to play this woman.

  She’d slept under his roof for two nights, though upstairs in the long-unused guest suite. They’d spent the days like an old married couple. They watched TV. Read. He played and sang to her and Noelle. Quin napped on the couch, her head resting on his thigh. He smiled against her skin. It had taken everything in him to not laugh out loud the first time she’d awakened in that position.

  Deke returned to her mouth and kissed her deeply again, his tongue probing and tasting. She broke the kiss and leaned back. Her expression was serious as she studied him. Snagging one of her hands, he lifted it to his mouth, kissed each one of her fingers.

  “If you could see yourself, Quin, with tousled hair and lips wet and swollen from my kiss.”

  That startled a laugh out of her. “Seriously? Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  “Is it working?”

  “No!” She was adamant but her eyes crinkled around suppressed laughter.

  Winking, he pulled her close again and murmured against her lips, “I think it is.”

  She melted against him as he kissed her again. Emotions surged through him, feelings he wasn’t sure he wanted to take out and examine very closely. The woman could get under his skin all too easily—already had, he realized. These last few days had shown him what he’d been missing. It was like life had just slapped him upside the head with a clue-by-four.

  Deke didn’t want to seduce Quin for the sake of having sex. Oh, no. It was far more complex than that. He wanted to make love to her. He eased her down on the couch, one hand teasing up the hem of the sweatshirt she wore. Calloused fingertips encountered smooth skin and he hardened. He wanted her naked and in his bed. Quin pressed her hands against his chest and pushed. He froze.

  “What are we doing?” she whispered.

  “If my mother had her way, I’d be a gentleman and say we were just making out. But I’m not a gentleman. I want you, Quin. I want you in my bed. I want to be in you.”

  She laid back against the cushions. “I have a duty—”

  “Yes. To yourself. Do you want this to happen, Quin? If you say you don’t, I’ll get up and go take the next of many cold showers. I won’t be happy. Damn, woman. Being cooped up in here with you has been torture.” Deke sat up, knowing they needed to talk this through.

  “When I first saw your car in that ditch? I couldn’t breathe. I almost couldn’t think. I was so damn scared that I’d find you really hurt.” He swallowed hard. “Or worse. If you’d died... But you didn’t. And I brought you home, darlin’. Not to my house, but home. Because that’s what it feels like with you here.”

  She started to speak, but he silenced her with another quick, hard kiss. “Let me finish. Please.”

  He waited, holding his breath. Once he’d opened the gate on his emotions, there was no way to stop the stampede. Maybe he should have held back, taken time to examine his feelings, but it was too late. Quin nodded, looking uncertain, but he could deal with uncertainty. Deke breathed, his lungs burning from the infusion of oxygen.

  “I know what you think of me—or what you used to think. You’ve had a chance to get to know me. I’ve been gettin’ to know you since that night we met, standin’ in the cold in the parking lot at Thunder River. You drive me crazy. So uptight. Proper. Even back then, I wanted to take your hair down, see if it was as soft as it looked. I wanted to tangle my fingers in it and kiss you senseless. Damn, darlin’, I think I’ve been hard for you since I looked up and you announced, ‘I’m Trooper Kincaid. What’s going on here?’”

  Quin bit her lip to keep from smiling and he gave in to the temptation to kiss her again. Her mouth opened for his questing tongue. His hand cupped her cheek and stayed after he broke the kiss.

  “I’ve seen you every day since then. You’ve pissed me off. You’ve driven me crazy with your scent and your smile and being too cute even when you didn’t know you were being cute. You’ve made me laugh. And you’ve made me want things only you can give me.”

  Deke shifted, grasped her and lifted her into his lap. “Do you know how hard it’s been for me to keep my hands off you? The past two nights, I’ve climbed the stairs and stood outside your door like a lovesick hound. I listen to you breathe through the door and I wonder if you’re really sleepin’ or if you’re thinking about me, about us making love.”

  He paused and gazed into her eyes, didn’t like what he saw there. “You’re gonna run.” She stiffened, pushed away, but he tightened his embrace. “Your feelings haven’t changed? Tell me, Quin. Put me out of my misery. Is there any hope?”

  * * *

  A sob gathered in her chest, struggled to escape from her throat. If she let it, she’d never be able to stop the ones threatening to follow. She didn’t want this tidal wave of emotion flooding her senses. Home. That word had arrowed into her heart. What did she know of healthy relationships? And how could this man, this superstar with all the talent and money and women in the world, want her? She was a cop, and far from beautiful. Nothing more. Nothing less.

/>   His hands cupped her face, holding her so she had to look at him. Feeling the heat from his palms, the rough touch of his fingertips against her cheeks, she saw. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t a seduction—well, okay, maybe it was, but he wanted her. Every instinct she’d had pointed to that conclusion. He wasn’t lying. About any of this.

  Could she let go? He definitely turned her on and from the first, her feelings had bounced around from frustration, anger, doubt, humor, lust—lots and lots of that—and plain old affection. She liked him. Too much. And she desired him.

  Quin wanted to surrender to her feelings, wanted to give in to the demands of her own body. Take me, she silently begged. Love me and don’t ever let me go. Because if they did this? If he ever let her go, she’d never recover.

  As if he heard her silent pleas, he gathered her in his arms and stood. How strong was this guy? Her breath hitched and she pressed her lips to his throat. His arms tightened and his step quickened.

  “In my bed, Quin. Okay?” he asked against her hair, raising goose bumps.

  “Yes.”

  He settled them on the bed, both still clothed. She rested against a pile of pillows and in a crazy moment, given the circumstances, realized he’d made his bed that morning. She laughed, and loved the way his gaze softened as he watched her. Then he began to stroke her. His hands were gentle, at once teasing and soothing, as if he was seeking to both give and receive comfort.

  “So beautiful, darlin’,” he whispered over and over as his questing hands found her skin. A moment later, he whipped the sweatshirt over her head and she lay bare. She tensed until she saw his face. Heat surged in her blood and she flushed. He meant his words. She was beautiful in his eyes. She relaxed, ready to accept him.

  His lips were firm when they found hers, after kissing their way along her shoulder, neck and cheek. He took the kiss deep, but so gently she fell into it, into him. There was a hard, hot rush in her middle, though her mind drifted on the crest of her emotions, like a feather floating on the stormy sea.

  Quin loved the feel of his rough fingertips as they found her now. She surrendered to the sensation, growing liquid and pliant beneath his touch. A haze of desire clouded her mind but she didn’t fight it. She wanted—no, needed—to let go.