The Cowboy and the Cougar

The Cowboy and the Cougar

Helen Hardt

Cougar Club

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Holly is having an extremely bad day when she meets Jack at a downtown Denver bar.  Eleven years younger, he's just what she needs to lift her spirits.  But a lifetime? No way.  There's their age difference and then there's the entire reason Holly had the bad day to begin with.

 
PUBLISHED BY: Aspen Mountain Press
ISBN: 978-1-60168-261-1
PUBLICATION DATE: 2009
WORD COUNT: 29000
SEXUAL CONTENT RATING: 4 4 4 4
EBOOK READER RATING:
CATEGORIES: Erotica, Chick Lit/Hen Lit, Western/Cowboys, Contemporary, Romantic Fiction
KEYWORDS: cougar, cowboy, erotic romance, contemporary, Denver, ranch, horses
 

EBOOKS BY Aspen Mountain Press

EBOOKS BY Helen Hardt

 
EXCERPT
COPYRIGHT Helen Hardt/2009

"Sugar, you look like you just lost your best friend."

The voice was deep and husky. Very sexy. Holly Taylor didn’t look up from her empty martini glass. She speared the remaining gin-soaked olive with her sword-shaped toothpick, twirled it in the last drop of alcohol, and popped it in her mouth. The piquant saltiness exploded across her tongue. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

She’d get through this. She had no choice.

"What can I get you?"

Holly opened her eyes at the female bartender’s squeaky voice. Damned annoying, especially for a swanky hotel bar, but the woman poured a mean martini.

"Scotch, neat," the familiar male voice said, "and another for the lady."

Nope. Not another. Holly was driving. No matter what lay ahead, she couldn’t get drunk and drive home. She turned her head to thank the gentleman and met the darkest, smokiest, most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

The rest of him wasn’t bad, either.

"You okay?" he asked.

Uh, yeah. Her mouth hung open and she quickly shut it. "Thank you, sir—" Sir? He had to be at least ten years her junior! "—but I don’t want another drink."

His eyes twinkled behind their ebony curtain of lashes. "I’m not sure anyone’s ever called me sir, sugar. And you look like you could use another."

Holly stared. She couldn’t help it. His eyes weren’t his only magnificent feature. His face was perfectly sculpted, with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. A few days’ growth of black beard dusted his strong jaw. Onyx hair fell to his shoulders in thick waves. And what shoulders they were—broad, meaty and clad in a white western shirt complete with silver snaps. His jeans, hat and boots completed the picture. Here was a real, honest-to-goodness cowboy in the middle of The Livingston Palace bar in Denver.

Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous.

The bartender set down another martini. Holly opened her mouth to speak, but the stud next to her touched her forearm. Sparks crept to her cheeks and warmed them.

"It’s okay. I’ll take care of you."

Take care of her? She let out a sigh. If only her life were that simple. She fingered the stem of the martini glass with her free hand and looked into his amazing eyes. He smiled. What the heck? Maybe a few minutes in this handsome young man’s company would take her mind off her problems.

"Thank you," she said. "I may need to take you up on that."

"Any time, sugar." His lazy half-smile dipped as he picked up his drink with his other hand. When the tip of his tongue touched the rim of his glass, Holly’s pulse lurched. She imagined that pink flesh snaking around a hard nipple. One of her hard nipples, both of which currently strained against her bra, aching.

Her companion let out a soft laugh. "You gonna drink that? Or just squeeze it till it shatters in your hand?"

Holly looked down at her white-knuckled fingers wringing the glass stem. She exhaled and forced her hand to relax. Lifting the drink to her lips, she said, "Cheers," and gulped the martini.

The gin stung her throat as she set the glass back down on the bar.

She’d had a shit day.

But it was about to get a whole lot better, she hoped.

Her neck chilled, and she inhaled and gathered her courage. "You live around here, Cowboy?"

"Not too far. You?"

Not too far. He hadn’t asked her name. He was wise to keep the conversation impersonal. No names. That would be best. No ages, either. If this young stud knew she’d just hit forty he’d no doubt run for cover.
"I don’t think I’m going home tonight," she said. "I think I feel like a room. A suite maybe. A jacuzzi suite."

The cowboy’s full lips curved into a grin and his fingers tensed on her forearm. "Are you asking for company?"

Holly’s heart fluttered, but she steadied herself despite the two martinis. She wasn’t drunk. It took more than two drinks to get her tipsy. All signals from the man said go. She hadn’t had sex in a while. Damn, had it been two years now?

She was forty. Forty and alone, with no one to hold her and comfort her as she cried about what was to come.

She didn’t have to be alone tonight.

Tonight, she could escape, albeit temporarily, and make love to a hot younger man. If he were willing, which he seemed to be.

She pushed her empty martini glass toward the bartender and then covered his hand which still warmed her arm. His hands were as beautifully formed as the rest of him, with long thick fingers that would feel really good in lots of places. The soft hair on his knuckles tickled her.

Why not get straight to the point? She met his dark gaze. "If I were asking for company, would you be up for it?"

He downed the rest of his Scotch and smiled. "Can’t think of a better way to spend the evening, sugar."

Holly gulped. She was really going to do this. "Do you have protection?"

"I was a boy scout—" He leaned toward her, and his warm breath caressed her cheek. "—I’m always prepared."
 

 
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