He passed her purse over, claimed her hand, and started toward his own truck. She waved good-bye to her friends as they passed, grinning when one of them called, “Ooh, a man in a hurry. She’d better be smiling real big when we see her again, cowboy.”
Face heating, he asked, “Is there anything your friends won’t say?”
She pretended to think about it as he helped her into the seat. “Some of them are quite proper. Some of us, if it crosses our minds, it crosses our lips. Where are we going for dinner?”
He closed her door, then went around to the driver’s side, tossing his jacket in the backseat and laying the bouquet on top of it before climbing in. “We’ve got three options. We can drive to Tulsa, or we can go to Luca’s.”
“Or?”
Though his tie was already loose, he tugged at it, then ran his fingers through his hair. His throat suddenly swelled like a bad case of mumps, and his palms were as damp as if he’d dunked them in a tub of water. “We could, uh, get takeout or—or see what’s in my freezer and, uh, just have dinner, uh, alone.”
After a long still moment, her gaze intense, managing both sensual and innocent in one look, she asked, “Are you thinking about getting me out of this dress?”
Her voice was husky, her accent pronounced, her question enough to raise his temperature to wildfire level. His fingers tightened and loosened on the steering wheel before he swallowed hard and gave voice to his own husky words. “Yeah. From the first moment I saw you in it.”
Her smile came slowly, teasing and satisfied. “Good. Let’s explore your freezer.”
With another hard swallow, he pulled out of the parking lot and took the backstreets to First, where he turned north out of town. Beside him in her pretty dress, Jessy rested one arm on the door and softly hummed a melody. Dalton didn’t recognize it, though he didn’t know whether it was because he didn’t know the song or her rendition was pretty awful. A gorgeous, incredibly hot woman who couldn’t hit a note solidly even with a hammer. Damned if he knew how that was endearing, but it was.
When he turned off the paved road at the pasture where she’d mistaken a bull for a cow, her sigh echoed. “Poor cows. They look so content. They don’t have a clue that they’re going to end up on a dinner plate at Holy Cow.”
“They’re born, they graze, they breed, they give birth, they die. They’re not that much different from us.”
Her eyebrows arched when she looked at him. “No one grills us up and charges fifteen bucks a cut.”
“If they could get fifteen bucks a cut, someone would try.” Wanting contact, no matter how little, he reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb over her pink nails. The day they’d met, her polish had been bright, screaming-in-your-face purple. He’d never known a woman who considered that an appropriate color past second grade. “I saw how you inhaled that ribeye. However much you don’t like looking your food in the eye, the beef industry’s in no danger of losing you as a customer.”
“No,” she agreed. “It’s just that cows are cute. I mean, a chicken or a pig—bless their hearts, pigs are just fat and ugly and rooting around in the mud. Cows could be pets.” Her hair gleamed as she shook her head. “That sounds shallow, doesn’t it? ‘Save the pretty animals. Eat pork.’”
“If your livelihood depended on pigs, trust me, you’d think they’re the most beautiful animals in the world.”
“Did you always want to be a rancher?”
“Pretty much. It’s what I knew. My dad always expected us to take over, and I always figured I would.” Though David had had the same expectations of Dillon, and look how that had turned out.
“The night we went to Walleyed Joe’s, you mentioned your brothers and the family tradition of naming the sons.”
Damn, she’d caught his use of us. He released her hand to turn into the driveway but didn’t say anything. That night, she’d asked, So it’s you and…, and he’d replied, Don’t ask. She hadn’t. Now she would. They knew each other better. Hell, they were about to get intimate. Any woman would feel entitled to know little things like the existence of a worthless charmer of a brother.
But she didn’t ask. She gazed ahead as he drove the narrow lane, parking under a big oak for shade. Soon the sap would start to drip, and he’d have to park elsewhere or risk getting stuck to the door handle every time he touched it.
They were home. Time to go inside, let Oz out, make small talk, eventually wander up the stairs to his room, or fix dinner and maybe make out a bit before moving upstairs, or…Or tell her what she wanted to know.
Talk about Dillon or get naked with Jessy. Damn, that was no contest.
“Someday I’ll tell you about him,” he said after shutting off the engine. “But today’s been way too good a day to ruin with talk about Dillon.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded before getting out of the truck and strolling toward the front porch. Oz was barking at the living room window, probably delighted that Dalton had brought Jessy home for him. The horses were grazing in the pasture, paying the dog no attention, and fat bees buzzed around the white-flowered bushes growing along the west side of the house.
Definitely too good a day to ruin and promising to get better.
* * *
After giving Oz an enthusiastic greeting and a scratching that made his left back leg twitch, Jessy slowly straightened, a bad case of nerves practically making her twitch. How long had it been since she’d gone home with a man? Not counting the guys she’d hooked up with when she was drinking because, in the present, they didn’t count. A long time. Aaron had been the last one. There had been guys before him, of course, but that was when she was young and single, looking to have a good time.
She was definitely single now, though young was a matter of perspective, and she wasn’t looking for just a good time. She wanted so much more. A scary thought, hence the unsteady hands and the somersaulting stomach.
Then she looked at Dalton. He’d closed the door, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair just inside the living room, then taken the bouquet to the kitchen. After rattling through the cabinets, he came up with a quart canning jar, filled it with water, and stuffed the flowers inside. He carried it to her, offering it solemnly. His dark eyes were shadowed with the same uncertainty she felt, the same need, the same bone-deep desire. I prefer to have flowers handed to me, she’d told him at the church, preferably already in a container with water.
She accepted the blooms, her nerves settling, her anxiety changing to anticipation. She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life, done things she wasn’t proud of, things she dearly regretted, but this wasn’t one of them. In fact, this man—having drunken sex with him, getting to know him, trusting him, loving him—just might be the best choice she’d ever made.
Blindly she set the flowers on the step and found the staircase newel post to hold on to. She lifted one foot, unfastened the delicate ankle strap, then let the shoe slide off. After removing the other, she left them lying on the wood floor, one standing upright, the other tilted against the first stair, their little bows cute and sexy, reclaimed the flowers, and slowly started up. She trailed her fingers along the rail that generations of Smiths had touched, felt the smoothness they’d worn into each step, noticed the temperature rising slightly as she climbed.
She could live in this house—coming down the stairs at dawn each morning, learning to cook in the big kitchen, helping with the livestock, going up the stairs every night to sleep in Dalton’s arms. She could listen to its old creaks and groans, open the windows depending on which way the wind was blowing, leave her mark on it. She could belong in it. Belong to it.
At the top, the hallway ran west to east, two doors to the left, three to the right. The doors on the left were closed, so she turned right, where one open door revealed a bathroom, easily twice the size of hers, with white wainscoting beneath pale green paint, a mirror framed in barn wood that still showed traces of its original dark red color, a stand-alone shower, and a claw-foot
tub.
“I always swore the first thing I’d do when I bought the place was yank out that tub and put in a whirlpool.” Dalton’s voice came from right behind her, breath fanning her neck. How had such a big man moved so quietly?
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled her sultriest smile. “If you don’t love that tub, sweetheart, you haven’t been using it right.”
“Maybe you can show me.”
Images of the two of them in the tub made her shiver. Shower/bath sex didn’t rate high on her favorites, but warm, wet, and soapy was a great way to start.
Of the remaining two doors, only one was open. She turned into it: a large rectangular room, two sets of double windows looking over the backyard, two more facing the cows’ pasture. The bed was queen-sized, the covers on one side tossed back, a stack of jeans and shirts that smelled faintly of fabric softener taking up the entire rocker in the corner.
“If I’d known we’d end up here, I would have made the bed this morning.”
She picked up a ball cap from the dresser, bearing the logo of a local feed store, before slanting him a look. “So you weren’t planning on seducing me?”
“It was the shoes that did it.”
“Ah. If I’d known that, I would have left them on and taken the dress off. Let me run downstairs and get them.” Of course she didn’t move toward the door. Of course he knew she wouldn’t. “However, it’s good to know. I’ll remember next time I debate wearing them.”
He took the hat from her hands, tossing it back onto the dresser, then slid his arms around her waist and drew her close. “Maybe I’ll just keep them here.”
“You don’t like to share?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his gaze narrowed before he blew out a breath. “Hell, no.”
That hit a nerve, she acknowledged, filing the information away as she wound her arms around his neck. “Neither do I.” With those words—that promise—she kissed him, stretching onto her toes, pulling his head to meet hers.
It was the first time they’d kissed since…well, the first time. She’d always been grateful that she remembered very little of those encounters once she sobered up, and now was no different. In a way, not remembering allowed this to be their first time. Though she did wonder if she’d had the faintest clue that he was different from the other men. That he was going to change her life, that he was going to be a large part of her life.
If she’d known that back then, she probably would have run far away.
His tongue stroked hers, and his muscles clenched beneath her hands. Hard muscles built by hard work, tempting her to slide her hands beneath his shirt and stroke them on bare skin. She was about to do a hell of a lot more than touch him, so it was okay to tug at his tie, the silk cool and sliding easily between her fingers, to toss it aside and move to the buttons of his shirt. They opened easily, too, the backs of her fingers brushing the soft, heated skin of his chest as each button gave way. About halfway down, she lost interest in actually removing his shirt, and instead her fingers explored that skin, dark, though not as dark as his face and arms, darker than his flat stomach and long muscular legs.
So she did remember something from the first time.
Heavy breathing sounded nearby, and she realized it was coming from her. Her chest was tight, and what little air her lungs could get was superheated, making her blood pump hot and her skin turn slick. In need of air, she ended the kiss, took another quick taste, then sucked in oxygen as she tilted her head to look at him.
“You’re damn gorgeous, you know.” Her voice was out-of-breath raspy…or was that turned-on-all-the-way-to-her-toes husky?
Slowly the intensity of his gaze lightened, and an incredible smile spread across his face. “Aw, you’re just saying that because you want to get lucky.”
She raised her hand to his face, fingers trembling against his jaw. “I got lucky the day I met you.”
Dalton’s smile didn’t dim at the reference to that day. Had they both made peace with the embarrassing start of this relationship?
She undid a couple more buttons on his shirt before he caught her hand, lifted it to his mouth, and pressed a kiss to the palm, his tongue touching it delicately. Half surprised that steam didn’t rise from the contact, Jessy jerked his shirt from his pants and finished the unbuttoning one-handed, twisted her fingers around to catch his, and pulled him toward the bed. “Do you have condoms?”
“Yes, ma’am. A new box just for you.”
“Only one box?” She arched her brow as she raised her arms to the zipper running down the back of her dress. She’d always had a talent for getting stripped down fast, not generally useful, though it served her well now. Within seconds, she was pulling the dress over her head, dropping it in the direction of the rocker, neither noticing nor caring where it landed.
For a long moment he just looked at her, his gaze searching as if he might be asked later to give an intimate description. Contrary to her earlier teasing, she was wearing underwear, and it was her sexiest: tiny bits of crimson silk decorated with tiny bits of matching lace, ridiculously expensive but ridiculously flattering. A line from a favorite song drifted through her head as Dalton finally drew a long breath. Man, I feel like a woman.
He wasn’t smiling anymore. His eyes were dark, his features stark, the skin of his face somehow tighter, more strained. It had been a long time since she’d seen that look—so hungry, so tautly controlled, so fiercely possessive. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen that look before.
She would never forget it.
“My turn for a thrill.” Not even trying to strengthen her breathy voice, she looked at him, head to toe, then gestured. Giddily, she anticipated seeing more, like the erection that impressively tented his trousers.
A low growl escaped his throat. His movements economical, he shucked his shirt, unfastened his belt, and shoved his trousers over his hips, kicked off his shoes, yanked away trousers, boxers, and socks all in a jumble, and lifted her around the middle, taking her down onto the bed with him, and kissing her.
Oh, yeah, she loved his kisses. It was a good thing they hadn’t agreed to make out while they were waiting for the right time. She could have spent forever just kissing him.
Okay, not forever. She did have that flair for exaggeration.
Dalton balanced her on top of him with one hand splayed across her ass, stretched to the right, and found the box of condoms in the top nightstand drawer. Turning his gaze from her, catching a breath, he squinted at the box. “Contains twenty-four. You’re right. Not enough.”
With a laugh, she grabbed the box, ripped open the top, and pulled out a condom. He didn’t protest, didn’t insist they had more to explore, didn’t suggest she was rushing it. No, he helped her out of her sexy lingerie, and he touched her with impossibly talented fingers as she maneuvered the condom into place, and he claimed her mouth again as she slid along the length of his erection.
As they began moving, matching each other’s rhythms, Jessy was absolutely certain of one fact: It hadn’t been too soon or too late.
Their being together at this time, in this way, on this special day, made everything damn perfect.
Chapter 13
Luca’s was everyone’s favorite date restaurant in Tallgrass, according to Patricia, so Ben had made reservations—ask for a table on the porch—at her direction. After changing into trousers and a deep green button-down, he went onto the patio, where his mother was sharing a glass of wine with Brianne while something flavorful cooked on the grill.
“Don’t you look handsome,” Patricia said, saluting him with her glass. “You should roll your sleeves up, though, so you don’t look too hot.”
“Hot’s a good thing,” Brianne said. “At least when it comes to dating.” She hadn’t been scheduled to arrive until the next morning, but she’d been too impatient to wait. Sara was still coming Sunday, too stubborn to change her plans because of Bree’s impulses.
Taking Patricia’s advice
, Ben started rolling his sleeves. He’d just finished one when a bark came from across the yard. When he looked that way, he saw Lucy standing on her patio, handing Norton’s leash to Cadore, then the three of them started across the yard.
Brianne fluffed her hair. “Joe is awfully cute. Is he available?”
“For what?” Patricia asked absently, then made an exaggerated face. “Pretend I didn’t ask that. As far as I know, the only things Joe’s seriously involved with are his football team and…Hm. I guess it’s just the team.”
“What about your hockey player?” Ben asked. Jeez, the last man he wanted to see his sister with was Joe Cadore. The guy was a Neanderthal…with blond hair, way-too-blue eyes, and a lot of muscles. Just like the hockey player and every other guy Brianne had dated in the past five years.
“Nigel’s around.” Brianne smiled wickedly. “But he’s not here.”
Ben shifted his attention to Lucy. She wore a dress, light pink flowers on a background of curacao blue with sandals that gave her a couple inches’ height, and her hair was pulled back. She looked fresh and pretty and sweet, and it hit him in the gut that he really was going to miss seeing her every day. He liked her, and she’d made what could have been an impossible visit a hell of a lot more bearable, and there could be an awful lot more if luck was with them.
Cadore hugged Patricia—habit or for Ben’s benefit?—then dropped into the chair closest to Brianne’s. “Hey, Bree, you gonna do the Green Corn Run in Bixby?”
Nobody called Brianne by her nickname except family, but judging by her ear-to-ear grin, she didn’t mind. Ben tuned out her answer, said good-bye to Patricia, then he and Lucy walked around the house to his car.
“Your sister is single, isn’t she?” Lucy asked as he opened the door for her.
He groaned. “Please don’t try to set her up with him.” Though a rational voice inside him pointed out that Lucy wanting to find her neighbor a girlfriend was a good thing. It meant she wasn’t interested in him herself.
“I don’t know that I need to try. She seems to like him. They have a lot in common.”
A Love to Call Her Own Page 24