Even then, he waited, stroking that tiny bundle of nerves that controlled her pleasure until she arched off the bed and cried out.
He entered her then with one forceful push, feeling her inner muscles contract around him, her body still in the throes of sweet release. The sensation was indescribable. He was consumed with lust and racked with the need to give her tenderness and passion in equal measure.
As he moved in her slowly, Abby squirmed beneath him, locking her legs around his waist and angling her lower body so they fit together perfectly. She was dreamy-eyed, flushed, her skin damp and hot.
“Don’t hold back, Carter. I want it all.”
Her words were a demand, one he was happy to meet. His world narrowed to her face. Each time he pumped his hips, he saw her react. The flutter of long-lashed eyelids, the small gasps of breath, the way her chin lifted toward the ceiling and her lips parted as she reached for a second climax.
She found it as he found his. He came for eons, it seemed, shuddering against her and whispering her name. When it was over, he slumped on top of her, barely managing to brace most of his weight on his elbows.
He might have dozed.
When reality finally intruded, it was because Abby squirmed out from under him to go to the bathroom. Carter rolled to his back and slung one arm over his face. He felt blissfully sated, but oddly unsettled.
Some things were too good to be true, and this might be one of them. Madeline hadn’t been the woman for him. He could see that now with the benefit of hindsight. Losing her had wounded his pride and his dignity. The broken relationship left him lonely and afraid to trust.
Abby wasn’t Madeline. Carter knew that. But she was no more likely to hang around, so he needed to keep his head out of his ass and be smart about this.
While his lover was still occupied, he crawled out of bed and retrieved her clothes from the guest bathroom. As he turned on the washing machine and added soap, he stared at the bra and panties in his hands. They looked alien.
This was a male household.
He’d had a handful of one-night stands since his aborted engagement. Mostly out of town. Almost exclusively with sophisticated women who took what they wanted and asked for nothing in return.
Abby was different. Honestly, he couldn’t say exactly how or why, but he felt it in his gut. The fact that confusion swirled in his brain warned him to take a step back.
He tossed the few items of laundry into the water and closed the lid. She was spending the night. There was nothing he could do about that. So, he might as well enjoy himself.
Abby was tucked up in his bed, snug beneath the covers when he returned to his room. The sight of her constricted his chest.
She raised up on her elbow. “Where did you go?”
“I promised to wash your clothes, remember?”
“Oh. Right. I was thinking about leaving in a little bit, but I guess I won’t.”
He frowned. “Leaving? Why?”
Abby shoved the hair from her face, some of it still damp. Her gaze was guarded. “You’ll need to be up early in the morning. And I’ve already taken a lot of your time this week. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Was there a note of hurt in that explanation? Had she picked up on his unease? Guilt swamped him. He climbed back into bed, pulling her close. “I’ll let you know if you’re in the way, Abs. For now, we’re right where we should be.”
They slept for an hour, or maybe two. Then he made love to her again. This time was less frantic, but no less stunning. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. Sex was an important part of life, but it hadn’t been the driving force in the last few years.
Now he craved her with a fiery intensity that took his breath away. What was he going to do about that?
When he roused the next time, he stumbled down the hall to put her clothes in the dryer. He contemplated forgetting, so she would have to stay longer. But he knew she had an interview lined up with Billy Holmes, and Carter couldn’t be the one to sabotage her project, even if he wasn’t keen on knowing Abby would be alone with Holmes.
Sometime before dawn, he awakened to the pleasant sensation of female fingers wrapped around his erection.
Abby nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. “It will be morning soon. Are you up for one more round before I go?”
He cleared his throat, feeling like a sailor lost at sea. The only thing he could hang on to was Abby. “I think you know the answer to that.”
He took care of protection once again, and Abby climbed on top with no apparent self-consciousness. Cupping her firm, rounded ass in his hands, he thrust into her warmth, feeling his certainty slip away.
Were there some things a man could make exceptions for? Some prizes worth any price? His life was all mapped out. It was a good life. But there was no room for self-indulgence. Abby was cotton candy at the fair, a brilliant display of fireworks on a hot summer night. But she wasn’t the mundane day-to-day of responsibility.
When she leaned down to steal a kiss—her hair cocooning them in intimacy—he quickly lost the desire for self-reflection. Her breasts danced in front of him, ripe for the tasting. He took every advantage.
Her body was a mystery and a wonder of divine engineering. This was the third time he’d taken her tonight. He should have been sated and tired. Instead, he felt invincible.
When she cried out and came, he rolled her to her back and pounded his way to the finish line, shocked even now at the effect she had on him. Was it some kind of sorcery? Or was he simply sex deprived?
Maybe there was yet another explanation he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He had slept only in snatches the entire night. This time, he fell hard and deep into unconsciousness. When his alarm went off at seven, one side of the bed was cool and empty, and his lover was gone.
* * *
Abby yawned her way through a hotel breakfast in the dining room. The eggs and bacon, fresh fruit and croissants were delightful, but she didn’t enjoy the meal as much as she should have. She felt disheveled and gloomy, and she didn’t have the luxury of going to her room and crashing.
Billy Holmes was expecting her at eleven.
She refused to think about Carter at all. He confused her. That was the last thing she needed right now. Her documentary was still an unfocused blob. She had to find a sound angle if she hoped to make any progress at all.
By the time she had showered and changed into a melon-colored pantsuit with a jaunty aqua and coral scarf around her throat, she felt a renewed determination. The fashionable clothes were intentional. This documentary was her big shot. She had someone at a major studio willing to take a chance on her. The film she produced had to be rock-solid. And it didn’t hurt to dress for success.
Driving out to the Edmonds’ property steadied her. As she passed an ornate sign that read Elegance Ranch, she wrinkled her nose. The name was pretentious, at least to her. Billy had texted her a set of directions. That was a good thing, because the sprawling private dynasty included a pool and stables and several guesthouses in addition to the massive, luxurious main house.
She recalled from the meeting at the Texas Cattleman’s Club that Rusty Edmond, the oft-married but now-single patriarch, lived there along with his son, Ross, daughter, Gina, and stepson, Asher. And for a reason yet to be discovered, Billy Holmes lived in one of the guest cottages.
The property was completely private, surrounded by miles of ranch land. Abby stopped several times to get out and photograph interesting spots. Once she was cleared at the gatehouse, there were no other impediments. She had allowed herself plenty of extra time. Being prompt was one of her personal mantras.
By the time she located Billy’s guesthouse, her nerves returned. His home was beautiful, lushly landscaped and neither huge nor tiny. How had he ended up here? And why had the family accepted him as one of their own?
&
nbsp; When Abby rang the doorbell, a uniformed older woman with gray hair answered. “You must be Ms. Carmichael,” she said. “Please come in. Mr. Holmes is expecting you.”
Abby followed the woman through the house to a pleasant sunroom overlooking a grassy, well-manicured lawn.
Billy Holmes stood. “Abby. Right on time. So glad you could join me. Would you like a drink?”
“Water for me, please.”
He offered her a comfortable seat and took an adjoining chair. “How are you liking Royal, so far?”
“I’m getting my bearings,” she said diplomatically. “The people are friendly. And I enjoyed the advisory council meeting.” She set her glass of water aside. “Would you mind if I go ahead and get set up to film our conversation? I don’t want to miss anything. Unless the camera makes you uncomfortable.”
“The camera doesn’t bother me at all,” he said, giving her a smile that was almost too charming.
Fortunately for Abby, Holmes’s phone dinged. He stood and dealt with the text, leaving her a few moments to frame a backdrop and get her equipment where she wanted it. By the time she was ready, Billy returned.
She motioned to where she had situated a chair adjacent to a large-paned window. “May we get started?”
“Of course.” He put his phone in the breast pocket of his jacket and unbuttoned the coat before sitting down. With the sun gilding his dark hair and his deliberately scruffy five-o’clock shadow, Billy Holmes looked every inch the bad boy.
Abby sighted her subject through the viewfinder one last time and then stepped back. “How long have you lived in Royal, Mr. Holmes?”
“Call me Billy, please. I guess it’s been two and a half years now. Time flies.”
“And what is your connection to the Edmond family?” she asked.
“Ross and I were college buddies. He always talked about Royal and how much he loved it. When I decided to relocate and get settled for good, I thought about Maverick County as an option. Ross offered me one of the guesthouses, and here I am.”
“He sounds like a very good friend,” Abby remarked.
“Indeed.”
“Who came up with the festival idea originally? Was it you?”
His smile was modest. “Hard to say. Ross and Gina and Asher and I were talking one day about ways to put Royal on the map. It was a brainstorming session, a group project.”
“What do you hope to achieve? The actual festival site is a long way from here.”
He shrugged. “Distance is nothing in Texas. Royal will be the jumping-off point for the festival. Our main focus is luxury, whether it’s food or wine or music or art. We’re marketing to a particular clientele. No empty beer bottles and smelly port-a-johns. Beyond that, we want to bring people together, and also raise significant money for charity.” He cleared his throat. “To that end, we’re sparing no expense. We want Soiree on the Bay to be talked about for years to come.”
Abby kept asking him questions for another half hour and then began winding down the narrative. Billy Holmes was good on camera, charismatic, easy to listen to... This footage would be excellent.
Before she wrapped up, she decided to take a risk. “I heard a rumor in town,” she murmured, keeping her tone light. “Something about money missing from the festival account. Could you comment on that?”
Billy’s expression changed from affable to calculating. He seemed tense. “Turn off the camera.”
“Of course.”
After she did as he demanded, Billy stood and paced, his face flushed. “Off the record? Yes, that’s true. Ross discovered the discrepancy. But it’s a family matter. We’re handling it.”
Yet Billy Holmes wasn’t family. “I see.” She didn’t see at all, but she was stalling. “Is the festival in danger?”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “We’re full steam ahead. It’s going to be epic.”
Abby realized she wasn’t going to get anything further out of Billy Holmes. If he had slipped before, now he was covering his tracks.
In the end, she was forced to put her equipment away and sit through a long and one-sided lunch conversation. Holmes liked talking about himself. That much was clear.
But he was being closemouthed on the topic that interested her most.
Only the housekeeper’s culinary skills made the meal memorable. The quiche lorraine was amazing, as was the caprese salad.
Eventually, Abby decided she had stayed long enough not to seem rude if she bolted. “I should get back to town,” she said. “Thanks so much for lunch and the interview.”
Holmes stood when she did. “My pleasure.” His expression was guarded now, as if he was aware he had overstepped some boundary and now regretted his candor.
He walked her to the front door and out to her car, helping carry one of her bags. Abby had left her sunglasses in the glove box. She shielded her eyes with her hand. “One other thing. I’d love to speak with a few of the charities who will benefit from the Soiree. Could you make that happen?” She was deliberately playing to his vanity.
“Of course.” He preened. “You should start with Valencia Donovan at Donovan Horse Rescue. You’ll like her. She has an interesting story to tell.”
“Perfect,” Abby said. “You’ll give her my number? See if she’s willing to be interviewed? I don’t want to assume...”
“I’ll deal with it this afternoon. If you’re lucky, she might be able to see you tomorrow.”
Nine
Abby was thrilled that the wheels were beginning to turn more quickly with regard to her documentary, but even so, she couldn’t stop thinking about Carter. She’d written him a polite but brief note that morning, explaining that she had a busy day ahead.
What did he think when he found her gone? Was he disappointed?
Maybe he was glad. Some men didn’t like complications.
When she got back to the hotel, she forced herself to concentrate on work. Between the brief footage she had shot during the advisory board meeting and the personal interviews with Carter Crane and Billy Holmes, she already had a great start. Now came the hard part of scrolling through frames and editing the sequences she knew would serve her purpose.
Billy Holmes was as good as his word, apparently. Abby got a text midafternoon from Valencia Donovan inviting her to meet Valencia and see her charity at ten tomorrow morning. That should work. After responding in the affirmative, Abby was soon deep into her storyboard. What was the hook going to be? More and more, she was convinced it was the money trail.
When her stomach growled, she was surprised to realize it was after seven. Sitting in the restaurant didn’t appeal, so she ordered room service. That way she could continue working while she ate.
Two hours later, she stood and stretched. She’d made good progress. Now she could goof off and watch TV or add some new shots to her Instagram account. As a budding filmmaker, social media was essential.
She was just about to get in the shower when her phone dinged. It was Carter. Her pulse skittered. What did he want? She snatched up her cell and read the text.
Abby—Hope you had a good day. How about coming out to the ranch for dinner tomorrow night? I know my family would love to meet you. Let me know...
In the bathroom mirror, her expression was startled. Meet his family? Why? She scowled at her reflection, parsing his words for hidden meanings. Maybe the invitation was no more or less than it seemed. After all, not all families got along perfectly. Maybe Carter thought an outsider would cushion any squabbles.
She didn’t answer right away. During her shower, she tried not to think about Carter’s offer to shower together at his house. She had turned him down. Maybe now she regretted that. Would he have made love to her then? And again in the bed?
Thinking about sex with Carter made her hot and bothered. By the time she dried off and put on a clean T-shirt and sleep p
ants, she was no closer to knowing what to do.
She liked Carter Crane. A lot. He was funny and smart, and so sexy she had let him coax her into bed with embarrassing ease.
That was what worried her. If she had so little self-control around the man, wouldn’t it be safer to keep her distance? This town wasn’t for her. Neither was this lifestyle. She liked being free and able to go wherever the wind took her.
If she embarked on a relationship with one of Royal’s premier bachelors, wasn’t it possible she could end up getting hurt?
In the end, she chickened out. Her text was a monument to indecision.
Carter—I’m not sure about my schedule tomorrow. I should be able to let you know by noon. Okay???
She hit Send and tucked her phone under a pillow, too anxious to wait for his answer. Although she was finished with work for the evening, she couldn’t resist taking another look at the interview with Carter. She uploaded some of the raw footage to her laptop and unmuted the sound.
Like most people, she didn’t enjoy hearing her own voice. But Carter’s made up for it. The timbre of his speech was intensely masculine. He looked straight at the lens, unflinching. Though he claimed to have no experience being on camera, he came across as natural and appealing. Even someone with no interest in cattle and horses would find his enthusiasm compelling.
It didn’t hurt that his rugged good looks played well.
Finally, she shut off the electronics and did a few half-hearted yoga stretches. Her usual routine had been shot to heck. She was supposed to be finding a revelation or two. About Soiree on the Bay. Or ranchers in general. Or the Texas Cattleman’s Club way of life.
Instead, Texas was showing her a few truths about herself.
* * *
The next morning, she hopped out of bed, refusing to think about hot, sexy ranchers and wild, incredible sex. She grabbed a croissant and coffee downstairs before bolting to her rental car. Valencia Donovan’s property was a few miles outside of town, but Abby wasn’t sure how far out.
Texas Tough Page 9