The Beaumont Brothers: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  “I’ve never been somewhere like this,” Connall mused after a few moments, unable to rip his gaze from the blur of trees passing them by. He was suddenly desperate to smell the air.

  “I’m not surprised.” Bernadette sent him a mysterious grin. “It’s not easy to find a place like this. Just wait.”

  After another half hour of bumps and some more tour-guide explanations from Bernadette, she slowed the Jeep to a crawl. A tall fence lined with what looked like chicken wire followed some unknown property line to their left. The road curved a bit and then ended at a makeshift parking lot, nothing more than a square of asphalt, big enough to hold two cars.

  And before them sat—or rather, hovered—the lodge.

  “Here it is.” Her eyes gleamed as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Come on!”

  She led him toward the staircase with the enthusiasm of a young child eager to share her prized toys. The lodge was more of a yurt on stilts, though connected to other yurts, or treehouses, or whatever they might be, via hanging walkways. The structures were made out of blond wood, designed tactfully and elegantly, with domed centers wafting smoke and wide observation decks encircling each pod.

  It was like a treehouse colony, tucked away in the middle of nowhere.

  “Holy hell,” Connall said, neck hurting from craning to look upward. She bounded up the stairs, urging him onward. “Did you design this?”

  “No, no. I’m not an architect.” When he reached the deck, she fumbled to produce her key. “I knew someone who was able to collaborate on the vision. All in all, this is a scientific lodge, but it has plenty of amenities that make it something of a resort, too.” She grinned, pushing on the solid wood door. It creaked as it opened, revealing a cozy scene inside. “After you.”

  Connall stepped inside, greeted by a blast of warm air. The floors gleamed bright and clean, smooth wood the same color as the exterior. A few long, patterned rugs crisscrossed the floors. Couches faced the fireplace in the center of the treehouse. A simple kitchen wrapped around the far wall. And to their right, the master bed, neatly made with bright throw pillows arranged on top.

  “It’s like a circular studio apartment,” she explained, slipping her shoes off. “This is my house, though. When colleagues come, they use one of the other pods. And the bulk of our equipment is in another. But some of it is in here.”

  She led him around through the kitchen, where a slow cooker steamed with unknown deliciousness that smelled a lot like chili, to the opposite side of the tree house. A small office was set up, strange machines blinking, a few monitors showing the forest floor.

  “Some of these are hooked up to sound recording devices,” she said, pointing to a couple monitors. “And then others are connected to surveillance systems, like this one.” She pointed to the live stream of the forest floor. “We can enter the sanctuary quite a way via rope bridge, but we’ve positioned a large amount of equipment throughout the property to cover what we can’t personally watch.”

  He blinked, taking it all in. “Have you ever published your research?”

  “Oh, of course.” She rattled off a few journal names, ones that even he recognized. “I present at two conferences a year, minimum.”

  “Brilliant.” He scanned the wall behind her desk, finding a few framed awards. “You’re a proper expert.”

  “Well, yes.” She flushed, looking up at him with an adorably shy grin. “I am.”

  They watched each other for a few moments, grinning like fools. Finally, he said, “Bernadette. You're so amazing, do you know that?”

  “You’re only saying that because I lured you to my treehouse,” she teased.

  He stepped closer, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m so proud of you.” He brought his lips to hers, brushing them gently, just needing a brief taste of her at least. She stiffened beneath him, clutching at his hands. When he tried to pull back she leaned in for more, a small noise escaping her as he deepened the kiss.

  Her tongue pressed into his mouth, and he tasted her hunger, her absolute desperation for this melding. He grunted, wrapping an arm around her, bringing her body hard against his.

  She moaned low, cinching her arms around his neck. “Connall. I think I’m going to have a heart attack.”

  “Not out here, please.” He brushed his lips against her forehead. “I’m not quite sure how to get us to the nearest hospital.”

  She laughed weakly, tipping her head back to look him in the eye. “I’ve been fantasizing about these kisses for weeks.”

  “I know you have.” He brushed his thumb against her cheek. “So have I.”

  Her eyes burned dark and desirous. “Give me more.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. He dipped down, capturing her lips with his, pressing his tongue inside her mouth, tangling his with hers. They kissed so deeply that his body buzzed with need, his dick hard and seeking against the waistband of his pants. Bernadette wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her slight frame against him, her lower belly nuzzled up against his cock.

  “We should have lunch first,” she breathed once the kiss broke. “Or we’ll starve from just standing here kissing.”

  He laughed low, dragging his thumb up the side of her face. “I can survive on kisses alone. Just watch me.”

  8

  Bernadette’s head spun as she dished out two bowls of chili. She’d been waiting to lay eyes on this man for so long but had promised herself the visit wouldn’t dissolve immediately into sex. They had something special, something sweet. But a woman could only take so many nights with her vibrator, imagining those baby blues and those hard biceps.

  He was here now. For the entire next week. As much as she’d been dying for this opportunity, part of her still wondered what the hell she was doing. She jolted when she felt his heat behind her. Connall pressed his body against hers, wrapping his arms around her waist as she served the food.

  “I wanted to help,” he murmured into her ear. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she dropped the spoon into the slow cooker.

  “You’re an enormous help.”

  “You can’t say that until you’ve seen it.” He took a small bite of her shoulder. Every cell in her body ignited. She inhaled sharply, turning to face him. He swooped her up onto the counter in the next breath, shoving away the bowls of food.

  “I do want to eat,” he said, innocence lurking somewhere in his gaze, “but I want you more.”

  She drew a shaky breath. Okay, so it would be fine if it immediately dissolved into sex. There actually wasn’t anything wrong with that. “How am I supposed to say no to that?”

  His grin turned wicked. “You’re not.” Connall covered her mouth with his, coaxing out another deep, heart-stopping kiss. His hands danced at the hem of her shirt, toying with going further. But when she hooked her legs around his waist, he tore it off, tossing it to the ground.

  He pulled back to look at her black satin bra. He ran his hands under each breast, tracing the size of them, and then palmed them both in his hands.

  “I’ve been dying to feel you,” he whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “It’s been killing me.”

  Her head spun as he fiddled with her bra clasp; a moment later the garment crumpled to the counter and his big, rough hands were groping, massaging, tugging at her in a way that she’d needed from him without even knowing. She clenched her thighs around him, crying out when he tugged at a nipple.

  “You like that?” He did it again, and she shuddered in his arms. It was too good for words. Her pussy buzzed and throbbed, already on the brink of ecstasy. He would push her over the edge too quickly.

  “Too much,” she breathed, tugging at his shirt. He pulled it off for her, revealing washboard and all, creamy skin dotted with tiny moles and a smattering of chest hair. His biceps bulged as he squeezed his arms around her. She traced her fingertips over them, unable to look away.

  “You look like you could swim across the Atlantic,” she whispered.

  “I probably c
ouldn’t,” he said, smiling as he pressed his lips to hers. “But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  Her hands moved to his belt buckle. She tugged at it, feeling like she was being directed from above. You did not plan on having sex on your kitchen counter. This was not part of the lunch menu. But it was happening—and who was she to stop it?

  Connall was quick to comply. A moment later his pants crumpled to the floor, and he stepped out of them, revealing an even more immaculate lower half with sculpted thighs and an impossibly large ridge pressing against navy blue briefs. Her mouth parted, and she stared blatantly.

  “Look at you,” she finally said, jerking her head up. “Mr. Decent.”

  He laughed, then slid her off the counter. She found her footing shakily, holding onto his shoulders as he eased her out of her jeans, lifting one leg then the other as he undressed her.

  “We’re about to have ourselves a very fine lunch,” he murmured, once she was standing only in panties. He got onto his knees, his head coming up to her lower belly. He nuzzled between her legs, and she gasped, immediately knotting her hand in his hair.

  “I just want to take these off first,” he said, sliding his hands up the sides of her thighs. “Is that okay?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said shakily. He tugged her panties slowly down the length of her legs. He helped her step out of them, focusing his attention on the V of her legs. She drew labored breaths, waiting for his next move with tension drawn so tight she thought she’d snap in two.

  He ran his thumb over the tightly trimmed hair of her pussy. Her knees went weak, so he steadied her, looking up at her with needy eyes.

  “May I start with lunch here?”

  A strangled laugh escaped her, and she covered her face with her hands. “Only you. Mr. Decent. Going straight for the number one.”

  He laughed, pressing a chaste kiss to the mound of her pussy. Then he stood, sweeping her back up onto the counter, nudging her legs open with his body. His hot kisses trailed down the valley of her breasts, over each mound, tongue caressing each nipple in turn before his lips descended lower. Kisses crested her lower belly, down over the swell of her pussy, and then finally, finally, those perfect lips pressed against the throbbing nub of her clit.

  She cried out as he licked and tapped and prodded her, slowly at first but then more methodically as she reacted. Connall pressed a finger inside her and then another, pumping into her while he tasted her. Tense and trembling around him, it wasn’t long before her orgasm came ripping through, leaving a buzzing, blissful wake in its path. She laughed and moaned while she came, unable to open her eyes for what felt like ten minutes.

  “You needed that,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Mm-hmmm.” Her head lolled to the side. “But I need something else more.”

  A wicked grin crossed his face, and he bent down, fishing something out of his pants. A moment later a foil packet ripped, and then he was rolling a condom over that fat, glorious cock of his. She couldn’t look away from his rippling muscles, the sheer manliness that oozed from the act of sheathing himself; the sight alone threatened to make her come again.

  “I like a man who comes prepared,” she whispered as he wiggled himself between her legs.

  “I came extra prepared for you, my dear.” His voice strained as his cockhead nestled between the folds of her pussy. He pushed himself in, just a bit, and then stilled. Raw desperation creased his face. “It feels better than I imagined.”

  “You’re not even all the way in,” she chided, but her voice trailed off as he pressed deeper, burying himself inside her depths. Connall moaned loudly, grabbing at her ass cheeks with both hands. When he couldn’t find another inch of space inside her, he paused, pressing his forehead to hers.

  “It feels better than I imagined,” he repeated weakly. “Confirmed and signed.”

  She hooked an arm around his neck, too delirious to respond. All she could do was throw her head back and moan when he drew back, revealing the length of him, and then slammed back inside her. She spread her legs wider, offering herself up to him, feeling a lot like a kinky kitchen angel who specialized in lunch sex on a regular basis. Thoughts dissipated as he pumped into her harder, faster, picking up a dangerous pace that pushed her right back to the brink.

  “Bernadette,” he said and then grunted. Sweat prickled on his brow. His abs flexed with each thrust.

  “I’m close,” she warned, feeling the cataclysmic tremor beginning deep in her core. She’d just survived the longest dry spell in human history, but even if she’d been accustomed to sex on a regular basis, Connall would still make her come in a flash. The man practically dripped with unrealized orgasms.

  “Me too,” he said and then smashed his lips against hers in a sloppy kiss. A small noise escaped her, and she clutched the ridge of his shoulders, tensing as the pleasure burst and spread through her once more, the feel of him railing into her sending her even higher than before. She shuddered and quaked around him, and he gave a gruff cry as he came, his movements turning jerky and primal.

  “Fuuuck,” he moaned, a shiver coursing through him. His breath came out heavy at her ear as they both rode the orgasm down. A few moments of silence passed while Bernadette pressed her forehead to the flat plane of his chest.

  “That,” she said, “was fucking awesome.”

  “The best lunch I’ve had in my entire life.” He swooped her hands up in his, pressing a kiss to the back of each. “Even though I’ve committed the worst dining faux pas of my life.”

  “Well, yes, fucking the hostess next to the Crock Pot is generally frowned upon,” she said weakly. “But in this case, I’ll let it slide.”

  “Good.” He slapped the counter, easing himself out of her. “But you do have a very convenient counter for fucking. We’ll have to try it out again later.”

  She laughed, watching as he removed the condom and tossed it into the trash nearby, leaving him totally naked and glistening and sculpted in her treehouse. Am I dreaming right now? Connall was more than she could have dreamt up. He was infinitely sexier than she’d imagined. And now they had an entire week in front of them.

  I know what we’ll be doing multiple times daily. Now that it was proven to be the stuff of fantasies, how could they not? She slid off the countertop, Connall helping her get steady before she pulled on her panties and jeans once more. When she went to retrieve her bra, he stopped her.

  “Can we have just one topless lunch?” He pouted a little. “While we’re ignoring social norms and all.”

  “Fine by me. As long as you go topless too.” She tweaked one of his nipples, turning back to the bowls of chili. She refreshed the portions, changing them out for warmer chili, and then took both bowls over to the small breakfast nook overlooking the woods. Connall settled into the seat across from her, his blond hair mussed and sticking up. He grinned as if he’d just won the lottery.

  “You happy?” She blushed a little as his gaze scorched over her.

  “More than happy.” He didn’t take his eyes off her as he scooped a bite of chili into his mouth. “Positively thrilled, in fact.”

  She liked being admired by him. A hundred men could tell her that she was beautiful, but having Connall worship her with his gaze was the only thing that mattered.

  “Well, good, because these tatas don’t come out for everyone.” She winked at him, taking a bite of her chili.

  Connall lifted a brow. “I think it’s just a sign of the fantastic week to come.”

  9

  Three days of perfection. Bernadette propped herself up on an elbow, gazing down at Connall. She couldn’t believe it quite yet—that this man could not only see her world but also be okay with it. Between lazy meals and mind-blowing sex, she’d gotten considerably less work done than normal. But when a gorgeous blond Brit named Connall was in town, only to see her, she could make exceptions.

  Outside, the early morning hues were churning from black to bruised purple, ready to spr
ing daylight upon the world. She hadn’t planned to wake up this early, simply felt like a schoolgirl on Christmas morning. Eager to see her presents. To make sure this handsome man wasn’t a vestige of an extremely satisfying dream.

  How did you get this lucky?

  She stilled her hand, fighting the urge to run her fingers through that thick hair of his. It was one of her favorite things to do, but doing it while he slept at not-quite six a.m. would be weird. She should wait until he was at least partially awake.

  Sighing, she flopped onto her back. She might as well use the early rising to her benefit, go check on the recording devices that she hadn’t made it out to since Connall’s arrival. He’d been rousing alongside her most mornings, following her lead on most things. She worried that being so disconnected from his life and business would pose an insurmountable shock, but if it bothered him he didn’t show it. Maybe he was happy for the getaway, the chance to get lost in the Montana wilderness. In each other.

  She slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, the down comforter rustling as she did. Her feet hit the cool wood floor, sending the familiar shiver through her spine. Life in the treehouse had its own rhythms. Connall didn’t feel like a burden to them, either, something she had always feared when thinking about introducing potential lovers into this mix. There was only so much room for discomfort out here. And Connall was proving to be more adaptable than she’d expected.

  Bernadette slipped on some thick work leggings, stuffing her feet into puffy socks and big boots. Three days was hardly long enough to make a determination about the ways in which her and Connall’s lives might intersect. But she could barely stop herself from fantasizing about it.

  Today. You’ll tell him you want this relationship to go full throttle. She tugged on a tank top, followed by a sweatshirt, and then her heavy work jacket. You two can figure out a way to make it work. It feels right. Go for it.