by Avery Flynn
On her knees astride him, she raised herself up until her tits filled his line of sight. “Touch me, Hank.”
He dragged a finger across the lace of her black bra, male pride ballooning as her nipples tightened beneath the sheer material. His fingers itched to stroke those nubs, but he held back. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
Her answer was to move so her taut nipple was only a hairsbreadth from his hungry mouth. “My nipples. Pull on them.”
Pushing down the dark straps until her bare breasts were freed, he took a brown nipple in his mouth, sucking it lightly, wary of hurting her delicate skin. He pulled away to lick from the nub to the outside of her dark areola and she shuddered in his arms.
Her fingers dug into the muscles in his shoulders. “Harder.”
Fuck. His tight balls straddled the pleasure/pain tightrope. Her half groan, half plea almost sent him over the edge into oblivion. Fighting to regain some control, he took a deep breath, inhaling vanilla mixed with her own musky scent. As he tugged on one nipple with his teeth, he grasped the other between two fingers, rolling it counterclockwise.
“Yes.” She moaned the word into the darkness and ground her body against him. “Fuck, that's good.”
Damn straight it was. Every part of him felt electric. His body was strung tighter than a bow, hard everywhere. He needed release in her soft body.
Letting go of her nipples, he turned his face up to hers and their mouths met. Her sweet tongue curled around his as he deepened the kiss. Palming her ass, he kept her anchored to his erection as they devoured each other. Pleasure spiraled upward when she rubbed her wet core against him. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone in his life.
Finally, he admitted to himself that he'd been waiting since that summer night to touch her, to feel her pussy clench around his cock as she orgasmed.
Shooting up from the chaise lounge, he carried her to the bed, again knocking his shins against the bed frame, but the pain barely registered. He turned and sat on the bed before falling back with Beth on top of him. Her lips never left his but it seemed as if her hands were everywhere, as were his. Rubbing. Caressing. Stroking. Unable to take it any longer, he rolled her off of him and stood up.
Beth stared at him with hooded eyes that promised sexual nirvana beyond all expectations. Driven by a primal need, he pulled his shirt over his head, buttons flying across the room, and flipped off his black dress shoes. Looking down, he unbuttoned his slacks and let them fall the floor. Thumbs hooked in his boxer's waistband, he glanced up.
Beth was curled onto her side, eyes closed, breathing deeply.
Aching with need, Hank stared. Everything about her that had been tense with want had softened and become pliant. He sat down beside her on the bed and stroked her smooth hair. It was as soft as he'd imagined.
The realization of what he'd almost done washed over him. Shame and regret settled in his stomach like a weight. Where had his honor been? She'd saved them this time. How could he have considered having sex with Beth when she’d drunk so much? He wanted to kick himself for what he'd almost done. Instead, he covered Beth with the comforter, tucking a corner underneath her chin, and got up from the bed.
She snuggled deeper into the fluffy whiteness. “Love you, baby. I always have.” A slight smile curled her kiss-swollen lips.
Yeah, she loved him all right. Tonight she loved him, champagne and tacky wedding chapels. In the morning she’d be hard-pressed to decide which one she hated more.
Hank plucked his clothes from the floor and flung them into a nearby chair. He rescued damsels in distress, as Webster had said earlier tonight. Ha. From the looks of things, they needed to be rescued from him.
Pissed off at himself, he marched to the bathroom and the waiting cold shower.
Chapter Twelve
Beth, eyelids still sleep-heavy, burrowed into the heavy warmth wrapped around her. She'd never slept so well in her whole life. She'd dreamed of getting a massage in the middle of a sultry island paradise. Lots of palm trees, a soft breeze and warm hands all over her body. She had to figure out what kind of mattress this was so she could order one for home.
Five more minutes of snooze time, then it was on to the shower and another day of estate law seminars. She rolled over onto her stomach, only to be pulled back onto her side and dragged against the source of all the toasty heat.
Her eyes snapped open and fear lodged in her throat. This wasn't her hotel room.
Body frozen in panic, she flicked her gaze downward.
A man's hand cupped her breast, the necklace with her parents’ wedding rings twisted around his fingers.
Holding her breath, she realized her butt lay nestled against someone's morning wood.
Heart thundering inside her chest, she inched her head around to get a peek at the man whose bed she shared. Her foul morning breath whooshed out of her mouth when she came nose to nose with Hank.
Oh shit.
“Go back to sleep, darlin’. We're on vacation,” he mumbled in a horse, half-asleep voice.
Turning her head away from him, she stared at the thumb only a millimeter away from her fast-hardening nipple. This was not good. Not good at all.
Desperate to understand how all of this had happened, Beth rewound the previous night in her head. She'd gone out to dinner with other conference attendees, where she'd had ginger ale. After dinner they'd gone to a club at one of the other hotels on the strip. She'd had a glass of champagne. Only one. Always only one. Everyone else ordered martinis. That's when things got jumbled up in her mind.
She remembered everything had felt funny and her desperation to go back to her hotel room. Then Hank had appeared by her side. There was a cab. Elvis had shown up. A very short Elvis.
What had happened with Elvis? Oh yeah, Elvis had told Hank to kiss the bride and he'd turned and kissed her.
Ice spread through her veins. Dear sweet baby Jesus.
Unable to move anything else, she blinked her eyes. Fast. Her lungs began to ache, reminding her she needed to breathe. Gasping for air, she bolted upright.
“Good morning,” Hank drawled as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How are you feeling?”
Despite the fact that he’d held one of her boobs only minutes before, Beth reflexively grabbed the white sheet, pulled it up to her neck and kept her gaze locked on the maroon-and-gold striped wallpaper. “Fine and dandy. Perfect. Never better.” She slapped her hand over her mouth to shut herself up.
“Yeah? Good because you were in rare form last night.”
Rare form? What had she done that could be worse than marrying him? Looking down, she didn't see a ring on her left finger. She let out a sigh of relief. But the feeling was momentary because in the same moment realization dawned that she was wearing only her panties.
In bed.
With Hank.
“What happened?”
He laughed, a low rumbling that made her stomach do triple flips and turned her body to jelly. She didn't want to turn back and look at the source of that bone-melting sound. But running at full speed out the door wasn't an option, especially since her dress was hidden somewhere in this room. At least she hoped so.
Curling her knees to her chest, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Hank, tell me right now what happened.”
The bastard had the audacity to wink at her from beneath his chestnut hair. Damn her wandering eyes, she couldn't help but look lower to his bare broad shoulders and his muscular chest covered in darker brown hair, which narrowed as it traveled south. Lounging against the pillows, clad only in black cotton boxer briefs, his long and thick salute to a new day stood at full mast in his lap.
If she'd gotten to enjoy that last night and didn't remember, she sure as hell was going to be pissed off.
Hank cleared his throat, drawing her gaze upward.
“My eyes are up here you know.” He wriggled his eyebrows at her and a wicked grin spread across his face.
Her stomach dropped to her
toes. She was a respectable, boring estate attorney who lived in a small town in Nebraska. She didn't have sex on the first date, let alone drunkenly marry her best friend's brother. The same brother who'd refused to be her first lover, saying he didn't have sex with virgins. Embarrassment burned her cheeks.
“Um, did we…” She waved a hand over the bed, unable to bring herself to say the words.
“I'll leave it to your imagination while I go take a shower.”
He curled forward and dropped a quick peck on top of her head before getting out of bed. After a quick full-body stretch that showed off every muscle in his toned back, he strutted to the bathroom, his form-fitting boxers highlighting his hard ass in all its glory.
Squeezing the soft sheets in her fists, Beth managed not to move until the bathroom door clicked shut. She waited a beat then tumbled out of the bed, hampered by the sheets twisted around her bare legs.
Frantic to get the hell out of there before he got out of the bathroom, she searched the room for her dress. When she heard the shower turn on a few minutes later, she had to concede defeat. Neither her dress nor purse was there. No cell. No hotel key. No money. What in the hell was she going to do now?
Needing a clearer head than hers, she reached for the room phone. Fingers shaking, she dialed Claire's cell. Together, they'd figure out what to do next.
It took forever for Claire to pick up.
“Hello?”
“Claire, I think I'm in trouble.” Panic tightened Beth's voice as she gripped the phone receiver.
“Where are you? What's happened?” Claire hollered over the sound of beeping and revving motors.
“I'm still in Vegas.” Beth couldn't think of how to break the news to her best friend. Where should she start?
“What's wrong? Did you gamble away your hotel money? Do you need bail? What is it?”
“Oh shit, Claire,” she mumbled.
The blaring horn of a truck sounded over the line. “What? I can't hear you, Beth. Speak up!”
“I can't talk louder. He's in the bathroom. I had to wait for the shower to come on before I could call you.” She tried to rein in the nervousness playing havoc on her mind.
“Who's in the shower? Who's he?”
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. The best solution was to put it all out there. “Claire, I think I married your brother.”
“What?”
Beth yanked the receiver away from her ear, ringing from the hollered question. The sound of running water stopped. She gulped and twisted the phone cord in her hand. “Oh God, the shower just turned off. What am I going to do?” Apprehension vibrated through her tense body.
“Beth, which brother?” Claire screamed into the phone.
Hunching over the phone, she whispered, “Hank. I think I married Hank.”
The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam.
“Who you talking to?” Hank strolled out, a towel slung around his hips.
Flashing him a tight smile, she dropped the phone receiver onto the cradle. “Uh, no one. Room service, but I changed my mind.”
“Uh-huh.” Hank wandered back into the bathroom.
Flopping back onto the bed, she tried to figure out how she'd get herself out of this mess.
As much fun as it was to see Beth squirming, Hank had to tell her they weren't married. It wasn't going to be pretty. Not that pretty was a word she inspired right now. He wasn't sure if the green-around-the-gills look was from the idea of having him as a husband or the after-effects of her night out on the town. Either way, she looked like hell, with her hair shooting out in all directions and some black goop dotting the underside of her eyes.
So why did he still feel like tumbling her over and burying his face in that rat's nest on top of her head?
Giving in to the inevitable, Hank grabbed her dress from where it had fallen behind the chaise lounge and tossed it to her. “We're not married.”
Hope lit her eyes. “We're not?” Beth jumped up from the bed and wiggled her lace-clad ass in celebration.
Damn, what was he, some kind of an ogre?
Annoyed with her obvious relief, Hank grumbled to himself. “Women.”
“Okay, so if we're not married, did I just dream about a really short Elvis?” The smooth material of her dress muffled her words as she pulled it over her head.
Hank's spidey sense pulsated. Something was going on beyond the few verbal threats she’d told him about the other day. The truth of it crawled up his spine, sending off sparks of suspicion. “You sure you only had one drink last night?”
“You know what happened to my parents with the drunk driver. My limit has always been one.” She secured the leather belt around her waist, pulling the material tightly closed. Her fingers stilled and she looked up, fear darkening her eyes. “Do you think someone slipped something into my drink?”
The idea made sense. It explained why Beth had been so out of it. But it didn't account for the two guys who’d followed them into the chapel. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was she’d been targeted last night.
He sat down beside her on the bed. “Any idea why someone would have slipped you something and then followed you?”
Her face blanched. Her gaze fell to her lap, where her hands twisted the silk of her dress into a knot of worry.
“What aren't you telling me, Beth?”
She turned her dark-brown eyes toward him. Flecks of gold in her irises shimmered with unshed tears. “It's probably nothing, but you know someone is buying up the land around my grandparents’ house? They'll only buy if everyone agrees to sell. I'm the last holdout.”
Understanding dawned. The Lakota casino was set to open up next year in Council County. The tribe announced the casino would go near the Highway Five entrance to the reservation, but it hadn’t been finalized yet.
“You know, a lot of folks don’t believe the casino will go where the tribe announced. According to town gossip, plenty of people were gambling millions on land that may or may not lead to the new casino.” He strode to her side. “Whoever guesses right stands to make a fortune. Hotels, restaurants and other auxiliary businesses would pay top dollar to locate near the casino.”
With that kind of money at stake, Beth was playing a dangerous game without backup.
Hank wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her closer. “So that explains why you've been getting threats. Has anyone threatened you to your face?”
She snorted into his shoulder. “Mrs. Cranston said she'd always known you couldn't trust a Mexican to do the right thing.”
“Mrs. Cranston is an ignorant old bag who'd better hope she doesn't get caught speeding in Dry Creek County.”
Chuckling darkly, Beth pushed away from him. “Thanks.” She stood and started pacing, her bare feet leaving indentions in the plush carpet. “I've gotten some nasty anonymous phone calls and texts. Someone vandalized the house.”
He jumped up from the bed and grabbed her elbow, forcing her to stop pacing. “What?”
She kept her face averted. “Yeah, the day my car conked out for the billionth time, but nothing too bad. Some broken windows and spray-painted walls.”
Anger burbled inside of him, making his gut clench. “Why didn't you tell me when I gave you a ride home?”
“The house is just over the border in Council County. I reported it to Sheriff Wilcox. He said it was probably just kids partying in an abandoned house.”
He just bet the lazy, corrupt son of a bitch did think that. “So what's he going to do about it?”
“Nothing. Oh, he says he’ll look into the threats, but nothing ever happens.” She wrapped around her chest, her hands rubbing her upper arms. “He suggested I sell.”
“There must be a stream of stupid flowing into Council County's water supply.”
“Yeah, now you understand why I live in Dry Creek.” She smiled wanly at her tepid joke.
“Not that I want you to sell, but why haven't you?”
> “My grandfather built that house. He'd work a twelve-hour shift in the slaughterhouse and then turn around and spend his off hours building the house. It took him ten years to complete it. Sure, it's an ugly house, but it's my only tie to my family. It's all I have left of them.” A single tear slid over one high cheekbone, but fire burned in her gaze. “I won't sell. Ever.”
Now family, that he could understand.
“Okay. So tell me about last night.” He wanted to pull her into his arms, but she looked as skittish as a calf on branding day.
“I went to dinner with other conference speakers and attendees. We had reservations for a table at one of the hotel clubs, so we went there. I had a glass of pop at dinner, a champagne at the club, and then everything went fuzzy.”
“Anyone from home with you?”
“At the dinner, most everyone was from the firm. At the club there were several people from home. A few were already at the club when we got there.” She clutched a fist to her stomach. “Could the drug still be in my system?”
He was going to enjoy the feel of his fist crushing the jaw of whoever did this. “It's unlikely. Your symptoms sound like it was GHB or Rohypnol, and both tend not to leave trace evidence behind.”
She sank down to the chaise lounge, her normal latte complexion ashen. “Great. So there's no way to prove it.”
Hank shook his head. “Not likely.” The fact that he was impotent to do more than offer advice rankled him.
Beth threw up her hands, stormed over to her shoes and swiped them off the floor before flopping down onto a stiff desk chair. Stuffing her feet inside each high heel, she tucked her mussed hair behind her ears. She leaned forward and fastened the delicate straps around her tiny ankles. The move accentuated her long neck.
Assaulted by unbidden visions of sucking on her earlobe and trailing hot kisses down the tender column of her throat, Hank sucked in a deep breath. This was not the time for that. “We need to report this to the local police.”