"Thank you."
Anna was hopeless with plants, he knew – that was where Lib had excelled. But Libby couldn't boil water with out nearly burning the house down. Anna, on the other hand, was almost as good a cook as his mom had been, and he knew that any of Anna's cooking abilities came straight from her. Diana had been a wonderful woman in many ways, but her cooking skills were even less than Libby's, so he knew Anna hadn't gotten her gastronomic talents from her mother.
He struck the jackpot as soon as he opened the door: there was an aluminum foil wrapped brick of her world famous meatloaf, a plastic container of garlic smashed potatoes, and an even smaller container of mixed veggies, and he nearly sighed in ecstasy when he spied a zip top bag of fluffy biscuits. He piled a paper plate he'd found, with a holder beneath it for support that was desperately needed, sky high with his treasure, and settled into the small recliner that faced the TV, turning on the late night — or rather, early morning — news and munching his way to paradise.
Well, as close to paradise as he was going to get with a locked door between them, anyway.
Belly full, he took a quick shower, standing for a moment in the hall in front of her door before he entered the bathroom, trying to hear whether she was crying or not, but all he could hear was the TV. He didn't know why he racked himself up like that, when he wasn't going to force his way into her room to comfort her.
When he finally crawled into the tiny love seat – turned bed, he found he had a visitor, and one that liked to craw beneath the covers, too. He didn't mind cats. He'd never really gotten attached to many animals in his life, but he knew he was more of a cat person than a dog person.
The house was tiny, with only one bathroom, so it was inevitable that they would pass each other on the way to or from there. It was right across from her bedroom door, which he noticed she had left slightly open instead of locked, barred, with a chair beneath the handle and her dresser in front of it to keep him from sneaking in in the middle of the night, not that he would have. It certainly wasn't open because of him, but rather because of his sleep mate, who only deserted him near the crack of dawn, when they had one of those awkward meetings in the hall as she was leaving the bathroom and he was waiting to use it.
He drank in every bit of her while he could, noting the swollen eyes and red, shiny nose, and knowing he was the cause of her misery. He was going to say something, but the cat chose that moment to saunter down the hall and into her room.
"Traitor," she whispered, without much malice behind it as she turned and locked the door behind her without once having looked at him.
Things weren't much better the next morning. She moved around him in the kitchen as if he weren't there, only speaking to him when it was absolutely necessary. And she had appeared out of her bedroom fully clothed, as if she didn't trust him not to jump her if she wore her robe and pajamas around him. She seemed intent on pretending he was invisible, but he had neither the time nor the patience to play games with her.
So when they had both eaten breakfast — him chowing down on a big slab of the breakfast casserole she had in nice, neat single serving squares in her freezer, of which he ate three — he took the remote from the shared table between the two recliners and turned the TV off.
Anna reached for the remote, but he just tucked it under his hip, essentially sitting on it. "We need to talk."
She snorted. "I hardly think so. You said more than enough the last time we spoke."
Remy knew she wasn't referring to last night and took a deep breath. "I know that nothing I can say now will ever make up for what was said —"
"What you said," she corrected angrily. "I thought that everything was hunky dory." She snorted at her own naivety "What a fool I was! I just thought we were going to go out to dinner, as we'd planned, like it was a normal day."
There was no way she could have known that, on that last day they were together before he said the things that would drive her away forever, his bank balance wouldn't have allowed him to take her out to dinner.
Tears were streaming down her face, although he knew she was doing her level best to hold it together, not wanting to show weakness in front of her enemy, just like he wouldn't. It killed him inside to think that she thought of him that way, but there was no way he could blame her. It was all true – every single obscene shred of it.
How could he have made such a wreck of things? He was a reasonably intelligent man, but apparently that didn't extend to his dealings with the woman who he realized now – after nearly seven years without her - meant the most to him in this world.
Remy couldn't just sit there while she cried as long as she was within his reach. Before she could raise a protest, he leaned over the small space that separated them and lifted her onto his lap, not allowing her to escape no matter how hard she tried, and when she made as if to hit him, he caught her wrists and held them in front of her.
And then he got a good look at the devastation reflected in her eyes and let her hands go, leaning back with his own big hands dormant on the armrest, as defenseless as he could make himself and said, "Go ahead. You deserve to take a shot at me. Take it now, because you'll only get the one."
Remy fully expected her to slap him across the face as hard as she could, or even punch him a good one. But what she did was a million times worse as she crumpled in on herself, not even bothering to take the opportunity to get away from him, but just curling up in as small a ball as she physically could, her face in her hands, obviously wishing she could just slide off his lap and disappear.
He felt as if he'd just been gut punched, and all he could do was gather her forcibly to him, rocking her back and forth and rubbing her back soothingly, not even whispering anything to her because he knew she couldn't – wouldn't – hear him at this point. All he could do was try to offer her as much physical comfort as possible, holding her and stroking her until she'd cried herself out, wishing he could kick his own ass for what he'd done to her, but he wasn't nearly that lucky.
When her sobs subsided, he continued to stroke her back and rock them both gently, his arms wrapped gently around her until she tried to get up, and then he simply contracted those big arms of his and she knew she wasn't going to go anywhere until he allowed it. Her mind railed that she didn't have to submit to that any more, but the rest of her loved being in his arms again, despite the fact she knew she shouldn't let him anywhere near her.
She was appalled to think, after everything he'd said and all the years of silence between them, that all he had to do was waltz in her door and she ended up in his arms mere hours later, adoring it almost as much as she always had.
Anna knew she had to steel herself against her body's incessant craving for him, or there was no telling where she'd end up. So she pressed hard against his chest, warning, "I've got to get a tissue or you're going to have more than tears all over your shirt."
He held her in place with one arm and reached for a tissue with the other. When she finished, she said calmly, "I don't care what you do to me. I'm not going to Texas with you, no matter what you do or say."
Chapter VI
It was on the tip of his tongue to promise her that he'd stay as far away from her as he could while she was in residence in his house, but he knew that would be a bald-faced lie. When he got her back home, he intended to glue himself to her side and spend all of his time trying to make up for what he had done. And if he had his way, and he fully intended to, she wouldn't be coming back to this pretty little house and could, instead, try her hand at redecorating the ranch, if she wanted to.
He didn't give a tinker's damn what the hell she did or didn't do, as long as he had her there with him.
Well, that wasn't quite true, either, because there was no way that he wasn't going to discipline her if she misbehaved; he was always going to monitor her behavior. But that was a given. She needed a firm hand tending frequently to her bottom to curb her occasionally impractical and sometimes even dangerous tendencies, espec
ially when she hooked up with his sister.
It was an idea he sincerely relished.
"I beg to differ, Miss Anna," he whispered huskily against her temple. "Because you know that, if all else fails, I won't shy in the least from the idea of kidnapping you and driving you down there myself. That's what I'm here for. And you won't make too much of a fuss because you really don't want to hurt Libby, or even me, apparently." He sighed heavily. "I don't give many people a free shot at me. You really should have taken it. I deserved much more than that, but I'm sure you'll enjoy taking your pound of flesh from me strip by strip while you're in Texas."
Anna renewed her struggles to get away at his blithe assumption that she was going to let him steamroll her like that.
"But the biggest reason you're going to come along with me without too much of a fuss – besides the fact you know that going that route will get you a tanned, sore behind – is something I realized when I looked into my sister's face and saw the same devastation as I do when I look into yours: because if you don't, you'll be hurting Libby just as badly as I hurt you."
He let her sit up to meet his eyes, wanting her see as much of his own naked agony as he could. "See, the thing is that, ultimately, you're a better person than I am and you would never hurt anyone like that, and I know it for a fact, because you've never tried to get back at me for what I did to you."
Anna wiped the backs of her hands over her still leaking eyes. "All I wanted was to get away from you."
"I know," Remy answered softly, looking around him. "And you accomplished that nicely, I see. You ran to the opposite end of the country, as far east as you could possibly get without a passport."
She stared at him, those other worldly violet eyes that were again full to overflowing with tears, boring into him in complete silence until she said something that surprised him for its lack of venom. "What are you doing here now, anyway, though? Lib only wanted me to come down a month early, not two. It's the middle of June and the wedding is not until August."
Remy didn't let on in the least that he'd had no idea what Libby had wanted, that he was following his own desires in hunting her down, not his sister's. "I don't care. I want you down there where I can make absolutely positive that you're going to be at that wedding. And I'm not going to make another trip up here to East Overshoe to haul you down to Texas when you get a wild hair up your ass and decide that you're not going to come at the last minute."
He knew her entirely too well, this man.
She'd seen that look on his face before — that determined, stubborn, thoroughly dominant look — and knew that any efforts to circumvent his goal would be thoroughly vanquished by him, and she was in no hurry to end up back over his lap. Anna had no doubt that, if he thought he needed to, he'd turn her over his knee in record time despite what had transpired between them, and she was not looking forward to that encounter.
Not that she wasn't going to put up a fight; she most certainly was.
But it was an unfortunate fact of life that he was half again her size, and positively riddled with muscles from years bossing cattle around, and not by delegating the dirty jobs to his men from behind a desk. He'd always been hands on, in there doing all of the least glamorous stuff right next to his hands.
He kept his hair short – even shorter now, it seemed, kind of like her – because he couldn't be bothered to do much with it besides wash it and occassionally run a comb through it. He had a mess of a face that somehow managed to make him look damned gorgeous in a dangerous kind of way, with a few not inconsiderable scars if examined up close and a nose that had apparently met the business end of too many people's fists.
But it was his mouth that she had to work to keep her eyes from settling on— incredibly full lips that could, if the situation called for, melt into a dangerously thin line that would make the bravest person reconsider the wisdom of going up against him, and she knew from personal experience that they could form the most devastatingly cruel words.
What she remembered though, that she'd hoped she had long since forgotten, was the way those lips could give the gift of sheer ecstasy at a moment's notice, if he felt so inclined, and he certainly had with her. She was ashamed to realize that just thinking about how he had completely wrecked her with that mouth— nearly driving her to unconsciousness on several occasions, her body wracked with spasms of such intensity that they were nearly painful— had her dampening her panties and shifting uncomfortably on his lap from the way the area between her legs began to throb.
Began— hell. She'd been damp since she'd first seen him on the porch, damn him, despite the fact she had tried to send him away. She never could resist him when it came to anything at all sexual. He'd made her melt so many times she did it automatically, even after the years they had spent apart long time apart.
Her silence made him more uneasy than anything she could have done, and he felt compelled to say what was in his heart. "I won't ask for your forgiveness, Anna," he said hoarsely, just above a whisper, "because I know I will never, ever deserve it. But Libby doesn't deserve to be hurt because I was an unmitigated asshole."
Remy saw huge tears rolling down her cheeks just before she turned, barely able to say, "Let me up. I need to get up." She pulled frantically at his suddenly much too confining arms.
He was uncharacteristically torn, desperately wanting to comfort her, but knowing that was the last thing she would let him do now, not wanting to relinquish the close physical contact but also not wanting to be too controlling. He did finally release her, and she bolted up to begin pacing in front of him.
After a long while of him placidly watching her walk back and forth in her small living room, she stopped in front of him and said, "All right. I agree with what you said about not making Libby pay just because you're an asshole. I'll go to the wedding."
Remy frowned at her ready acceptance of his premise and her language, despite the fact she was just repeating what he'd said, although he was cheering inside that he'd been able to get her to turn her opinion around without having to literally cart her kicking and screaming to his car. He certainly had no qualms about doing that if necessary, but it was far from preferable.
"And I'll even let you drive me down, because Lord knows at today's gas prices I don't want to drive there myself."
Remy couldn't believe that she was being so agreeable. There had to be another shoe about to drop . . .
"But."
Here came the size thirteen.
She came to stand in front of him, but just out of what she calculated from experience to be his reach. "I want your solemn word that there will be no physical contact, and I mean it! Zero. Zilch. Nada. I want that completely understood and agreed to before we go anywhere together."
Either he had been working out— which was doubtful since he got all of the exercise he needed chasing cows— or his arms had grown several inches, because all of a sudden she found herself back on his lap. Only she wasn't on it, she was over it.
"Remy! You can't!"
Showing her that he most definitely could and would, he had her loose fitting jeans down to her knees in seconds, saying teasingly, "I wonder what day's panties you're wearing today?"
Anna cursed both the fact she hadn't bothered to replace her casual wardrobe since she'd lost so much weight and his high handedness. She should have known him well enough to be on the lookout for a move like this, but she was very out of practice, not having been spanked since the last one he gave her.
"I think you need a reminder that I don't tolerate foul language from anyone, even my hands. I know I surprised you, and that you're not very fond of me any more, but if you're going to be living in my house – and you are going to be living in my house – again, I expect that you're going to curb your tongue, Miss Anna."
Anna couldn't even remember when she'd sworn at him, until she thought back to what she'd said to him when he'd first appeared on her doorstep in the middle of the night. And he wasn't giving her much time
to come up with her indiscretion, he was giving her what he had called a "quick hot seat", which he had never hesitated to deliver to her pretty much anywhere they were.
Then it had been just a prelude to the main performance, which would happen when they got back home, but he didn't like to wait to address anything he considered to be bad behavior and she often received a spanking like this in the car, at some private spot, especially before a long drive home.
And this was going to be the longest drive they'd ever taken together.
Damn, she had forgotten how much sizzle he could work up in a relatively short amount of time! At least he had kept her panties up, which he would never have done before, not that they were really any kind of protection at all against the rapid tattoo he was beating out on her cringing rump. Thin nylon did very little to prevent the fire he was setting in her behind. She'd need armored bloomers to accomplish that.
But she wasn't taking it lying down. Anna was twisting and turning like a professional contortionist, but, as usual, it got her absolutely nowhere. That hand holding the natural notch of her far hip was as implacable as it had always been. She'd never once succeeded in getting away from him, and very rarely even managed to avoid a swat. But she always kept trying, and this time she was even more committed to escaping.
Anna concentrated so hard on trying to dislodge herself that she nearly fell off his lap when he did finally let her go, her bottom much the worse for the painful, stinging wear. He stood immediately after she did, crowding her. She took a step back that was a very new reaction to him, and one which he disliked intensely, as if she were truly afraid of him.
She eyed him warily as he stood in front of her, his hands on his hips, grinningly unrepentant.
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