by Karen Rose
‘Yes.’
‘Why? You have a room of your own here.’ Maggie had told her so when she first moved in. Taylor narrowed her eyes when the answer came to her, unbidden. ‘You were guarding the doors.’ His flinch was microscopic, but confirmed her suspicion. ‘Did you think I’d run away?’
‘No,’ he said steadily, ‘but Clay was worried that you might. I promised him I’d make sure you were here when he came back this morning.’
Her jaw tightened, anger obliterating any residual lust. ‘I said I’d stay. I don’t lie, Ford.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘But I promised.’
She rolled her eyes and unlocked the back door. ‘Whatever.’
He was across the kitchen in two strides, lightly grabbing her arm before she could open the door. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
She jerked her arm free and he immediately let her go. ‘To clean stalls,’ she snapped.
‘It’s not even dawn.’
She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She’d stared at the ceiling most of the night, her thoughts bouncing wildly from her father’s devastation to Clay’s hope to her mother’s betrayal. When she’d finally slept, she’d dreamt of Ford, waking up even more unsettled. And needy. Really, really needy, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about that other than pleasuring herself. Which she’d tried, but ended up feeling even more restless – and lonely – than she had before.
So she’d rolled herself out of bed and gotten dressed, determined to work off the frustrated buzz that filled her mind. Just like she did back home. Except now the buzz had a name. And a face. And a chest to die for. ‘I might as well be productive.’
‘I’ll help you.’
He was too close, his scent filling her head. He smelled too good, tempting her to step forward, to close the gap between them. But he’d turned her down the night before and she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to do it twice. Her ego wasn’t strong enough to take another rejection, even if it was given for honorable reasons.
She took a step backward, but the door blocked her retreat. His chest filled her field of vision and she snatched her fingers back before they could find out if the blond hair was soft or coarse. Once again she forced her gaze upward and found him staring down at her, his blue eyes darkly intense. Her mouth went dry.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s my job. I can do it myself.’
‘I know you can.’ His murmur was low and . . . intimate. ‘But I couldn’t sleep either.’
A shiver slithered down her spine. ‘I guess not,’ she said, nerves making her voice warble. ‘The sofa isn’t too comfortable. I fell asleep on it once myself.’
He leaned in, lowering his head until his nose brushed against her hair. ‘That wasn’t why.’
She swallowed back a whimper. ‘I really need to go. I’ve got work to do.’
‘It’ll keep for another minute or two,’ he whispered, his breath warm on her ear.
Closing her eyes, she flattened her hands on the door behind her. ‘Don’t tease me, Ford.’ She’d intended the words to be sharp and powerful, but they came out soft and pleading.
‘I’m not. I’m . . .’ He chuckled self-consciously but didn’t move a muscle. ‘I’m trying to be smooth, but apparently it’s not working very well.’
She blinked up at him, the sudden lift of her chin bringing her lips even with his jaw. A slight turn of his head and he’d be kissing her. ‘But last night you said—’
He turned his head, and whatever she’d planned to say fled her mind because his mouth was finally on hers. He tilted his head one way, then the other, keeping the kiss sweet. Light.
Too light. More, was all she could think. He still hadn’t touched her anywhere else, and she needed him to. She needed to touch him. Her palms came off the door and she reached for his chest, tentatively petting the hair with her fingertips.
Soft. It’s so very soft. She started to pull away, gasping in surprise when he gripped her wrists gently, pulling her hands back to his chest.
‘Touch me,’ he whispered hoarsely, resting his forehead against hers. ‘Please.’
A thrill ran through her as she obeyed, raking her fingers through the light fur, then sweeping her palms across the solid bulk of his pecs to his shoulders. He exhaled on a rough sigh that sounded relieved.
‘Last night you said you wouldn’t do this with me,’ she murmured.
‘Because you’d had a shock and I was trying to do the right thing. But then . . .’
‘But then?’ she prompted breathlessly when he didn’t finish.
‘But then this morning you looked at me like you were so damn . . .’ He brushed his lips over hers, tantalizing her. ‘Hungry,’ he whispered.
She shuddered, her knees going weak. ‘I was,’ she whispered between his light, plucking kisses. ‘I am.’ She drew a breath for courage, then ran her hands up his shoulders, following the muscles to his neck until she could dig her fingers into the hair at his nape, all thick and wavy. ‘I dreamed about you.’ She pressed her body closer until she could feel that enticing bulge in his jeans, hard and pulsing against her abdomen. ‘About this.’
His hands gripped her shoulders so hard it almost hurt. She braced herself for another, hotter kiss, but his body had frozen, his shoulders and back going rigid. His jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle in his cheek twitched. He was holding back, maintaining a fierce control that had him trembling. A control she wanted to shatter. So she leaned up on her toes to whisper in his ear, ‘I dreamed you were there, in the bed with me. And I woke up so damn hungry.’
A growl deep in his throat was her only warning before he stepped forward, pushing her into the door. His mouth ground down on hers, hard and satisfying, while his hips began to rock up into her, harder and even more satisfying. Except that it wasn’t. The more he rocked into her, the more she wanted. The more sensation she craved.
Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples suddenly sensitive against the cotton of her bra. She moved experimentally, twisting her upper body, dragging her breasts across his chest, whimpering in surprise at the jolt of electricity that shot from her nipples straight down between her legs. It felt so good that she did it again, wishing that there were no layers between them.
He growled again, his mouth almost punishing, his thrusts harder. Faster. More insistent. His hands slid up and down her sides restlessly, his fingers digging into her back, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts only. She wanted more. Too much more.
It’s not going to be enough, she realized dimly. Not here anyway. Not up against Maggie’s back door. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from kissing him. Or touching all that golden skin. Or from trying to pull herself up higher against him, to get that hard bulge closer to where her body clenched and throbbed so hard it was a physical ache.
Please, please, please. She wasn’t sure what she was even asking for, but he seemed to know because his hands slid to her butt and he hoisted her up with effortless ease. She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles behind him, letting her head fall back against the door. Yes. This.
‘Yes,’ she hissed. Finally. She could feel him right where she ached. But still not enough. He pressed a hard kiss to her neck, just behind her ear, before licking his way down her throat. More, more, more. She bucked her hips in time with the chanting in her head.
And then he swiveled his hips, ripping a raw moan from her throat that was startlingly loud in the quiet of the kitchen. Oh my God. In the kitchen. A flicker of awareness shocked her milliseconds before her feet were lowered to the floor. She flattened her palms against the door behind her to remain upright when her knees threatened to buckle.
Wow. She’d nearly come right there against the door. She should probably be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. Her body
was revving like a racecar. She’d never felt so good in her entire life.
Still . . . in the kitchen. Where anyone could come in and see them going at it like weasels. Don’t be stupid. Nobody’s here yet. And Maggie slept like the dead. Don’t be a prude, Taylor.
Ford stepped back and closed his eyes, his chest working like a bellows. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he hung his head while he huffed like a bull in the ring. ‘What do you want, Taylor?’ he gritted out.
‘More than this,’ she whispered, grateful that he’d had the self-control to stop, because she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to. ‘But not here. Not like this.’
‘No, not like this.’ He shuddered out a breath, then stepped closer, lifting her chin with one finger, so gently that tears stung her eyes. ‘I’ll be your first?’
She grimaced, her face growing hot for all the wrong reasons. ‘Sorry.’
His eyes flashed, suddenly as intense as they’d been before. ‘Don’t be. Please.’
‘It’s just . . .’ She rolled her eyes, totally mortified by her inexperience. ‘I’m twenty-three years old, for God’s sake. I should be—’
‘Sshh.’ Pressing his finger to her lips, he hesitated, his brow furrowing as he seemed to think hard. ‘You’ll be my second,’ he finally said. ‘I’m not Mr Experience myself.’
Her eyes widened. Oh. Wow. That meant he hadn’t had anyone since Kimberly. No pressure, Taylor. ‘What happens next?’ she murmured against his finger, then kissed it.
He cupped her jaw, his eyes remaining intense while his expression softened to something tender. ‘We take it slow,’ he said quietly. ‘Although slow might just kill me.’
She rubbed her cheek against his palm. ‘Me too.’
He suddenly grinned, bursting the bubble that had cocooned them. ‘Good. It’s only fair that both of us should suffer.’
She laughed, and it felt so good. ‘Go put on a shirt, Ford.’
His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as his grin turned smug. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I like the way you look at me.’ He surprised her again by wrapping his arms around her, drawing her close. This embrace was different from the others. Last night’s had been about comfort. Up against the door just now had been about lust. This was . . . sweet. ‘Just so you know, I like to hold you like this too,’ he said huskily, resting his cheek on her head. ‘I don’t want to pressure you.’
She melted into him, sliding her hands up the smooth skin of his back and holding on. ‘And if I pressure you?’
‘That would be more than okay.’
They stood there together, in the quiet of the kitchen, as the seconds ticked away. Slowly, inevitably, reality began to intrude. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone, Ford,’ she whispered.
‘I know.’
‘But I’m going to. Whichever way I turn, I’m hurting someone. If I stay, I break my dad’s heart. If I go home, I hurt Clay. And you.’
Ford stroked her hair. ‘What about you? What do you want?’
That he hadn’t denied her words ratcheted him up in her esteem. That he zeroed in on the one question she couldn’t answer made her want to cry. ‘I don’t know. For so long I wanted to be invisible. I’m not sure I know what to do now that everyone can see me.’
‘You’re here for another month. Why not cross that bridge when you get there? Maybe by then you’ll know.’
She nodded, breathing him in. Letting herself pretend for just a minute that everything could turn out all right. That she’d be able to have her cake and eat it too. ‘Okay.’
‘Whenever I get all wound up in my own head, I go for a ride. It helps. Have you had a chance to do that yet?’
She shook her head wistfully. ‘No. I’ve been doing classes and therapy sessions nearly every day. Maggie’s been too busy to go with me on my days off, especially when Dillon was away on his bachelor trip. We were short-handed so I pitched in. She didn’t want me riding off alone until she showed me the trail at least once.’
‘Then today you and I will ride together and I’ll show you the rest of the farm. Then I’ll help you get your chores done before Clay gets here.’ He cupped her face in his hands and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. ‘I’ll get dressed and meet you in the barn.’
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Sunday 23 August, 5.55 A.M.
Gage rolled his eyes as he drove past the gated entrance to the equine therapy center where Jazzie had made her apparent connection with therapist Taylor Dawson. Healing Hearts with Horses. God. Could the place get any sappier? Spare me the bleeding hearts.
Except they weren’t just any bleeding hearts. Way out in the country, it should have been easy to slip through the farm’s front gate and take the therapist out, but this was no ordinary farm.
It was managed by Maggie VanDorn, but it was owned by Daphne Montgomery-Carter, the bitchiest junkyard dog of a prosecutor that Gage had ever gone up against in his years as a defense attorney. And, he hated to admit, smart. She’d bested him in court more often than he’d bested her. She was, unfortunately, honest. He’d never tried bribing her, because others had and had ended up disbarred or even serving time.
The Carter part of her name was new. She hadn’t been married when he’d left Baltimore three years before. But when she’d married, she’d gone large. Special Agent Joseph Carter, FBI.
Fuck it all, anyway. Gage’s research into Taylor Dawson and Healing Hearts had turned up a wealth of information on the program itself, but not one thing on Taylor Dawson. Not one article, no photographs, no high school awards, no social media. Nothing. It was like the woman was a ghost.
The program was free to children who’d been victims of violence, its operating costs covered by donations. Lots of fund-raising dinners. Lots of photos of Daphne herself and a few of her and Agent Carter, usually at black-tie events. Even in a tux, the man looked dangerous.
There were several pictures of Maggie VanDorn, the head therapist. Precious few of Clay Maynard, Daphne’s head of security. The man looked even more menacing than Carter.
Gage only knew Carter and Maynard by reputation, but he knew better than to cross paths with either of them directly. Carter was a James Bond type. Maynard was Daphne’s male junkyard dog equivalent. Fortunately, Gage wasn’t interested in eliminating either of the men. Just one young therapist. But he didn’t even know what she looked like.
Thus this reconnaissance trip. Horses had to be cared for – fed, stalls cleaned, that kind of thing. Somebody would be going to the barn at some point soon. Hopefully it would be Taylor Dawson.
He’d learned from the employment opportunities on the website that the interns were housed on the property. It was a perk, because the job paid next to nothing. Bleeding hearts.
He pulled his car onto the shoulder about a quarter-mile from the front gate, and grabbed his night goggles and the rifle he’d purchased from Reverend Blake. If nothing else, he could test the rifle’s sight and trigger and make sure he could hit where he was aiming.
Dressed all in black, he hung to the other side of the road as he walked toward the gate, stopping occasionally to peer through the goggles. He could just barely see the fence that lined the property. It was mostly obscured by trees, but he could see cameras mounted at regular intervals.
It was what he’d expected when he’d heard Maynard and Carter were part of the enterprise. He suspected the fence was equipped with motion detectors, too. He wouldn’t be able to get too close. This would have been easier in the winter, when all the leaves were gone, he thought sourly. He squinted through the night goggles, marginally satisfied when he was able to glimpse the barn through the trees. He might see Taylor Dawson if she came out. At least he’d know what she looked like.
Headlights suddenly appeared when a car came round the bend in the road, and Gage flattened his body to the ground, fi
xing his goggles to the car’s interior as the vehicle slowed to turn into the farm’s driveway. Two people. Man and a woman. Both looked young. Could be Taylor . . .
Gage had his rifle positioned on his shoulder as he studied the pair, then lowered it. The couple appeared to have Down syndrome. Probably not the therapist.
The car stopped and the driver lowered the window to punch a code into a security panel. But the panel was truly secure. The driver had to slip his hand up under the cover to get to the keypad. Dammit. There was no way to see the code he had entered.
Once the car had entered, the gate closed behind it and Gage settled in to wait, watching the barn carefully through the goggles. A few minutes later, a woman walked into his line of sight – tall, fluid, long black hair pulled into a ponytail. Blindly he reached for the rifle, but he could see her only from the back, dammit. Turn around. C’mon, sweetheart. Just a little. But she didn’t, walking briskly, with purpose. By the time he’d gotten the rifle on his shoulder and aimed, she was out of sight.
He breathed out a frustrated sigh. No worries, he told himself. She’s got to come out sometime. Hopefully it would be before the rest of the farm woke up. Shooting her before dawn was risky enough. With all those cameras, he’d be spotted once the sun came up, and he really did not want to tangle with the Healing Hearts security team.
Fourteen
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Sunday 23 August, 6.18 A.M.
Ford didn’t think he’d ever gotten dressed so fast. He took the back stairs in two big jumps, then ran to the barn. He and Taylor were going on a ride and he knew exactly where he’d take her. He’d discovered the little clearing near the stream when he was twelve years old, and it had been his meditation spot ever since.
He’d never taken anyone there. Certainly not Kimberly. She’d been terrified of little wiener dogs, much less horses. Thank God for that, because he would have surely shown her his clearing. And then it wouldn’t be special for Taylor. He wanted it to be special for Taylor.