He pushed her legs apart and gave her a kiss she wasn’t likely to forget any time soon. He sure as hell wouldn’t. The taste of her gave him the erection from hell. He was so going to pay for this.
But it was so going to be worth it.
She continued to struggle until her struggle-to-moans-of-pleasure ratio was where he wanted it to be. That’s when he nipped her with his teeth.
That moan was very loud.
And she stopped struggling. However, she did grab on to his hair, hard, and she anchored him there right between her legs. Not that he had plans to go anywhere, but Roman appreciated the enthusiastic help.
Her moans stopped. She tensed, and she plowed her fingers all the way to his scalp. That might have had something to do with Roman using his own fingers to go along with his mouth. It must have been the right combination.
Because Mila had herself a big, moaning climax.
* * *
THERE WERE LITTLE gold sparkles behind her eyes. Sparkles in her mouth, too. In fact, Mila thought she might be sparkling all over.
Her body was slack. Every muscle felt puddled on the floor along with the spilled beer, and there was only one thought going through her head.
Amazing.
Simply amazing.
It wasn’t her first orgasm, of course. That had come during a rare make-out session with Tommy Tucker back in tenth grade. She’d dated him long enough for them to have some pretty serious kissing bouts, and one time they’d bumped and grinded against each other enough to finish them both off.
This one with Roman was much, much better.
That probably had everything to do with the fact that Roman had been on the giving end of it. He hadn’t done any receiving, though.
Roman made his way back up her body, kissing her along the way, but instead of unzipping his jeans and getting started with his own “receiving,” he pulled her into his arms to cuddle. One where she was naked from the waist down and her butt was on the beer-soaked rug. Since it seemed as if the cuddling was just getting started, Mila decided to say something to keep moving this along in a sexual direction.
“I know how to put a condom on a man using only my mouth. Sophie and I saw it in a magazine, and we practiced on bananas.”
As expected, that got Roman’s attention. He lifted his head, looked at her, and because his secret man place was against her leg, she felt him harden even more than he already was.
“That was an offer by the way,” she added.
He nodded, eased a couple of inches away from her. “Yeah, I got that. And while it’s a damn good offer, it’s one I’m going to have to turn down. Sorry.”
Well, there went her gold sparkles. Mila sat up, stared at him, and she was certain she was frowning. “When we were talking at the ranch, I offered you sex, not half-sex. I figured if you came here, you must have thought that was a good idea.”
Another nod. “It was. I wanted to be with you. Want to be with you,” he amended. “But I don’t want to fuck up your life.”
Too late. Well, her life had changed, anyway. Mila didn’t see that as particularly bad in a screw-up kind of way. She’d been waiting to get naked with Roman for years, and she’d finally accomplished it. She should have amended that fantasy, though, to include his nakedness, as well. And real sex that involved a condom and him inside her.
“Is this about that three-times rule?” she asked.
He kissed her, picked up her panties and jeans and proceeded to dress her. “It’s about you. I want to give you some time to think this through. I don’t want you hurt.”
It was about that rule. He wasn’t going to budge on that, and Mila wasn’t even sure he wanted to budge. Roman did this sort of thing all the time. Clearly, he had plenty of experience with it, and maybe he just intended to keep on doing it.
With a string of women who would come after her.
If she’d had any sparkles left, that would have dissolved them. A dose of reality came in their place, and it definitely didn’t shine. It made her feel, well, naked and exposed.
Roman was right. She did need to think this through, and it took all of two seconds for Mila to push away that exposed feeling and realize something.
“I’d rather have temporary with you than permanent with someone I would just be settling for,” she said.
There. She thought that might relax his tense forehead, that it might stop him from shimmying on her jeans.
It didn’t.
He kept shimmying. “You deserve better than temporary. You deserve better than me.”
There was nothing better than Roman. He wouldn’t see that, of course. In many ways, he was still that hurt little boy who felt betrayed by his parents.
“I should go,” he said when he finished dressing her. “I need to check on Tate.”
That wasn’t total lip service coming from him, either. After what’d happened with Belle, Roman did indeed need to make sure all was well. Garrett would keep an eye on Tate, but like the offer she’d just made to Roman, that was temporary. The boy needed his dad.
Roman stood, pulled her to her feet and kissed her again. It might have stayed short and sweet, some post-partial-sex gesture. But Mila slipped her arm around his waist and kissed him the right way. The way that he would know there could be more if he wanted it.
He moved into the kiss, then moved away from her. He groaned and cursed. “What the hell am I going to do with you?” he grumbled.
Mila had a couple of suggestions. One involved her putting that condom on him with her mouth. But obviously it wasn’t a question he wanted answered because he headed for the door.
Roman walked out, leaving her to wonder something.
Did that count as one of their three times? Because if it did, she only had two more to go.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THERE WERE A dozen things on Roman’s mind. Unfortunately, they weren’t the right things.
He needed to be going through the invoices and schedules for his rodeo business. That was one of the main reasons he’d come to his office in San Antonio. That, and so he could go to a bunch of meetings with people who either wanted to do business with him or wanted to go through existing contracts and make changes. Normally, these were things he could practically do in his sleep.
Apparently, not today, though.
Or the day before.
Yeah, he’d had this mind haze for a while now, and he could pinpoint the exact moment it started. When he’d gone down on Mila and given her that orgasm. For something that had only taken twenty minutes or so, it was certainly having some lasting effects.
He was worried that he’d already done too much damage, that he’d hurt her. Roman didn’t know that for sure because she hadn’t called him in the two days he’d been gone. She had texted but that’d only been in response to his text to ask her if she was all right. Mila had sent back a one-word reply: Peachy.
What the hell did that mean?
Was she upset and that was her sarcastic way of blowing him off? Or did Mila truly use a word like that?
“Who’s Mila?” his assistant, Joe O’Malley, asked.
Roman frowned, shook his head, and then he realized he’d scribbled her name on notes he was supposed to be making so that Joe could draw up a contract. Hell. What’d happened between them wasn’t just bad news for Mila. It apparently was for him, too.
“Don’t tell me,” Joe went on. “You’ve met your three-sex limit with this woman and now she’s wanting more.” He chuckled. “Women need to find a cure for you.”
Roman’s frown turned to a scowl. Joe wasn’t just his assistant, he was a friend, and sometimes Joe had witnessed him having a bad breakup. Bad as in when Roman had moved on, and his sexual partner hadn’t. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did, it was memorable. Painful, too.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t wanted a relationship with those women. He’d still hurt them.
Exactly what he had been trying to avoid with Mila.
“Well?” Joe pressed.
“I’ve met my limit with her,” he settled for saying. He couldn’t go back for a real first round with Mila because it would be a mistake. He was certain of it. And that’s why he didn’t understand when he took out his phone and sent her another message.
You’re sure you’re okay? he texted.
Since she should be at the bookstore today, he didn’t expect her to answer right away. But she did.
Mila texted him a smiley face.
WTF? Was she trying to drive him crazy?
Joe chuckled again and gathered up the papers they’d been working on. “If that was Mila, I think you should consider changing your rule from three to four. Obviously, this woman’s gotten in your head.”
Yeah, and she wanted to get in his pants, too.
Well, maybe she did. It could be that once had been more than enough for her and that she was over her teenage crush. If so, that was a good thing.
But why did it make him feel like shit?
His phone dinged again with another text. Not Mila this time, but from Billy Lee.
Overnighted the paternity test day before yesterday as soon as you gave it to me, Billy Lee said. I paid for expedited processing and might have the results as early as tomorrow.
That was a good thing, too. Mila and Billy Lee would soon know, and if he was her father, they could figure out how they wanted to handle it. Roman suspected that Billy Lee secretly hoped Mila was his daughter, but there might be a problem.
Belle.
His mother could be judgmental as all get-out, and she might get mad at Billy Lee for having sex with Vita. If so, it could put a rift between not just Billy Lee and her but also between Belle and Mila.
Roman fired off a response to Billy Lee, thanking him for keeping him posted, and he added, Tell me the results before you give them to Mila.
That way, Roman could maybe set the stage for what was to come next—the beginning of a father-daughter relationship, or if Billy Lee wasn’t a match, moving on to the next step in the search for her father.
If Mila still wanted him to help with that.
He decided not to ask her. Not after getting “peachy” and smiley face responses to his texts. He’d just wait until he got back to Wrangler’s Creek tomorrow.
Roman glanced at the paperwork and then at the three pictures he kept on his desk. One was of Tate when he was actually smiling. A shot Roman had taken of him at a rodeo. The second picture was of Garrett, Sophie and him when they’d been teenagers. They were smiling, too, and acting goofy, which was exactly why he had the photo on his desk. Sometimes, he needed to remember that there had been happy times at the ranch. He tempered that happiness with the third photo.
The one of his horse, Lobo, that he’d found on his bed.
It was the picture his mom had left to make up for what his father had done. It definitely didn’t make up for it, but Roman smiled now, thinking about Lobo and the rides they’d had.
There was a knock at his door, and Joe stuck his head inside. “You’ve got a visitor. He’s got a name like a country music singer, but he looks like a barber. It’s Waylon Beaumont.”
Roman certainly hadn’t been expecting a visit from Arwen’s stepfather, but he motioned for Joe to send him in. About a minute later, the man appeared in his doorway. He’d known Waylon his whole life, but Roman couldn’t say he actually knew the man. In fact, he wasn’t even sure they’d ever spoken to each other. Apparently, though, they were about to speak now.
And Joe was right—the guy did look like a barber.
His hair had some kind of junk in it, and it was practically plastered to his head.
“This won’t take long,” Waylon said. He came closer to Roman’s desk, but he didn’t sit. “I brought my wife into town on a shopping trip, and I’ll need to be getting back to the mall soon. When I found out that your office was close by and that you were here today, I thought it’d be a good time for a visit.”
Roman wasn’t certain how Waylon had found out he’d be there, but it was possible he’d heard it from Arwen if Tate and Arwen were sharing that kind of info.
“What can I do for you?” Roman asked.
“You can keep your son away from my stepdaughter.”
All right. No mincing of words. Roman would have appreciated it more if this hadn’t been about Tate.
“Arwen’s messed up,” Waylon went on, “and she doesn’t need your boy messing her up any more than she already is.”
Roman didn’t stand, mainly because it would put him in too good of a position to punch this clown. “And how do you figure Tate’s making things worse for her?”
It was something Roman genuinely wanted to know. He wanted to know the reverse, as well—if Arwen was a bad influence on Tate.
“She sneaked over to your house,” Waylon explained. “She’s not supposed to go off anywhere without her half sister, Chrissy. Chrissy’s a year younger than Arwen, but she’s a hell of a lot smarter. And she doesn’t screw up the way Arwen keeps doing.”
Roman took a deep breath. “You think Tate coaxed Arwen into coming to the house?”
“I do. It wouldn’t have taken much coaxing, either. Arwen’s not very bright.”
Roman hardly knew the girl, but he felt the need to defend her. “She seemed plenty bright when I talked to her.”
Waylon’s shoulders went back. “When?”
“The day she was at the ranch. She was teaching Tate how to meditate to help him with his stress.”
“Meditation,” Waylon grumbled. He added some profanity. “That’s just a way of tuning us all out.”
Yeah. And after listening to Waylon, Roman could see why she wanted to do that. The guy was a dick.
“You shouldn’t want Arwen around your boy, either,” Waylon went on. “She’s only thirteen, and she’s already started sleeping around.”
Roman tried not to react to that, but he didn’t want Tate having sex yet. Sex complicated the hell out of things, and Tate already had enough complications in his life.
“You know for a fact that Arwen is ‘sleeping around’?” Roman asked.
“I haven’t caught her in the act if that’s what you mean, but just look at her. Her hair and all those piercings. She did that to herself with a needle.”
She was indeed a little holey, but Roman didn’t think it was extreme. Ditto for the hair color.
“So, if a girl has piercings and purple hair, she’s a slut?” Roman didn’t bother to take out the sarcasm.
“Who cares if she is or not—people will think that about her.”
“I didn’t.”
The look that passed between them said it all. Waylon thought Roman was a slut, too. In some ways, he was. Since it sometimes took one to know one, Roman was pretty sure Arwen didn’t fall anywhere near the slut category.
Obviously, Roman’s “I didn’t” response displeased Waylon because the man’s eyes narrowed. “She tried to kill herself. Slit her wrist. Now, I know your boy tried to kill himself, too, but common sense should tell you that these two shouldn’t be seeing each other.”
Roman heard every word, but he got mentally stuck on the first part of that.
She tried to kill herself.
Hell.
Now, he had to consider at least part of what Waylon was saying. If both Arwen and Tate were depressed and had each considered suicide separately, then maybe they’d consider it again—together.
“I’ll talk to Tate,” Roman finally said. “But I won’t order him to stay away from Arwen.” For one thing, it might not even be necessary, and for another, it might be like waving
a red flag in front of a bull. Tate might continue to see the girl solely because Roman disapproved.
“Do that. I don’t want Arwen on the Granger ranch again.”
Roman probably should have just let the dick walk out, but two could play the dick game. “Did you ever fuck Vita Banchini?”
That stopped Waylon in his tracks, and he turned back around to face Roman. “What did you say?”
So, Roman repeated it word for word.
Maybe Waylon objected to the crude word. Or maybe just the question itself. Either way, he wasn’t pleased, and every tightly stretched muscle on his face proved that.
“What did Vita tell you?” Waylon snapped.
Now, Roman was doing some cursing. Not aimed at Waylon. But at himself for asking. If he hadn’t wanted to know the answer, he shouldn’t have brought it up, and Waylon’s response was an answer.
The man hadn’t denied it, and that said it all.
Great. Just great. He didn’t want this jackass to share any DNA with Mila. And maybe he didn’t. If Vita had slept with two guys, maybe she’d gone for his favorite number—three.
“What did Vita tell you?” Waylon repeated, his voice louder this go-around.
“Nothing.” That was the truth. “I just heard some things, that’s all.” That was the truth, too.
Sort of.
Roman had heard from Mila that Waylon was on her list as a potential father even though Waylon had been married at the time Vita had gotten pregnant.
Waylon aimed his index finger at Roman. “I don’t know what you heard, but I want to talk to whoever said it.”
It was petty, but Roman aimed his middle finger at Waylon and shot him the bird. The man cursed him and walked out.
Well, he’d successfully kept his badass title, but that wouldn’t help Mila if she needed to get a DNA sample from Waylon. It wouldn’t help Tate, either, but at least Roman could do something about that. Even though Tate would still be in school, he could leave him a message for his son to phone him back. But there was no need for a message because Tate answered on the first ring.
“Did she call you, too?” Tate asked before Roman could say anything.
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