Asshole's Bride (Bad Boy Romance)

by Amy Faye

  Suddenly, the reality of what she was doing hit her all at once. She'd done this before. She'd done it before, with him. But that had been in the dark, it had been rough and something that had happened in a moment of–

  No, not a moment of weakness, she cut herself off. But a moment of passion? Certainly. Now she was undressing herself for the first time before a man who'd just admitted to being every bit the vagabond that some accused him of being, and her fingers froze up.

  Was he going to find her adequate? Would he have high expectations for her, after all this time? What if he didn't find her, you know–attractive? After all, there was a big difference between a convenient woman and a pretty one, wasn't there?

  He reached up as her breathing started to hitch in her chest with one broad, strong hand and ran a thumb across her cheek. He seemed strangely vulnerable to her, which ought to have been impossible for a man like Chris Broadmoor.

  "Are you alright?"

  Her jaw tightened. She was alright. She wasn't going to say that she was nervous. She'd never been nervous about anything in her life, before this, and she wasn't going to start now.

  "I'm fine," she said, her voice hard, and pulled the next button roughly, to prove to herself as much as to him that she had complete control of herself. That she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

  Chris smiled, and then rolled his hips up into her, rubbing the rough fabric of his clothes against her through layers of dress. Her eyes shut themselves tight reflexively, her hips meeting his and temporarily halting her fingers.

  The man below didn't wait for her to continue, reaching up and taking the next button between his thick fingers and with a gentle flip, it came undone, showing more of her body.

  His hips rolled up into hers again, but she kept her focus this time, brushing his hands away. She'd do it herself, if only to prove that she wasn't afraid.

  The shoulders of the dress hung loose on her shoulders, threatening to fall off and leave her there wearing only her camisole to hide her breasts from his eyes. He moved his hips again, threatening to rob her of her senses once more. Reluctantly, Marie slipped off of him, claiming control of herself for a fleeting moment.

  The dress fell away easily when she let the top fall, leaving her in her unmentionables, which may as well have been nude, the way that his eyes raked over her. Marie's face burned red, but she continued undressing, her hands shaking.

  The camisole came apart easily. Five buttons. They were no different than any other, she reminded herself. It was nothing special, even as each one revealed inches of ivory-colored skin that she'd never let any man see.

  He didn't waste a moment in pushing himself out of bed to wrap his arms around her, his skin rough against the smooth skin of her sides. His face dipped low and took one dusky-colored nipple between his lips, sending a jolt of pleasure through her shoulders and into the rest of her body.

  Her hands worked the drawstring keeping her petticoat up before she lost her nerve, and then realized with a start that she was the only one with her clothes off. A gentle bite on her nipples, though, drove the thought quickly from her mind. His lips left her for a moment, only to rejoin again on the other side, balancing out the pleasure as Chris replaced his teeth with this fingers, pinching and pulling until her nipple stood at attention.

  His arm wrapped around her hip, then, and his weight shifted back, pulling Marie into bed. She let him, turning and falling into the soft mattress as his lips pulled away from her with a soft 'pop.'

  He stepped back for a moment himself, his own clothing coming off simply, hurried but without desperation. His shirt fell to the floor, already forgotten in favor of working the clasp on his belt. Then he was pulling down his pants, and Marie couldn't help but gasp.

  His cock was big, from this close up. She'd felt it before, even seen it, but this was a completely different circumstance. Now she had time, she had good lighting, and she wondered how it could have possibly fit inside her. She reached out tentatively, wondering if she could even fit it in her hand.

  She couldn't, she discovered–it filled her grip completely, her fingers not quite able to close around the shaft. The bartender's hips rolled into her hand, his voice coming out hoarse and thick with need.

  "Jesus, Marie–"

  The way he was looking at her had her heart racing. Set her on edge, full with need. She held herself still, in spite of all that. Then, slowly, she moved her hand up and down his shaft again, taking great care to be gentle. Chris's eyes fluttered shut.

  "I need you," he growled, putting his hand around her wrist.

  "Do you now?"

  Marie let him push her back, one strong hand pressed in the middle of her chest, providing an illusion that he'd hold her down and take whatever he wanted. Marie knew better, but the feeling sent a surge of arousal shooting into her. His knee pressed her thighs apart and he took the place between them, his hands hooking under her thighs and lifting them, spreading them wide to wrap around his waist.

  He pressed himself up against her, his hardness teasing her with temptations that she didn't know how she could go without when they inevitably had to return to their lives, even if only for a few hours.

  "I'm going to fuck you now," he growled. She let her eyes drift shut at the words and nodded–he didn't need a second invitation before pushing himself into her, filling her all the way in a single rough thrust.

  Her eyes shot open but saw nothing, whatever power her mind used to see turned off for the sake of containing the pleasure that coiled her body around him. His hips pushed into her again, hitting her deepest places and setting fire to every nerve along the way.

  Her lungs spasmed and forced a gasp from Marie's lips, a little voice escaping when she let the air out. She sounded every bit like–like the sort of woman she certainly wasn't. Then again, maybe she was. He thrust into her again and she met his hips again with an upward roll of her own. Another orgasm built in her belly, coming up fast as he moved deep and rough, holding onto her for any purchase he could get.

  And then, all at once, he let out a hoarse cry and pushed deep inside, his tightening fingers and the way that he hit exactly where she needed it sending her over the edge. Her body milked him for his seed as he shot himself into her, warmth filling her body.

  Her breath came hard, the fire of need slowly leaving her body and leaving her to move her body on her own. It didn't want to, though. She'd much rather have laid there beside him as long as she could. But it wasn't going to last forever, and she knew it couldn't.

  Thirty-Four

  Chris laid his head back on the bed. Should have been at work. Should have been doing his job. At this rate, he was going to lose it, no doubt about that. But there were things needed doing, and Stan would understand or he'd find more work. There wasn't any special shortage of jobs, after all. That much, at least, he could praise Applewood Junction for.

  He looked down at Marie, who dozed lightly against his chest, her soft breasts pooling and pressing against his ribs. She felt good against him, pressed there. It killed him to do it, but he shook her awake.

  "I'm up," she said softly, as if she thought she hadn't been softly snoring a moment before.

  "I have to go," he said. She nodded and sat back up. He took a moment to watch her, to watch the way that her body moved. He didn't deserve her, that much was for certain. But if she was going to be here, he'd at least enjoy the show.

  "You have to promise," she said, pinning her hair back.

  "Promise what?" He swung his legs off the side of the bed and pulled on his blue jeans.

  "Promise you won't go off trying to get yourself killed."

  He took a deep breath. That would be the easiest way out of all this trouble. Just get his own head blown off and everyone else could just walk away. But she had the right idea, whether he liked it or not.

  "I promise," he said, before he was even entirely conscious of speaking. "I'm just going to talk to the Sheriff."

&nbs
p; "And you're not going to get yourself involved any further?"

  He glanced over at her; she was straightening her slip and pulling her dress back on over her head. He slipped his own arms through the sleeves of his shirt.

  "I'm already involved, Marie."

  She pursed her lips and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. It wasn't as if he could just walk away, though. Why couldn't she see that?

  "I just don't want to see you getting yourself hurt," she said finally, fitting a pin into her hair that almost hid the chaos that had overtaken it a few minutes prior.

  "I won't. You made your point."

  She gave him a long, tired look. He understood it, but there wasn't anything else he could do. And then, a moment later, she was gone. He fit his pistol around his waist and took a deep breath. It would be easier to deal with his brothers himself. He could just lay it all on the line and if it went wrong, then he was the only one who got hurt.

  But Chris already knew that wasn't an option any more. It had already gone wrong, if other people were getting hurt, and sure as the sun rose in the morning, Mick was layed up in the doc's, likely as not to succumb to his injuries. Someone needed to set things straight, and clearly, the bartender's way of doing things wasn't doing the job no matter how much he wanted it to.

  The Sheriff didn't look surprised when he walked in. Roberts never gave Chris the impression of being surprised. It was a trait that worked well in Sheriffs and bartenders both. A Sheriff has to deal with all kinds of craziness that normal people never see. A bartender hears all sorts of stories and has to sit with a straight face while some drunk tells them. In a sense, they were practically the same.

  "Sheriff, I got some information for you. It ain't much, but it's something. I hope."

  He told the short version of the story, as short as he could get it. By the end of it, the Sheriff was leaning back and thumbing cartridges into a rifle idly, as if he did it every day.

  "You know where they're hiding out?"

  "Sure," Chris answered. "They told me to go meet 'em."

  "Then you could take me there."

  The bartender answered by way of a solemn nod.

  "I don't like the notion of taking a civilian along, no offense, but I suppose it has to be done."

  "Suppose you're right," Chris said.

  That was the last thing they said for a while. The bartender followed the Sheriff out the door and slipped onto the back of his horse. He took the lead, in spite of the fact that he shouldn't have been there. He shouldn't have been going at all, if Marie had her way. She had the right look, too, but there wasn't much choice.

  Finally, the sun settling into an evening twilight, they crested a hill, and Chris saw what he'd been looking for. A big tree, half the branches missing and the trunk bent and gnarled like an old woman's spine. "There," he said, and pointed.

  The Sheriff nodded; Chris could guess what he was thinking without the man saying anything. This was about where one would expect outlaws to be hiding out. Far enough out that nobody was going to come looking if they didn't know where to find what they were looking for. On the other hand, it was close enough that you could make it in an hour or two—little enough time to cause as much mischief as you might need.

  Chris took a deep breath.

  "You need me any further?"

  The Sheriff sat for a moment, not answering. The faraway 'pop' that echoed through the hills and ripped through Roberts's thigh ended up answering for him. The Sheriff let out a yell and slipped off his horse.

  Chris could about hear the sound of a voice calling out: 'I said you oughta come alone!'

  He eased himself off his own horse and grabbed the Sheriff, who clutched at his leg. He needed to get them out of there, and he needed to do it in a hurry.

  Thirty-Five

  Marie watched Jamie as he took a deep breath and then put the skillet on the stove and crack a couple of eggs. He was surprisingly capable. He had to be, with his parents away as often as they were. Now, with them never coming back, he'd only have to be more independent.

  The egg let out a hiss as he poured it in. A quick look around before he threw it away, as if he needed to find it again. And no doubt, he did. He was functioning again, on a basic level, and that was an incredible achievement all by itself.

  After all, it was barely a week past finding out that his parents were dead. Only a week past his entire life being turned upside down. A teacher wasn't a replacement for parents; it was a simple reality, and one that she wasn't afraid to confess to.

  She hadn't known him for years. She'd been here four months. But someone needed to do something. She wasn't going to see a child hurt. No one deserved to suffer, but it hurt especially to see such a sweet, caring boy put into a bad spot.

  The bad spot in this case, the worst spot of all, was that his promised protector had gone off to talk to the Sheriff, and he hadn't come back. Not all night, if she was in a position to know. Now Jamie was making himself breakfast, and if he worried then he was doing a good job hiding it for now.

  The smell of food started to fill the little hotel room. To fill her nostrils. Marie smiled without being able to help herself. She pushed herself up from her seat on the sofa, pushed her mood out of the gutter.

  "Smells good," she offered as she stepped over to the meager stove.

  Jamie looked up at her with a mixture of emotions. Then, after a long time, he murmured, "thank you." He didn't comment any further.

  "What do you think we should do today?"

  Jamie's lips pinched together. "Don't we have class?"

  Marie shook her head. "Not today, Jamie. We're taking a holiday. Tomorrow, though–"

  His eyebrow furrowed. "Can we go see Mr. Chris?"

  Marie's lip found its way seemingly all on its own to between her teeth. She hid the expression before Jamie could see it, or so she hoped.

  "He's at that bar, Jamie, you know it's not appropriate–"

  "He'll come out to talk to us, though, if you ask him."

  Marie took a deep breath and made an effort to keep her face neutral and smooth. "Not today, Jamie. He's been taking too much time off work, his boss is very upset with him."

  Jamie's face fell. "Oh."

  Marie let her eyes drift shut. She hadn't meant to upset him, just–jeez. Why did it have to happen this way? She wasn't trying to do anything mean, but how much meaner would it have been to let him know that she was worried? To a child, barely ten years old, if an adult was worried, then just how bad could the situation be?

  With all the bad situations that he'd been through in recent days, it wouldn't be a great leap.

  "We could go see Ruby. I'm sure she's got something a boy your age would like, over at the store."

  He made an attempt at looking like that cheered him up. Anyone could have seen through it. She smiled at him, though. Baby steps before giant strides.

  "But can we stop in and see Mr. Chris, at least? Just a moment."

  Marie didn't have a good answer for that. There was no reason that they couldn't, not if he were there. They could just stop in a minute. There was nothing wrong with that.

  Nothing wrong except that it relied on him being there, and she didn't know what they would find when they stepped into the bar.

  So the teacher did what she always did when there wasn't a good answer: she changed the subject.

  "Did you sleep alright?"

  There was a faint hope that he would let the subject drop, but it was quickly apparent that he had noticed the shift. From the look on his face, he didn't like it.

  "Is there something wrong with Mr. Chris? Is he okay?"

  Marie didn't know what to tell him. 'I don't know' was about as comforting as a bed of nails, and Jamie wasn't exactly in an emotionally stable position right now. She didn't want to create more problems for him, not when he already had so much to deal with.

  "He said he had a little business, but he'd be back today," she lied. It sounded right.

  "So w
e can go see him, then," Jamie reasoned. He looked at her out of the side of his eyes as he took his first bite of eggs.

  "We can try, but if he's not here until this evening, then he won't be there."

  It was the best she could do, given the circumstances. Now she just had to hope that he was going to accept it.

  "He didn't know when he'd be back?"

  "He went out to meet a friend the next town over. If they get to talking, it could be a few hours. You know how men are," she said, as if he might have done it himself, knowing he wouldn't have.

  But he wasn't going to deny the chance to pretend to be a man, certainly not in front of her. That was what Marie gambled on, anyways.

  "Oh, sure. That makes sense," he agreed. He looked down at his eggs and pulled another bite onto his fork with a piece of bread. "But we should still go see him. He'll want to talk to me, after all."

  Marie smiled. "You're right, Jamie. He absolutely will. He wouldn't miss it for the world, if he knew you were coming."

  She ran her fingers through his hair and let him eat. Now she just had to hope that in spite of everything, he'd be there. The chance that he wouldn't wasn't one that she particularly wanted to take.

  Thirty-Six

  Chris ought to have gone faster. That would have been the best chance at getting the Sheriff back home safe, with most of his blood still in his body. The good news was that he still grunted a little, if the bartender shook him. It was a poor consolation, compared to the paleness of Roberts' skin.

  Minutes counted in keeping the Sheriff's wife married. But riding hard, he quickly realized, was just too much of a risk. The big man could barely keep the half-conscious Sheriff on the saddle in front of him at any decent speed, and the cries of pain left little question of how well he was enjoying the ride.

  So it was slow going in spite of Chris's best hopes and intentions, and as the sun started to slip down the horizon, he finally rode into town. If he'd been able to make it to the doc's office before someone noticed, that would have been enough. All he'd needed, no more.