by Maisey Yates
“Hey, you were the one who seemed confused.”
“Hardly, but I know how men are.”
“Got a string of broken hearts in your past, do you?”
She rolled her eyes, but Quinn was still in front of her and couldn’t see it. “Tons. I’m the vamp of Silver Creek. The woman everyone’s mother warns them about.”
“I can believe it,” he said, tossing her a quick look over his shoulder.
She had no idea why, but the casual comment made her feel a little warm all over. “Oh, well . . . thank you. I guess. Except I’m really not so much.”
“I believe that too.”
“You can’t believe both. One is a lie.”
“You blush a little bit too pretty to be a vamp.”
“I don’t blush.”
“You blush like a schoolgirl.”
She knew she did. She was doing it now. And the more he mentioned it, the more she did it. Her face was burning. “I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”
“I did notice that. And I’m not insulting you. I think a little pink in your cheeks is sexy. I like it, because it tells me you’re thinking naughty things.”
“I don’t think naughty things.”
“Ever?”
Ready to ride, darlin?
“Never,” she said. “I’m virtuous. A paragon.”
“A virtuous zombie slayer?”
“I blush because I’m shocked. Not because I’m thinking naughty things.”
“That’s disappointing.”
She tightened her grip on the reins. “No, you know what’s disappointing? You. Men. Men are shockingly predictable.” She said it all with a hint of irony, because yeah, her brothers were like this. They talked about sex because they always thought about sex. Because no matter how much they tried to shield her from the way they’d man-whored around, it had sort of soaked into her consciousness. Because when it was all you thought about, of course it seeped out.
But in terms of personal experience? Yeah, there was basically none. She was Lark Mitchell, terminal nerd, little sister to Cole and Cade Mitchell, who would put a knuckle-shaped imprint on the face of any guy who ever dared touch her.
If they were lucky, the knuckle imprint was all they would get. If they weren’t lucky, they might go from stallion to gelding in one easy step.
And the men of Silver Creek knew it.
Even if they didn’t, frankly, she’d never bothered to pursue anything. Because it was way the heck easier to just not care. Caring hurt. Always. Caring meant loss.
It was way safer to talk dirty at a guy you met in a gaming forum than to risk rejection in real life. Than to risk real-life feelings.
“Men are predictable, huh?”
“Completely.”
“So you know what I’m thinking right now?”
“Something lascivious and inappropriate.”
“I’m wounded. I’m thinking about the view,” he said, nodding toward the trees that lined the trail that was slowly climbing up the mountainside. “About the way the sun shines through the trees. How deep the green gets, to where it fades to near-black in the shadows. About the way the air smells, like wood and pine and clean. How’s that for predictable?”
“Oh . . . um . . .”
“Also, I’m thinking a little bit about how pretty and pink your lips are, and wondering if they taste as sweet as I think they might.”
And just like that, every rational thought flooded out of her head. She wanted to say something about how he was completely predictable. And he was full of BS with all his lyrical waxing about the view. And something about misdirection, and deception.
But she couldn’t think straight enough to form a coherent thought, because her brain was stalled out on the idea of him tasting her lips. Not just kissing them—tasting.
Because that thought brought to mind a lot more than just lips against lips. And a lot more, even, than his tongue in her mouth, which she knew was a thing, personal experience or lack thereof notwithstanding. No, this made her think of a slow, sensual act. Of him savoring her flavor as his tongue slid along the line of her mouth.
It made her ache inside. Made her want things she’d never wanted this bad.
Yeah, she knew about desire, and being turned on. That was why she’d pursued virtual methods of relieving herself. But she didn’t know this. This deep need for touch. For connection. Not just for the image of a tongue on her skin, but for the feel of it.
Hot, slick, and slow.
She wondered, in that moment, how he would taste. How his skin would feel beneath her hands. How hard his muscles would feel. He would be different from her. He would be rough, and she knew that he had body hair.
Gah. Why was that so hot? She’d never fancied herself a male body hair fan. But right now, she was fascinated by the memory of his chest hair. By how uniquely masculine it was. And she was suddenly obsessed by the realization that she’d never touched a man’s hairy chest.
And that she needed to change that.
Dear Lord, what had he done to her? What was he doing to her? She should hate him. Despise him. And in truth, she sort of did . . . when she remembered that he was Quinn Parker, the man who had ruined her brother’s life.
But it was getting harder to remember that he was that Quinn Parker. Because the man that she talked to, the man she’d spent time with, didn’t seem like that man. There was a disconnect happening there, and she wasn’t sure why. Or how to stop it.
The emotional element, the fact that she truly had a hard time disliking him when they were together, was honestly more disturbing than the attraction.
And that was saying a lot, because the attraction was disturbing in the extreme.
“You got quiet,” he said.
“I’m ignoring you.”
“Why?”
“Because what am I supposed to say to that?”
“You could tell me what a jerk I am. Predictably, you could tell me how predictable I am. Or, you could tell me that you’re a little curious too.”
“I’m not,” she said. Lies, all lies. “Not even a little.”
“I bet you’re blushing, baby.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
“I bet you’re blushing, Ms. Lark Mitchell, because you’re thinking about kissing me.”
She sniffed. “You forced the image into my head.”
“And?”
“And?”
“Did you like it?”
She sputtered. “No.”
“That only makes me determined to change your mind.”
“You’re just looking for an excuse to get bit.”
He stopped his horse in the path and turned to the side. “Well, I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t intrigue me.”
She pictured it now, just like he’d threatened earlier, the scrape of his teeth on the delicate skin of her neck. And then of course she’d have to bite him back . . . on the lip maybe.
She blinked. “Then lie to me.”
“I’m not interested in your biting me at all. I’m even less interested in kissing you.”
“Well, good.” Then she wondered if the last part was also a lie. She was almost consumed with concern over whether or not it was a lie. Of course, she wanted it to be true. She wanted him to not want to kiss her.
Totally. Maybe. Almost.
He turned back to the trail again and forged on, and she urged her horse forward again. The whole rest of the way the beauty was lost on her as she castigated herself for her sick, wayward desires for a man she should want to punch, and not smooch. And also she did a fair amount of trying not to look at his broad shoulders and how they tapered down to a narrow waist and . . . and . . . she really tried not to look at his butt.
She could hardly see it—it was sitting on a horse, for heaven
’s sake.
So she should stop wondering about it.
She bit her own lip and tried to shut her internal hussy up while they kept riding. When they got to the top of the ridge, the landscape broke open, revealing a clearing covered by grass and purple flowers.
It was the silence that struck her first, even before the view. A quiet so profound that it seemed to close in around them. The view hit her next. It was familiar—those same blue mountains she could see from her bedroom window, the same green that filled her vision when she looked out of the big living room windows at Elk Haven.
But outside like this, up on the mountain, it was different. She didn’t do things like this. She didn’t go outside and explore. She hadn’t in forever, and only now did she fully appreciate that the view of it from behind glass wasn’t the same as being out in it.
It felt wild, free. And with Quinn right there, it felt a little bit dangerous. Which only made it feel kind of exciting.
Which was annoying.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” he asked, getting off of the horse and walking toward the edge of the ridge, planting his hands on his lean hips.
“Yeah,” she said. She dismounted too, with less grace than he had, and moved to where he was standing. “Pretty amazing.”
“Different than Texas,” he said. “And Virginia.”
“I’ve never been . . . anywhere so I can’t compare it to anything. But I still think it’s beautiful.”
“Why haven’t you been anywhere, Lark?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Because Cole and Cade would never have had a chance to take me anywhere. Because . . . because.” Because I’m too afraid to go anywhere or do anything.
The realization made a cold feeling settle in the pit of her stomach.
“You should travel. It’s good for you. It was good for me. If I would have stayed where I started . . . I don’t even like to think about it.”
Weird, because, yet again, Quinn seemed to be showing signs of a conscience, and she’d so firmly convinced herself he must be a man entirely without one. But he didn’t seem to be. It was that weird disconnect between the Quinn he was supposed to be—the monster she’d imagined—and the man she’d met.
“I don’t know. Google Earth is a pretty powerful tool for the borderline agoraphobe.”
“You don’t seem agoraphobic to me.”
She looked down at her hands and flicked a piece of dirt out from under her thumbnail. “Is there a name for the kind of person who just wants to feel safe?”
“Human,” he said.
She looked back up at him. “Oh, well, sadly life doesn’t come with enough of a guarantee for me. I’m highly suspicious of it in general.”
“Life has taken a lot of glee in kicking me in the balls repeatedly over the years, so I share some of your suspicion. But sometimes . . . sometimes you have to take a chance, even if you might get kneed in the groin again.”
He turned to her and started walking toward her, his eyes intent on her. Her heart thundered, hard and steady, and breathing suddenly became a laborious and impossible act.
He stopped in front of her and extended his hand, his knuckles brushing softly over the line of her cheekbone. “Sometimes taking a chance is worth it,” he said.
“What if it will get you bit?” she asked, the question a strangled whisper.
He leaned in, his lips so close to hers she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Then it’s most definitely worth it.”
She inhaled, starting to say something, but then the firm press of his lips against hers stopped both motions completely. And she was lost. Drowning. He cupped her face with his hand, bracing her, his heat engulfing her as his mouth worked wicked magic on hers.
She opened to him, shuddered as his tongue slid against hers, as need trickled through her body, a slow burn on a hot day that she knew was going to hit just the right spot and explode in a blaze that would be beyond control.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her hard against his chest, and the burn exploded. She didn’t know where to put her hands, so she tangled them in his hair, holding him tight to her as he continued to kiss her, deep, hard and sensual.
She’d never really been kissed before. Not like this. She’d sort of attempted making out with a boy in her advanced calc class in high school. It had not gone well. Braces had clinked together, and there had been an exceptional amount of saliva. And frankly, another person’s drool in your mouth had seemed icky at the time.
But this wasn’t like that. This was slick, but sexy. His tongue didn’t seem invasive; it was inviting, an echo of a much more intimate activity. And it made her ache at the apex of her thighs. Made her feel empty. Desperate to be filled.
She wanted more of him—all of him.
This was different than the computer, that was for sure. Text couldn’t touch you. Dirty words might turn you on, but they left you with a certain amount of control.
Quinn was a living, breathing man who had the power to increase pressure at will, decrease, tease her by tracing the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue, nip her softly, show her exactly why he’d been so preoccupied by biting.
And when she was sure she couldn’t take any more, he gave more. And he kept giving more until her legs were shaking, until her breasts ached and she was wet between her thighs. She was so close to coming it was embarrassing.
He hadn’t even touched her body except for the hand on her back, and one was still cupping her face. Still, each flick of his tongue sent a lightning bolt through her, igniting the dry tinder and stoking the fire.
She arched against him, desperate for more, for him to take it further.
Taking her cue, he tightened his hold on her and dipped her low. She followed the movement, bending her knees and going down to the grass softly, with Quinn over her, still kissing her.
He was kneeling above her, not pressing against her like she wanted. She wanted to be tangled in him. Wanted every inch of his hard body against hers. She wanted to ride his thigh so that she could ease the ache between hers.
She was so close to falling right over the edge. So close to release she was shaking.
She wanted to put her hands on his skin. Beneath his shirt. She wanted to trace the horse tattoo on his bicep.
And that thought stopped her cold.
Horses. Quinn.
Cade.
Hearing her brother’s name in her head was like being dunked in a river.
She wrenched her mouth away from his and scrambled away, gasping for breath, getting to her feet as quickly as she could, tripping and stumbling before finally straightening. She was trembling from the inside out, and she still felt hollow. Unsatisfied. Angry and frightened.
Sick to her stomach.
How had she done that? How had she forgotten? How did she even begin to justify this moment? She felt like everything inside of her had been grabbed by big masculine hands and shaken hard, jumbled up to the point where she couldn’t sort any of it out.
One thing she did know, though. Quinn was Cade’s enemy. And what she’d done had been nothing short of a betrayal. Of the man who had stepped in and helped support her, in so many ways, when she’d lost her parents.
Her brother, who was part of her last remaining family.
Brothers were always important, family was always important. But she knew it, understood it, better than most. Because she knew what it was to lose it. And she’d lost enough of it through no fault of her own. Had lost enough of it just because life sucked and not because she’d done something to push them away.
If she lost Cade because of her own actions, she could never forgive herself. Ever.
“How dare you?” she asked, the words, unplanned and angry, coming out low and unsteady.
“How dare I what?” he asked. “Kiss a wom
an who clearly wanted to be kissed?”
“No! Stop. Don’t oversimplify it. How dare you kiss me. Knowing who I am, and who you are. And what you did.”
“I didn’t do a damn thing to your family, Lark Mitchell. It’s a tired refrain, but I’ll play it again if I have to.”
“Just shut up,” she said. “I can’t . . . I can’t deal with this. Maybe I can work for you, and maybe . . . maybe part of me can even believe you, but I cannot kiss you.”
Panic spread through her, at the realization it was too late, she had kissed him, and mostly at the realization that she couldn’t do it again. Ever.
But she wanted to do it again. No matter how bad it was to want it, she did.
“That’s a damn shame,” he said.
“Why is that?”
“Because I liked kissing you.”
She breathed out and put her shaking hands on her hips. “Yeah. Well. Of course you did. Lots of men do.” Lies. “But you can’t. Not again.”
He chuckled. “You sure are cute when you’re imploding.”
“I am not imploding.”
“Looks like an implosion from over here.”
“Well, I’d invite you to come take a closer look, but I don’t want you to get close to me again.”
“Afraid you’ll kiss me again?”
“Kiss you? You kissed me!”
“It’s hard to remember the fine details, but it seemed like you were enthusiastic enough.”
“You did. You did it.”
“And you didn’t kiss me back?”
“Ir-freaking-relevant! I had a natural reaction to a marginally attractive man pressing his lips to mine, but the minute I could think, I didn’t want to kiss you. And I never, ever would have started it!”
Lark’s face was burning, her entire body quivering.
“You think I’m attractive?” He asked, a smirk spreading across his maddeningly handsome face.
“Marginally.”
“Whatever.”
“No, not whatever. I don’t want your head getting too big for your Stetson.”
“Nice of you worry about me, Lark, but your concern isn’t necessary.”
She snorted and walked back over to her horse, swinging herself up onto his back with one clumsy motion. “I have work to do. And I don’t need you to lead me back down the trail, so why don’t you just stay up here and enjoy your view.”