by Sabrina York
Porsche threw back her head and laughed. Her eyes sparkled and her parted lips tantalized him. “No. We got distracted.” She leaned closer. “We often do.”
“What distracted you?”
She pinned an innocent look on her face. “Lisa was making profiteroles.”
“What the hell are profiteroles?”
“Choux à la crème,” she said with a wave of her hand.
He laughed. “Still in the dark.”
“Cream puffs.”
Now that he understood. “I should probably go visit the kitchen.”
“Good luck with that. Claire’s in there. We call her Hooverlips.”
“That is hardly kind.”
“Maybe not. But true. She does love to eat.”
Dougal spotted another dust whorl and shot off in yet another direction. The leash wound around their legs and pulled them closer. And damn, he loved the feel of her pressing against his chest and groin, her smile, her laugh as she fell against him.
She gazed up into his eyes and said, “I think we’re trapped.”
“I think so too.” But he could hardly complain. Until she tried to wiggle free.
Then again, he did like the wiggling.
They both laughed as they became even more inextricably entwined and then, all of a sudden, Porsche froze. Her gaze, wide and welcoming, snapped to his. “Oh, kiss me now,” she gushed, and his heart thumped. She wrapped her arms around his neck and went up on her tiptoes and pursed her lips.
Though he was hardly disinclined, he was surprised. What had incited this sudden and incongruous passion? He stared at her in shock as his body went on point, hummed, trilled with exhilaration and excitement.
“Hurry,” she said. “He’s watching.”
He’s watching.
Well hell. His mood plummeted. He should have realized, should have expected as much. He was a fool for thinking she suddenly wanted to kiss him.
He was struck with an immediate anger, and at the same time, a scorching determination.
Kiss her?
He’d give her a kiss she would never forget.
He took her cheeks in his hands and tipped her head a bit to the side and stared at her. “Are you ready?” he asked in a whisper.
She blinked. “I . . . ah . . . yes.”
But still, he waited, staring at her lips, so full and lush. He’d been aching to taste her; the anticipation itself was delicious. Slowly, he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers, a tease and nothing more. Then he did it again.
Good God, she was delectable. Soft, sweet, a velvety heaven. She tasted of sugar and a hint of chocolate with an undertone of . . . Porsche. He wanted to sink into her. Consume her.
So he did.
He deepened the kiss, investing in it all his desire, his hope, his passion.
And God help him, she responded.
She tightened her hold and pressed against him and made little mewling sounds that set his body on fire.
He leaned into the kiss, bending her back, grasping for all he could reach.
It became a conflagration, a storm swirling them both in a savage whirlwind that was—
“Ahem.”
An annoying voice came from his left. Brandon attempted to ignore it.
“Ahem!”
He lifted his head and stared down into Porsche’s eyes. He was gratified that she seemed dazed and boneless. Really gratified when she reached up for another kiss. And that, of course, set him off again as well. He couldn’t get enough.
Not ever.
“Hello? People? That’s good. You can disengage.” Claire—for that was who it was—attempted to pull them apart.
“But Cody’s watching,” Porsche murmured, snuggling in closer.
“He’s gone.”
To Brandon’s disgruntlement, she eased back, still staring into his eyes. “He’s gone,” she whispered.
“I heard,” he said. But he couldn’t resist one more kiss. Just one.
And damn it all to hell. Why hadn’t Cody stayed just a little longer?
Chapter Eight
Good googlymoogly.
Who would have thought that kissing Brandon would have this kind of effect on her? From the moment he’d pressed his lips against hers—well, from the moment he’d looked at them, like that—she’d been filled with a rush of excitement and delight unlike anything she’d ever known. Her breath had gone short, her pulse had kicked into high gear, and a prickling heat had crawled over her skin.
In retrospect, that didn’t sound terribly pleasant, but it had been. Her mind was still in a whirl, her body thrummed with pleasure. It was a struggle to remember that she’d kissed him for Cody’s sake and Cody’s sake alone.
With wobbly knees, she untangled herself from the leash and moved away from him, though something deep inside urged her to step back into his embrace. She had to exert extreme self-control to maintain her distance. To that end, she affected a bright smile for Claire, who was glaring at Brandon.
“How was that?” she said with what she hoped was a blasé tone. “Convincing enough?”
Claire snorted. “A little too amorous, I think, for a first kiss.”
“I thought it was about right,” Brandon said. He didn’t bother to hide his grin.
“Nonsense. You kissed her far too long.”
“She tastes like chocolate.”
“Oh. Do I?” That sounded nice.
“Mmm hmm.” There was something very hungry in his voice. She was sure it wasn’t hunger for chocolate. The thought sent a thrill through her.
“And all that . . .” Claire waved in Brandon’s general direction. “Groping. Shesh.”
“I was not groping,” he protested.
Porsche agreed. “No. He wasn’t groping.”
“Oh please. The man has grabby hands.”
“I would be the first to know if I’d been groped.” And for that matter, why hadn’t he? Surely he could have groped a little. She turned to him with an innocent smile. “Perhaps we should try it again. This time with groping.” This suggestion was made purely in an attempt to irritate Claire, but when Brandon nodded and stepped toward her, exhilaration swamped her.
What a pity Claire pushed between them. “Oh, I think that’s enough for now. Besides, Cody isn’t here to benefit from the display.”
At once, Porsche was recalled to her true mission, though honestly, her enthusiasm for the plan had faded a little beneath the blinding heat of that kiss. She cleared her throat and asked, “What was his reaction? Was he angry?”
Claire lifted a shoulder. “Hard to say. There might have been a hint of annoyance on his face.”
“Only a hint?”
“He was far away. It was hard to tell.”
“Well,” Brandon said, “it was the first salvo. You can’t expect him to tumble so easily.” He smiled at her in an encouraging fashion. “We just need to keep at it.”
“Keep at it?” Claire might have growled.
“You know. Practice.” Something flared in Brandon’s eyes. “Diligently.”
Another shiver shimmied down Porsche’s spine as their gazes caught and she found herself smiling against her own will. There was something about this man she found extremely attractive. She was glad she’d chosen him to help her make Cody jealous, because if anyone could, it was him. But at the same time, she was enjoying the pretense, which came as a surprise, because she hadn’t intended to.
She’d always thought Cody was the only man she’d ever want, but now she found herself fantasizing about him.
Her fake boyfriend.
It would be smart to keep in mind that to Brandon, this was nothing but a game.
But it was certainly an intriguing one.
• • •
When Porsche got into h
er little coupe and drove away, Brandon stared after her until the dust plume disappeared. He hated seeing her go, but as mornings went, this one had been very productive.
He’d gotten a little closer to the woman he desired, gotten something of a nod from the man she desired, and he’d snagged a kiss.
A mind-blowing kiss.
If it was any indication of the passion bubbling between them, when they finally came together, his brain might explode.
“I hope you’re happy.”
Oh. Was Claire still there?
He glanced at her and arranged his features in an innocent moue. “I am.”
Oh, he was.
She gored him with an accusatory stare. “You seem to be really into this fake boyfriend thing.”
“Porsche is a beautiful woman. Any man would be honored to be her fake boyfriend.”
Claire snorted. “Just don’t get too enthusiastic. Don’t forget this is all a game.”
Was it? If it was, it was the most serious game he’d ever played.
Claire waggled her finger. “If you hurt her, I’ll skin you alive.”
He fixed her with a solemn stare. “I don’t intend to hurt her, Claire.”
“Oh yeah? Well, mice and men, Brandon. Mice and men.”
He wasn’t sure what she was intimating, but there was no time to ask, because she finished with a humph and stomped back to the ranch house. Probably to find Lisa and inquire as to the availability of her profiteroles.
Brandon looked down at Dougal—who, left to his own pursuits, had chewed through both Brandon’s shoelaces—and grinned. “Well, what do you say we go inside, buddy?”
He picked the pup up and made his way to his camper, intending to make a can of soup or something equally banal. But in the end, he sat at his dining table, feeding crackers to the dog and staring out the window, thinking about her.
He couldn’t eat a bite.
Cade’s comment that they’d just met swirled in his mind. If a man was being logical, he knew that falling in love at first sight was a recipe for disaster. But what Brandon had felt for Porsche on first sight hadn’t been love. He knew better than to assume that.
It had been physical attraction, pure and simple.
However, in the space of a few short hours, as he’d gotten to know her, his feelings had deepened considerably. This wasn’t insta-love, but it was damn close. It had hit him hard and fast. The fact that he could already visualize a life here in Snake Gully with Porsche as his wife should be setting off blaring alarms in his head and heart.
But it wasn’t.
It simply felt right. When he’d held her, kissed her, stared into her eyes. All of it.
She seemed to be a perfect fit.
He knew, for his own sanity, he needed to slow things down. This rampaging desire for a woman who admitted she was in love with someone else would be dangerous territory for any man, much less a man with his . . . challenges.
Trouble was, he didn’t want to slow down. He didn’t want to back away. He wanted to move forward with every ounce of energy in him.
He wanted to win her.
But what if he did? What if he did win her, and then she found out the truth about him . . . and she decided she couldn’t handle it?
A lot of his buddies at Walter Reed had faced that reality—dropped like a hot potato by once dedicated and loyal wives and girlfriends. Women who decided they couldn’t stay with a man who was damaged goods.
He liked to think Porsche wasn’t like that, but until he told her the truth, he wouldn’t know.
Was it any mystery why he wanted to keep it from her? Just a while longer?
A knock on the door scuttled his thoughts.
“You alone?” Cade’s voice held a hint of humor.
“Come on in.”
His friend grinned as he stepped into the camper. “How you doing in here?”
Brandon shrugged. “Awesome.”
His friend shot a glance around his home. It didn’t take long. He shook his head. “You can move into the house, you know.”
“Yeah.”
“Or stay in the bunkhouse. There’s plenty of room. Even when the other guys come in on Thursday.” Brandon’s first performance at the Stud Ranch would be this weekend. Rehearsals began tomorrow.
“I like it here.”
“This place is tiny.”
“But I like it.”
“Okay. Your decision. But the offer stands.”
“Thanks.” It was appreciated, but Brandon liked his privacy. It made things a lot less awkward at times. “Sit down.” He waved at the seat across from him; Cade had a tendency to loom.
With a chuckle, he attempted to fold his long, lean form into the banquette. It was a tight fit. “Damn, I don’t know how you do it,” he said.
“You get used to it.”
“Yeah, I guess you do.” Brandon had the sense he wasn’t talking about the camper. Cade’s expression went serious. “How’s the leg?”
Brandon thrust it out into the walkway and gave it a rap. The metal ping echoed through the camper. “It’s just fine.” He chuckled, more in an attempt to ease Cade’s concern than because of any real humor. “Pure titanium.”
“Only the best for our servicemen.”
“Yeah. Isn’t that the VA’s new slogan?” They both laughed, but there was a tinge of cynicism there. They’d both been caught in the bureaucratic claws of the Veteran’s Administration. In the end it had been a donation from the Wounded Warrior Project that had helped Brandon reclaim his life.
Once he’d gotten used to it, his new leg was almost better than the original. Almost.
“I can really get some bounce,” he said with a wink. “The ladies love the bounce.”
“I bet they do.” Cade stole a cracker and crunched it for a bit. “Have you ever considered the full strip down in your sets?”
Though Brandon had done a hundred performances for the ladies, he’d never bared his leg. “I don’t think they would like it.”
“You never know.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to find out. He’d never forgotten Mark’s reaction when he’d seen it. That had cut him to the core. It was nearly as painful as the original realization that his leg was gone.
“Well, think about it.”
“I will.”
Another silence fell, and Brandon held his breath, waiting for the next bomb to drop. It didn’t take long.
“So . . . Porsche.” Cade flicked a questioning glance at him.
“Porsche.”
“Cody said he saw you kissing.”
“Did he?”
“Were you kissing her?”
“If Cody said so, I guess I was.” He forced a grin.
“That didn’t take long.”
Brandon shrugged. “You and I both know life is short.” They’d seen it snuffed out far too quickly on the battlefield. “Why dillydally?”
“You really like her?”
“I do.”
“Because she’s something special. None of us want to see her hurt.”
“I already got that lecture from Claire.”
Cade huffed a laugh. “Did you?”
“Waggling finger and everything.”
“What did she say?”
“She’d skin me alive.”
“She would. She loves Porsche like a sister.”
“I know. But I have no intention of hurting Porsche. Besides, right now, we’re just . . . exploring the possibilities.” Not exactly a lie.
“Does she know about your leg?”
Brandon flinched. “No. Not yet.”
“You’ve got to tell her sometime.”
“Yeah. I know.” But not yet.
“Well, I just wanted to say, I support you. I know Cody ca
n be a jerk sometimes, and I didn’t want you to get the impression that he and I were a unit on this.”
“What’s his deal, anyway?”
Cade shook his head. “He likes to play the field. He always has. I don’t know if he’ll ever settle on a woman, but between you and me, he’s never made a play for Porsche. Not even a peck on the cheek. Probably because Ford would give him a smackdown—”
“Does Ford give every man who kisses Porsche a smackdown?” Because that would be good to know.
“Hah. No. But Cody is a playboy. He dates so many women not even I can keep track. Not the kind of guy Ford wants for his baby sister. But you . . .” Cade surveyed him with a contemplative glance. “Military, war hero. Purple Heart. Looking to settle in a small town . . .”
“Does that matter?”
“It would to Ford. If he thought you were going to drag her off into the sunset . . .”
“Good to know.”
“If you’re really serious about Porsche, maybe you and Ford should have a chat.”
A shiver danced down his spine. He’d only casually met Ford McCoy, but he was big and gruff and seemed like a guy who didn’t take crap from anyone.
He could respect a man like that, but that didn’t mean he expected to get a free pass.
“Well, the reason I came by was to tell you we’re all heading over to Ford’s tonight to watch the game on his big screen. Do you wanna come?”
Brandon perked right up at the thought, totally ignoring the prospect of being grilled by Porsche’s brother and focusing on that fact that, if he went, he could see her again before tomorrow. “Who’s playing?”
“Dallas.” Cade sent him a puzzled look as though to say, Who else is there?
“Do you think I can bring my dog?”
Cade chuckled. “Ford has a bunch of them. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Then yes. I’d love to go.”
“Great.” Cade grinned. “Do yourself a favor and wear your flak jacket.”
He was pretty sure Cade was joking.
But not entirely.
Chapter Nine
Porsche set another bowl of chips and dip on the coffee table with a sigh. Football season was not her favorite. A bunch of burly men sitting around the couch bellowing at random intervals for no apparent reason, shoving unhealthy food in their faces and making a mess on the floor.