by Anne Marsh
“You got plenty of water here. This place is sitting on a real nice little aquifer. Mr. Mendoza had a drilling engineer out to check the levels a few months ago. Knock down the house, put in a new well, and you’re golden.”
Rose’s face closes right up. “I see,” she says, and I’ll bet she does. The contractor must smell trouble brewing, because he beats a retreat to his pickup. Rose just watches him go.
“Rose,” I say, and I want to say this carefully.
“Your offer to buy me out isn’t just a be-nice favor, is it, Angel?”
“This house is sitting on an aquifer. Blackhawk Ranch is running dry on its southern border. I drill here, that problem goes away.”
She looks horrified. “You want to turn my home into a cattle yard.”
“Hell, Rose.” I scrub a hand over my head, then jam the Stetson back on. “I want what’s best for both of us. My ranch needs the water. You need a chance to start over. Take the check, and you’ve got that chance. What’s so hard about doing that?”
“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.” She’s standing chest to chest with me now, eyes snapping. She’s furious, and she still doesn’t know the half of it. Goddamn it, why can’t she admit I might be right? Maybe I do know what’s best for her. “You have no right.”
“Actually, I do, darling,” I drawl, watching her eyes narrow. “I can take you to court and force the sale.”
ROSE
Angel is big, tough, and sexy. Part of me wants to get my hands on his belt buckle and undo him the way he’s undone me. He’s gorgeous—I try the word out mentally, and it fits—but he’s put that distance between us again. He stands there on my porch, leaning against the pillar, while I sit lower down on the steps. Well, screw him. Screw his well-intentioned plans for my life.
“Nope,” I counter. The problem with Angel is that the man doesn’t move until he’s good and ready to move. “You have no rights here at all. Just because we had sex once doesn’t mean you can come in here today and tell me what’s what.”
Our one afternoon affair—over before it even got dark out—wasn’t just sex, though, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? He took me, made me his, and for a few hours I was impossibly happy. Emphasis on impossibly. Angel is a sensual, dominating lover, and, for the first time, I knew he saw me. Not his brothers’ friend or his dad’s girlfriend’s daughter and way too close to a stepsister for comfort. Me. Rose Jordan, the woman. I’m not sure where we’d been headed, but someplace special, even if feelings and words aren’t something Angel expresses easily. And then I’d over shared, he’d left, and I’d woken up alone with a pile of my clothes. It’s pretty easy to spot the connection between those three events.
“Let me buy you out,” he growls. “It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid, right? There’s a sting, but it’s over quick, and you move on. One way or another, this place is mine.”
Am I supposed to be the one moving on in this scenario? Time seems to slow down. That icy-hot sensation hits me, the feeling you get when you know there’s bad news coming and don’t have a way to stop it.
“You can’t afford this house,” he tells me.
I fight the temptation to close my eyes. I can’t hide from this.
“Three hundred thousand dollars,” he says. “That’s my offer. It’s more than fair market value and it’s a good deal.”
I don’t want money—I want my home and you can’t put a price tag on that. Do hearts make a sound when they break? Goddamn it, he doesn’t get to see how this tears me up inside.
His face is unreadable, because he’s not into that whole “showing emotions” thing and even if he was, I’ve never been any good at reading Angel. Grabbing the tube of plans I brought with me for the contractor to review, I settle for putting some space between us and let my feet take me out into the yard. Of course he follows me. Of course he won’t let me go or do this my way.
“Was having sex with me your way of sweetening the deal? Give me what my stupid, sixteen-year-old self wanted?”
Honestly? I don’t think the sex was part of his master plan, but only because he’s the one who holds all the cards.
“You wanted me,” he says in a calm, logical voice that fills me with the urge to shriek. “This house doesn’t change that, Rose. You kissed me. You let me put my fingers and my tongue in that your sweet pussy, and you liked it. Money owing doesn’t change that.”
I heard he was ruthless. He had the hard, predatory gaze of a man who knows what he wants and takes it. So that makes the math here way too easy. He wanted me, and I made it very easy for him to take me. I’m an idiot.
“Was I a pity fuck? I had no place to go, so you took me in because you felt sorry for me?”
He sucks in a sharp breath, but it’s not possible to hurt a man like Angel. Feelings are an optional accessory for Cowboy Ken. “You know it wasn’t like that, Rose.”
“Then tell me what it was like,” I demand. “Make me understand.”
And, oh yeah. The silence that follows is more than a little damning. He pulls his hat off his head, slapping the brim slowly, dangerously on his thigh. Angel doesn’t get mad quickly or often, but once he’s worked up, it’s smart to leave him alone. “I did what I thought was best, darling.”
“Don’t call me darling. Don’t call me anything. Just don’t, Angel.”
For the second time this week, I throw what I’m holding at him. The tube that held my drawings is an awkward length, but he catches it easily. Angel doesn’t like loose ends, and he never leaves things to chance. Since that’s also my cue to leave, I head for my car. Each angry step I take reminds of him, though. I can still feel the soreness deep inside me. He’s been in my body, and I can’t seem to get rid of him.
I don’t want to get rid of him and that’s a problem. Angel’s not mine and he doesn’t do monogamy. He fucks and he leaves, and I’ve had a firsthand lesson. Since sex is out of the question, I settle for slamming the door of my car and tearing down the road.
ANGEL
Rose doesn’t get to fucking walk away from me.
That’s non-negotiable.
I curb the urge the squeeze the roll of papers. I could be in my truck and after her stubborn ass in seconds. I’d catch her, too. Rose is mine. She let me touch her, and she enjoyed every moment. Letting her go now is damn hard, but she needs the space.
If I go after her, I’ll fuck her, we’ll both come, and things won’t change about the house and the ranch. I still need her water and I plan on drilling just as soon as I can get the engineer back in here.
I have a business to run. A ranch to preserve. Blackhawk Ranch is more than a legacy—it’s a way of life and a hell of a lot of people depend on me. Cheap foreign beef has put too many California ranches out of business, making it almost impossible for a man to even sell his cattle for what it cost to raise them. I barely broke even on my herd, but that herd matters. I inherited a ranch full of cowboys and a disappearing way of life I won’t let die. Not on my watch.
So I watch Rose tear down the road in her piece-of-crap car and try to work it all out in my head. She drives that battered pink monstrosity through a cloud of dust, headed nowhere in particular as far as I know, and I still want to be in the front seat with her. It doesn’t matter where she’s headed. For one insane moment, I wish I could consign the ranch and all my responsibilities to hell.
Rose storms off. I stay put. Some things never change.
Since Dare is still inside, either hiding from our drama or actually making a list of repairs, I spread out the plans I hold in my hands. When I look them over, it doesn’t take long to realize I’m holding the plans for a home, not a house or a business. Rose sees more than four walls and a roof. She’s put a piece of her heart on the paper, and I’m crushing it. Fuck.
I’ll send someone out to pick up Dare. Some things—some people—are worth fighting for. I get my ass into my truck and follow Rose.
ANGEL
Rose drives sixty miles
an hour, fishtailing over loose gravel and knocking my heart into my throat, until we can almost see Lonesome. Then she abruptly pulls over into a rest area. No blinker, no heads up, just a hard, right jerk of the wheel that makes the car’s bald tires squeal. She needs new treads, and I make a mental note to see it done.
I have no idea why she’s stopping. Maybe she’s just plain tired of my riding her ass. That’s fine with me, but I’m not done with us. She doesn’t get to run from me this time.
Slamming the truck door, I stride toward the picnic table where she’s waiting. Before she can move, I slap my hands down on either side of her, caging her body between my arms and the table. A distant part of my brain—the logical part that isn’t turned upside down and inside out by this infuriating, fascinating, wonderful woman—warns me that this isn’t my best idea. Rose Jordan doesn’t need or want a Neanderthal cowboy.
She doesn’t get what she wants today. Boo-fucking-hoo.
“I didn’t ask Auntie Dee to remember me in her will,” I growl at her. “She was proud, Rose. She wanted to give me something back.”
She glares right back. “You should have told me right away that the place was half yours. Why wait until I got up here to let me know? You know I can’t buy out your share, and that means my home is all yours.”
It could be ours. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what Auntie Dee had in mind.
I lean in further so that I’m touching her. “That house is your home, Rose. I don’t want to take that from you. I thought maybe a check would let you start over. Pick some other place.”
“Coming home doesn’t work that way, Angel.” Her gaze dips slowly, and it kinda feels like she’s touching me as those baby browns move over my chest and down. “I wanted those four walls, those memories. So I’m not getting what I want. What I want to know is, what do you want? If we’re being honest with one another now?”
“You. You made me wait a long time for you, Rose.”
Guess my answer is the wrong one, because she slaps a hand on my chest and pushes. She’s touching me again, and I have it bad, because just that simple brush of her fingers against the cotton of my T-shirt makes my dick stir to life in my jeans. I followed her to talk, I remind myself. Not for sex on a picnic table.
The table looks damned good, though.
“I’ve been back in Lonesome for less than a month, Angel. I haven’t made you wait at all.” She sounds pissed off about that, too.
“I’ve been waiting years for you, Rose. You came to Lonesome when you were fucking sixteen. I should have been shot for the thoughts I had. Hell, you kissed me and I should have been shot for that. You were too young. I was too old. I wasn’t ever leaving this ranch and you’d made it plenty clear you wanted your chance to get out there in the world and explore.”
“But—”
I drag my thumb over her lower lip. It’s a victory that she doesn’t try to bite me. “You were years younger than me. You were still in high school, and I was up to my ears in the ranch. But I was tempted, Rose. Far too tempted.”
Fuck, but I need to back off. I force myself to step back when all I want is to wrap myself around her, kiss every inch of her, because I miss that closeness. She’s been gone less than half an hour, and I miss her. There’s a message right there.
“Tell me something first, before we go any further here,” she says quietly, standing up and taking a step toward me. I focus on the word that matters. First. She isn’t done with me, and that makes me impossibly, fiercely glad.
“Ask.” My voice sounds rough, but while I might be sweet on her, I’ll never be sweet. I think she knows that. “You know I’d never lie to you, darling. Sure”—I hold up a hand when she opens her mouth to protest—”I’m guilty as hell of not being as forthcoming as I should have been. I don’t want to fix the house. I do want to knock it down and drill, and I’ll force the sale if I have to because I have an entire ranch depending on that water. I shouldn’t have let you leave the lawyer’s office without hearing that. I did, and for that, I’m apologizing.”
She nods, her hair sliding over her shoulders. She hasn’t moved another step, though, so I start wondering if I have to get on my knees. I might actually consider it, because the move would put me on a level with her pretty little panties—and then I won’t be behaving myself anymore, and I sure as fuck won’t be doing the right thing.
“Tell me right now if our being together was you feeling guilty.”
“Hell, no.” I toss my good intentions out the window. Closing the small space between us, I curve a hand around her neck to tangle in her hair.
“We were together because you wanted me,” she presses. “And for no other reason. Just me. You tell me that I’m enough, that I’m good enough all by myself here. If that’s not the truth, then you give me the truth. Now.”
“Yeah.” I run my other hand down the straight curve of her spine, arching her into me. Her hands latch onto my forearms, hanging on but not pushing me away. “No matter what happens between us now, you think I’m ever forgetting us together? You let me in, darling, all the way in. That’s something a man doesn’t forget. That’s the kind of memory I’m going to be treasuring.”
“It was good,” she admits, sounding wistful.
“We were good,” I counter. “You were downright perfect. Perfect for me.”
“Really? You sure about the perfect?” She peeks up at me, and there’s that look I love so much, a look that’s pure sin mixed with more than a little mischief. Christ. When did she steal my heart? Because, looking at her, I know, clear as day, that she has and that I’m never going to be the same again. “That mean you want to kiss me again?”
“Always.” I make her that promise, meaning the words more than she knows. Rose wins this battle. I’ve fallen for her hard and fast.
She hums some inexplicable, happy noise of fucking contentment that I love. “Sit down for me, Angel?”
Before I can straighten out my emotions or my words, she wraps her hands in my shirt, turning me like I’m a reluctant calf in the chute. I go willingly, my dick straining at my jeans. I get the feeling that if she stays here in Lonesome, I’ll still be jonesing for her in fifty years.
I love Rose Jordan.
That’s a fucking surprise, but maybe not a bad one. She pushes gently, and I park it obligingly on the picnic table where I found her.
There’s no explaining how I’ve wound up in this position, but here I am, seated on the table’s top, while she gets on my lap, facing away from me. That little distance sucks, although her position is also sexy as hell. I cup her hips with my hands to steady her.
“You still with me, Angel?” she asks, and I ease her hair away from her nape, exposing the pale curve of skin. She’s got white marks from bikini straps and that just makes me think about stripping her naked. Then she wriggles in, getting comfortable or something, and my brain stops thinking altogether.
She straddles me, draping her legs on either side of mine. Those long bare legs in too-short denim cut-offs kill me, and that’s before she sets her hands on my thighs.
I can feel the heat of her through my jeans. Hell, I’m about to shoot right out of those jeans.
She deserves a warning. “You’re playing with fire, darling.”
“And you don’t play at all.” She rocks forward and the pressure on my dick is a fiery burst of sensation. Hell. Yeah. Before I can catch my breath, she’s moving rhythmically, up and down, forward and back, and I’m fucking lost.
I get the button on her shorts open, my fingers exploring the edges of her silky little panties. Just barely touching her in a liquid tease as she rides me. Her breath catches as she really gets into what she’s doing, and then she makes a frustrated noise like it’s not enough.
I gotta get inside, need to be there with her. Scooping her up in my arms, I get off the table and set her at the edge. It only takes a moment to strip off her shorts and panties. Parting her thighs, I step between them, curving my hands around her
ass as my thumbs sink into sweet, wet flesh.
“Angel.” The way she says my name, I think she’s okay with seeing me more. She’s okay with me, and something inside my chest loosens up, eases open. I don’t know what to say to her, but her hands are busy, too, opening my jeans and finding my dick.
She’s so fucking pretty. I watch her, drinking in the way her skin flushes and grow pinker, wetter. I’m the one who’s gonna make her come. I’m her man. We’re out in the open and anyone could come driving along that road, but Rose is all that matters now. I can’t stop now and find someplace else, not when I can make her scream my name.
Or fuck me, I might holler hers. I touch her, but I’m the one going up in flames. Truth is, I’m used to being right, to knowing exactly what the right thing to do is. I run tens of thousands of acres, and hundreds of men depend on me for everything. But the happiness, the sheer joy on Rose’s face? That’s something new, something I haven’t seen before. I feel like a real king now if I can put that look on her face today, tomorrow, and every day after.
She reaches for me and her fingers brush my dick. I fight the need to lean into her touch. That part of me knows where it belongs, but I don’t like being led. The damn memories won’t leave me alone. Other hands reaching, grabbing. Fucking holding me down and shoving me places.
I’m home, I remind myself. It’s daylight, and this is my girl. This is good stuff, not bad.
“Let me,” she whispers and I’ve got no idea what she sees when her eyes scour my face.
“Gotcha,” I whisper right back, rubbing my fingers through her slick, pouty folds. She’s everything good.
She wraps her fingers around me, and I’m almost too much for her too hold. The fact that I’m big hasn’t meant much, but now I’m glad. I’ll be enough.
“Angel?” Her palm slides up and it’s a good thing she knows my name, because I’ve fucking forgotten it. And then her palm return-trips it down my dick, cupping my balls. I’ve got no idea if I can let her take charge. If we do this my way, I lay her back on the table and finish what we started, but she asked me for something, and I’ll give her anything and everything. Whatever Rose needs, I provide. She wants me let go. To let her.