Bought by the Raunchy Cowboy: A BBW Billionaire Romance

by Raina Wilde

  "You look like you've done that a lot, " Leah said.

  "Hopping fences and outrunning the cops, " he replied with a grin as they settled into a stride toward the beach.

  "Are you serious? " Leah asked; she could never tell. He just continued grinning at her, and then started to jog toward the water.

  "Hurry up, " he said. Leah jogged after him. The night was warm, but the water was freezing on her feet. She threw her shoes into the sand and sat down, letting the surf lick at her feet. Jack was standing in front of her, facing the ocean. He had rolled up his pants to his knees and was letting the waves wash the sand over his feet.

  "It's beautiful here, " he said.

  "Yeah. We used to come to Maine with my dad. Since he died my mom hasn't been back, "

  "I'm sorry about your dad, " Jack said quietly. "But she's back now. "

  "Yeah. She really loves Lawrence. "

  "My dad is pretty crazy about her, too, " Jack replied. He sat down beside her, and Leah could feel the warmth from his body through her dress. She shivered.

  "Are you cold? " he asked, taking off his suit jacket and slipping it over her shoulders before she could protest. It smelled like him, like cologne and warmth. She breathed the smell in deeply.

  When she looked over she saw Jack was staring at her. He had a playful smile on his lips.

  "What are you smirking at? " Leah asked.

  "Nothing, " he lied. He wiggled his fingers through the sand until they found hers.

  They sat there for several minutes, taking in the sound of the waves, until they heard Cara calling them from the deck.

  "I think my dad is about to give a speech at this fundraiser, " Jack said, helping Leah to her feet. He brushed the sand off her dress, his hands lingering at the small of her back. She wanted to push him into the sand and climb on top of him, but instead she handed his jacket back. There would be plenty of time for pushing tonight. Her stomach twisted into an excited knot as she thought about how close their rooms were.

  Lawrence's speech was long, and mostly boring, but Leah and Jack stood at the back of the room where there was less chance of anyone seeing their hands, still entwined. Jack slid his thumb across Leah's knuckles and then tickled the palm of her hand. His touch, and everything it implied, was tantalizing.

  An hour later Jack and Leah had both had a few glasses of wine. Cara and Lawrence disappeared a short time later, and as soon as they were out of sight Jack grabbed Leah's hand and led her from the room. His bow tie was undone and hanging loosely, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. He grabbed a bottle of champagne and two glasses as they left, holding them skilfully in one hand.

  "My room, or yours? " he asked when they were standing in front of Leah's door.

  "Who says I'm going to invite you in? " she asked playfully. Jack made her weak in the knees, but a part of her felt that this must be wrong. Wasn’t it? He would soon be family; that surely made him strictly off limits. Her back was against the door and he was leaning on the frame, trapping her in.

  "Oh, I think you're going to invite me in, " he replied quietly with his trademark grin. He bent his head low and brushed his lips against Leah's neck. She shivered, and fought the urge to moan. Momentarily forgetting her feelings of apprehension she pulled her key card out of her purse and unlocked the door. Jack followed behind her and before closing the door, slipped the DO NOT DISTURB sign over the outside handle.

  Jack set the two glasses of champagne down and then expertly popped the cork of the bottle. He caught the bubbling champagne with the flutes and handed one to Leah.

  "Cheers, " he said, raising his glass. He never took his eyes off Leah, and she felt a warmth start growing between her thighs at his gaze. He set the glass down and stepped toward her, running his hands up her arms. She shivered at his touch.

  "Did you have fun with me last night? " Jack asked, lowering his head to run his lips along Leah's collarbone.

  "Yes, " Leah whispered.

  "Are you disappointed I'm not that guy? " he asked. She remembered how he had looked at the bar, scuffed leather jacket, ripped jeans and sunglasses. It was miles away from the man standing in front of her now. His smooth British accent was honey to her ears, and his breath tickled her skin as he spoke.

  "You're definitely not a disappointment, " she replied. He stepped back, slinging his grey suit jacket over a chair. His white shirt was still crisp and clean, but his bow tie was undone and hanging. He was pulling it off slowly, studying Leah.

  "I thought you might like the rough all-American rather than the dapper Englishman, " he said with a grin.

  "The rough guy had his appeal. . . " she began, but lost her words as Jack started to unbutton his shirt. She was quivering with anticipation. This was so much different than he was the other night; she was a little intimidated by him now, and he knew it.

  "I bet there's still a little rough left, " he replied quietly. He still had the tie in one hand, and he turned Leah around so she was facing the open patio doors. A gentle breeze was moving the curtains and she could hear the ocean as well as laughter from somewhere.

  Jack slowly unzipped her dress and let it pool to the floor. Leah shivered as the cool air touched her skin. He turned her around to face him, and she saw his eyes were dilated with passion. He was holding the tie between his teeth. He gently pulled her wrists together and raised them above her head. Her heart was racing as he tied them and pulled the knot tight.

  He held one loose end, trapping her arms above her head, and then pulled her close to his body. He kissed her, deep and hard, nibbling at her bottom lip. She gasped, and kissed him in return, suddenly wanting him more than anything.

  "If you want me to stop, just tell me, " he said. This was her out. She could stop this madness right now and start thinking of him as the brother he was going to become. Instead, Leah nodded, unable to say anything. Jack led her toward the bed and gently pushed her over. She started trembling with anticipation as she heard him undressing behind her.

  "This is going to be so much better than last night, " he said finally, his voice breaking the silence. It was husky and gloriously sexy. Leah was bent over the bed, her arms trapped above her head. She felt exposed, and a little helpless, but excited. Finally she felt Jack's hands travel up her legs, smooth over the pantyhose she had on under her dress.

  "I hope you're not too attached to these, " he said as his fingers brushed the area between her thighs.

  She gasped, "To what? "

  She felt Jack's fingers entwine in the nylon fabric, then she felt him lean in closer, his lips brushing against the small of her back. She felt him tug and finally tear the fabric away from her body. His breath was quick and he moaned a little as he felt the nylon tear away from between Leah's legs.

  She gasped. She still had a thin pair of panties on but she had never felt so exposed.

  "I hope you're going to buy me another pair of those, " she said playfully, but her voice was husky.

  Jack laughed throatily behind her. "I'll buy you anything you want, " he said. His fingers pressed against the silky fabric of her panties and she moaned. He rubbed her, slowly at first, and then with more intensity. She moaned and started to move against his fingers, but he pressed her hips down against the bed.

  "It's all me tonight, love, " he said behind her. Her heart raced with excitement. She was completely at his mercy, and it was thrilling.

  He pushed the fabric of her panties away and she moaned as she felt his fingers push inside of her. He teased her slowly, his fingers working in delicate circles until she moaned and tried to writhe underneath him. As soon as she moved he pulled his fingers away. Leah gasped in disappointment.

  "What did I tell you? " he said, leaning over to whisper in her ear. "I'm in charge, " he said and nibbled her neck. He turned her over and untied her hands.

  "You're untying me? " she asked, and obviously couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice because he looked at her deeply, his eyes sparkli
ng.

  "You like being tied up? " he asked. Leah nodded, shyly.

  Jack growled deep in his throat, "You're going to undo me, " he said, then "turn over. "

  Leah rolled onto her stomach and Jack tied her wrists together again, this time behind her back rather than above her head. She heard him unbuckle his belt and her pulse quickened. He knelt behind her and she felt him grab the thin silk of her panties between his hands and tear it away. His hand gripped the loose end of the tie at her wrists and pulled slightly. It forced her back to arch and with a twist of excitement in her stomach she realized why he had done it.

  Jack pushed inside of her and Leah moaned. He pulled on the tie, forcing her body up against his. His other hand slid around her hips and he used his fingers to toy with Leah as he thrust into her. Her body was being forced against his from almost every direction, and the pleasure was so intense she cried out, moaning his name. She was unable to move, and he was right, he was completely in control. Leah shook as she climaxed, gasping Jack's name.

  When they were finished Jack untied her and covered her gently with a sheet. He lay behind her, kissing the back of her neck where he swept her hair to the side.

  "So what happens now? " Leah asked.

  "What do you mean? " Jack asked. "We're at a beautiful hotel, we'll spend the week on the beach. Or in bed. "

  "But after that. . . "

  Jack rolled Leah over and kissed her, his lips were tender and his hands entwined in hers.

  "Don't worry about anything but right now, " he said, and he kissed her again, this time more insistent. Leah felt a familiar twisting in her stomach and she entwined her fingers in Jack's hair pulling him closer. He was right; the rest of the week didn't matter. She had no idea what the future had in store for this budding taboo romance, but if she worried about it now she would be depriving herself of the most intense pleasure she had ever known. Right now, in this moment, there was no such thing as right and wrong. She rolled on top of Jack and pretended to pin him down.

  "Now, I'm in control, " she said playfully and reached across the bed for the tie.

  THE END

  Claimed by the Enemy Highlander

  War is everything to Aigneis McGowan. Since her father's death, her life has been driven by one thing: revenge.

  She is twenty-one—a beautiful, fiery woman; leader of her clan and undisputed swords-woman. But when she comes face to face with the object of her hate—the heir to the clan who killed her father—the views which have shaped her life are challenged in ways she did not think possible.

  On the battlefield, leading her clan against the man she has come to love, Aigneis finds that some questions have no easy answers, and sometimes vengeance entraps us.

  Will she find the truth? Will she triumph? And, most important: will she follow her heart?

  Chapter 1

  “Go, Douglas! That's the way! Strike! A grating blow; metal grinding on metal. “Lift your arm! Lift! Aigneis shouted the instructions as she worked. The blows of blade on blade rang out, the only other sound around the chalked-out square.

  The sun shone in through the window; late autumnal gold. It caught the red fire of her hair and set it aflame as she moved; a river of fire flowing with every step. Her lithe body whirled and ducked as she thrust and parried and blocked, the sword an extension of her arm, its motion slow and seamless.

  “Yes! Good, Douglas. ” She encouraged the young man opposite her, who was looking, by then, slightly pale. Aigneis felt her throat strain from the shouting, and gratefully accepted a glass of water. She saluted Douglas then with her blade, who returned the motion and then walked wearily from the square.

  She leaned back against the wall. All around her, the hall was full of men engaged in single combat. The clash of weapons filled the air, lifting and mixing with grunts of effort and shouts of triumph when a blow was struck.

  Aigneis McGowan, chief of Clan McGowan in all but title, closed her eyes and smiled. It was the sound that has filled her days for most of her adult life, and she has always loved it. Aigneis breathed out, wearily. It was not a warm day, being late in Autumn, but the perspiration was strong on her brow. Running down her lithe body, it made her shirt cling to her back. She had been training with the men, and as always made it her goal to work at least as hard as they did.

  “Alright, lads!” she called out, hoarse. “We'll end for the day. ”

  There were weary groans, mixed with triumph from the current winners, and general out-breaths of exhaustion and relief. Aigneis was always a merciless leader, and drilled her men each day, keeping them fit, and wearing them out. The men filed out, congratulating each other, or still sparring, playfully. They headed towards the main hall for dinner.

  Aigneis smiled and breathed the close air of the hall. It smelled of sweat and chalk and iron, a heady mix that had filled her days since childhood. She turned to the master-at-arms, who awaited her instruction.

  “Thank you, Gareth. Same tomorrow? ” She suggested

  “Good, my lady. ” He replied.

  “Anything to add? ”

  “My lady. . . we should concentrate on use of the dirk? Some men are unfamiliar with it, and we both know how necessary it is for single combat. ”

  “Yes, Gareth. Good. ” She nodded enthusiastically. “We'll make tomorrow's session focused there. ”

  “Very good, my lady. ”

  “I will retire now; prepare for the meeting. ” Aigneis nodded.

  “Good evening, my lady. ”

  Aigneis took the stairs to the wing of the house reserved for the incumbent Laird. She reached her chamber, and shut the door. Inside, the last light of evening soaked oak-paneled walls. The room was all in white and oak-gold, decorated with tapestries in mauve and green on white linen. Sparsely furnished, but pretty. A low fire was in the grate.

  Aigneis sighed and sat down on an embroidered seat. It had been a long day. Long, but satisfying. And the night could bring important outcomes. That night was set aside for preparation for war.

  The year was 1638, and the Covenant had just been signed, in which many of the clans declared their support for the Covenanters against the Stuart king, who believed himself the head of the Church. Only Christ was head of the Church in the eyes of the Covenanters, and this was the essence of the conflict. Or so it was said.

  In reality, there were other, private, wars and feuds that fed this greater conflict. And one of them was the war between Aigneis and her clan, and the Learys. Aigneis herself was not religious, but she would pick any side the Learys were not on. She would end the feud. And it would not end for her until each Leary lay dead in his blood.

  It was her feud. At twenty years old, Aigneis had nursed this war inside her since she was thirteen; scrape-kneed with plaited hair. Since the day her father had died.

  That day, she was in a room like this one, on the other side of the castle. In her mind, it was night, and she was ready for sleep. She sat, remembering the cry that had echoed through the floor, a wail so unearthly it lifted the hair on her head.

  Annabelle, her aunt, had appeared then, just behind her maid. Annabelle never visited her chamber—something was very, very wrong.

  “Aigneis, my dear? We must pray. Your father, bless him, is with Christ. ”

  What? It made no sense to Aigneis. “Aunt. . . what? ”

  “Be strong, my child. Your father has passed. He was safe, now; with Christ. ”

  No, Aigneis remembered thinking. No. He isn't. My father belongs here, with me. Fighting, and racing, and ruffling my hair. Laughing and lifting me on his shoulders.

  But she knelt, as she was told, and closed her eyes. All she saw behind them was a blank. Her mind whirled, painting pictures of her father, laughing. Her father, carrying her, winking at some joke. Vital and immediate and larger than life.

  I need to know what happened.

  She found out, the next day. She listened at the door, while the master-at-arms talked to his men. Her father had been
killed. It was a sudden raid, completely unexpected, when he was returning from a skirmish at the border. It was the Learys.

  I hate the Learys, she remembered thinking. They will die. They will die on my blade. She made an oath then, behind that door, in the silence.

  From that day, the training with sword and shield, started as a game to play with her father, became deadly. Every spare minute, with her cousins, Hal and Jamie, was spent training. She had become as good as any man, and better than most. And, since the death of her great-uncle, she was the war-leader of Clan McGowan—in fact, if not in name. All the men knew that.

  Almost all the men knew, too, of her hatred of the Learys, if not how deep it ran. Each day she honed that hate. Sometimes she wondered at how much it had become the focus of her life.

  She looked, then, at the face in the mirror—lean and elegant —and noticed the slender lines in her forehead and beside her eyes. She thought, then, how many years had passed since a thirteen year old swore death to her father's enemies. Her face looked back at her: wide pale green eyes, sun-kissed skin, full lips, bronze-red hair, thick and loose and wild.

  Not bad, actually, she thought, and smiled. Those years were not unkind. A sharp-edged grin showed back, wild and dangerous and full of vitality. She blinked. Time to get ready, she thought to herself.

  She was preparing to meet with the war-leaders of the most powerful clans in the region, to win their support for her cause. This was her greatest chance, to strike a blow at the Learys that could utterly obliterate them.

  She inspected the dress laid out for her. The green tartan of McGowan, embroidered at wrists and collar; low cut. Floor-sweeping and elegant.

  Half an hour later, she was ready to leave, long, red hair loose and flowing, in a gown that swept the floor as she walked lithely down the stairs. She was off to make an army and lead a war. Off to shed the blood of her foemen. She felt content.