by Laura Wright
She smiled. “I’m not hurt. No pain. It was scary as hell. Beyond. But I’m not hurt.”
His face taut, he reached for her hand again. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
He led her through the lot. The truck was parked near the back, under a tree. He was so gentle helping her inside. Even made sure her seat belt was buckled.
“Blue,” she chided, looking over at him. “I love that you’re being so attentive, but—”
“And I love you,” he told her.
Emily gasped. This man was constantly taking her by surprise. But this . . .
He sniffed, smiled easily. “You have to know. I mean, hell . . . You have to know how much you mean to me.” He put his hand over his heart, like it pained him—or maybe that it had just that very moment switched on. “I’m in love with you. So deeply it aches. I know after what I put you through, how I pushed you away, then pulled you back again, screwed with your feelings and was never straight with mine until this moment, that I don’t deserve to hope that you could love me, but . . .”
“Oh, Blue,” she said, unclipping her seat belt and turning to face him. They weren’t going anywhere for a minute. “Too late.”
He deflated instantly, taking her words as a confirmation of what he’d said. He cursed, dropped back in his seat. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I figured. And I don’t blame you.”
Silly boy. Silly, beautiful, soul-crushing boy. Emily’s heart melted as she got out of her seat and crawled up onto his lap. “What I mean, my amazing friend and protector, and baby daddy, and”—she grinned wickedly—“very-soon-to-be lover.”
Those surprised, confused blue eyes heated instantly.
“What I mean,” she continued, “is that it’s too late for you to start hoping I’ll love you.” She lowered her mouth to his and whispered against his lips. “Because I’ve loved you for a while now.”
As he stared at her—stunned, amazed, excited, hopeful, and happy—she reached down and pressed the seat adjuster. With a hum, his chair moved back, giving her more room.
“My angel,” he uttered, his hands coming up to stroke her face and slide into her hair. And then he kissed her. At first with such gentleness, such sweetness, such love, that she wanted to swoon. But there was no space for keeling over. Not in this truck. And plus, she wasn’t going to miss this. Kissing this man until he was as breathless and hungry and desperate as she was.
It didn’t take long.
After he’d practically devoured her, caused her mind to turn to delicious mush, she eased back and looked at him. Heavy-lidded blue eyes sparkling with hunger . . .
Oh yeah.
Breathing heavily, with her nipples tight and straining against her shirt and her sex wet and so ready, she asked, “Are you going to deny me again, Blue Perez Cavanaugh?”
One dark eyebrow arched and, against her thigh, she felt the hardness of his sex.
“Never,” he said with wicked intent. “But here? In my truck?”
Her lips twitched. “No one can see us. You have the tinted windows, and we’re all the way back under this lovely tree.” She bit her lip. “Unless you can wait until we get home.”
“Oh, darlin’, I think we’ve both waited too long.” A thread of concern moved across his eyes. “But if you’re in any pain—”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted. “You heard me and you heard the doctor. All good, baby.”
“I don’t know if I believe him,” he said on a growl.
In response, Emily reached down, grabbed the hem of her sundress and proceeded to pull the entire thing over her head. “Then maybe you need to check me out for yourself.” She tossed the dress onto the passenger seat and looked back at him expectantly.
It took under three seconds for Blue to respond. And when he did, it was like an animal had finally been released from its cage. Her bra was off in an instant, and his zipper was down in seconds. She laughed as she clung to him, as she lifted her hips, as he eased her panties to one side. . . . But laughter turned to a groan of utter satisfaction and fulfillment as he entered her.
Finally. God, yes, finally.
For ten seconds, they just remained like that, eyes locked, bodies locked—hearts entwined. And then Emily started to move. The exquisiteness of it, how full and complete she felt as she rode him, was daunting, was so incredibly beautiful.
A fleeting thought entered her head then. They were together. All three of them. In love.
And then the thought drifted from her mind and she gave herself over to him, his hands on her hips as he thrust deeply inside of her.
“Oh God, yes,” she moaned, letting her head fall back . . .
“I love you, Emily Shiver,” Blue whispered as he found her breasts.
“And I love you, Blue Perez Cavanaugh.”
And then his mouth was closing over one hard nipple, and the windows were growing foggy, and Emily’s requests were getting dirtier and more brazen by the minute.
It wasn’t sweet and gentle and romantic and comfortable. But, hell, they’d have plenty of sweet, comfortable romance in the days and weeks and years to come. What they needed now was a good old-fashioned fuck session in the front seat of Blue’s truck. After all, that hot, wonderful sexual bond had started everything. Allowed everything.
Changed everything.
And as they came together, cried out together, with words of love and promises of round two on their lips, that bond became solid, impenetrable.
Unbreakable.
Epilogue
Blue Perez Cavanaugh watched Emily Shiver walk down the aisle toward him. She looked like the angel she was—the angel he’d always thought her to be. That stunning chestnut-colored dress showing off the gentle swell of her belly. His angel. And soon, his wife.
She split off then and went to stand beside Mac, and then the music changed and it was Sheridan’s turn to walk down the aisle. Blue turned to look at his brother. James’s face told the whole tale. Love, forgiveness, and family. Oh, yes, family.
It was the second wedding at the Triple C. Mac and Deac’s had been a lavish affair that had nearly ended in tragedy with Palmer trying to hurt Sheridan. But today’s wedding was going to cancel all that out—maybe even renew Deac and Mac’s vows. Because, really, this one seemed to belong to them all. Every Cavanaugh who’d come before, and every Cavanaugh who’d come after. They were all there. In their way.
Blue turned to regard his fiancée. She had her eyes on the bride, but Blue would always have his eyes on her. His savior. She’d brought him to a place of peace, and he would spend a lifetime repaying her for that miracle.
Just then she glanced over at him, and her hand went to the gentle swell of her baby. Their baby.
“Will you take each other for a lifetime and beyond?” Reverend McCarron was asking James and Sheridan.
“We will,” they answered together.
It was how they’d wanted it. Everything together. Nothing separate. Sheridan and James had decided to buy a house in Dallas and build a smaller house on Triple C land for themselves, for when they came to town. It would be close to where the horses ran. It would be perfect. Family. All three of his brothers had gotten together and decided that they wanted Blue and Emily, and their baby, to have the C. No talking them out of it—hell, Blue had tried. But there was something in them that had wanted life to start fresh here. With a hopeful and happy family. James had even let Blue buy the storefront in town from him. Blue grinned as he remembered. That was where he’d proposed to Emily. Flowers everywhere—flowers to start her shop.
As the reverend pronounced James and Sheridan husband and wife, Blue put his hands together. His applause was met by everyone. His mother, his brothers – and sisters-in-law, and the love of his life. He knew the truth now and it had nothing to do with choices from the past. It was about letting go and allowing himself a happy ending.
For them all.
Including the one who looked down from heaven. For she had finally gotten her truth too.
His sister.
Cass.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my wonderful readers for embracing and sharing this series. I love you all. And to my amazing editor, Danielle Perez. Your patience, understanding, and incredible skill made these books what they are. Seriously, D. And to my agent, Maria Carvainis, you’re such a tough cookie, and I adore you. Thank you for all you do.
Happiest of reading, my friends.
Laura Wright, out.
Please turn the page for a preview of the first novel in the Cavanaugh Brothers series by Laura Wright,
BRANDED
Available now from Piatkus Entice.
Diary of Cassandra Cavanaugh
May 12, 2002
Dear Diary,
Today it took five dollars to get the cowboys to look the other way when Mac and I saddled up one of Daddy’s prize cow horses. They’re so darn mean and greedy. And it’s my birthday too! Thirteen years old, people! So, you know, shouldn’t I at least get a discount from them boys or something? Jeez. Mac came through, though. She always does. She gave them a piece of her mind, and lots of curse words, too. But they wouldn’t budge, so she flipped them her middle finger, paid them off, and told me happy birthday.
She’s so funny and crazy.
Mac’s been wanting to give Mrs. Lincoln a spin forever. Well, ever since the gray mare came to the Triple C, anyway. Between you and me, I think Mrs. L’s a little too much horse for Mac to handle. But o’course Mac doesn’t think so. She’s as hardheaded as they come. She says what she wants and does what she wants, and she ain’t afraid of anything.
I wish I could be like that.
I wish I could be tough.
Mac and me rode out to the Hidey Hole o’course. We had lunch and swam a little bit; then we sunbathed. I’m a total sun worshipper. I wish it were sunshine all day and night and never dark. I don’t like the dark. Mac wanted to just wear our underwear and bras while we lay out, but I said no way. The Hidey Hole was always top secret, real hidden down in the gulch, but lately I’ve been getting the feeling someone might know about it. And I was right!
Not an hour and a half into our fun, my oldest brother, Deacon, found us. He was in a mood, too. He’s seventeen and pretty much has his own life. He hates having to come look for me. ’Course, so do James and Cole. But when Mama says move, we all move. Anyway, Deac barked at me to get home and get ready for my birthday party. I told him I’d come along soon. The thing wasn’t for another five hours, for goodness’ sake! But he wouldn’t have any of that. He was in a real snit. Bossy as hell. Which o’course pissed Mac off to no end. She gave it to him good. She sounded like the cowboys when they’re working cattle. Definitely R rated! And Deacon hates it. He thinks Mac is a bad influence.
I don’t know if I’m right or wrong, but lately, I get the feeling that Mac might have a crush on Deac. Not that she doesn’t tell him to take a hike in her colorful way and all, but lately, when she does it, her cheeks go all red. And her blue eyes get all shiny like gemstones. She also plays with her hair, wraps it around her finger into a long brown snake. I don’t think she knows she’s doing it.
Maybe I should tell her?
Ugh, I dunno.
I don’t want her to be mad at me. She’s my best friend, but she’s also like my sister. And my family is like her family. All she’s got at home is her pops, and he ain’t nothing to sing songs about in the parenting department, if you know what I mean.
Maybe I can go roundabout with it? Talk about all the girls who call our house wanting to speak to Deacon during dinnertime and see how Mac reacts? Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll know if she’s jealous or not. But, Lord, what do I do if she is?
I’ll write again tomorrow and let you know what happens. Wish me luck!
Cass
One
The glass doors slid open and Deacon Cavanaugh walked out onto the roof of his thirty-story office building. Sunlight blazed down, commingling with the saunalike air to form a potent cocktail of sweat and irritation. The heat of a Texas summer seemed to hit the moment the sky faded from black to gray, and by seven a.m. it was a living thing.
“I’ve rescheduled your meetings for the rest of the week, sir.”
Falling into step beside him, his executive assistant, Sheridan O’Neil, handed off his briefcase, iPad, and business smartphone to the helicopter pilot.
“Good,” Deacon told her, heading for the black chopper, the platinum Cavanaugh Group painted on the side winking in the shocking light of the sun. “And Angus Breyer?”
“I have no confirmation at this time,” she said.
Which was code for there was a potential problem, Deacon mused. His assistant was nothing if not meticulously thorough.
Deacon stopped and turned to regard her. Petite, dressed impeccably, sleek auburn hair pulled back in a perfect bun to reveal a stunningly pretty face, Sheridan O’Neil made many of the men in his office forget their names when she walked by. But it was her brains, her guts, her instincts, and her refusal to take any shit that made Deacon respect her. In fact, it had made him hire her right out of business school. When he’d interviewed her, the ink on her diploma had barely dried. But despite her inexperience, her unabashed confidence in proclaiming that she wanted to be him in ten years hit his gut with a hell yes, this is the one I should hire. Forget ten years. Deacon was betting she’d achieve her goal in seven.
“What’s the problem, Sheridan?” he asked her.
She released a breath. “I attempted to move Mr. Breyer to next week, but he’s refused. As you requested, I told no one where you’re going or why.” Her steely gray gaze grew thoughtful. “Sir, if you would just let me explain to the clients—”
“No.”
“Sir.”
Deacon’s voice turned to ice. “I’ll be back on Friday by five, Sheridan.”
She nodded. “Of course, sir.”
She followed him toward the waiting chopper. “Should I ask Ms. Monroe if she’s free to accompany you on Friday?”
Only the mildest strain of interest moved through him at the mention of Pamela Monroe. Dallas’s hottest fashion designer had been his go-to for functions lately. She was beautiful, cultured, and uncomplicated. But in the past few months, he’d been starting to question her loyalty as certain members of the press had begun showing up whenever they went out.
“Not yet,” he said.
“Mr. Breyer is bringing his . . . date—” Sheridan stumbled. “And he’s more comfortable when you bring one as well.”
A slash of a grin hit Deacon’s mouth. “What did you wish to call the woman, Sheridan?”
She lifted her chin, her gaze steady. “His daughter, sir.”
Deacon chuckled. His assistant could always be counted on for the truth. “I’ll let you know in the next few days if I require Pamela.”
He stepped into the chopper and nodded at the company’s pilot. “I’m taking her, Ty. Bell’s been instructed to deliver another if you need it.”
The pilot gave him a quick salute. “Very good, sir.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh?”
Deacon turned and lifted an eyebrow at his assistant, who was now just outside the chopper’s door. “What is it, Sheridan?”
Her normally severe gaze softened imperceptibly. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Deacon waited for a whisper of grief to move through him, but there was nothing. “Thank you, Sheridan.”
After a quick nod, she turned and headed for the glass doors. Deacon placed his headphones on, stabbed at the starter button, and checked his gauges. Overhead, the rotor blades began to turn.
He’d been to River Black nearly once a month over the past six years. In the first two, he’d attempted to buy the Triple C from his father. When that hadn’t worked, he’d tried blackmailing the man. But still Everett Cavanaugh wouldn’t sell to him. The idea of buying up land in and around the ranch soon followed. Deacon thought that if he couldn’t take down the Triple C through o
wnership and subsequent neglect and/or bulldozing the property to the ground, then he’d do it the old-fashioned way.
Competition.
His ranch would offer lower prices to the cattle buyers, better wages and benefits to the hands, and the best soil, grass, and grain for the healthiest cattle around. Only problem was, the place wasn’t near being done. Even with all the overtime he was paying, his ranch still wasn’t going to be up and running for at least a year.
Revenge would have to wait.
Or so he’d thought.
“Tower, this is Deacon Cavanaugh. The Long Horn is cleared for departure. Confirm, over.”
“Roger that, Long Horn. You are clear. Have a good flight, sir.”
“Copy, Tower.”
As the engine hummed beneath him, Deacon pulled up on the collective and rose swiftly into the air. For ten years, he’d dreamed of seeing the Triple C Ranch destroyed. And now, with his father’s death, he would finally have his goal realized.
Gripping the stick, he sent the chopper forward, leaving the glass-and-metal world of Cavanaugh Towers for the unpredictable, rural beauty of the childhood home he planned to destroy.
* * *
Mac thundered across the earth on Gypsy, the black overo gelding who didn’t much enjoy working cows but lived for speed. Especially when a mare was snorting at his heels.
“Is the tractor already there?” Mac called over her shoulder to Blue.
Her second in command, best friend, and the one cowboy on the ranch who seemed to share her brain in how things should be run brought his red roan, Barbarella, up beside her.