But there were those eyes, delicate blue eyes, brimming with feelings he couldn’t ignore. Nor could he ignore those quivering lips of hers, full and inviting and tugging at his senses. A taste of Libby would only cause misery. He wasn’t a masochist. But he was a man.
“Libby.” He raised her chin with his finger and rubbed a thumb over the soft rise of her moist cheek. He hesitated just a second to give her an opportunity to resist, and then he dipped his head.
He’d meant just to brush those lips, touch them with his own. A drop, a sip. But like the taste of a long-denied treat, it wasn’t enough. And she responded, hugging him with all she had. His restraint crumbled, and he gathered her to him, tugging her body over the console until they were chest to chest. He cupped her jean-clad bottom in one palm while he ran his other hand under the swell of her breast. She was rounder and firmer than he remembered, the curves of a woman replacing the lean lines of a girl.
Her lips parted in invitation. His tongue entered. He increased the suction, teasing her tongue into his. She tasted like beer and smelled like roses, a heady combination for any red-blooded cowboy. This was Libby. His Libby.
Running his thumb over the fabric covering her nipple, he felt it peak, and his own body responded with a rush of blood, hardening him. Too long. Too long since he’d felt such need, such desire. Too long since he’d had Libby.
He ran his hand up her firm back and pressed his lips across her jawbone, down her throat, tasting right behind her ear, which he knew had once been a vulnerable spot. By the way she tried to crawl further into his lap and the small mews that purred from her throat, he figured it still was.
He licked her neck and then brought his mouth back to hers and deepened the kiss. He was like a man who’d found an oasis again after searching blindly in the desert. He couldn’t get enough.
Libby. The young girl who, for a brief moment in his life, had believed in him, had made him a far better person than he had ever been before. Had been the first person to love him—and one of many who had abandoned him.
Abandoned. Walked away.
The words slit into him with the bite of a jagged-edged knife. Instinctively he recoiled, broke the kiss. The gasping of breaths said they both had been fully in that moment. But, he reminded himself as he struggled to rein in his response, a moment was about the length of Libby’s ability to commit—a few kisses, maybe even a roll in bed. But afterward, he’d be lucky if she waved good-bye on her way out the door.
This had been a bad idea.
He moved his head, trying to shake some sense back into it, and looked at her from under the brim of his hat. Her chest was heaving, and her lips and cheeks glowed bright pink under the splayed light of the parking lot.
Could she still have feelings for him? After walking away? And even if she did, could he ever trust her again? Trust her to care?
But damn, at that moment he wanted to trust her. He wanted her to have feelings for him again. He wanted her.
“Libby—”
“Chance, I—”
“Guess that passion between us is still there. But we both know that’s not enough.” He forced a smile he sure didn’t feel and hoped she’d argue the point. Just knowing she felt something, anything, for him…
“I need to talk to you.” The words were whispered, barely audible, but it still caused hope to jump into his heart.
He couldn’t take a chance on getting hurt again. If he hadn’t had rodeo, he would have surely cashed in his chips when she’d walked out on him. But he was a survivor. Had to be one all his sorry life. And he’d learned what chances to take and what ones to let go. Like when to give up on a ride and when to stick in there for the whole eight seconds. When to accept a re-ride and when not to.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stared out the windshield. “The divorce. The lawyer said he couldn’t find you to serve the court summons, so it was published in the Cheyenne newspapers, but you never responded.”
“I never saw it. I was on the circuit. Trying to earn enough money to buy us a home so I could get you back.”
She rubbed her forehead. “When you didn’t respond in the time allotted, the divorce was granted by default.”
“Well, your father’s lawyer found me fast enough to send me the divorce decree. It was waiting for me in my PO Box.” And the knowledge had just about killed him.