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September 02, 2010
 

View All Titles by Betty Womack

REVIEWS for The Stetson

4 Stars: "Spoiled brat Abigail Huffington was determined to escape her grandfather’s control. Hunky cowboy Turk Gunnison continuously irritated her. She was waiting for her friend, Shane, to bring her enough money to leave the country and start over. Along with Shane, came trouble.
     The Stetson is a delightful love story that will leave the reader tingling for their own cowboy. Abigail and Turk have a very stormy relationship. The characters are well developed. The plot is enticing. Fans of romance will enjoy The Stetson." —Anne Boling, Review Your Book

ADULT EXCERPT

He used his shirt to slowly wipe down his chest and flat stomach, and dry his hair before tossing the shirt on the bale next to her.

“That isn’t why you came out here.” He casually unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his jeans. “Is it?”

What now? This wasn’t meant to be his party. He was supposed to be on his knees, begging for morsels.

That could still happen if she didn’t melt like a candle in his heat.

“So, you’re able to read my thoughts now?” The soft tease in her voice wasn’t intentional, simply impossible to stop.

“Like a cheap novel.” He eyed her with a speculative smile.

The word cheap was right on target, stinging her heart so badly she sucked in a breath.

She was on the verge of crying, but held it in. He wouldn’t have the pleasure of knowing he’d hurt her.

“You like cheap things if I recall your daring exploits at that sleazy bar.” Her eyes burned with a combination of angry, unshed tears and a battered heart. “I’ve tried talking sensibly, but you can’t reason with a deranged ass.”

“Ms. Van Huffington. If you don’t want sex, get the hell out of here. Now.”

His vulgar words were a potion of indescribable visions and sensory thrills, jump-starting her libido.

Just like that, fingers of erotic delight worked their way over every sensitive nerve of her body, slipping coyly into the damp, pulsing spot between her legs.

“Your mind is filthy, Turk.” She evaded his hand that reached for hers. “I thought we might carry on a decent conversation. Not rut like one of your cheap Blue Balls girls.”

“We can talk while we rut.” He reached for her again, and her blood went on a hot rampage. “Talk’s cheap. Fucking costs a hell of a lot, baby.”

The gleam in his eyes was so damned explicit in its bawdy message, how was she supposed to appear bored?

You should be slapping his face, not working up a climax.

Nip this in the bud. He’s having too much fun.

“That’s your most endearing quality.” Evading him was becoming more difficult. She skipped away to press against the far wall, the urge to run into his arms stealing her willpower. “Can’t you form a sentence that isn’t comprised of four letter words?”

“That isn’t what you want, lady.” He hooked his thumbs in the waist of his jeans and looked her up and down. “Hop up on those bales and I’ll give it to you.”

What now? You’ve stupidly worked yourself into a trap. It couldn’t be better.

She scowled at him. “I will not.” Her gaze slid to the bales and checked out the possibility of doing exactly as he suggested. “I wanted to be adult about this, but you’re forcing me to your level.”

“Oh, I know what level you like.” He leaned close, breathing in the scent of her hair. “As deep as I can go.”

Her body reacted with quivering defeat the moment he stepped forward, so close his chin grazed her forehead.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to while the scent of erotic maleness robbed her of all sensibility.

“I don’t find you the least bit attractive when you talk like a smelly field hand.”

You’re a miserable example of womanhood, Abigail. He knows you’re ready to pull his jeans down to his ankles.

He moved in, grazing her breasts with his body, looking over her shoulder as he strummed the chords of her erogenous zone. “I think you like making it with this filthy field hand.” His voice deepened, laced with urgency. “You seem to get real excited by the things I do. Bring any jelly with you?”

He’s working you into being a willing accomplice to him taking off your undies.

That’s right. You aren’t wearing any.

Make him ask for whatever he gets. Oh, damn it. She’d be begging any minute now.

She took one last swing at his macho attitude.

“Turk, I understand your anger and embarrassment about last night, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.” Look at him. He doesn’t give a damn what you say. “I want to leave only pleasant memories.”

Her subtle insult drew no response. He obviously wasn’t perturbed by her words.

He shifted his weight, leaving her no escape, and licked his lips.

Did he want to taste her?

The low burning flame in her body wouldn’t be stamped down too much longer. His scent took her back into his bed, replaying every nip and kiss, every thrust and sigh.

She stiffened with expectation as he touched the soft fabric of her skirt, rolling the material between his thumb and finger.

“I like that,” he murmured.

Don’t you dare shiver or close your eyes. But, he smells so good. Was that whining?

She stood trembling, helpless to react against his fingers twisting in the hem of her Tee-shirt. Nothing could be done to stop the tingling line he drew across her bare skin until it ended under the curve of her breast.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Of course he did and doesn’t believe you. He tilted his head, the angle shadowing her face.

“You’re wasting time. What do you really want?”

“I want you.”

The words came from the most carefully-guarded secret place in her heart.

He didn’t say the words she’d hoped for, his mouth smiling speculatively while the passion in his eyes swept away all silly need to be reassured.

“I think we’re going to set this shed on fire, Huffy.”

“We should begin putting out the flame right now.”

All the wise and wicked plans she’d brought with her were squashed under his boot. She cared less now that he’d won the skirmish, wanted her senses set aflame by his firm mouth closing over hers in a hard, wet kiss, his moan speaking clearly of his desire.

He stumbled forward, pressing her to the wall, ignoring the shower of bridles and lead lines that rained down over them.

She had lost her will, clinging to him with a muffled cry of happiness. Closing her eyes, she murmured against his lips. “Lets take today.”

In Turk’s strong arms, she couldn’t remember the cruel taunts she’d planned for him. She didn’t care about that, only the heartbreaking excitement of being in love.

Lost in a vaporous sensuality, she drifted in desire so vivid, her body quaked under his caress. She scraped her nails across his muscled back while her tongue lapped adoringly at his small nipples.

He sucked in his breath and gripped her arms tightly. “You little cat.”

“You’re my cowboy.” Her laugh was husky with passion. “Are you wearing spurs?”

His reaction was a new jolt of pheromone to her blood. In a smooth motion, his hand was under her skirt, moving up between her thighs.

She gasped with pleasure, grabbing at his hand to slide it to her aching center. She had no intention of stopping his progress. Instead, she pressed it closer to her quivering flesh.

“My God, baby, you sure as hell don’t wear many clothes.” His Texas drawl was pronounced and sexy as hell, teasing her just like his hands that knew no boundary. “You know how to mess me up, don’t you?”

He cupped her hips in his hands, pulling her close. The heated bulge against her belly left no question as to his desire.

“If you’re too messed up, I’ll have to help you, cowboy.”

Her hands shook with excitement, her fingers nimbly freeing the buttons on his fly.

How was she to think straight and with his fingers inside her, sliding in and out to bring her closer to climax. She shook with anticipation.

Dipping her hand inside the hot pouch that carried his all man package, Abigail hesitated for the briefest second after she heard the chiding words of her inner woman’ voice.

He doesn’t love or want you, Abigail.

Go away!

Stopping was not possible. Turk was all she wanted, and if getting him meant barring her soul, nothing was too much to ask.

She freed her prize and gazed in victorious delight at it. He was hot and pulsing in her hand. “You’re just right, Turk.” Drops of moisture on his tip provided a wonderful, sensuous lube for the lovely silken head. “Pick me up, cattle rustler. Fit me onto your beautiful saddle horn.”

He gently squeezed her clit and spoke in his beautiful, husky sex voice. “I want to kiss your sweet little box.” His breathing was labored, the violent beat of his heart against her breast sounded almost dangerous.

He carried her to the saddle rail and set her on the precarious perch, tossing her skirt over her head.

She grabbed the support columns on either side of her and shrieked with delight.

The man’s an animal and you love it.

He pushed her legs apart and pulled them over his shoulders.

The first brush of his face with its half days beard, scraped the inside of her thighs and shot her into orbit.

She was certain she was going to die.

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