by Brill Harper
Bliss wrings her little hands in her lap while she thinks about what she’s gonna say. She’s not comfortable with us yet. That makes sense. Finally she shrugs a little helplessly. “This is a little weird. I don’t know how I feel about this.”
“Honestly, the more we talked about it, the more we realized we just wanted a feminine presence in our house. That’s all. It’s not perverted or anything. Right, Wylder?”
She makes eye contact with me, a silent dare. I can’t resist. “Nobody will touch you, little one. Not even if you beg.”
Oh, but how I’d like to hear her beg. Please fuck me, Wylder. Please let me suck your cock, Wylder. Please, let me come, Wylder.
That last one gets me extra hard.
She turns back to Colt like she’s aware that the direction of my thoughts has moved into unsafe territory for her. “So, you want me to keep house, cook, and what?”
Colt looks nervous. Damn. I shouldn’t have pushed. He really wanted this to work. I probably scared her off when all he wanted was a little female companionship and the comforts of a real home—even if we had to pay for them.
We haven’t had time to date since we started the ranch. And we don’t have time now. A man likes to have a woman around, in his house. That’s not sexist, I don’t think. We just like women. Like their company. We only joked about the sex stuff briefly.
I answer for Colt. “Told you anyone we hired wouldn’t understand.”
She rounds on me. “Understand what? That you want a wife, but don’t want to put any work in finding or keeping one?”
“It’s not like that,” Colt protests. “Someday, we do want a wife and kids. The whole thing. But right now, we’re building this ranch so we have something to offer. We don’t want anything from you that isn’t in that binder.”
“Not even if I beg,” she says dryly.
I like her sass. Too much.
I like her long dark hair and the way she wears her clothes like she thinks she’s hiding that lush figure. I like the way she’s trying to hold her own with two older men even though she’s scared. I like the way she cooks, and the way she leans her body toward my best friend but can’t forget I’m in the room.
I’m going to burn in the fires of hell for my dreams tonight, because I can’t decide if I’d rather watch her gobble down my cock or Colt’s. It was just a joke that day we decided to hire us a maid. But now that I’ve seen our Bliss sitting between us, damn if I don’t have a new fantasy.
“You’re safe enough with us, kitten,” I tell her.
But I’m lying. She’s the opposite of safe. I should fire her right now before I lose control. Before I take what isn’t mine. Before I make her give it all to me.
Chapter Two
Colt
When I enter the kitchen this morning and find Bliss cooking up a storm, the tightness in my chest since last night loosens. She’s still here. I didn’t trip over her suitcase and a certified letter from her lawyer. Breakfast smells amazing.
“You’re still here,” I say, coming all the way in the kitchen door and scraping my shoes on the mat.
She gives me a shy smile. “You’ve already been outside?”
“Milking, remember?”
“I thought you did that last night.”
“Twice a day or the girls get ornery.”
She blushes the sweetest pink. “I know absolutely nothing about ranching or farming. Sorry. I must sound like such a dork.”
She’s so fresh and pretty. I get the feeling nobody has ever told her that before, and unless I want to set off her pervert-meter again, I’m not going to tell her either. Wylder can be a real ass. There was no reason to freak the poor girl out. He just gets off on being dark sometimes.
Bastard.
“No shame in not knowing something.”
She cracks a few eggs into a bowl. “I had no idea cows were so high maintenance. They sound like wives. I’m surprised you don’t just hire them out, too.”
I pour myself a cup of coffee and laugh. Then I hold up the cream pitcher. “Joke now, but I’m guessing your recipes that call for full cream will be enhanced by the freshness of having it delivered to you daily.”
Her eyes get big. “Oh, man, I’m going to make butter. I can’t wait.”
We talk a bit about the process of getting our dairy. We sell some to the cheesemakers a few miles down the road, but we only have a couple girls at a time and use most of their daily offerings for ourselves. Bliss seems really interested in stuff that seems like it would bore a college girl, but she insists her first love is culinary arts. She’s getting a degree in accounting for sensible reasons, but not because it’s her calling.
When Wylder comes in, I watch his eyes darken looking at her from across the room. He’s going to ruin this for us, I think. Part of me is still glad to see a reaction from him. He’s been so closed off to life since the fire. The opposite of me in so many ways. After the fire, I got laid as much as I could. Drank as much as I could keep in me. Played as hard as I could without dying. Wylder went so far inward I didn’t think I’d get him back.
Bliss plates our food and goes back to measuring ingredients. I guess she’s getting a head start on another meal. I can’t wait.
“Eat,” Wylder demands, nodding at her chair.
“I’m not hungry.” The way she says it, kind of bratty-like, sets off a spark in my best friend’s eye. For the first time in a long time, he reminds me of the way he used to be.
“You always talk back to your boss that way?” he growls.
“Only when my boss is a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Eat,” he reminds her.
Damn if she doesn’t plate herself up and join us at the table.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, me racking my mind to find something we can talk about that won’t set off an argument from either of them. They’re like oil and water.
“What does your boyfriend think of you working for two bachelor old men?”
I keep my tone playful. I’m drawn to her. I just want to know her more. Figure her out.
“Actually I don't have a boyfriend.”
She says it so nonchalantly, but Wylder stops the fork a few inches from his face.
“The guys at your school must all be stupid,” I say, willing him to keep to himself whatever he’s thinking.
She shrugs. “I’ve never really had a boyfriend. My mom tells me I’m frigid.” She hangs her head and covers her mouth like she can’t believe she just said that. “I’m sorry. TMI.”
“Why does she say that?” Wylder asks in his no-nonsense way. Not gentle, not coaxing, just out-with-it-he-doesn’t-have-all-day.
Why would a mother say something like that to her daughter? I want to know, too. But I’d have shown some gentleness in the question.
“My mom has never not had a boyfriend. I’m a disappointment to her. She’s the most popular woman in the trailer park, if you get what I mean.”
With that, she pushes away from the table, and I stop Wylder from saying another word with one look. He relents and says something about changing into his other boots before we hit the fences. Which is bullshit, but at least he understands he isn’t going to be much help right this very minute. Tact is required, and he doesn’t have much.
When he leaves the room, I join Bliss at the sink, rinsing the dishes before she puts them in the dishwasher.
Her jaw is set and her movements very robotic. “You don’t have to help me. I get paid well to keep this kitchen clean.”
“I don’t mind. You okay?”
She shrugs. “I’m embarrassed. I don’t usually tell my life story to near strangers over breakfast. Especially ones that write my paycheck.”
“Wylder had a pretty good upbringing, but me, I think I know where you’re coming from. I was in and out of foster homes my whole childhood.”
She glances up at me sideways. “Yeah?”
I nod.
She wipes down the counter ne
xt to the sink. “I used to wish for a foster family. My mom...she’s no picnic, but her ‘friends’ were worse.”
I want to fold her in my arms and hold her. I’ve got a real hero complex all of the sudden, I guess. I’d also like to find out more about these “friends” of her mother in case I need to commit murder on Bliss’s behalf, but she’s already closing down and it’s best we leave this here for now. She’ll open up when she’s ready.
“Wylder is a lot different from you. I’m kind of surprised you guys are business partners.”
Different doesn’t even begin to explain us.
“He’s been my best friend since I was eight. He’s just rough around the edges.”
“If you say so.” She leans against the dishwasher. “He doesn’t seem to like me.”
“He likes you just fine. I promise.”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t seem to like women in general.”
“Now that is where you are wrong. Wylder loves women. He loves everything about women.” She doesn’t understand him. Not many people do. His fool heart is bigger than most, but he has to guard it more than some.
I take my finger and raise her chin up so Bliss looks at me and can see for herself that I mean what I say. “You’re safe here.”
She bites her lip shyly. “I know.”
I’m becoming more and more fascinated with her with every moment that passes. Shit. This is not good. I’m telling her she’s safe when I’m imagining how I’d ravish her if she were mine.
Wylder’s ma once told me that when you meet the girl that's right for you, you're going to know it immediately. That's exactly how I felt when I first saw Bliss.
The best part is she has no idea how beautiful she is. She’s self-conscious about her figure, but I’m a big man and like something to hold on to at night, and let me tell you, Bliss has a few things I wish I could hold on to.
I know without her saying so she’s not ready for that. She’s an untried filly, not yet broke to saddle. Some fillies need a gentle touch. An easy introduction to the saddle and the ride.
“I’ll see you at dinner. We’ll be too far to come in for lunch today.”
As I make my way to the stable, I realize that part of the problem is that no one is better at breaking a horse than Wylder. And I wonder what that means for the three of us.
Bliss
AFTER OUR SECOND DINNER together, the men head out to do whatever it is men do after dinner on a ranch, and I clean the kitchen. My fantasy kitchen. I actually enjoy shining it up after making a mess of it. I rearranged some of the cabinets today, with permission, and I kind of wish I could just sleep in here at night, too. I love it so much.
It’s a fine evening, and I wander out to the porch with a glass of lemonade when I’m through wiping spots that aren’t there off my stainless steel fridge. I lean against the porch railing and gaze out at the ranch. Stars look brighter here than they do over the trailer park, that’s for sure.
In the corral, a horse is furiously tossing its head and bucking, wildly doing everything it can to throw its rider. I’m curious about which of the men is willing to risk their neck to tame such a wild thing. I walk down the steps of the porch and make my way toward the corral, stopping at the corner of the barn so my appearance doesn’t spook the horse.
My breath catches in my throat. Sitting on the jet black stallion is Wylder. His hair is as dark as the horse's. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and even though the night air is cool, his tanned skin glistens with sweat. I guess horse training is physical work.
All I can focus on is lean, hard muscle, rippling and straining to handle the untamed beast. Wylder’s legs tense under his faded jeans, cowboy boots digging into the sides of the horse, his face locked in grim determination. It’s a wonder I can even stand because my legs feel like jelly. I stay to the edge of a barn and hold the wall for support. I can’t tear my eyes off him.
He’s so in control. There’s a stillness to his focus. What would it be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of intense concentration? I squeeze my thighs together and try to remember that Wylder is not someone I should be fantasizing about.
When he turns the horse around, I quickly tuck myself behind the wall so he can’t see me. Ridiculous, I know. I don’t know why I’m hiding. He just makes me feel so vulnerable.
Reminding myself that he probably can’t see me since I’m in the shadows, I slowly poke my head out again. His face is as hard as the rest of him, but damn, so incredibly handsome even at this distance.
The horse finally starts to settle down, and Wylder murmurs to the beast. His voice is low, deep, and syrup smooth. “That’s a good boy.”
As his strong hands expertly guide the reins and rub the horse's neck, I imagine what those hands would feel like running all over me. Guiding me. Telling me what a good girl I am. Watching him makes me feverish and like my skin feels too tight. The way his deep voice sounds so soothing, yet commanding, makes me wonder what he’s like with a woman in his bed. Does he demand things, wicked things? Would a woman feel like she’s being tamed? Eager and resistant. Scared and safe. Craving the reins, yet bucking the master.
He starts walking the horse toward the stables...shit, the stables. I’m standing right outside of them. Snapping out of my fantasy, I briskly walk back toward the house.
I bump into Colt on the way in.
“Hey now,” he says, righting me
I shiver in his hands. My body has zero control. Zero. I would not be surprised if the blood in my veins has been replaced by the liquid currently ruining another pair of my panties.
“Are you okay, darlin’?” Colt asks, his big hands firming over my biceps. He hasn’t pushed me away from him, even though my breasts are pushing into his chest.
I tremble and blame it on the night air.
Colt is probably more my speed, but he’s way out of my league, too. I never even wanted to be in a league before.
I think I want to now.
I think maybe I’m made of want. My flesh and bones replaced with alien desire for things I don’t understand.
“I’m fine, Colt.”
“You certainly are.”
I need to remember he’s a flirt because that’s how he’s made. He probably treats all women to compliments and gentlemanly manners. I’m not special. It does no good to let myself pretend. I need to remember my place.
I back up and put some space between us. “I’m thinking about whipping up a quick cherry crumble. You interested?”
“I love cherries, darlin’.”
For a minute, he sees right through me. There’s no way he can know I’m a virgin, but somehow he does. The air between us is so thick, his innuendo floats like a low-hanging cloud. My toes curl as the ache inside me pulls low and deep.
I held onto my virginity by a thread growing up. It took an awful lot of artful dodging of men who had no business looking at me. My mom was drunk most of the time, and if her servicing didn’t get the job done, there were those who thought I was some kind of alternate plan. Many of my nights were sleepless. Sometimes, I just ditched out my window and slept in an old tree fort I found in the woods. But sleeping in the woods isn’t exactly restful if you’re scared.
Looking at Colt, how handsome he is, how sweet and charming he is, I know he’d never take something that wasn’t freely offered. Never try the doorknob belonging to a sleeping thirteen-year-old girl, cursing to find it locked. But I shrug my shoulders inward anyway, trying to make my breasts inconspicuous. Something I know will never happen.
A different woman might stand here and flirt with the cute cowboy who sees too much, but this woman doesn’t know those kind of games. I nod at him, pretending not to know what he means, and get my ass back in the kitchen where I belong.
As I pull out the ingredients I need, I can feel my heart rate return to normal. I need to get my shit under control. This is a dream job for me. I need the money. I think I even need the open sky and the fresh air. I don’t nee
d to crush on two men who are never going to look at me like a woman.
I wouldn’t even presume to know what kind of woman Wylder likes, but Colt probably likes sunny girls who smile a lot. Women who aren’t afraid of their own bodies. Maybe someone who can give him a glimpse of the things he missed growing up in foster care. I certainly don’t know how to give anyone that.
My breasts and my mother ruined any chance I had at a normal childhood. Developing early made me a target at school, and of course, a target at home for different reasons. But my mom killed any chance I had at normalcy when her behavior didn’t stay in the trailer park.
She got caught giving a blow job to the father of the most popular girl in school, and I never recovered socially from that. That girl and her friends made sure of it. And she had a lot of friends. Or at least a lot of people who wanted to impress her. The bullying stopped just short of physical attacks, but the threat of it was ever-present.
Making friends who didn’t mind being in my spotlight of shame was never going to happen for me. I was too dangerous to know. I had a couple acquaintances at work who were older and didn’t care about high school drama, but none of them were close relationships, either.
I missed a lot, I think, growing up that way. I never learned what it was like to be a normal girl, so I know even less how to be a normal woman.
For the first time, I’d like to learn.
Both men enter the kitchen as I’m dishing up the dessert.
“Smells good,” Wylder says. “What are we having?”
I don’t answer. I physically can’t. All my mind is capable of doing is replaying the scene of him on the bucking horse, clad only in boots, jeans, and a cowboy hat. An image that will be branded onto my brain forever. Heat spreads throughout my body.
“Cherry crumble, I think,” Colt says, saving me from having to form words around a tongue tied in knots.
Wylder smiles, but it doesn’t reach his cold, dark eyes. “I love cherries.”
It doesn’t sound so flirty when Wylder says it. Despite the danger his mere presence implies, I melt more from the inside out. My underwear can attest to this.