Roping Melanie by Melissa Ellen

Prologue

Melanie

This wasn’t me.

I was a good girl.

A rule follower.

I minded my p’s and q’s as my gran always said. I worked hard, went to church on Sundays, and took care of my parents the best I could.

What I didn’t do was meet random men in strange bars. I definitely didn’t go back to a hotel room with them after barely learning only their first name. I wasn’t the one-night stand type of girl.

But heck. Sometimes, a good girl just wanted to be bad.

I wanted to know what it felt like to let my hair down and run naked through the streets. Figuratively speaking, of course. There were some lines I’d never cross. And what better time to let loose than when celebrating your twenty-first birthday in Las Vegas?

My friends had all but shoved me in the handsome cowboy’s direction a mere five hours ago, encouraging me to “go for it.”

Go for it, I did.

It took little convincing on their part.

He was hot. Tall. Sexy smile. Sharp jaw. Gorgeous green eyes that reminded me of the apples Gran always kept in a bowl on her kitchen counter. He filled out a pair of Wrangler’s like no other. The man was delicious. Like finger-licking good. Though in this case, it was him I wanted to lick and kiss and do all kinds of things to.

With the help of the pleasant buzz from the fruity cocktails I’d been sucking down all night, I’d walked straight up to him and asked him to dance. And lord, could the man dance. The way he’d moved his hips on the dance floor had that familiar tingling traveling south. It’s what had easily led me to this unforgettable moment in the hallway outside his hotel room.

Our mouths had barely left each other since walking out of the club. He pulled away, only to slide the key into the slot with one hand while his other held mine. The door shut behind us, the lock clicking into place. He turned into me, his hands immediately gripping my hips as he backed me into the door. A smile so wide and beautiful, I never wanted to forget it. Or the way he was looking at me. Like I was a sweet cherry pie fresh out of the oven all for himself.

My back flattened against the smooth service as he pressed his body into mine. With a hand fisted in his shirt to drag him closer, I lifted to my toes and took his mouth in a kiss that hid nothing. No pretense. No games. I wanted this. Him. I wanted to feel his hands and mouth on every inch of my heated skin.

His lips met mine with a moan before moving across my jaw and down my throat.

“Damn, Mel,” he murmured against my neck. “You smell so damn good.” He pulled back slightly and searched my eyes. “You don’t mind if I call you Mel, do you?”

With my hands at the back of his head, I forced his lips back to mine in response. I didn’t care what he called me as long as he stopped reminding me how little we knew about each other. If I thought about it for too long, I’d chicken out. I’d be out the door so fast, even the Billingsley gossip squad wouldn’t know what I nearly allowed to happen. Being I was states away from my small hometown in Texas, fingers crossed, they never would.

I’d been living at home while attending a local community college an hour away from Billingsley. I’d spent my days in class and my evenings waiting tables at Dudley’s Bar and Dance Hall since I’d graduated from high school. It wasn’t easy to juggle both. Needless to say, a little time off was long overdue. Which is why I jumped all over a weekend in Vegas when my friends had suggested it to celebrate my birthday. I’d saved every penny for months and opened my first ever credit card just to make it happen.

Nash, the sexy cowboy, moaned against my lips once again. The fingertips of his strong, calloused hands dug into the backs of my thighs, hoisting me into the air effortlessly. With my legs locked around his waist, he carried me to the bed. I melted into the fluffy, white down comforter that covered the mattress. The five-star hotel room definitely beat the cheap one we were staying in. The thought had me involuntarily pulling away to ask, “What was it you said you did again?”

Nash sat back on his knees with his lips slightly tilted in a smoldering grin. “I ride bulls.” He tugged his shirt from the waistband of his jeans before discarding it completely.

Dear. Lord. This is the best birthday ever.

Any follow-up questions I might’ve had vanished at the sight of his sculpted torso.

I braced myself for what was to come as he crawled over me. His rough, yet gentle hand coasted up the bare skin of my legs. As he slowly peeled the layers of clothing from my body, I shivered. When his body blanketed mine, I welcomed the warmth and relaxed into the comfort of his strong arms.

It didn’t take long for us both to get lost in each other.

I may not have known much about Nash, but if there was one thing I did know, it was he had more stamina than my ex-boyfriend from high school. My ex had been a fumbling boy that barely knew his way around a woman’s body. Nash, on the other hand, was for dang sure no boy. The man didn’t just know his way around my body, he owned it. We’d gone at it several times into the wee hours, even once in the shower.

It wasn’t until the rising sun filtered through the sheer curtains that I’d finally slipped out from under his arm and dressed as he slept. After I’d gathered my things, ready to do the walk of shame back to my hotel, I gave him a final longing glance. There was no doubt, I’d always remember Nash, the bull rider. But just in case, I swiped his hotel room key from the dresser as a token souvenir before slipping out of his room and life forever. Little did I know he’d already given me something to remember him by.