by Jess Bentley
“Don’t pull out!” I hear myself say. “Don’t you dare!”
Instead, he comes even deeper inside me, lifting me out of the water as he howls, fucking me so deep and hard I can barely stand it.
I make myself relax and take every inch of him, still watching him, though now he has closed his eyes. I suppose he can’t really help it. I feel a little triumphant about that.
Slowly we sink into the water together, gradually finding a ledge and sitting there, our limbs tangled together, sunlight blasting down on us.
“How do you feel?” he asks me after a while.
His hand holds mine under the water, his fingers twisting against my fingers, squeezing every few seconds. Such a weird thing to enjoy, holding hands, I think. And yet it feels so good.
“I feel completely amazing,” I answer truthfully. “I feel like I waited a really long time for that. How do you feel?”
He pulls away a little bit, turning to look at me. After that intense connection, the conduit is still buzzing and alive. It’s so hard to look at him, but it’s all I want to do. It feels like magic.
“I feel like I want more,” he says slowly.
“More?” I chuckle. “I think my hips are dislocated, but if you’re willing to push me around in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, we could go again?”
“No, more,” he repeats, tugging my hand toward him, pulling it up toward his chest, pressing my fingers hard against his sternum.
“What are you talking about, Clay?” I ask him cautiously.
“More of everything,” he shrugs. “More of you. More of this. More of us. I want us.”
“I think that we are good,” I answer quickly. “This is good. This is a good start.”
He takes my hands and pulls me tighter to him.
“No, don’t do that,” he says sternly. “Don’t pull away when I’m trying to get closer to you, okay? You don’t have to do that. I don’t even think you want to do that.”
My heart starts to pound really hard.
“Clay… I don’t know what I want.”
“Yes you do,” he snaps. “Yes you totally do. And it’s time, Penny. Don’t you think?”
“What do you mean? Time for what?”
He sighs briefly, then takes my face in his hands, pressing his forehead to mine before kissing me sweetly and deeply.
“We made a pact,” he explains simply, smiling against the glaring sunlight. “A pact is a promise, and I don’t break my promises. You’ve got to be mine, Penny. I’ve waited long enough.”
EPILOGUE
Clay
The spring has been a good one. Not too much rain, and the snow was gone by the end of February. Penny and Wanda got to finish the models on their development in record time, because of course they did. The two of them are like forces of nature. Unstoppable, and I don’t know why anybody would even want to try.
Except Ron, of course. He is still pretty salty. But looking at him right now in his suit and tie, standing under the blossoms of the apple trees, he looks like he is taking it pretty well. After all, he did offer the orchard to us for our wedding. That was a pretty nice gesture.
The trees are young and spindly, sending out the best they can, though I’m told it’ll be another year or two before they can actually bear fruit. These things take time. Trees don’t mature as soon as they are planted. The best fruit seems to come from the older ones.
Ethan shifts nervously from foot to foot, shrugging uncomfortably in his tux. In the last seven months or so he has grown a full five inches. There’s a certain shadow on his upper lip, and his voice sounds much more like a man than a boy now.
He looks up at me twice. Once with that automatic looking away, and then once more where I know he is reminding himself to look directly at me. It’s a habit I’ve been trying to instill in him, making eye contact. He’s taking to it very well.
When our eyes meet, I can hear all the uncertainty and excitement in his thoughts. He’s wondering if he’s doing his job right. He’s wondering if people are staring at him. He’s wondering how the day will go.
He’s wondering how our lives will go.
I can’t answer that right now, but I can show him. I am confident that I will show him some pretty awesome things.
The music picks up, drawing everybody’s attention to the entrance of the orchard. Under the trembling white blossoms of the apple boughs that form a natural arch, Penny and Wanda suddenly appear. A scattered bit of applause breaks out for some reason, followed by nervous laughter from a few people. Penny automatically begins laughing too at the incongruity of applause. I can hear the rippling sounds of her voice carried across our friends and these new leaves. It’s a beautiful sound.
“Jesus,” Ron mutters in awe.
“Oh, wow,” Ethan echoes.
I can’t say anything with my heart in my throat. It’s just such a magical sight: dressed in white from top to bottom, her long dark hair cascading in gleaming waves over her bare shoulders, a bouquet of red and violet ranunculus in her slender hands. Absolutely worthy of applause. Worthy of a standing ovation.
Worth waiting almost sixteen years, actually.
I didn’t even know this is what I was waiting for. I didn’t even realize that I’d been holding a place for her in my heart this entire time. Ironically, that’s what the pact was, even though I put it out of my mind almost immediately. It just seemed like too much to wish for. This perfect creature couldn’t possibly be mine. She had always just slipped through my hands like trying to catch a fish in open water between my fingers. So tantalizingly close. So real, yet not something I could hang onto.
And yet, here she is.
I feel that connection between us pulsing as she draws closer. Wanda holds her by the elbow, guiding her forward in the traditional father-of-the-bride position. Though there are about two hundred people here, Penny is really the only one I can see clearly. Absolutely clearly, as though she stands on the other end of a tunnel.
When they reach the front row, Penny leans down to kiss her mother on the cheek. When she stands again, I can see that subtle swell around her middle. That throbbing bit of us, brand-new, just pushing forward like the blossoms on the apple boughs. A brand-new life, trembling and uncertain, barely more than a wish at this point.
But something I wished for my whole life.
Just a few more steps, and Wanda steps to the side as she guides Penny toward her place across from me. Just inches away. Just the two of us, finally together.
As she looks up at me, I can hear that superhighway between us. Like the last few inches of construction are finally done and it’s really here. This really is a connection, one that can never be undone.
She’s happy. She’s filled to overflowing with optimism and delight. She’s happy for Ethan, too, I know. She’s optimistic and secure. She’s everything she always wanted to be when we first met, even though it took us so long to get here.
As I slip the ring on her finger, it is as though I’m slipping the last piece of a puzzle into place. Finally, at last.
“Man and wife.”
Thank you for reading! Continue reading for your exclusive bonus novel, COLT: A Brother’s Best Friend Romance…
Exclusive Bonus Novel: COLT - A BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND ROMANCE
Colt
“Are you sure about this, boss?” the foreman asked, eyeing the pristine acres of wheat swaying in the afternoon breeze. “It’d sure be a shame to lose this much crop, ’specially at this time of year.”
“I’m sure, Remy,” I answered quickly, shielding my dark brown eyes from the sun as I looked out at the vast field. I run my hand down the dark scruff of two-day-old beard before wiping the sweat from the back of my neck. Only I wasn’t sure, and I was doing my damnedest to keep it from showing.
Plowing up a good chunk of my hay field? Insanity. I could already hear the ghosts of the ranchers before me giving me a much-deserved tongue-lashing for it. My dad’s voice mixed with my gran
dpa’s—the only two generations of Stone ranchers I’d actually met and remembered—echoed in my head, asking me what in tarnation I was doing ripping out the crop.
“Okay then. We’ll have it mowed and baled, though it’s pretty puny yet. Then the plowing’ll get finished by morning. When did those parts come in?”
I laughed weakly. “Just got done setting it out about an hour ago. We got it hauled out to the back range and got the crates off the trucks. Took almost a dozen big rigs to haul ’em out here. Let me tell you, that was a job all on its own. And if I don’t hurry up and get the whole thing installed, I’m afraid I’ll chicken out! Let’s get this done afore I can change my mind.”
“No way, boss. After what you musta spent on all that fancy new-aged equipment, I don’t see you backing out now!”
Remy laughed and clapped me on the shoulder and turned back to his truck. It took guts for me to rip out a third of the ranch’s feed crop, but the foreman knew well enough that I didn’t get where I was in life by not taking risks. The older man waved his hat over his head, signaling to the crew waiting beside their heavy equipment, and the machines roared to life.
I drove along the worn dirt path that led away from the hay fields, squinting into the afternoon sun. I tried not to think about the new equipment—or the multi-million dollar price tag that had come with it—and focus instead on my goals to turn this ranch into something that would last for a long time. Instead, I kept my eyes on the road in front of me, knowing that every rock and washed out gully belonged to me and me alone.
It was my home, one that I’d had to fight hard for...and there had been a time when I’d thought I would never see it again. A sniper’s bullets overseas had almost made that a reality, and all the months it took to recover in the hospital, all I could think about was getting home to Texas where I belonged.
“Not today, Colt,” I muttered to myself. “No reason to head down that road.” Instead, I switched on the radio and hummed along absentmindedly with an old country favorite. The truck bounced along the worn path, and I let the music and the drive help me regain a sense of peace.
When I rounded the bend in the road and my house came into view through the tall grass, my heart softened slightly. It didn’t matter if I was coming home from a war zone on the other side of the world or just a quick trip into town, seeing my newly remodeled childhood home was better than any medicine and could cure just about any pain.
Its light grey, high roof gently sloped down over the same whitewashed planks my great-great-grandfather had put in place almost a hundred years ago, and the wraparound porch that encircled the entire home just begged people to pull up a chair. The entire structure rested on top of a low stone crawlspace made from rocks the first generation Stone rancher had hauled from the creek in the back of a second-hand Model T with the seats removed. It was all the man had left to his name once he’d put down the first payment on this land, and it had been integral to building the house and the original barn. The car itself was still out here, sitting in a place of honor in one of the outbuildings.
I knew the stories of the original Stone family ranchers well, but I’d squandered the years when my grandfather and my dad would tell them. Like any surly teenager, I’d resented the long summer days working alongside them in the Texas sun, rolling my eyes instead of soaking in their talk. I’d bolted for the Army the day I was old enough, signing on for any job that would get me out of there.
There had been days when I thought he’d never live to see this old ranch house again. Now that I was finally home, there was no one left to swap stories with.
“You’re doing it again, dumbass,” I grumbled as I climbed down out of the truck and walked up the front steps, my boots thudding with a hollow sound against the wooden floor. I pushed open the door, fixed myself a glass of sweet iced tea, and leaned back against the countertop, staring overhead at the clouds passing above the skylight.
I finished my drink and sorted through the day’s mail, left in a neat pile by Mrs. Claire, the housekeeper. The usual bills took up most of the stack, followed by the charitable requests. It was impossible for someone with my kind of money to get through the day without a needy person asking for a small share of the pot. I flipped through the thin envelopes, ignoring most of them until I got to a thick, expensive-looking post.
“Crap, this thing again?” I mumbled as I flipped it over. It was the annual invitation to the Barons’ Ball, an exclusive event for the billionaire oil tycoon set. It was nothing more than a chance to rub elbows with the billionaire elite of Texas, and if I didn’t need the support of my fellow well-to-do ranchers so badly, I would have gladly used the invitation to start a fire in the barbecue grill. The steaks would taste great flaming over the ashes of old money and snobbery.
Ignoring the yearly reminder of just how much money I had, I headed up the stairs to the master bedroom. I stripped down and entered the bathroom, turning on the water and pausing to look at myself scornfully in the mirror while the water warmed.
“This is what you’ve got to show for yourself,” I thought bitterly, ignoring the chiseled muscular frame and focusing instead on the deep jagged scars that had gotten me sent home for good. “An empty palace and an even emptier heart.”
I stepped into the lukewarm shower, letting its light droplets wash away not just the grime but also the sun’s heat that had worked its way to the bone. I remembered how I used to tell the guys in my unit that the Army had a top-secret base in Texas where they groomed local boys for fighting in the Middle East. “The heat might be different but it sure ain't worse!”
They'd all laughed at the time, but I now knew the difference: the Texas heat was unrelenting, especially for a rancher, but at least I was breaking my back and burning myself up to the core for my own land. There was a lot of comfort to be had in that.
I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist and shaking the water from the ends of my hair. I looked in the mirror and deliberated for a moment about whether or not I needed a shave or could let it go another day or two when the doorbell rang.
“Crap, Mrs. Claire took her night off,” I muttered when the bell rang again. I wiped my feet on the plush mat as best I could, and then raced down the stairs, trying not to fall.
Chapter 2
Meredith
My trusty old Volkswagen Beetle was barely gonna survive the bumps and jostles of the washed out dirt road. With every rock or pothole, the poor vehicle let out another sad screeching noise from the undercarriage, shook uncontrollably, and then sputtered on. I shook my auburn hair out of my eyes and checked my watch.
When I finally pulled up in front of the enormous house, my natural work instincts took over. I immediately took in the way the light hit the corner, casting one wall of the house in shadow. My eyes followed the horizontal planks of the exterior, appreciating their amazing symmetry despite being obviously hewn by hand generations ago. The massive porch became the focal point for the whole thing, and the sun provided the best architectural feature of all, sliding partway down the sky until it looked like the glowing ball hung from the rafters.
I didn’t take my eyes off the stunning house as I reached into the backseat and blindly fished my camera out of its bag. I moved just enough to shoot the house over the top of the convertible’s windshield, making sure I kept the angle to position the sun within the roof. I smiled behind my camera at the results.
When I was done, I fell back into the driver’s seat, worn out from the thrill of getting the perfect shot. “This’ll be on the cover, for sure,” I told myself, although an ugly inner voice told me that probably wasn’t true.
It was hard enough being a woman photojournalist, a field typically ruled over by the guys, but the fact that I worked for Elite Design Digest meant I spent most of my interviews smiling through gritted teeth while my architect subjects mansplained the concept of lighting to me. I’d only taken this job as a much-need break from more hard-hitting stuff, but thanks to my
editor-in-chief Diana, I’d already enjoyed a handful of solid wins in the past few years.
But the cover story… that was the Holy Grail of the industry, and no matter how hard I worked and how much praise my pieces got, I still hadn’t reached that goal.
“Shake it off, cupcake, you’ve got work to do,” I whispered as I reached for my camera bag.
I slowly trudged across the gravel rock garden, shouldering my bag and trying to quiet my nerves. No matter how much I’d begged, Diana simply wouldn’t give me a different assignment.
“You’re from the area, aren’t you?” my editor had asked with a smile. “Why would I send someone who doesn’t know the special ins and outs of the region, someone who doesn’t understand what makes Texas special? Besides, I’ll throw in a couple of days to see your family while you’re down there, covered by your expense account. Take a side trip when you’re done with this interview.”
I had smiled weakly and nodded my head like I was grateful for this opportunity, but inside I was torn between dread and gratitude. Chicago was pretty far from home and I didn’t make it back to visit nearly often enough, but that’s the thing… there would be no need for a side trip or an expense account. Not when my childhood house was sitting two ranches over.
I climbed up Colt Stone’s familiar porch steps and took a few deep breaths, fighting back the nerves that made me feel slightly nauseous. I pressed the buzzer and smiled a little at the soft chimes that signaled someone was at the door, then waited.
And waited.
Just as I was about to lean over and peek in a window for any signs of life, the door flew open and a gorgeous, presumably naked man nearly filled the frame. He was dripping wet and wearing only a small white towel, its twisted end dangerously close to sliding out of the muscular V-shaped trail at his waist.