by Nicole Helm
“I know this is all a big joke to you—a fun lark while you wait for other people to get your real life back on track—but you could pretend to care every once in a while.”
It struck a nerve, an exposed one. Struck it hard enough he didn’t have the reserves to laugh it off or pretend it didn’t exist. Not care? He always cared too damn much, so damn much he couldn’t handle it, couldn’t deal with the things he couldn’t fix, so he escaped.
Only there was nowhere left to escape to, so he went on the offensive instead. “Watch it, Mel. I may be trying to be a nice guy these days, but it’s not my first instinct by a long shot.”
“Oh, yeah, and what are you going to do to me, Mr. Not-So-Nice-Guy?”
He didn’t take a second to think about it, just went with what had been his instinct since she’d blushed on his porch a few days ago. Gave into the lust mixing in with all those unpleasant feelings.
He crushed his mouth to hers. Not gently, like he’d wanted to do last night. Last night, he’d wanted to comfort her somehow. Offer some kind of commiseration, and while he realized a kiss wasn’t the best way to do that, it had been the only thing he could think of.
This was not a comforting, commiserating kiss. This was “I will show you what’s what.” She was apparently finding out what’s what, because she kissed him back. Actually, it was more passive than that. She allowed him to kiss her, to scrape his teeth across her bottom lip, to cage her against the counter.
But passive wasn’t what Dan wanted from Mel, and in the end, that’s what had him stepping back.
He hated himself in that moment. She looked like she wanted to give up, give in, but not to him—to the overwhelming demands that seemed to be dragging her down. She looked like she wanted to dissolve, disappear, never return.
That, that he hated himself for.
“Don’t ever, and I mean ever, do that again.” She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and let go of the counter behind her. Though he supposed she was trying to look tough, she looked about as menacing as a peewee hockey player who hadn’t learned how to handle a stick yet.
He might hate himself for pushing her there, but he wasn’t going to let her see his regret, his guilt. “I’m an easygoing guy, Mel, but if you keep pushing my buttons, I will damn well keep pushing back.”
“Yeah, well, unbutton my buttons and prepare to lose some anatomy you hold dear.”
He hated to lose his temper, didn’t like to feel all that rushing regret after he went off the handle or did or said something stupid. Because there was a voice inside his head telling him to step back, cool off, but the anger and frustration pumping through his veins made listening to that voice impossible.
So he stood toe to toe with her, and purposefully touched the top button of her shirt. He brushed his thumb across the hollow of her throat. “That so?”
Her eyes held his. She didn’t shiver under his touch, didn’t melt, didn’t slump or cower and make him feel like a total dick. She stood there. Still, yes, but like some untouchable thing. Like some goddess trying to decide if she’d deign to let him continue to think he could touch her.
“You know what?” she said, not moving, not looking away, not anything, her eyes boring into his. “This is stupid.”
“I agree.” Except he had no idea what he was agreeing to. He only knew she wasn’t swatting his hands off her, and she wasn’t stepping back. She was standing there and any insecurities or weaknesses from earlier had disappeared.
The woman in front of him right now looked like she could knock him flat with one blow. One word.
Instead, she knocked him flat with one kiss.
Chapter 6
Mel had never in her life made a mistake that felt so good. A shocking punch of melted heat centered at her core. The rough bristle of his chin scraped her skin, causing her to shiver, but the heat made her insides feel like liquid.
No kiss had ever made her feel this good. So good, she couldn’t even regret it. Because it meant Dan’s mouth was on hers, his big hands gripping her hips with all the strength and precision of someone very used to being in charge.
She would let him be in charge. She wouldn’t even question it, because his hands held her exactly where she needed to be for his mouth to explore hers.
Her palms flattened down his smooth, bare back with a mind of their own, and something growly escaped his mouth as he pushed her back against the counter until she couldn’t go any farther.
She was a woman who rode horses and faced down cows and clomped through all manner of labor-intensive chores every single day. So much so that she never felt small or fragile or dainty, but somehow, being pressed to the counter, feeling the definite outline of Dan’s erection against her stomach, she felt…
Like a siren or a seductress. Someone soft and curvy and beautiful who could bring a man to his knees with a whisper instead of a blow.
She had never in her life wished so desperately for a man to take off her clothes. To feel big hands stroke over her skin. She had never felt an ache this sharp, this needy. Never in her life considered making a mistake so…enthusiastically.
She wanted this mistake like she wanted survival. The thrill. The release. Something that wasn’t weighty. That didn’t squeeze around her lungs and her heart.
Here it was. In her reach, against her mouth, pressing up against her entire body. Here was the mistake she’d never allowed herself to make. There was no responsible, sensible part of her brain surviving this.
So she accepted it. The heat. The desire. Even the desperation. The way her blood throbbed in time with need. She let his tongue explore, take. She let go.
She ran her hands up over his shoulders and then down his chest, letting her fingertips absorb every shock of attraction, every exciting inch of his warm skin, but he caught her wrists halfway down, stopping her before she got to his stomach. “I’m a little soft these days,” he said against her mouth, interrupting the kissing.
She blinked at him, her mouth still all but pressed to his. Her body definitely pressed to his. Which was not soft. At all.
He was famous and had money coming out of his ears. He was gorgeous, and that little flicker of self-consciousness over his not one hundred percent in shape hockey body—even though in her book he had to be sitting at a 99.9 percent—undid her. She didn’t want to dwell on what it said about her that his weaknesses were the things she couldn’t fight.
Self-consciousness. Not knowing what to do without hockey. This miserable ranch.
So she loosened her wrists out of his grasp and did something even more nonsensical and unreasonable than kissing him. She pressed her palm to the bulge in his pants, absorbed the heat of him, the length of him. “You are decidedly not soft.”
He huffed out a laugh, but his fingers curled around her wrists again, pulling them away from his body, but not letting them go once he did. “I don’t want you to have sex with me out of anger.”
Some of the exciting, forget-all-her-troubles warmth cooled, the throbbing dulled, leaving an unsatisfied ache. “I think you might be out of luck any other way.” Because this certainly wasn’t born of anything except basic physical attraction and frustration. Period.
He dropped her wrists, looking ridiculously sheepish for someone who’d initiated this whole thing. “Maybe we should be out of luck then.”
She scooted sideways so he wouldn’t be right in front of her, so she could escape. The rejection stung more, because she never should have let this happen in the first place. It was supposed to be wrong and stupid and feel good, and he was saying no.
No.
Didn’t that figure? “I should go.”
“Mel, you can’t go. We have…”
“Work to do?” She arched an eyebrow at him, because she was determined to be tough and unaffected, on the outside at the very least. She gestured toward his very obvious erection.
“I think you might be busy.”
“Don’t go. Don’t make this—”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Sharpe.” She would not be told how to live her life. There were already too many factors taking away her choices. “I’m going to go feed the llama. You get dressed and…do what you need to do. Then we’re going to Bozeman to get you a damn truck.”
“Mel.”
“End of story.” Because she was in charge, and the point here was not Dan. It was to get his neglected ranch off the ground. Dan was an inconsequential part of this whole thing. “Make some coffee and bring me a mug when you’re finished.”
She tried to walk out of his house with a normal, purposeful stride, but she wasn’t delusional enough to believe she accomplished it. This was a stomp, a storm out.
What was wrong with her right now? She needed to get it together. So she walked and walked until she came to the fence around the stables. And the llama.
She stared at the llama, and it stared back.
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She was fine. This was fine. She was strong and in charge, and just because she’d been feeling a little beat down lately didn’t mean she couldn’t handle this.
She should thank Dan for rejecting her. It was the best damn thing to happen today.
“Oh, that asshole.” Because as much as she should be grateful, there were certain parts of her not getting the message.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed away from the fence. She couldn’t keep losing it with Dan. Even if he felt sorry enough for her not to fire her, she had her pride and her name.
She would not let him think she was a flake, or worse, that she would ever be one of the many women who dropped their panties for him.
She took another deep, centering breath. That thought helped. Imagining hordes of women tossing their—probably much lacier and more expensive—underwear at him helped. She was not made for Dan Sharpe.
She was made for these mountains.
Hard, craggy, but impressive. Standing the test of time, century after century. Maybe she wouldn’t be around for centuries, but things she worked for would.
Mr. Hockey Player could not move mountains, even if he could get her blood pumping.
The llama made some creepy llama noise, like a sheep on steroids. They were really going to have to do something about this thing. How on earth had it survived without anyone even knowing it existed?
Mel faced down the beast. It didn’t move, didn’t blink. She had the sudden desire to somehow win. To show this animal what was what. She was immovable; it was an animal.
She stared it down to no avail, and when it didn’t move, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She put one foot on the bottom of rung of the fence, ready to leverage herself up and over, but Dan’s voice stopped her.
“What are you doing?”
“Next time, llama,” she muttered, putting her foot back on the ground. She turned to Dan. “Just trying to feed him.”
“Shouldn’t you go through the indoor part? You know, so he doesn’t eat you or pulverize you with his demon eyes.” He handed her a mug of coffee. Just as she’d asked.
Which made her feel soft, and when she felt soft—attack. “Well, I’m not a wimp, Dan.”
He scratched a hand through his hair, which looked kind of wet. He’d taken a shower. What had he done in there?
Her eyes were halfway to his crotch before she remembered she was a mountain and all that. A mountain unmoved by erections, too-tight-for-work jeans, and T-shirts that strained against the bulge of biceps.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Mel, I’m sor—”
“If you apologize, I will punch you.” The last thing she needed was his pity on top of his rejection. Just the thought made her skin crawl and her overheated body cool.
“The normal response to an apology is, ‘that’s okay’ or—”
“There is nothing for you to apologize for. We had a momentary lapse in sanity. It’s over.” And because she was tough and strong, she’d swallow her pride and keep going. “But I am sorry for how I barged in here this morning. Taking my foul mood out on you was not fair or conducive.”
“Conducive.”
“Yes. Conducive.”
“Did I…break you? Because apologies and talk of being conducive is really strange coming from you.”
“No. I’m unbreakable.” Or at the very least, she hid her breaks until they went away. “Now, are you ready to go buy a truck or what?”
He was silent, that green gaze steady on her face, dark eyebrows drawn together as if she were some equation he was trying to figure out. She didn’t budge, didn’t blink—much like the llama, she merely accepted his scrutiny. Until his features smoothed out and he nodded.
“Sure. Let’s go buy a truck.”
The llama method worked. She’d have to employ it more often.
* * *
Dan was not in the habit of not knowing what the hell to do. At first, it had seemed like a novelty. Hey, something to learn, something to challenge him. Make him forget all the shit he’d left behind. A new escape.
But not knowing what the hell to do about everything sucked. His career, ranching, Mel—not one thing made sense.
He was lost. And he was being carted around by this woman—who didn’t make any sense to him. Not because she was irrational, or hard to read, but because he didn’t know how anyone could possibly be as mentally tough as she was.
She had not been happy that he’d put the kibosh on angry sex. Hell, he hadn’t been happy about it, but instead of getting upset, instead of giving him a piece of her mind, she’d shut it down. Hadn’t let him apologize.
She’d apologized.
Gone on as if that kiss was simply a stumble on an otherwise narrow and forward-moving path. But only she knew where the path was going. and he didn’t have a clue.
He glanced at her profile: jaw set, eyes squinting at the road, hands tight around the steering wheel. How could she be wound so tight all the time and not ever break? Mel considered herself unbreakable, and maybe she was. Maybe she was made from sterner stuff than he’d ever known. Like those damn mountains, beautiful and distant.
“What’s your full name?”
Her “what the hell is your deal” looks were almost comical at this point. The way her head jerked back, as if she was allergic to his questions.
But maybe if he could know her better, he could understand how she did it. Handled all this. Maybe he could emulate it. Maybe he could find a way not to cave or run away when the hard stuff came.
“What do you mean my full name?” she demanded as the landscape transitioned from wild and stark to a city. It still wasn’t a city like he was used to. But Chicago and Minnesota boasted no mountains.
“What’s Mel short for? Melanie? Melissa? Mel…Melicent? Melhard-ass?”
She rolled her eyes, and he noticed that her hands on the wheel loosened. He grinned.
He might not have it all figured out, but his general ridiculousness relaxed her…when it didn’t piss her off.
“It’s just Mel.”
“Mel isn’t short for anything?”
“No.” She stared hard at the red light. Always staring so hard at everything. Concentrating. Working. She made him tired. “I was named after my great-great-great-grandpa who started the ranch. I’m the oldest. I was going to be Mel Shaw regardless of the outcome.”
“Not even Mellie?”
Any humor at the question was gone. Her tone was flat. “Sorry to disappoint. There is no secret feminine side of me.”
“Now, on that, I beg to differ.”
“I’ve castrated cows, Sharpe—think about that before you differ too much.”
“You’ve castrated cows, you probably pack a mean punch, but you sighed when I kissed you, sweethear
t.”
“I kissed you, meathead. About took you out in the process too.”
“Can’t argue that.” He waited a beat until she snuck a glance at him, then grinned. “But you still sighed.”
“It’s best if we don’t talk about it.”
“Is it?” he mused. He kind of liked how her cheeks got a little pink.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
She leveled him with a sharp look, or as much of one as she could muster before returning her gaze to the road. “Are you rescinding your moratorium on angry sex?”
“Rescinding my what?”
She huffed. “You know what I mean.”
“Fine, and no.”
“Then kiss talk is off-limits.” She pulled the E-brake a little soon and the truck jerked to a stop. “Look at that. Here we are.”
He broke his gaze from her profile—pretty and feminine whether she wanted it to be or not—and took in the sea of cars and trucks, shiny and new. He didn’t want to do this.
Maybe he should have done the angry-sex thing after all.
She got out of her truck, all business and determination, and he sat in the passenger seat, sulking. He wasn’t proud of himself, but not embarrassed enough to get out. She wanted him to get a damn truck, she could do all the work.
You hired her, you fucking moron.
Right.
There was nothing wrong with getting a truck. After all, it would make him feel all rancher-like, driving around in one of these big-ass things, and that’s what he was here for. To figure out how to be a rancher. The motorcycle wasn’t practical for ranch life. It was a spur-of-the-moment response to not being under contract.
So, he had no idea why this was a thing. A thing he didn’t want to do. A thing that made him feel antsy and pissy.
He supposed it was like a promise. Trucks had to be taken care of. Like llamas. And women. Needing him for things he’d never been able to give.
A man in khakis and a shiny red polo shirt came out, all bright smiles and arm gestures. Nodding and scanning the lot when Mel spoke. She smiled. Her posture was relaxed. He hated how she could be two people. This light, breezy, friendly woman to everyone but him.