by Reece Butler
“You and I will be having words about what just happened,” he informed her.
She pretended to ignore him, so he followed close behind until she stopped to get her boots and socks. She held his T-shirt on her hair with one hand and did the Playboy bunny waitress dip to keep it from falling off. That meant she was clumsy picking up her boots. He grabbed them before they could fall into the sand.
“Let me. I don’t want you losing them in the dunes. That’s where the snakes live.”
She gasped, turning to him with wide eyes. “Snakes live in the sand?”
“Look at all the vegetation,” he replied. “Rodents love that stuff. Lots of rodents means lots of snakes. Mother Nature in action.”
Clutching her socks tightly in one hand, the other still on her head, she looked over the railing. “I hate snakes,” she whispered, then shivered.
“It’s okay, they’re holed up somewhere. It’s too cold for them to move.”
“Still, knowing they’re there…”
He had to touch her, and now he had an excuse. “Hold these.”
He handed her his jeans and both pairs of boots. She released his T-shirt to grab them. He bent, put a hand behind her knees and another at her back, and lifted, curling her against his chest. He didn’t know the temperature of the air, but the touch of her chilled skin turned him boiling hot.
“Put me down,” she ordered. “I can walk.”
Her struggling aroused him even more. But she was under his protection, and he was darn well going to care for her.
“No.”
She stopped moving, but still stuck her jaw out at him. She looked so cute he had to fight a smile.
“Why not?”
He started walking. “You’re cold, wet, and in bare feet. I don’t want you stepping on something.”
“You’re the same as me.”
He reached the bottom of the boardwalk. The same? Not a chance.
“I’m a man, Jane.”
“Really? Gosh darn, you’d think I would have noticed that when your boxers got wet.”
He made sure he held her high enough so her bottom didn’t touch the axe handle pointing from his groin. It was almost three in the morning, so no one was around. A good thing, as she was near naked.
“Did you like what you saw?” he asked.
“It was too dark to see.” She changed her grip on their boots, holding them in her lap rather than on her chest. Her nipples were still hard. “Not that you’re of any interest to me.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” he said, amused at her refusal to admit anything. “You cold?”
“No, thank you,” she said primly. “I’ve warmed up quite sufficiently.”
“Then why are your nipples standing up? They look like they need a hot mouth to warm them.”
She gasped, then fought to get away. He chuckled and held her tighter.
“Give it up, Jane. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go until I’m ready.”
* * * *
Jane glared up at Travis, aroused and furious and confused.
Why had she flirted with him, showing off her near-naked body, if she didn’t want him to respond? And why was she angry that he hadn’t done anything more than carry her?
She relaxed, finally admitting to herself how much she enjoyed being held. She was almost as tall as her father but Travis and Riley made her feel petite. He’d carried her at least a third of a mile as if she weighed nothing. She could feel his heart pumping ninety miles an hour through his chest. Hers was the same.
When Travis looked at her breasts, his eyes had widened and his mouth dropped open. There was no sign of that slimy lust she’d seen too often on William Rankin’s ugly face. No sign that Travis would take what he wanted no matter how much she protested. When he spoke of putting his mouth on her cold nipple a jolt of need had slammed into her.
She’d tested him when she pulled off her top and then bent over. If he was going to attack her, it would have been then. But all he’d done was warn her about sassing him, then insisted on carrying her to save her feet. She was safe with him. Good!
Then why was she fuming because he hadn’t even tried to kiss her?
His feet slowed as they approached the rectangular pond. He’d loosened his hold on her when she stopped struggling, but now his arms tightened once more. He stopped and looked down. She gulped. His face was shadowed, yet she could feel his eyes roam over her.
“You feel good, Jane,” he murmured. “How do you taste?”
She licked her lips, dry from the ocean’s salt.
“Taste?”
His lips brushed hers before she could think. She melted, all her muscles going limp. His lips were soft, but persistent. He ran his tongue under her upper lip. She opened her mouth to respond but he pulled back, breathing hard.
“Salty,” he said in a croak.
She jiggled when he started walking again. His arms were still firm, but he no longer cradled her to his chest. Was that it? All he’d wanted to do was find out if she had salt on her lips?
She was fuming by the time he set her down by the foot-washing station. She held their things, biting her tongue while he used the hose to gently wash off the sand and dried salt from her knees down. He lifted her feet, sliding his fingers between each toe. She tightened her pussy muscles, thinking of those fingers caressing between her legs. He gave her fanny a pat, signifying he was done. Aroused, itchy from salt, and uncertain of what he wanted from her, she started down the sidewalk while he gave the dog a drink from the hose.
Buster caught up with her at the screen door. She let him in and quietly set the boots and dry clothes down. After drying his paws on Travis’s shirt she followed the dog into her room. She locked her door and headed for the shower, dropping her shell into the sink to rinse out after she was salt-free. As she ran her soapy hands over her breasts and belly, she imagined what it might be like if the hands were larger, and callused.
She was safe here. Even when Riley was boiling mad, he hadn’t hit her. Travis could have done whatever he wanted to her on that beach. He’d chosen to laugh and throw her into the water. She wanted more. More horseplay, more laughter, more kissing, and more of Travis’s arousing touches.
In a few months she’d be twenty-five, which meant her clock was ticking. She wanted a good husband and caring family with every fiber of her being. But marriage and children meant sex. Until today, she’d thought she’d never be able to let a man touch her that way. Her doctors, even her dentist, were female. She showed the world a hard shell, one she’d constructed to protect herself. No one had broken through that shell.
Until she met a Montana cowboy who made her feel alive.
Chapter 9
Riley groaned and rolled over to escape the shaft of sunlight. He hadn’t cared which way the window faced, or if the curtains were closed, when he crashed into bed. It had been freshly made but the rest of the place was a mess. They’d have to go out for breakfast and then spend a couple of hours cleaning before they could even think to start working upstairs.
He hated cleaning. It was right up there with grocery shopping. A necessary evil, but he’d much rather be having fun. Though they’d have to fend for themselves, Texas was warm, which meant pretty girls who weren’t covered in sixteen layers from head to toe.
That was a good reason to get out of bed and clean up.
He looked around as he gave himself a good morning scratch. Travis was dead to the world in the other double bed. Buster was nowhere to be found. Where was his dog?
Ah yes, they’d picked up a woman, one Buster liked.
Riley grinned to himself as he stretched. Travis was asleep, which meant he could read her the riot act. Why should he and Travis cook or clean the condo when that was women’s work? He bet she’d never washed anything other than her own body and a few cars for a sorority fundraiser.
Zarah hadn’t even known how to operate a microwave, for Christ’s sake! Looking back, he’d been an idiot to think a wom
an like that would want him. Trav had warned him, so had others, but he was blinded by his need to be someone important. Yeah, he’d been someone, all right. A dumb cowboy who’d fallen for her crap. Never again would a woman lasso him in and train him like a circus pony.
Yep, before they dropped Jane off in Corpus Christi she’d put her butt in gear and do a few hours’ work.
He hauled himself out of bed and went to do the necessary. Jane had strolled over, hips swinging in a way that declared she knew she was beautiful and used it to hook men. He flushed, watching a dead fly swirl in circles until it disappeared down the hole.
Zarah had sucked him down like that, round and round with nowhere to go but down. He’d wanted to die when she’d humiliated him in front of her bitch gang. She’d flayed him to the bone, but he’d survived, and healed. Mostly. He’d waited years to get his revenge. When he saw a woman who looked, talked, and dressed like her, he’d gone into attack mode.
Shit. He hated apologizing.
He turned on the shower and stepped in.
Jane had faced Travis head-on, but Riley had seen the side she hid from his little brother. She was a mix of in-your-face determination and fear. She’d clutched her hands so tightly behind her it made him think of tying her that way, with a rope or pair of leather cuffs. Her ability to stand firm while scared to death suggested she could be a natural sub. He hadn’t had a chance to play with a bound woman in way too long.
Black leather cuffs, lined in fur to protect her slender wrists. Silver studs and sturdy rings to clip chains to. Tied to the bed, spread-eagled, pussy wet and eager.
Oh, hell, yeah!
He threw the control all the way to the right. Cold water splashed onto his chest. He shivered, but kept it that way to rinse off. It cooled his skin but did little for his hard cock. After drying off just enough so he didn’t drip on the floor, he headed back into the bedroom. He rummaged around in his duffle, found clean boxers, and stepped into them. He had to direct his cock to fit. There was one hell of a lot he’d wanted to say to Zarah, but that was in the past. Jane was right here, likely sleeping.
He couldn’t wake her with a demand she take care of his raging need, but he could bang on the door and tell her to haul her ass out of bed and get cooking. Nobody got a free ride in ranch country.
He hauled the bedroom door open, ready for war. The tempting aromas of bacon, onion, and garlic greeted him.
What the hell?
Low singing, of a feminine sort, stopped him dead. He stuck his head around the door and looked left. The stools under the pass-through to the kitchen had been cleaned off. Last night they’d been loaded with boxes of stuff. She’d opened the drapes, letting the sun into the living area. There were still boxes all over, but the smaller things had been moved to the corners or stacked.
He scratched a sudden itch on top of his head. The counter had been cleared off and washed. A row of small white bowls was lined up along it. What looked like chopped red bell peppers filled one, with grated orange cheese in another. From the smell, the other two held bacon and onions. She’d plugged in a coffee machine and it added to the aroma that tugged at him. Two mugs sat next to it. It looked like there was enough coffee in the carafe for both him and Travis.
Well, hell!
Jane must have been up for hours, cleaning, chopping, and cooking. Damn! There went his chance of telling her off. His view of her had been blocked by the kitchen wall, but she stepped toward the stove and into his sight. He pulled back but she was too busy doing something with the oven to see him. She had her blonde hair all pulled back in a ponytail and wore a short-sleeved pink nightgown. Without, he noticed when she bent over, a bra. His cock thickened at the sight of her tempting body.
“Jay-sus,” he said quietly. Last night she’d looked prim and proper, though a bit messed up. This morning she looked like peaches and cream. His cock jumped for joy.
She hauled something out of the oven and set it on the stove. Were those cinnamon rolls? He sniffed. Oh, shit, they were! His mouth watered. She hummed something Mary Poppin-ish. He knew that damn movie because Florrie had played it over and over.
Jane began cracking eggs into a bowl. It wasn’t right that she had the face and body of a stripper yet cleaned and baked like Suzie Homemaker.
“Rye?”
The deep rasp had him looking over his shoulder. Trav was sitting up, yawning and scratching his head. He motioned for him to come over. Riley could bark at Jane later, when she wasn’t making something he wanted to eat. He shut the door.
“What?” It came out more like a croak.
“Jane landed on her ass last night and got bruised.”
Riley held up a hand. “Don’t try telling me sob stories, bro. She’s moving around fine this morning, and she never complained last night.”
“You’re right. She didn’t complain,” said Trav, too quiet for Riley’s liking. “That’s because she’s used to being in pain. I figure her father slammed her around. You saw her flinch when you reached to pat Buster.”
Yeah, he’d seen it, but had pushed it away. He didn’t want to admit the festering sore caused by another blonde had made him act like an obnoxious bastard. Seeing Jane happily working in the kitchen was like a two-by-four across the head. It made him feel like such a shit. He turned away, looking for a pair of jeans that weren’t so dirty they’d stand up by themselves.
“She’s not Zarah, Rye.”
He shot Trav a glare. Even the name made him nuts. She couldn’t have a simple name, like Sarah. No, she had to be different. So different she could take a champion calf roper, put a ring through his nose, and lead him around like a prize bull. And all the time, he was thinking she might want his ring on her finger. Never again!
And because of that he’d gone and treated Jane like a son of a bitch. He hated feeling stupid and acting like an asshole. And that made him furious.
“You just want a piece of her ass,” he said, spitting the words over his shoulder. The thump of feet hitting the floor was his only warning before a one-arm chokehold had him fighting for air.
“You will not speak about Jane like that again. Ever!” An extra twist emphasized Trav’s last word.
Riley grabbed the arm and hauled on it. His damn younger brother was two inches taller, heavier, and knew how to use both to his advantage. But Riley was so God-damned mad he didn’t give a shit! He twisted, hauling them around.
“You know you’re wrong and that pisses you off.”
His brother’s calm, clipped voice saying the truth whipped him into a white-hot fury. They fought in the small space between beds, grappling and grunting until they slammed against the brick wall. He couldn’t shake off Trav’s chokehold and got his head thumped against the wall a few times. A knock at the door jolted them, allowing Riley to wrench free. He leaned a palm against the wall, head down and shoulders heaving, as he fought to breathe.
“Sounds like you guys are awake,” said a low feminine voice. “Come out so I can start your omelets. I’ve got everything ready.” She paused. “I hope you like cinnamon rolls. These aren’t from scratch, but they smell delicious.”
“Be right out, Jane,” called Travis cheerfully. He glared at Riley. “We’re just having a brotherly chat.”
“Sounds like you’re talking with your fists,” she replied. “If you’re not out in three minutes, I’ll start cooking my own breakfast. I’ve been up for hours and I’m starved.”
“You do that, hon,” said Trav. He talked nice to Jane but his eyes said he was majorly pissed. “We may be a while.”
Hon? Little brother was in it up to his cock, for sure. Or wanted to be. What had happened after Riley left them at that layover? He’d heard Trav in the shower but hadn’t bothered checking the time. He found his jeans and began pulling them on.
“Jane got up early to make us breakfast, Rye. The least you can do is be polite.”
He stopped, one leg in his pants. Being a bastard wasn’t going to get him decent food. Th
ey could cook, but the faster they finished the job the more likely Mom would get that cruise. He was looking forward to finally being in charge of the J Bar C Ranch. With Trav, of course.
Riley put the other leg in his pants and pulled them up. Then he set his hands on his hips, dropped his head, and sighed. Nothing to do about it. Once again his hot temper and smart mouth had got the better of him. He was fast to anger and almost as fast to calm down. Apologizing took a fair bit longer.
“Jane didn’t just make breakfast,” he said, grumbling. “She cleaned the place up.”
“Not surprised,” said Travis. “She has a lot of qualities. Get over it.”
His brother’s tone and glare as he headed for the john said everything else without a word. The sound of Niagara Falls was followed by a flush. When Trav returned, he’d shucked his boxers. He was hard, and not from a morning woody, either. It was Jane, all the way. And why not? The woman had a body worthy of a cockstand. Riley got a rise seeing her in nothing but a long T-shirt, and he couldn’t stand the woman.
No, he couldn’t stand that she reminded of his past stupidity. He wanted her as much as Travis did. He picked up a T-shirt and held it so his equally eager cock was hidden.
“Jane seen that yet?” asked Riley, pointing at Trav’s cock. His brother’s face turned dark. “Don’t get it twisted in a knot,” continued Riley. “I don’t want anything to do with her.” He turned his back and zipped, very carefully. “Other than her cooking and cleaning.”
Trav hauled on clean boxers from his duffle, then sweatpants. Riley snickered. If he had a blue-ribbon woody like that, he wouldn’t be hauling on tight jeans, either.
“We went swimming last night,” said Travis. “I wore boxers, but you know what happens when they get wet. So yeah, she saw.”
“She run away, screaming?”
Trav grinned, shaking his head. “She has guts. I dared her to follow me, and she did it.” He smiled with too much satisfaction. “It wasn’t as cold as those mountain springs, but she’s a city girl. She was game, but hadn’t counted on getting knocked over by a wave.”