by Marie Jermy
“Cape Town.”
“Sorry, what?”
“I was born in Cape Town. South Africa. You ever been?”
“The farthest I’ve been is New York. Dan’s folks are my godparents. And my brother Ross lives there. Am I allowed to ask if you’ve got any family?”
She shook her head. “Only child. And both my parents are dead.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said, getting the feeling that Darcy wasn’t sorry at all. Music from the jukebox caught his attention. He nodded in the direction of the postage-stamp-sized dance floor. “Dance?”
She looked over to the darkened corner where he was indicating to. “On what exactly?”
“Why, on the dance floor, of course.” He chuckled low as he shepherded her over. She stood in front of him, taking up his offered hand in hers and resting her other on his upper arm, while he placed his between her shoulder blades. They caught a beat and swayed in time with the music.
At five ten, Darcy was tall, but in her strappy heels, she was the perfect fit against Matt’s body, particularly the chest-to-breasts and cock-to-pussy parts. With brass balls and returning her “fuck me now” come-on, he inclined his head and captured her lips with a hot kiss that scrambled his brain. Turned his insides to goo, too. Not that he’d admit to it. Real men didn’t do goo.
Other than buying sports equipment, Matt detested shopping, particularly for clothes. However, with Timbaland’s song “Apologize” in his ears, a subtle, spicy, yet extremely suggestive perfume filling his nostrils, and the silky slide of Darcy’s tongue against his, he would, and without a moment’s hesitation, have agreed to go shopping for clothes with her if she’d asked him.
He broke their kiss off after several long, heart-hammering minutes. His cock throbbed with an urgency to fire his load. “Do you know it’s a well-known fact that nights of hot fucking always follow from dancing on this dance floor?”
“You’re being very presumptuous.”
Since she’d come on to him earlier, Matt thought that was a bit rich. “I’m just telling you how it is.” He put his mouth to her ear. Inhaling deeply, he drank in her scent, the subtle, spicy notes evoking images of a naked Darcy and him licking every inch of her delectable body. “I’ve got the next couple of days off. Spend them with me?”
She tilted her head back and looked him straight in the eye. “Doing what?”
“Anything you want.”
“Riding?”
“I’m all up for riding. Particularly of the horizontal variety.”
“There you go being presumptuous again.”
He laughed. “Four legs or two wheels?”
“I’ve an allergy to horses. Bike.”
“Okay. How’s about some fishing?” Matt’s grin promised sinful intent. “You’ve just got to see my tackle.” Darcy rolled her beautiful dark-brown eyes. “Is that a yes?” he asked.
* * * *
Against her better judgment, Darcy said yes. Then again, after three shooters, half a “cowboy” cocktail, and Matt’s panty-drenching kiss, she was too hungry for the officer and the pressing of his long, thick, and hard “tackle” against her belly while they danced to say no. Her brain must have gone AWOL way before that, though, she realized. She’d given Matt her cell number. Jeez, she must have it bad.
Matt certainly had some good moves, and not just on the dance floor, either. His hand had moved from between her shoulder blades and was now resting on the small of her back under her T-shirt. While his palm was hot against her bare skin, his fingers gave her goose bumps when he dipped them beneath the waistband of her skirt and lightly doodled along the top edge of her panties.
She squeezed her thighs together. Her pussy felt slick with juice. With a rough sigh, she slid both arms up to curl around his neck, pressing her body and rocking her hips against his. His face was a breath away from hers, and his groan vibrated across her lips. “Do you wanna shoot”—her voice lowered to a husky whisper—“some pool?”
He uttered something that was half groan, half chuckle. “Cute.”
“Yes, you are. Cute and cuddly.”
He grimaced slightly. “You make me sound like a teddy bear.”
“You don’t like teddy bears?” she teased.
“I grew out of them a long time ago. I’m more into adult toys now.” He prodded her purse with his free hand. “What have you got in here? One of those miniature vibrators? Or a box of condoms?” he tagged on with a wide smile.
That roguish grin of his unnerved her. Matt Anderson was dangerous. She could so easily lose her heart to him if she gave him half a chance. She quickly adopted an offhand manner, anything to cool the heat between them. “Yeah, I take protection very seriously.” Even as she said the words, she knew it was to no avail. She was burning up.
His brows dipped into a frown and a light came on in his desire-darkened, sky-blue eyes, as if he’d just realized the exact kind of protection she carried. Hmm, smart as well as cute. To blow him off the scent, she said, “They’re flavored condoms. I certainly don’t need a vibrator with you around.” She pointedly stared at the long, hard length of his cock pressing against the zipper of his pants.
A brash grin replaced the frown. “I’m satisfaction guaranteed. I last a helluva lot longer than a vibrator. No need to replace my batteries.”
Hmm, smart, cute, and cocky. As Darcy rolled her eyes, a flash of heat zipped through her body and settled in her already wet pussy. Would Matt be the man to give her an orgasm during sex? For reasons that for the moment escaped her, she just knew he would be. However, she didn’t want to be labeled as a slut for fucking Matt’s bones after only meeting him that morning. She wasn’t in a hurry, and the drawn-out process of foreplay could be just as rewarding, hence her idea for a game of pool.
Seeing the pool table was now free, Darcy tugged Matt over. While he inserted coins to release the balls and then racked them, she chose a cue from the stand. He joined her and picked his own cue, watching her chalking the tip of hers. A mistake, she knew, but she rubbed her hand up and down the top half of the tapered wooden shaft as if she were whacking a man’s cock. Matt’s cock, to be exact.
Matt swallowed past a visible lump in his throat then leaned closer and whispered hotly in her ear, “Remember what I said about nights of hot fucking? Well, if it weren’t for a bar full of patrons, I’d start now by fucking you on the pool table.”
“I think there are enough balls on the table for now.” She shot him a cool smile in another attempt of turning down the heat, but he wasn’t having any of it.
“You want me to fuck you as much as I do, Darcy.” Quickly glancing around the bar—presumably to see if they were being watched—he then cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb over her hardening nipple. It immediately stiffened further, and she dripped more pussy juice. She caught his surprised hiss as his lips touched hers. “Jeez, you’re not wearing a bra!”
“No need really. I haven’t got enough to fill one.”
A low groan vibrated in his throat. “There’s more than enough for me, Darcy. You’re beautiful.”
She smiled at his second compliment. She was beginning to really like Matt. He blended the rough with the smooth with ease. But with the subject of hot fucking, she guessed if she gave him an inch, he was sure to take a mile. And that wasn’t going to happen tonight. “Toss. A coin, that is.”
A roguish grin lighting up his handsome features, he dug into his pants pocket and produced a quarter, which he flipped into the air and then caught on the back of his hand. “Call.”
“Heads.”
“Heads it is,” he said, showing her George Washington.
Matt stood behind her while she took her first shot and scattered the triangle of racked balls. He was that close, she could feel his body heat cloaking her back. An image of her spread forward over the table and Matt fucking her hot and hard from behind entered her head. Darcy pushed it back.
Realization then dawned on the real reason for his position.
He was blocking the view that the bar full of patrons had of her thighs and ass, courtesy of her short denim skirt. What a gentleman. Although it didn’t go unnoticed that he did lick his lips on several occasions. More juice dripped at the thought of his lips on her pussy, licking her into submission.
Their game continued, and every time she went to flash her panties at the patrons, Matt blocked their view. Her balls were disappearing fast while Matt missed his every shot. Hmm, either Matt sucked at pool, or he was letting her win. She pocketed another ball and then asked, “Are you letting me win?”
“This game, yes. It’s part of my strategy, you see. Let you think I’m crap, then wipe the floor with you next time.”
Her smile was coated with several layers of sugar. “Fuck you.”
He laughed loudly and actually pocketed a ball with his turn. However, there was only the black ball left for her. She bent over the table, ready to take her shot. She glanced up. Matt stood at the other end, his groin level with the corner pocket she was aiming for. He was staring right down her T-shirt at her unbound breasts. His gaze darkened to such an extent that the sky-blue depths burned with stormy intent. A hot fuck brewed, but she decided it was time to throw some ice on this party.
“Eight ball. Corner pocket.” She drew back the cue and whacked the white ball down the baize. It struck the black ball, which rocketed into the pocket. He immediately jumped back, and she fell about laughing at the startled, “what the fuck!” expression on his face. He was around the table in a flash, circling her waist with his arms and hauling her up against the length of his muscular body. Her laughter died. His cock felt as hard as the law enforcement equipment on his belt, particularly his service pistol.
Being restrained by a cop normally would have given Darcy the chills, but in Matt’s arms she felt safe and completely at ease. Not to mention as horny as hell. His eyes shimmered with heat and laughter, and his mouth was crooked into a sexy smile, showing a glimpse of his perfect teeth. As she tried not to melt into a puddle at his feet, a thought struck. Matt would rather shoot himself with his own gun than hurt a woman.
“What do you want to do? Play another game of pool or…” He gave her a devilish wink. “Skip straight to the hot fuck?”
Darcy suddenly and unexpectedly found herself yawning. Though the action was a bit late, she still covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m actually tired. I just want to go to bed. I need my beauty sleep.”
His heated gaze softened, and he traced a finger down her cheek. “You’re already beautiful. C’mon, I’ll walk you to the Slumberland.”
Owing to numerous self-defense classes, she knew how to incapacitate a man. She was armed, and though she didn’t think anything would happen during the short walk back to her hotel, Darcy appreciated Matt’s gesture of walking with her. They threw a wave to Stanford and left the bar. While they walked Matt did not hold her hand and, in fact, kept his on the butt of his holstered gun. She appreciated that, too.
It only took a minute to reach the Slumberland. Matt rocked back on his heels and gave her a cocky grin. “Ten thirty tomorrow. My parents’ house.”
“And where do your parents live?”
He waved a hand in the general direction of Rustlers before his mouth crashed down onto hers for another panty-drenching kiss. Then, with another kiss, this time to her forehead, Matt strolled away, whistling. Oh, he was cocky, yet Darcy couldn’t have cared less, not when she was a boneless mess on the sidewalk.
“Do you know it’s a well-known fact that nights of hot fucking always follow from dancing on this dance floor?”
Okay, patience be fucked. Now she was in a hurry.
Chapter 3
Thanks to her harsh upbringing at the hands of her late parents and, more recently, her career, Darcy had never slept in during her life, but there was something about the Montanan air that made her want to stay in bed, under the covers, until she was ready to surface. When she did and blinked her eyes open, her first thought was of Matt.
Matt’s panty-drenching kisses, his hard cock, his sinewy forearms, and his smell—a manly blend of cinnamon and leather—had haunted her dreams all night, tying her senses and her body into one big knot of naked lust. Surely it was against the law how much she wanted Matt?
Lifting the covers a fraction, Darcy glanced at the clock on the nightstand and noted it was almost 10:00 a.m. It was time to get up. She threw back the covers and crossed to the open window. A gentle and sultry pine-scented breeze fluttered the sheer, white drapes. She moved the material to one side to bag a better view with no obstructions.
Montana was not called Big Sky Country for nothing. Not a single cloud marred its azure beauty or shielded the hot sun. The vast swath of prairie land dotted with trees was as impressive as the stretch of sky itself. Taking in her fill of the stunning scenery, she then turned around.
The room was tastefully decorated in a nautical theme with white furniture set against cornflower-blue walls and dark wooden floors. A framed print of a four-funneled steamship hung above the fireplace mantel. It was the White Star Line’s RMS Olympic, the sister ship of the famed Titanic. She’d asked Harrison about it before meeting Matt the evening before, and he’d explained while some people were interested in the Titanic, he was more drawn to the Olympic, or “Old Reliable” as he’d called her. Harrison had kept his talk on the ship brief, she guessed because he didn’t want to bore her, but she’d genuinely found it fascinating.
As Matt had said, the room was very comfy, and she’d certainly had a good night’s sleep in the queen-size bed enveloped in pristine white cotton sheets and topped with a blue comforter. It didn’t matter how hot the weather was, she liked to bury herself under the covers while she slept. A coping mechanism, she’d long since concluded, it was a practice she had been doing for as long as she could remember. Nothing seemed scary beneath a duvet.
She smiled at the black metal, ornate grate in the open hearth and made a mental note to ask Harrison for some wood. She could almost visualize his thin brows rocketing skyward but guessed, to keep his guests happy, he would fulfill her request in a second. She entered the adjoining en suite, which was spotlessly clean and continued with the nautical theme with white cladding on the lower half of the same cornflower-blue painted walls and blue-and-white striped towels.
After an invigorating shower using the complimentary toiletries, Darcy dressed in denim shorts and an orange and lime-green mock double-layered tank top and encased her feet in socks and a pair of hiking boots. One look in a mirror told her not to bother with trying to tame the mess that was her damp, frizzy hair, so she left it loose.
Then placing the shoulder strap of her small purse containing her gun over her head and through one arm so it hung across her body, she grabbed her sunglasses and went downstairs to reception. Harrison was polishing the desk. He gave her a wide, friendly smile when she approached him and handed him her room key for safekeeping.
“Good morning, ma’am. Miss Forbes. You’re a little late for breakfast, but I can rustle something up if you’d like. Bacon and eggs, toast, OJ, and coffee? Or maybe tea?”
Darcy inwardly grimaced. She hated tea. Her late father drank gallons of the stuff. She waved a hand. “No, that’s fine. I’m not really a breakfast person. You can give me directions to the Anderson house, though. I’m meeting Matt there at half past ten.”
She blinked in surprise. Since Kurt, and apart from Daniel, she never told people details of her personal life or plans. But there was something about Silver Creek and its residents—though admittedly she’d only conversed with two of them, those being Stanford and Harrison—that made her want to share. She didn’t know why but she felt safe here.
“Ah, Matt Anderson, yes. Opposite the police station is Silver Street?”
“Where Rustlers is?”
“Yes. Follow it all the way to the end. That’s where you’ll find the Anderson house. You can’t miss it. It’s the two-story log cabin right in front of you.” Harriso
n tossed the duster behind the desk. “If you don’t want breakfast, let me at least make you a picnic lunch. How does carved roast chicken and salad in homemade crusty bread sound?”
Darcy would have said no, but the sandwiches did sound good. She nodded, and Harrison ambled through to the dining area. She took a seat in one of the leather chairs by the fireplace and idly flicked through a brochure from Denham’s Outfitters in the town. The brochure detailed organized historic day trips and longer scenic tours of the Big Hole area and beyond, which included everything from hiking to horseback riding, from fishing and elk hunting to snowmobiling. If it weren’t for the fact that it was summer, she’d love to go snowmobiling. An expert surfer, she also liked winter sports and was a keen skier.
Ten minutes later, Harrison returned with a paper bag and two bottles of spring water. The smell of warmed bread instantly hit her nostrils, making her mouth water. “There are enough sandwiches for Matt, too. I’ve also added some fresh fruit, chips, and a salsa dip. Have a nice day, Miss Forbes.”
Darcy thanked Harrison and left the Slumberland. Outside, the air was stifling and the heat from the sun’s rays bounced off the sidewalk. She slipped her sunglasses on and crossed Main Street onto Silver Street. John Stanford was sweeping the steps outside Rustlers and gave her a cheery wave as she passed. She couldn’t help but wave and smile back at him. In fact, she gave everybody a smile who greeted her with a welcoming hello.
Just as Harrison had said, at the very end of Silver Street sat the two-story log cabin–style house that was the Anderson home. A worn yet sturdy-looking wooden veranda ran along its entire length, and to the left-hand side a wide gravel track snaked around the property. She wondered where it led.
Just then the front door opened and Matt came out onto the veranda. Her breath stilled in her lungs. He wore a pale-blue polo shirt that stretched tight across his muscular frame and navy shorts that showcased equally muscular thighs. No doubt they hugged his ass like a dream. He, too, wore a pair of brown hiking boots. His white teeth glinted in the sunlight when he flashed a grin that was sin itself.