Gruff Ass in Love

by Sasha Burke

  I have to admit, I’m impressed with how well she’s planned this all out.

  Before she’s through setting up the lamps, however, she stops, distracted now by something she sees nearby on the ground. I chuckle. This woman and her rocks. She’s staring at it so hard, I can’t help but call out preemptively, “Don’t even think about licking whatever that is.”

  She freezes at the sound of my voice.

  That’s…a strange reaction.

  “Stay there, Cade. I’ll come to you.”

  Now that’s even stranger still. In all the time Katelyn’s been coming out here, she’s never once been secretive about her findings.

  When she then starts backing toward me slowly, warily, each step silent and guarded, I quickly reassess what’s going down in front of me. I didn’t see it before with it being so dark out, but it’s pretty damn obvious now what she’d been staring at so intently next to her bag.

  A really big friggin’ rattlesnake.

  I don’t move a muscle. Over the years, I’ve heard the telltale warning rattle of a snake poised to strike a few times before, but hearing it aimed at Katelyn instead of me right now is fucking terrifying. Swear to God, it’s taking every ounce of control I possess to keep from charging over to her. If she gets attacked because I can’t keep my ass in check, I’ll never forgive myself.

  It takes her a minute (that feels like a lifetime) to close the distance between us, but the second she does, she reaches over to tug my hand to follow her retreat, and hell if I don’t feel a sharp matching tug in my chest. I can say with absolute certainty that every other woman I know would be hightailing it home without a backward glance at me if they were in her shoes now. But not Katelyn. She’s as sweet as she is strange. And as tough as they come, even when she’s afraid.

  I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her shaking body steady as we retreat another few yards to give the rattler well more than the full twenty-foot clearance needed before we can finally let our guard down. As soon as we’re in the clear, she tips her head back to take in a deep lungful of air, informing me in a wobbly voice, “I-I think i-it was a Western Diamondback.”

  Judging by its size, I’d have to agree—those fuckers can grow to nearly six feet out here.

  She takes in another labored breath. “I didn’t even see him there until he raised his head and tail and hissed at me after I practically dropped my flood lamp right on top of him.”

  Jesus Christ. The guys and I have seen those aggressive bastards strike with far less provocation than that. If she’d gotten bitten out here without anyone around…

  My arms snap shut around her like steel bands before I can stop myself.

  The sheer volume of venom the Western Diamondback can deliver in a single bite is what makes them so dangerous. Not gonna lie, this whole thing just now scared the piss out of me, and I’m finding myself physically unable to let her go.

  “I’m okay,” she whispers into my chest. “I’ve been camping my whole life; normally, I keep watch for snakes better. But I was just so excited to be here. Rookie mistake.”

  We both look over at the coiled snake, still curled up in the same spot beside her backpack.

  I see her gaze shift then from her snake to her pack. And then back to the snake.

  She’s got to be kidding me.

  “You are not going back there for your bag,” I bark, moving to block her view completely.

  Sinking into my tight hug a bit more, she shrugs. “Wasn’t planning to.”

  I exhale raggedly with relief. At least she’s being rational about this.

  With a brief glance at her watch, she adds, “I’ll come back in an hour. Maybe two.”

  This woman is going to be the death of me.

  Since she clearly can’t be trusted to make sane decisions over her own safety, I up and throw her over my shoulder like I did the other day. “You’re not going back to that spot at all tonight,” I growl as I stomp us over to my truck. “I’ll grab your bag for you tomorrow.”

  Shockingly, she doesn’t argue with me. When I open the passenger door and plop her in the seat, she meets my gaze and says simply, “Okay.”

  You’d think that one word would make me feel better, but it actually doesn’t. Her agreeing without any feisty negotiation? Not good.

  Seeing that she’s not just quiet, but pale and still shaking, I buckle her in and set out to take the shortest route back to my house, avoiding the road past the bunkhouse altogether.

  Last thing I want is the ranch hands to all come out and start fussing over her. The very idea of anyone else looking after her right now—or ever, if I’m being honest with myself—is just plain unacceptable.

  No, it’s more than that. It’s fucking intolerable.

  Calm the hell down, asshole.

  I grip the steering wheel and force myself to stop thinking about all the what-ifs that could’ve happened to her tonight.

  Easier said than done.

  Totally unaware that I’m losing my shit over here, Katelyn just snuggles into the seat until her eyes slowly flutter shut. As soon as she’s out, I reach over and gently grab hold of her hand.

  I don’t let go the entire ride home.

  7

  | Cade |

  I’ve always considered myself a relatively (or at least reasonably) levelheaded guy. But when it comes to Katelyn getting hurt or put in harm’s way, forget trying to stay calm, I just aim to stay sane.

  It takes me a while—as in the whole drive over—but by the time I pull up to the back of my house, thankfully, my brain isn’t a fucking mess anymore and I’m no longer two screws away from becoming unhinged.

  I brush my lips across the back of Katelyn’s hand as I finish parking the truck. “Wake up, honey. We’re here.”

  “Already?” She blinks and peers around in surprise, looking a little groggy still from her adrenaline crash. “But, we didn’t go past the bunkhouse.”

  “Nope.” I offer no further explanation as I slam my door and go around to open hers.

  She beats me to it and hops out on her own, a lot less wobbly and with far more color in her face. Just like that, the tightness in my chest eases up a bit.

  She frowns as she looks down the clearing at the bunkhouse. “But I need Mikey.”

  Damn it. Just when I thought I was almost back in control. “What the hell for?”

  For some reason, she flips her pockets inside out. When that visual aid doesn’t clue me in, she jiggles her turned-out pockets. “When I said everything’s in my bag, I meant everything. Even my car keys. I can get in just fine since I left the doors unlocked, but I can’t drive it. Mikey mentioned once that he’s hotwired a car before so I was going to ask him to start mine up so I can drive it home. My building super charges for unit lockouts, but at least he’s available 24-7.”

  Hearing that another man has a key to her apartment 24-7 is not helping my mood one bit. “I’m pretty sure Mikey went out drinking with some of the guys in town tonight. Doesn’t matter though because it’s late; you don’t need to drive home.” That’s nearly a hundred miles I don’t want between us right now. And frankly, I’m still not sure I believe she won’t go back to get her bag unless I’m keeping an eye on her. “You can just crash here tonight. I’ve got a spare room.”

  She stops and stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head. I have to say, I’m a little insulted by her level of surprise. “You really thought I’d just kick you out on your ass tonight?”

  At that, she sticks her hand out. “Hi, I’m Katelyn. Maybe you don’t recognize me on account of how dark it is, but I’m the one who you boot off your property once or twice a week.”

  Smart ass. “That’s different. I wouldn’t send you packing with only the clothes on your back. Shit, how big of a jerk do you think I am?”

  Even more surprise filters across her features. “I don’t think you’re a jerk at all. Far from it, in fact.”

  “If that’s true, quit talking about leaving. You can cr
ash here for the night and I’ll go with you to get your backpack in the morning.”

  She studies me for a beat, and then asks with the utmost seriousness, “When you say morning, do you happen to mean dawn? Because I wake up really early.”

  I smother back my amusement. It’s good to hear the old Katelyn coming through. “Yeah. I get my start at sun-up. That work for you?”

  She collects the handshake I never gave her with her little smartass bit. “You’ve got yourself a deal. If you let me feed you dinner in exchange for your couch tonight.”

  Honestly, I’ve never met anyone like this woman before. “No need. I’ve got a busy night ahead of me so I don’t even think I’ll have time to eat. But maybe breakfast. We’ll play it by ear.”

  With that settled, I let us both in the house and watch as Katelyn does a slow spin in a circle, looking around my house with soft, appreciative eyes. “It’s so beautiful in here.”

  That is nothing like the reaction I got from the other few women I’d brought up here in the past. But then again, somehow, I knew it’d be different with Katelyn. Don’t ask me how I knew, but I did. Just like I knew to start clearing the shit I had stored in the spare room after her not-at-all suspicious speech she made about not coming back any ‘day’ this week.

  Just in case.

  Seeing her in my home now, admiring one of the old hanging paintings that had come with the house, I can’t help but feel like she just belongs here.

  Before I can read too much into that, however, I see Katelyn pull off the hoodie she’s wearing over her t-shirt, lifting the hem of her shirt halfway up her torso in the process.

  At the quick glimpse I get of her bared midriff, I’ve got no words. Not just because she’s every bit as beautiful as I knew she would be—

  But because of the scars.

  Long and lacerated, crisscrossing over nearly the entire right side of her from ribs to waist, they’re faded, like she’s had them for years, well before I knew her. Still, seeing them now, finding out that I didn’t know she went through something that scarred her so badly, makes me so pissed I can’t think straight.

  All I know is that pure, unholy rage is pumping through my veins right now and I don’t know who the hell to direct it at. Who I need to pound to a bloody pulp.

  When she’s through hanging up her hoodie, she turns back to me, her smile dissolving away when she meets my concerned gaze. Immediately, she tugs her shirt hem back down and wraps her arms around her middle like a shield.

  I feel another instant blow to my gut, this time, aimed at my own dumb ass for putting that defensive look on her face.

  Shoving all plans to beat the shit out of every last person responsible for her injuries on the backburner for the time being, I quickly go over to her and pull her into my arms. “Tell me what happened to you, sweetheart.”

  8

  | Katelyn |

  Exhaling slowly, I do my best to settle my nerves and gather my thoughts.

  I can count on one hand the number of non-medical people who’ve seen my scars. Having an active social life has never been a big priority for me—really, the fact that I’ve dated at all is kind of miraculous. Luckily, they were all nice guys; not one of them made me feel self-conscious about half my torso being mangled. And the three I slept with were the nicest of the bunch.

  The first guy pretended he didn’t see them for almost a month. Until one day, he struck up a random conversation about ‘battle wounds,’ which he used to segue into an awkward show and tell session (it was actually terribly endearing). He didn’t look turned off by the scars or anything, but, when we did eventually sleep together, he didn’t attempt to take my top off even once.

  The blind date I got set up with a year after him was way on the other end of the spectrum. That guy asked me a ton of questions the morning after we had sex before proceeding to tell me a half dozen stories about his friends with various scars and all the deadly accidents they’d been in. While I of course appreciated his efforts, we never did go out again after that.

  The third was a semi-serious relationship with a guy who always told me I was beautiful to him no matter how many scars I had right from the start, making sure to school his features and shower me with affection whenever he saw them. I actually liked him a lot, and we got along great, but things just fizzled out. We’re still Facebook buddies though. And if I ever do post a photo of myself, he’s still very sweet with the compliments.

  Like I said, they were all perfectly nice men who were all perfectly nice about my scars.

  Cade, on the other hand?

  ‘Nice’ doesn’t even begin to describe the way he looks right now.

  “I don’t even notice them on me anymore,” I tell him truthfully, deciding it best to keep the story short and the details vague. “It happened eight years ago. I was walking home after a late class in my first semester of my undergrad when a drunk driver hopped the sidewalk and hit me.”

  Cade hisses in a sharp breath, his hulked-out frame vibrating with dark, unmitigated fury.

  “Did the asshole survive?” he seethes through clenched teeth.

  “Um, yes.” Knowing without a doubt that’s not the answer he wanted to hear, I add, “But he got pretty banged up as well. I believe he had to have almost as many surgeries as I did.”

  An expression far more volatile than grief instantly overtakes his features. “How many surgeries did you have to have, sweetheart?”

  I squeeze his hand and choose not to give him the double-digit number. “Not too many. The doctors were actually surprised by how quickly I healed.”

  “Don’t do that,” he says quietly, gently stroking my sides through my shirt.

  “Do what?”

  “Don’t downplay.” His eyes roam my face. “You do it all the time; you try to make me feel better about you getting hurt when I should be the one comforting you. Drives me batshit crazy.”

  Being that I hadn’t had anyone to comfort me through that accident, I’m at a loss as to what to say. “I’m not downplaying. I truly am okay. And really, I was never the type to need someone to kiss it and make it all better. Which, given my track record with injuries, is a good thing,” I joke.

  “Never said my comforting you is solely for your sake,” he informs me plainly.

  Oh.

  For heaven’s sake, the man can be so sweet.

  “Damn it, Katelyn. I want to kill the motherfucker who did this to you.”

  Okay, so he’s not conventionally sweet. That’s what makes him even sweeter.

  He drops to his knees and lifts the hem of my shirt to press his lips along each of my jagged scars, effectively thinning the air in my lungs and clogging my throat with emotions.

  “It’s all in the past, Cade. The driver was just a college kid who’d had a little too much to drink at a party. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Drunk drivers don’t deserve a drop of mercy from that bleeding heart of yours.”

  Sighing, I concede him that point. “You’re probably right. But forgiving him helped me move on. I don’t know that I would’ve been able to make peace with all I went through otherwise.”

  He rests his forehead against my belly, whispering against my skin, “I hate that I couldn’t save you from this.” When he looks back up at me, his eyes are every bit as tortured as he sounds.

  I reach out and cup his tense jaw. “You can’t save me from everything, Cade.”

  He scowls, looking wholly riled up over the fact that he can’t keep me safe indefinitely.

  Gah, this man. His gaze locks onto mine as throbbing waves of supercharged alpha alphaness (I can’t possibly be expected to be a smart word wizard when he’s like this) seems to suck out all the oxygen from the air around us.

  “I may not be able to save you,” he grits out in a low, sexy rumble. “But you’re wrong about me not being able to kiss it and make it better for you.”

  Coming from him, that innocuous saying sounds
impossibly sexy. Downright dirty.

  With no more warning than that, he flexes his hands against my hips and begins kissing my torso again. Only this time, there’s zero comfort involved. Every touch of his tongue against my now overheated flesh feels like a lick of fire, and by the time his mouth travels up my body and grazes the side of my neck, I’m a trembling mess, my heart thudding so hard I’m feeling faint.

  “Tell me you want that, baby,” he murmurs against my skin, his husky voice almost hoarse now, stormy and intent. “Tell me you want me to kiss it and make it all feel better for you.”

  With my brain (and panties) now well past melting point, I’ve basically got no clue what part of me we’re even talking about anymore, but it’s his to make feel as good as he wants.

  I swear, he’s able to read my thoughts somehow because a second later, he’s got me locked in a deep, growling kiss.

  I’ve never been kissed like this before.

  Seriously, all lip-related activities I’ve engaged in before now seems horribly tame in comparison. In fact, I don’t think I can even classify the downright sinful things he’s doing with his mouth in the same category. Good lord.

  I feel him fit his thick, steel-hard cock against my mound then as he rasps, “Jesus, you’re burning me alive. If this hot little pussy is half as sensitive as the rest of you—” He scores my bottom lip with his teeth, expertly thumbing my pebbled nipples and rocking against me at the same time. “You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

  Oh my God. I nearly come right then and there.

  “Not so fast, beautiful.” He backs off. “There’s just one thing I have to do first.”

  Carrying me upstairs, he kicks open the door to a bedroom and gently tosses me onto the bed. The moment my head touches the pillow, he’s kissing the living daylights out of me again, taking everything I have to give him and still demanding more.