The Cowboy's Virgin Read online

  The Cowboy’s Virgin

  Amelia Wilde

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Connect with Amelia

  Also by Amelia Wilde

  1

  Pete

  The Halloween party is a rager.

  It’s also my last night at the fire station before I take over my dad’s ranch, and it feel like the last chapter of a book. There are always other books. I know that. But this one seems like an especially powerful one. Who knew that it would be time to head home and step into his shoes? I sure as hell didn’t. Not until he sat me down a month ago, his hands shaking, and told me he couldn’t keep it running. The ranch has been in the Bowman family for generations, he said. And if I didn’t want it, he’d sell. But I could see the hope in his eyes. The man raised me and loved me the best he could. The least I can do for him is follow in his footsteps.

  And it’ll be good. Right? Firefighting is stressful and it makes me more nervous with every call. I’ve seen too many guys get caught in bad situations. I don’t want to be one of those guys. If they need me, I’ll be there as a volunteer, but day in and day out—

  I need to spend some time with the cattle.

  That sounded better in my head.

  I sit at the edge of Ramona’s event barn, which is decked out in Halloween decorations, and sip my beer while I watch the crowd. Everybody’s here. The Bliss Brothers and their main man, Miller. All three wives, looking giddy and pleased to be out. Chris and Leah can’t keep their hands on each other over by the snack table, where she’s been mainlining mini cheesecakes the entire evening. His hand drops down to the front of her belly and she brushes it away, her face turning red. Ah—they’ve got a secret cooking.

  A stab of jealousy makes me turn away. It’s not the baby I’m jealous of, though—you know, I do want kids someday. It’s the intimacy of it. I don’t know what it would be like to touch my wife’s belly at a public Halloween party, then lean down and whisper something dirty into her ear. Chris has whispered something dirty into Leah’s ear, judging by the pink in her cheeks. I stand up from my seat and turn all the way around.

  It’s a hell of a party Ramona’s put on. Round tables. Linen tablecloths. Halloween-themed centerpieces with silvery shoots coming out of them. Witches’ hats on some of the tables, surrounded by orange leaves. On the food table there are three-tiered dessert trays and a cauldron that has a tiny smoke machine behind it to make it look like the ice-cold punch is steaming.

  I haven’t had any of the punch. I’m technically on call tonight, so I have to stay sober. Just me in my Han Solo costume, without a drop of alcohol on my lips.

  And then she comes in through the big barn doors.

  They’re thrown wide open to let the night air inside, and it doesn’t matter because there are so many people from Paulson at the party that their heat fills the room. But the backdrop outside is all starry skies and fall fields.

  That’s what she’s standing in front of.

  The angel.

  An actual angel.

  And not a sexy angel, though the dress she’s wearing looks unbearably sexy. It’s short, hitting at the perfect point on her thighs, but not so short that it looks like it might roll up around her neck at any second. She wears a white halo over blonde hair, so blonde that the lights stick to it and shimmer in the strands.

  She’s a painting.

  A work of art.

  Little white heels complete the look, and she’s got one of those tiny purses tucked in the palm of her hand, and my heart skips several beats. Her profile is—well, it’s like nobody I’ve ever seen before. I’m drawn to the cheekbones and the line of her chin and the sweep of her nose. I’m drawn to how short she is. Shorter than me. I’m not a short guy, and this girl—she must not be more than five three.

  She’s scanning the room, the angel, as if she’s looking for someone, and an insane hope springs up from somewhere deep in my gut. Let her not be looking for anybody else. Let her be looking for me. I’ve never seen her before, but that doesn’t mean she can’t have been searching. She could have been looking all this time.

  Her eyes settle on my face and go wide.

  Big. Green, I think, but it doesn’t matter because the main point is that they’re glittering, too. There’s not enough light in here for them to shine that way, but they do.

  I hold my breath.

  She could be walking toward anyone at the party. There’s plenty of noise around us, plenty of movement, and anything behind me could have caught her attention. I’m just a guy with a little bit of a beard and dark hair that probably needs to be cut and a Han Solo costume. I’m in shape. I’ll give myself that. But of all the people in Paulson, I’m the last one she’s probably aiming for.

  And then she stops.

  A foot in front of me, peering up at me like she’s looking for something in my eyes.

  She must find it, because her lips part and she lifts her clutch to her chest like a talisman. “Hi,” she breathes. “What’s your name?”

  “Pete.” For a bare second I forget my own last name. “Pete Bowman. What’s your name?”

  Her eyes dart to the side. “Everybody calls me Angie.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.” A smile plays at the corners of her lips. “But are names really important on a night like tonight?”

  A gust of wind curls in through the open doors and strokes my face, sending a chill of anticipation down my spine. “I don’t know. What is important on a night like tonight?”

  Angie flicks her eyes from one side to the other and takes a deep breath. She’s nervous, I realize. Her pulse flutters in her neck. “Here’s what it is. Are you ready?”

  “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”

  The angel looks me in the eye. “I need to lose my virginity. Tonight.”

  2

  Angie

  The urgency is like nothing I’ve ever felt, except for this one time when I was on a road trip with my friend from college, a girl named Lila who didn’t always believe in stopping at a rest area even when the next one isn’t for a hundred miles. Not to say that having sex is like being at a rest area. I’m just saying—you want it so bad, right? And if you wait too long...

  Well, I’m not going to wait too long. Here’s the situation, as simple as I can make it. I’m moving back home to take over a ranch. My dad’s lawyer got in touch with him, giving him the option—apparently he grew up next door as a kid—and good ol’ dad offered me the opportunity. And you know what? Manhattan sucks. Big cities, sure, they have so much going for them. And the Big Apple—it does. That’s true. But there’s also a lot not going for it. Like how rent costs five human souls for one month. And how there’s always somebody prettier than you, more cutthroat than you, smarter than you going for every job.

  Anyway, I spent enough time on the ranch when I was a kid to know that I can pull off running it. And if I can’t, I can hire people. But what I can’t do is take over the family business and try and lose my pesky virginity at the same time.

  No. No way.

  In a town like Paulson, how’s that going to go over? Oh, here’s Angie, coming to buy another tractor. But she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. No experience—you know what I mean.

  Fine. People probably aren’t like that. But I’m like that, in my own head, and I never found a guy in Manhattan I want
ed to take home, and that cannot be the thing that stops me. Not anymore.

  This party—it’s a random place to walk into, and the guy looking down at me right now—Pete—is the best part of it. I don’t need much more information. He’s dressed as Han Solo, dark hair somehow perfectly fitting the bill, and in the strobe lights from the DJ station his eyes flicker a rich chocolate color I want to dive into.

  Desperately.

  The fantastic body under the white long-sleeved shirt doesn’t hurt.

  He stares at me, like this might be a prank, then slowly looks behind him. “There’s a barn full of people here, Angie.”

  “I picked you.”

  Something in his face shifts, a heat coming into it that lights a match in my core. It’s surprising, almost. I came here on a mission, but now there’s heat between my legs, heat between my breasts, and a wanting—

  A wanting.

  I take a deep breath, and the rest of the party falls away. It’s not that I love him. It’s that—he’s trustworthy. Not a drink in his hand. He’s scanning the crowd now, making sure I’m alone, maybe. “Listen,” he says.

  “Don’t,” I tell him, and his beautiful, dark eyes widen. “I mean it. I want someone to take my virginity. I don’t, like, believe in it as a construct, but there’s only so many years you can go before it seeps into you, you know? Culturally. Just—” This is getting away from me. “I want to...do it. Have sex. And I want to have sex with you.”

  “I’m dressed as Han Solo.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone hotter than Harrison Ford?”

  A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “He’s pretty hot.”

  “See?” I reach out and pat his bicep. It’s satisfyingly hard, like he works out, or works hard. “We already have a lot in common. What do you do for work, Pete?”

  “I thought names didn’t matter tonight. Do jobs?”

  “I’m just curious. About your biceps. They’re—they’re really nice.” I’m having a lot of dirty thoughts right now, about what other parts of him are nice. The fact is that a guy in a white henley and a black vest is always going to be a turn-on, especially when he has a face like this. “You must do a lot of heavy lifting.”

  “I’m a firefighter.” A tinge of sadness shades his voice, but I’m not here for sadness. I am here for one thing and one thing only—a hot, trustworthy guy to have sex with. Pete fits both bills. “Are you—you’re not from here, right?”

  “Not yet.” I bat my eyes at him. “I’ve got a room at the Paulson Inn tonight.”

  He considers this, teeth worrying at his full lip. “Are you inviting me back to your room?”

  “Unless you’d rather find a dark corner here. I am dead serious.” He’s still looking at me like he can’t quite believe I exist, and if I’m honest, I can’t believe I exist either. In Manhattan I never existed. I was just another blonde waitress trying and failing to make ends meet. “If there’s a corner you know of—”

  “There are no corners here that would be suitable.” He’s so sure, so serious. Desire trips down my spine. “For your first time? No way. I’m not taking any shortcuts.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” I turn back toward the door and he stops me with a hand on my elbow. “What?”

  “Here.” He’s fumbling for his wallet.

  “Oh my god.” The music kicks up just in time to cover my exasperated cry. “I don’t need money from you.”

  Pete’s eyes light up, a sultry laughter there. “I’m not paying you. I’m showing you my ID. Get your phone out.”

  “Oh, I—” He takes a driver’s license out from his wallet and holds it up into the air.

  “Flash,” he prompts.

  I’ve been attached to my iPhone for years, but I fumble it now, turning the flash on. Pete leans down with the ID next to his face, giving the camera a half-grin that honest to god reminds me of a movie star. I press the button—flash—and his image is captured on my screen.

  Pete blinks, rubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand. “All right. Text that to somebody, along with the address of the Inn.” He rattles it off for me and I send the text to my friend Hannah, who’s always up late and likes to keep tabs. “Done?”

  “Yes.”

  He offers me his hand, and I take it. “We’re out of here.”

  3

  Pete

  Angie drives carefully, hands at ten and two, perched up high on her seat. I can tell she’s pretending to be certain about the way to the hotel, so once we’re in Paulson proper I give her a few directions. “Hoo, boy,” she says. “I’m nervous.”

  “Don’t be nervous. It’s gonna be fun.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard about first-time sex.”

  “From who?”

  “From everybody.”

  “That depends on who your first time is with,” I tell her. “I’ll make it fun.”

  Her smile is brighter than the camera flash, which is still burned onto my brain. Her smile lights up the whole car. It lights up Paulson, too, and this night is turning dreary even as we drive. Low clouds roll over the city, covering the night sky.

  I don’t care about the night sky.

  I don’t care about anything but getting the angel undressed.

  Because—look at her. Look at the curves, at her smile, at the way her green eyes flash with her grin. I want that. We’ve transcended the normal bonds of society for a hookup and damn it, I want that hookup. In her hotel room. On clean, pressed sheets for her beautiful body.

  Stop. Focus on something else. Anything else. But I can’t.

  We pull into the parking lot of the Paulson Inn and Angie gets out first, waiting for me on the sidewalk, her hem slightly askew. She holds her hand out for me and I take it. She’s got small hands, warm, and I get a vision of holding her hand downtown at the café while we eat. It’s the kind of romance I’ve never allowed myself to think about—not with anyone—because that’s the kind of romance that takes time. Commitment. A schedule that’s not a fireman’s schedule.

  Which I won’t have, after today. Since this is my last shift.

  I’ll just be working on the ranch.

  The ranch won’t offer much more free time, I know, but—

  I squeeze her hand and we go in through the lobby. It’s cool in there, the humidity stripped from the air, and Angie gives a little wave to the girl behind the desk. She tugs my hand—faster—and we move quickly across the blue and gold carpet to the elevator and step in.

  The moment the door closes, I pull her close.

  Angie gasps but she doesn’t resist. It’s like two magnets coming together. Her body moves against mine, tight tight tight, and I pick her up so I can kiss her.

  Oh, god, she’s sweet.

  She wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around mine and all I can feel is her lips, all I can taste is her tongue. It’s like dancing, only a thousand times better. I’ve kissed women before but it’s never been like this. My whole body is subsumed in it, lost in it, and Angie nips my bottom lip with her teeth and laughs.

  Laughs.

  She’s loving this, having fun, and her back arches against my hand. This thing we’re doing is a balancing act. She asked me for something, and I’m going to give it. She climbs up in my arms, and I’m going to hold her here. Safe.

  Nothing is ever going to happen to her while I’m around.

  The thought is fierce, strong, and Angie puts her hands on my biceps. “You’re tense,” she says. “What are you thinking of?”

  You. “Future plans,” I hedge.

  “For the real future?” A genuine curiosity sparks in her eyes. “Or just the tonight future?”

  “Definitely tonight.” There are so many of them it’s hard to sort out, about now, about next week, about ten years from now when this night is only a distant memory. “You’ve given me an important job.”

  “I don’t know.” She bites her lip. “It seems like a simple task.”

  “Taking someone’s virgi
nity is not a simple task,” I intone. “There’s a lot more to it than biology.”

  She laughs again, and the sound is addictive—I want more of it, every day, for as long as I live. “It is not,” she says. “It’s just—” She leans back in my arms, makes a circle with two fingers, and sticks her index finger through it.

  I could die like this, and it might be all right—laughing my guts out in an elevator with Angie, the sweetest blonde angel I’ve ever met in all my life. It makes my abs tense. I can’t stop. Tears come to the corners of my eyes and I struggle for control, over and over until I’ve finally got it again.

  Angie stays perched in my hands, her arms around my neck, waiting. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  “Yes,” I tell her solemnly. “I’m going to be just fine.” It occurs to me then that the Paulson Inn is only two stories tall, and this elevator has taken just about forever to get there. “You think we’re trapped in here?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Really?”

  “I think you didn’t press the button for the second floor. You were—you know. You were focused on something else.”

  Just to prove a point, I kiss her again, backing her up toward the opposite wall. I kiss her lips, lingering there, and then move down the side of her neck until I meet the curve of her shoulder. I can’t get much lower in this position so I lick, swirling my tongue against her skin, tasting her there too. She shivers in my grasp. Do I notice her nipples peaking underneath the thin fabric of her dress?

  Hell, yes.

  I do.

  I wish I had a painting of this moment. I know—absurd. Nobody keeps paintings anymore, especially not of a guy in a Halloween costume kissing a woman in an elevator. But I wish for it anyway. A huge painting. A family keepsake.