Ramagos, Tonya - Logan's Lessons [Sunset Cowboys 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  Sunset Cowboys 2

  Logan’s Lessons

  Jaelynn-Sue Murphy has a dilemma and less than a week to find the solution. Little does she realize her answer is dancing in front of her, clad in drool-worthy Wranglers and cowboy boots, doing a bump and grind that sends her hormones on a bucking ride to Happy Land.

  Teaching line dancing to a barroom of eager couples isn't the way Logan Cartwright planned to spend his evenings. An ailing father, family obligations at the ranch, and a failed engagement landed him on the dance floor at the Double Horn Saloon. Funny thing is he enjoys the hell out of it! He has a real talent for taking old line dancing favorites, sexing them up, and turning them hot, hot, hot. When his dream cowgirl saunters into Sunset, his brain conjures up all sorts of lessons he can't wait to teach her, including how to stay in his life forever.

  Genre: Contemporary/Western/Cowboys

  Length: 24,749 words

  LOGAN'S LESSONS

  Sunset Cowboys 2

  Tonya Ramagos

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  LOGAN'S LESSONS

  Copyright © 2009 by Tonya Ramagos

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-642-3

  First E-book Publication: October 2009

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2009 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  To Wendi Darlin, thanks for pointing me in the right line dancing direction.

  LOGAN'S LESSONS

  Sunset Cowboys 2

  TONYA RAMAGOS

  Copyright © 2009

  Chapter 1

  Jaelynn-Sue Murphy caught sight of long legs clad in faded Wranglers, a truly delectable ass, narrow hips, and a set of broad shoulders perfect for gripping. Awareness moved through her, tightening her nipples and wetting her panties. She turned on her barstool for a better look and, oh, my. Handsome cowboys were a dime a dozen in the rodeo business, but sometimes a girl lucked up and found one beyond the extraordinary. Cowboy Grip and Ride, she aptly nicknamed him, as he did a lone bump and grind on the dance floor that put her in mind of a bale of hay and a horse whip, definitely topped the superb o-meter.

  Logan Cartwright, she presumed, given the name on the flyer taped outside the entrance to this run-of-the-mill honky-tonk in Sunset, Tennessee, otherwise known as the Double Horn Saloon. The flyer announced couples line dancing lessons given nightly from 5pm to 7pm by Logan Cartwright.

  Jaelynn picked up her citrus vodka and tonic and sipped, letting her gaze drink in the drool-worthy package that filled out the front of those tight-fitting Wranglers. Jumpin' jellybeans, the man was exquisitely packed. She didn't have much use for line dancing, but she bet that wasn't the only lessons a man like Logan could teach.

  She could go for a lesson or two tonight, anything to help her relax and take her mind off the unequivocal changes about to wreak havoc with her lifestyle. She could go for a quick solution to stop the inevitable upset to her entire world too, but she didn't figure she'd find that in either Logan Cartwright or the bottle of citrus Absolute behind the bar.

  But she could sure as hell try.

  "Want another?"

  Jaelynn turned back to the bar, shooting a surprised glance into her glass. Well, hell, she'd downed that one fast. "Do you have the time?"

  The bartender, a little slip of a thing in a pair of daisy dukes, a belly button ring revealed by a cut off t-shirt that sported the logo for the Double Horn Saloon on the left breast, and a riot of golden-red curls, checked her leather-banded wristwatch. "Quarter past six."

  "Thank you and, yes, I'll have another one." Jaelynn pushed her glass to the bartender and grabbed a handful of beer nuts from a basket to her left. She popped one in her mouth, gave a slight nod to the two men at the opposite end of the bar, and returned her attention to the dance floor.

  Couples line dancing, she mused, and scanned the half dozen pairs of bodies swinging their hips and shuffling their feet over the polished oak floor. The way each couple moved in perfect tandem, pressed so closely together oxygen likely had a difficult time getting between them, groins grinding and bodies rubbing, was unlike any line dancing she'd ever seen, couples or otherwise. Holy moly, she felt herself getting turned on just watching them!

  "Here ya go." The bartender returned with her drink.

  Jaelynn turned back and slid a ten across the bar. "Thanks, keep the change."

  The bartender shook her head, leaving the ten on the bar. "That one's on Hank's tab."

  Jaelynn lifted the glass, toasted the air in the direction of the two men on the other end of the bar, figuring one of them had to be Hank. The gesture earned her a crooked smile and a tip of a Stetson from the stockier of the men.

  "What's your name?" Jaelynn asked the bartender.

  "Misty." Her eyes were a bright blue, easy to distinguish even in the dim light of the barroom, and a direct contrast to her red locks.

  Red hair dye or blue contacts, Jaelynn decided one them must be fake. "Give Hank a big thanks for me, Misty, but don't let anyone else buy my drinks. I pay my own way."

  "Whatever you say." Misty shrugged.

  "Thanks." Jaelynn gave the girl a quick, pasted on smile and turned her back on the bar. Logan Cartwright had moved from his position at the front of the group of couples to a boom box poised on a chair at the side of the dance floor.

  "How 'bout we try that with some music?" he asked his students.

  Jaelynn's body responded to the rich baritone of his voice as if he'd physically touched her. A ripple of heat started on the side of her neck just below her earlobe and drifted down, teasing her already hardened nipples, fluttering through her belly, and igniting in her pussy. The man was potent beyond anything Absolute could dream up and, boy, howdy, she could go for a good dr
unk tonight.

  * * * *

  Logan felt her gaze on him and fought not to adjust his aching cock. Jesus, the woman's attention had given him a hard-on to make a bull jealous. He'd seen her when she'd entered the bar, recognized her on sight. Jaelynn-Sue Murphy. Currently ranked number four in the professional rodeo circuit for bulldogging even against her male counterparts, she was one of the few females to ever make a name for herself in steer wrestling and the only African American woman to pull it off. Though admittedly she was only part African American. Born to a man of color and a Caucasian mother, Jaelynn-Sue Murphy possessed the perfect mix of mocha-tinted skin, satiny dark hair with natural highlights, and a pair of eyes so green a man could become mesmerized by simply gazing into them.

  He should know. He'd stared into those eyes enough while flipping through the latest issue of Pro Rodeo Sports. A single man had to have a hobby, and lately his had been fantasizing about the truly wicked temptation of Jaelynn-Sue Murphy.

  What would it be like to have her on top of him, her warm pussy sheathing his cock as she rode him with all the exuberance that she rode a bareback horse? He'd seen her rodeo clippings that followed her career from barrel racing to bareback riding to bulldogging, and he'd fallen asleep on more than one occasion in past months wondering that very question. Not that he'd ever expected to stand a chance with the reputed hard-assed bitch. Yeah, Jaelynn-Sue Murphy earned the reputation of being a woman who took what she wanted from a man and left everything else. What she wanted in terms of sex, he assumed. He figured her to be of the single-minded variety that went for self-satisfaction and walked away with a smile on her lovely bow-shaped lips.

  Not that he'd have any objections to such behavior. At thirty-five he'd prefer a woman up for falling in love, marriage, and starting a family but, hey, he could go either way. Especially with a woman who possessed a body offering pure, unadulterated testosterone-pleasuring bliss.

  "Alright, mares and stallions, that's it for today." Logan flicked off the music, hooked his thumbs in his pockets and shuffled his feet to the middle of the dance floor. "Billy, practice that modified two step I showed you. Maria, work on grinding those hips, babe."

  "I'll give her some practice tonight." Hugh Rowell lassoed his wife's waist with a curved arm and yanked the laughing Maria against him.

  "I just bet you will." Maria planted a kiss on her husband's lips that started the air to smoking.

  "There now." Logan grinned. "Get that kind of friction going on the dance floor and you'll have no problems doing the bump and grind." He moved back to the chair that held his boom box and hat and settled his Stetson on his head. "Same time tomorrow night." He touched the brim of his hat, gave the group a slight nod and meandered to the bar.

  A glass of water sat waiting for him on the bar behind the beer taps. It was his usual spot to stop for a quick drink before heading out the door. He snagged the glass, drank deep and then, catching Misty's attention out of the corner of his eye, toasted the air.

  "Thank you, ma'am." The bartender gave him a narrow-eyed glare, and he bit the inside of his cheek. She hated it when he called her ma'am. He figured she should know by now he did it just to get under her craw. Bottled redhead or not, Misty Mathews had the temper to fit.

  Misty turned to serve Hugh and Maria, and Logan reached over the bar to the mixer gun, stretched it to his glass and refilled his water. All the while, the hairs at his nape stood on end. Jaelynn-Sue Murphy was watching him, hadn't stopped since he'd left the dance floor. He straightened, brought the glass to his lips and slowly turned his head as he drank. He met her gaze. To his surprise and intense pleasure, she didn't look away.

  Instead, she lifted her own glass, sipped and let her gaze trail pointedly down his side. He felt the look like a physical touch, slithering down his bicep, his hip, his leg and crawling back up in a leisurely appraisal that awoke every erogenous zone in his body, including ones he hadn't known existed. Christ Almighty, if the woman could send him teetering on the edge of ejaculation with a look, he could only imagine what she could do with her hands, or that incredible bow-shaped mouth glistening with moisture.

  Those lips tilted in the faintest hint of a smile around the rim of her glass and one perfectly plucked brow arched over her amazing eyes. Logan's gut did a dance to rival a million choreographed line dances even as pinpricks of arousal stabbed at his nut sac. He needed no further invitation.

  He moved down the bar, stopping so close to her that his hip brushed her thigh. The elevation of the barstool coupled with his six-one height put their bodies in perfect alignment for distinct gratification completely inappropriate for a barroom scattered with people. Still, that didn't stop his brain, the one in his head or the one between his legs, from taking a fast trip down fantasy lane.

  Logan saw her turn on her barstool, her legs spreading only to close around his waist. He felt her booted ankles lock at his lower back, the warmth of her pussy pressed to his throbbing cock. Her arms came around his neck, drawing him closer. Her green eyes swirled with promises and temptation as her mouth brushed his in a kiss so light he barely felt it. Or would've barely felt it, if it were truly happening.

  Logan blinked and downed the remaining water in his glass.

  "Tough job, cowboy?" Her voice was a combination of whipped cream and dark chocolate syrup, smooth and sweet with a slight bite.

  "You bet ya. My feet are killing me." He smirked and caught a slight twitch at the corner of her lips before she leaned over.

  She looked between their bodies at his boots. The movement brought her so close he could smell her shampoo, a tangy scent of pomegranate and kiwi. He'd expected a more musky scent like leather and spice from a toughened rodeo woman like Jaelynn-Sue. Damn, discovering the girly fragrance instead drove him to the brink of insanity with a whiff.

  "What are those, snake skin?" She straightened and met his gaze. "They don't look all that uncomfortable."

  They were actually the most comfortable pair of boots he owned. Hell, they'd just gotten good and broken in. "They're not too bad but when you're dancing…" He ended the sentence with a shrug.

  "What kind of dancing is that? I read the sign out front. Couples line dancing? That wasn't like any line dancing I've ever seen."

  "It's my own modified version."

  "Your own version," she repeated, her tone full of intrigue.

  His and Emma's, but he took all the credit these days.

  "Don't you need a partner to teach any form of couples dancing?"

  "Need another drink?" Misty cut in before Logan could answer.

  Jaelynn slid her glass toward the bartender, but her focus stayed on him.

  Logan didn't miss the quick flash of that temper that sparked in Misty's eyes. Damn, but he enjoyed getting her back up. "I'll have a drink too, ma'am. Give me a draft. Whatever's the special on tap tonight." Misty's blue eyes blazed, and he barely covered a chuckle with a cough as she spun and stomped away.

  "I think you pissed her off," Jaelynn-Sue said in a conspiratorial whisper.

  "Maybe a little." Logan knew Misty had the hots for him. As women went, the red-headed fireball with the do-me bod ranked pretty high on his list of possible bedtime companionship, but as far as their families went back, no way would he ever go there. "I'd chalk it up more to surprise. I don't generally stick around after class is over."

  "Yet you are tonight." That perfect brow rose again, and Logan fought the urge to outline it with the tip of his finger, to let the pad of his fingertip graze down her temple, her cheek, to the delicious curve of her lips.

  "So I am."

  "Any particular reason why?"

  Misty returned with their drinks, setting his mug a bit harder on the bar than necessary. It seemed Jaelynn-Sue hit the preverbal nail on the head after all.

  Logan battled a smirk at the devil-horned glare Misty shot him before moving on down the bar. Temper personified. Hell, he might have found it arousing enough to finally give in if he hadn't been
standing next to the rodeo sex queen.

  He picked up his beer and took a big gulp. "Ahhh." He dragged out the sound as he set down the mug. "Sure I've got a reason. I'm thirsty."

  Jaelynn-Sue's green eyes twinkled. "Well, now, I can't think of any better reason than that. You've got, um, froth on your…" Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and damned if his breath didn't catch in his throat.

  Logan saw her raise her hand, knew she meant to touch him, and couldn't have moved if he wanted to. Not that he wanted to. Hell no! In the fraction of an instant that it took for her finger to reach his upper lip, the anticipation of her touch built to such a mind-numbing, ball-seizing intensity that everything around him fizzled away in the rush.

  He watched her, the powerful concentration that swirled in her eyes as her fingers came to rest on his cheek, as she lightly brushed the pad of her thumb across his upper lip. Electricity swamped him, a single bolt of lightning flashing from his upper lip straight to his cock. Slivers of white-hot passion sliced though his hardened shaft. He could have sworn he heard her suck in a quick breath at the contact. It couldn't have been him who made the sound because he hadn't managed to start breathing again yet.

  * * * *

  Touching him might not have been one of her best ideas. Flames, swift and red hot, bolted into Jaelynn's thumb, traveled through her hand and up her arm, sending burning embers raining down her insides to settle in her pussy. Her mind screamed danger with a capital D and yet she couldn't stop herself from letting her thumb make a second pass across his upper lip. She lingered on the slight v-shaped dip and warred with the urge to replace her thumb with her tongue. She could imagine how he would taste, rough and warm with the faint lingering tartness of the draft beer. She swallowed, her stomach growling, and dropped her hand.

  She met his gaze again, something else that proved not to be one of her best ideas. A shrieking bull horn replaced the screaming in her head as she stared into his milk chocolate eyes, now melted in a promised fervor of pure skill and malicious purpose. He shifted, turning his whole body toward her and, hell's bells, the hard cock that brushed her thigh made her pussy weep and her mouth flood with saliva.