Stripped Down
Page 17
He snorts. “Angel’s gonna shit when he realizes you just rode to his rescue.”
I grin and gently push his head off my knee so I can stand up. “That’s the icing on the cupcake.”
Maybe he would have found another way to bring water to Blackhawk—if anyone could work a miracle, it’s Angel—but I like thinking that I’m choosing to make him this gift. He’d presented me with an ultimatum. He’d pointed out that he could force me to sell by taking me to court. That put him in control, which is what he want. I’m giving him what he wants, but on my terms. I’m the one in control, and that’s going to bug the hell out of him. It will be good for him.
I’m still grinning when I drive away from Auntie Dee’s for the last time.
I sign the papers.
Seemingly a hundred times in triplicate, my signature getting looser and lighter as I work my way through the stack of papers the lawyer handed me, I sign over the house and the surrounding ranch land to Angel. I already told Rory that I’m not going back to Auntie Dee’s. I’ve got those good memories stored up in my head like a squirrel preparing for winter, and that’s the note on which I want to end things. After I finish with Mitch—who clearly thinks I’m crazy for selling my share in the ranch for a fraction of what it’s worth when I could stick Angel for a small fortunate—the plan is to get back into my car and drive. Somewhere. Anywhere. We’re just going to pick a direction. Rory will follow me in the RV. He thinks we should head to Vegas, camp for a while in some casino parking garage while we figure out our next step. Maybe they’ll need more tattoo artists in Vegas.
When I’m done, I leave, the lawyer’s door snapping shut behind me. Mitch hollers a farewell, but I’ll bet he’s already forgotten me. I’m just a job to him. Paperwork to file and a loose end to wrap up. I’m not surprised. I didn’t spend too much time here in Lonesome, while he’s lived here pretty much his entire life. He must have left at some point—he has a law degree from the University of California hanging on his wall—but then he came back. There’s probably a Mrs. Mitch and some mini-me clones running around as well.
I pause when I hit the sidewalk. I’ve got two choices—left or right—and they both lead straight out of Lonesome. I figure I can decide when I reach my car, which is parked all of ten feet away. Before I can get to it car and hit the road, however, my nemesis rides right on up Lonesome’s main street as if he owns that patch of asphalt, too. Angel is all cowboy. Tough and hard, his face determined as that horse of his picks up speed. Of course, I’m probably the problem he’s riding hell-bent for leather to solve.
I’m not his problem anymore.
I’m not his anything.
I kind of wish I could see his face, though, when Mitch explains things to him.
Angel stops the horse in front of me.
It’s turning out to be a real pretty day, the kind of sunny-and-blue that usually makes me think about picnics and swimming. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I look up at him. God, he’s gorgeous.
“I wasn’t late this time,” I tell him.
I was early in fact, eager to get this over with. Knowing why I decided to sign—because I love Angel, and he needs this more than I do— doesn’t actually make the act itself any easier. It just makes me okay with the sadness of it all. I’ll make new memories, more memories—just somewhere else and with someone else.
His face doesn’t give shit away. “That’s not what I’m here about.”
“Whatever.” Turning away, I start walking toward my car. I’ll get in, and I’ll go. There’s a fresh start and a fourth chance out there with my name on it, and I’m finding it.
“Can we talk?”
The horse falls in beside me. I’m not overly thrilled about nine hundred pounds of animal inches away from me, but any horse Angel rides will be well trained and as disciplined as the man himself. Unless—and I can feel the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth— I get him on a picnic table. Then all bets are off. Angel losing control is a sight to see.
“I don’t think there’s anything left to discuss. I signed the papers. You own the place now. You go right ahead and drill those wells of yours.”
“I appreciate it.” His husky drawl is pleasant, as if we’re strangers exchanging please-and-thank-yous in the grocery. No more lovers. Five feet to the car, and this is over.
“But that’s not what I’m here about,” he repeats. “There’s something else. Us.”
His words make my stupid heart leap, and, damn it, this is just what I don’t want. I don’t need a conversation about how the sex is great, thank you, but there’s no future for us.
“Unless you’re breaking up with me,” he adds, and I suck in air. Hard.
“I didn’t realize we were even dating.” I hate the sudden pounding of my heart, the prickle of sweat icing my spine. It’s summer in California—I have no business being cold.
“Damn it, Rose,” he growls in that gruff, rough voice that gets my panties wet. “This isn’t a game. Not to me.”
“I know,” I say, and I do. Screw being mature. I jog the last few feet to the car. Dumping my purse on the hood, I fish blindly for the keys.
Behind me I hear the steady up-and-down of horse hooves, and then a hard arm bands around my waist, lifting me off my feet. The shriek tears out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
“Don’t scare the horse, darling.” Effortlessly, he pulls me up and over his saddle. It’s all too easy to imagine him a hundred years ago, driving cattle with maybe some rustling and thieving on the side. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but his face is fierce.
“Damn it, Rose,” he curses, when I continue to wriggle in his hold, “you’re going to listen to me and you might want to sit still because it’s a long way to fall.”
I’ve already done way too much falling for Angel.
Wrapping both arms around me tightly, he guides the horse with his knees. Our departure is accompanied by a whole lot of whooping from the handful of cowboys parked outside the bar. Pretty sure that’s Axel disappearing inside with a grin on his face. I can count the number of times I’ve seen that man smile on one hand.
“Kidnapping’s illegal,” I snap. Of course he knows this. Now he’s just being an ass on purpose.
He gives me a hard look. “Do I look like I take no for an answer?”
“They have a word for that,” I say dryly. “And it’s not a nice word.”
“Jesus, Rose. I’m not a rapist.”
I know that. I shove the memories back. Angel is nothing like those other men. If I said no, he’d let me go. If I meant it. If. My problem is that I want Angel, and we both know it. He pushes my sexual buttons in the best possible way, and my body is more than willing to be tamed by my bad boy cowboy.
“I brought you flowers,” he continues, as if we’re two friends having coffee. As if the papers and the fight over the house don’t matter. “I figured maybe you could put them on the front porch.”
Keeping one arm firmly around me, he fishes in his saddlebag and produces a little plastic-wrapped potted rose. Tiny and delicate, its miniature pink buds shake with each step the horse takes.
What on earth am I supposed to do with a baby rose plant?
He should be glad I’m not licensed to carry, because I’m suddenly in the mood to shoot his ass. I make his dreams come true, and he wants to bring me flowers?
I shove his forearm. “Let me down. You can’t ride into town and kidnap me. Wrong century.”
“I can do whatever I want,” he states, not bothering to point out he’s already done just that. Also, since he owns just about everything and everyone around me, he probably can. There’s not an inch of give in him when I dig my nails into his forearm, either.
“You don’t want to fall off, darling. Sit tight, hear me out, and then I’ll let you go.”
“I didn’t take you for a roses kind of a man,” I mock. “And here it is, not even Valentine’s Day.”
“You liked the roses on your
porch. Those yellow ones. I’ve been thinking,” he continues. “You can plant this rose somewhere new, get it started right. Or, if you really have your heart set on that particular house, I’ll give it to you. I still need the water for the ranch, but you don’t want that water. You want the house. Tell me where to put it, and I’ll see it done. You want it here on Main Street?”
“Excuse me?” It’s alternate universe day. It has to be.
He guides the horse to a stop. Our epic kidnapping journey has lasted approximately one block. I can still see the bar and our avid audience.
“Take a look,” he says and swings down off the horse with me in his arms. I have no idea how he makes that look so easy. “I’m not putting you down until you look.”
“I sold you my share in the ranch,” I tell him.
He makes a rough sound. “Rose—”
“It’s all yours.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t get it. I don’t have shit without you. Take a look around you.”
Since he’s determined, I look. As far as scenic views go, our current location wouldn’t rate even a one on a scale of one to ten. It’s a rectangular square of dirt and tumbleweeds, hemmed in on one side by the mini-mart and on the other by Lonesome’s second bar. There’s nothing behind the lot but more dirt, more tumbleweeds, and the wide-open range. The whole thing screams vacant except for the picnic table parked incongruously in the middle of the lot.
“That’s my favorite table,” Angel says gruffly, his mouth brushing my ear. “I’m thinking about having it bronzed. Maybe putting a plaque on it.”
Amazing.
Angel does have a sentimental side after all. While I’ve been storing up memories of our time together, he’s been collecting the furniture we had sex on. I guess everyone remembers in his own way, although I’m betting the residents of Lonesome would prefer the plaque to skip the exact details of what we did on that table. I think about the cowboys down the street. Okay. So some of them would rather not know.
“Check it out,” Angel says, setting me on my feet.
Now that I look more closely, I spot the long tube on top of the table. It looks awfully like the one I used to carry around my architectural drawings for Auntie Dee’s house, but I know that one’s stowed away in the trunk of my car.
Angel uncaps the tube, gives it a hard shake, and unrolls a set of plans. “I got an architect to look at your plans. He’s recreated them, but we’ve worked in a few changes. I’ll put in a foundation here, and he’ll have Auntie Dee’s dismantled and then he’ll use the pieces to build your new place here.”
“I already sold you my share in the ranch,” I remind him. “I don’t want your gifts. I wanted to do this on my own, Angel. I have my pride, too.”
“Yeah. And you have plenty of reasons to be proud. You’re strong—I get that. Hell, I don’t want to change that, and I couldn’t, even if did. But I still want to fix some things for you, if I can. Is it so damned hard to take something from me, Rose? Let me give this to you. We don’t have to be square. All you have to do is say yes.”
“This isn’t about being square. I’m not coming to the table empty-handed, Angel.” He curses, but I’m holding out for it all. I want the words. The house, cash—those are the easy things. Hell, I’ve already got a hundred thousand of his dollars, although he doesn’t know it.
“You’re not coming empty-handed.” He exhales roughly, cupping my head. “You want to know why? Because I love you, Rose Jordan. You’re everything I want.”
I pretend to think it over. I can feel his mouth against my cheek, a smile tugging at his lips. “Put me out of my damned misery?” he asks.
“I should make you wait,” I whisper back.
“I have waited,” he points out roughly. “Too long, Rose. Seems like I’ve been waiting a lifetime for you.”
His thumb rubs along my jaw, tracing my bottom lip. This feels so right. This is where I belong, this is what I’ve been looking for all along. Angel is my home.
I twist in his arms so I can look up at him as I pull his familiar face down toward me. “I love you, too, Angel. I love you more than words can say.”
“Kisses,” he growls. “I’ll take your kisses, then, Rose. I’ve been told that actions speaker louder than words anyhow.”
“Kisses it is.”
I push his Stetson back, threading my fingers through his dark hair, my mouth reaching up to meet his halfway. I open up for him as his lips parted mine, my tongue licking along his in a delicious tangle. No fleeting sensation, this. My cowboy packs a punch, the sensual heat and taste of him filling me full with the promise that I’ve come home.
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About the Author
After ten years of graduate school and too many degrees, Anne Marsh escaped to become a technical writer. When not planted firmly in front of the laptop translating Engineer into English, Anne enjoys gardening, running (even if it’s just to the 7-11 for slurpees), and reading books curled up with her kids. The best part of writing romance, however, is finally being able to answer the question: “So… what do you do with a PhD in Slavic Languages and Literatures?” She lives in Northern California with her husband, two kids and four cats.
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Stripped Down, copyright © 2016 Anne Marsh
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, with the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
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Contents
Stripped Down
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
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About the Author