Mastered By The Mavericks

by Angel Payne

  She swallowed hard. Battled to ignore the eager puckering of her nipple. Much easier said than done, especially when her other breast decided it didn’t want to be neglected. Shit, shit, shit. There was nowhere to move, either. He was so close, so hard, so overpowering—exactly how his “buddy” had made her feel on the plane.

  Oh, God. What did this say about her? One day, two men, a thousand tingling nerve endings…all reacting with the exact same sentiment.

  Don’t stop touching me. Please don’t stop.

  Safe subject. She needed a much safer subject.

  “I—it’s—well, I appreciate it.” She rasped it as he trailed his knuckles along her collarbone. Wonderful. It felt so damn wonderful. “I—I mean, the fact that you two can behave like grown-ups. I have to admit, I wasn’t optimistic by the time Sasquatch stormed out of here.” She fought to lift her gaze, despite wanting to cease at the base of his corded neck. Yearning to trace that special bunch of muscles where it blended into the top of his shoulder. Wondering if it was as solid and powerful as she imagined…

  “Sasquatch.” He laughed again after repeating it. “Well, if he’s that hairy bastard, I’m a damn Manticore. Takes an ogre to provoke one properly, yeah?”

  For a moment, his words didn’t register. She was preoccupied with how the night wind kicked through the room, lifting the red-gold strands from his broad forehead. Even more fascinating were the sweat-dampened spots beneath, reminding her he was truly a man, not some Greek demigod come to life just to taunt her in every tantalizing sense of the word.

  And God, was she tantalized. The word was blessing and curse through the next moment…then the next. She needed him to back the hell off. She longed for him to stay. To slide in even closer…to let her inhale him, absorb him, touch him…

  She needed a new tactic. Now.

  Humor? Oh, hell. She sucked at the stuff, especially when her nerves were jangled like stones in a soda can. But options were dwindling. Fast.

  “So…this is a common occurrence? You two skulking around, threatening the forest creatures, promising to tear each other’s heads off?”

  He didn’t laugh. Imagine that. But she hadn’t expected more tension to flood over him again—until realizing that this shit was different than before. It was restless and sensual, brought to life by the churning seas in his eyes, the defined friction of his lips, the confident loom of his body.

  Go away.

  Oh, God…closer.

  “No,” he murmured. “Not common at all.” His eyes gained heavy hoods as those stormy blues slid to her lips. “But we’ve never disagreed over something like this before, either.”

  Air finally got to her throat. Three shaky breaths in, three exiting the same way. “Like…what?”

  “You mean like who.”

  Asking him to fill in that blank would’ve been punching an insult. The intensity of his focus was so potent, like a blowtorch melting iron, that her logic was forced to give way to its truth. But what did she do about its effect on the rest of her body? The sparks in every nerve ending, the lava taking over every bone, the molten need dripping through every inch of her sex? How did she answer those demands? More crucially, how did she reconcile this hot, hurting need with the desire she’d felt for the man’s best friend, not even twelve hours ago?

  She couldn’t contain the thought from twisting her own features. Boom. There was Rhett, still so close, reading all of her thoughts inside three seconds. He pressed in closer, both hands curling around her shoulders, forcing her head back…as his gaze scorched farther into her.

  Oh…God.

  It was no different than a dance move. She fought to hold onto the thought. She’d been dipped like this more than a thousand times in her life, posed in the ultimate romantic surrender. She’d actually enjoyed every one of those moments, cradled by the strength of her dance partner, able to let go and allow the music to carry her senses.

  She didn’t feel free now.

  She was trapped. Helpless. A slave to his hold, controlled by the force of his stare…and the pulsing pressure it added to every drop of her bloodstream.

  “He liked what he did to you today, Brynna.” His voice was low, reinforced by hidden concrete. As her breath rushed harder, he pushed his grip in deeper. “Ssshhh. Breathe. He didn’t come bragging to me about it. That was how I first knew. To be blunt, he always brags.” He tilted his head, adopting that let-me-into-your-head-or-else look. “That also means he’s going to try it again.”

  She obeyed him and inhaled. She also heeded the order he didn’t verbalize, continuing to meet his gaze. It wasn’t easy. His words brought a storm of conflict. What was she supposed to do with his overture, seemingly well-intentioned—that might’ve been resentment in disguise? Beneath his “concern”, was he just feeling like the weird third wheel and making Rebel the scapegoat? Or was his protectiveness—and his attraction—for real? In which case, she had a much more fragile egg to protect. Feeling like a man cherished her, watched out for her, beyond just tossing his coat over the rain puddle for her…it was her Kryptonite. The golden key to the softest, most vulnerable part of her soul.

  It was also a myth. The reason she’d sworn off the tight and cozy with anyone dangling dog tags from their neck—and finally stabilized the keel of her life. At last, she was free from the tears, anguish, and sleepless nights of expecting something she was never going to get…at least not from these kinds of men. She’d finally given the grown-up’s response to once upon a time.

  She’d marked the difference between Enya’s life and hers.

  “Okay.” She began her response to Rhett with a flippant shrug. “So he’ll try it again. Are you uncomfortable with that? Is that what the ogres were worked up about this afternoon?”

  A heavy gulp vibrated down his throat. “He’s not good for you, Brynna.”

  She jerked her head back. “That’s a hell of a thing to say about your best friend.”

  “Best friend?” He chuffed. “That hardly covers it. He’s my brother in arms. I’d die for him. But he’s still not good for you.”

  “And I suppose you are?”

  He pushed out air through his nose. “Remember all the shit Shay spat at Reb last night? It wasn’t empty accusation.” An expression took over his face that was either constipation or deep worry. “Rebel’s idea of ‘long-term’ is buying a subbie a drink after an extra-long session in the dungeon. He’s a firework: intense and pretty and perfect until the show’s over.” His hand rose back to her face. The other followed, until he palmed both of her cheeks. “He’s an amazing man. One of the boldest, bravest, gutsiest heroes I’ve ever met. And sure, he’s damn beautiful to look at—”

  “But?” She filled in the blank before he got there.

  “But he’s screwed up when it comes to relationships. Shittiest thing is, it isn’t even his fault.” The sorrow behind the words was tangible in the tightened pads of his fingers. “I wish that truth were different, so goddamn badly. I want to see him happy, fulfilled, and simply loved for the man he is—but he can’t separate that from the child he was.” He shook his head. “When a guy can’t even remember his mother, and has been raised by the asshole sperm donor who nicknamed him ‘slut spawn’, a psychological mess isn’t a tough leap.”

  Brynn’s head dropped. “Shit.” Her rasp resonated with shock, though it wore off fast. Sadly, Rhett’s disclosure made a lot of sense, when joined to thoughts of the man she’d flown here with. Rebel’s cobalt gaze exposed so little…his Cajun drawl seemed to hide so much.

  “That’s a good way of putting it.” He exhaled again, blinking hard, rolling his shoulders as if attempting to shirk a huge weight. The broad slabs remained as taut as before. Not stopping to let logic butt in, Brynn reached for both of them, spreading fingers along the firm muscles, gliding back and forth in hopes of helping him a little.

  “You care for him a lot.” Her soft words reflected how that truth moved her…to feel it as a potent force on the air, so
strong and vibrant, despite the asshole behavior Rebel had dished out this afternoon. It spoke volumes about Rhett’s character. It was sexy as hell.

  “Yeah.” It husked fervently from him. “I do.” While his words still focused on Rebel, his eyes came alive with a different energy…feeding directly from hers. He let her see every spark of it, too. “But that’s because I see all of him—even the parts that never grew up.”

  She continued rubbing his shoulders. He swayed yet closer. She breathed in, filling her nostrils with his rich smell, all sage and wind and man. With every inch he moved in, he consumed more of her vision…captivated more of her attraction.

  “You deserve more, sweetheart. So much more.”

  His shoulders filled her palms. His scent consumed her senses. And the rest of him…

  Dear God, the rest of him.

  His chest, proud and high, pecs carved into matching planes of steel. His thighs, like a pair of fleshed-out Sequoias, making even her dancer’s muscles feel tiny by comparison. And the bulge of flesh that sprung from between them…

  Ohhhh, God.

  His cock was firm and hot, burning her belly through his clothes and hers, provoking her stunned gasp as he fit their bodies tighter. Rhett’s returning growl was so deep it barely ruffled the air, though the tremors through his body spoke a different message. The quivers permeated Brynn, no longer making it possible to ignore the obvious. First, he’d awakened her emotionally, earning the Viking prince title with his integrity to the mission and his loyalty to Rebel. That weakened her resistance to the rest—to admitting a physical desire that hit like a surprise storm…a force she hadn’t endured in a long time.

  Screw endurance.

  And screw her damn dating diet.

  For six months, five days, and almost twelve hours, she’d been a good girl. No military hunks. No delicious G men. Barely any men, period—certainly not the kind she wanted to twine her arms around, stabbing her fingers through thick red-gold hair on the way, while her leg wrapped around a torso that belonged on a Michelangelo statue in an Italian alcove.

  Cheat day, girlfriend.

  Go big or go home.

  Especially if a man is staring like his sunrise won’t come unless you do.

  She dragged one hand down his nape, the other through the dark gold stubble along the bold line of his jaw…then lifted her face until their lips were just inches apart. Into that tiny space, she whispered the expression of heated need…the acknowledgement of growing desire.

  “So what do I deserve?”

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  RHETT’S LUNGS PUMPED. His blood burned. Every pore of his skin seemed to pop open at once, flooding with the anticipation that thickened the air like springtime fog over the Thames. Bloody hell. He hadn’t even kissed her yet. But fuck, how he longed to—

  Which was why he purposely dragged away.

  Not far. Just enough. Giving himself the space to turn his stare into a caress—and a question of its own, too. Did she really want this? Did she really want him after the “fun” she’d already had with Rebel today—or was Moon’s detached passion the only “connection” she really wanted from a man? If that was the case, backing off was the best choice. Though this might be only a no-strings stress reliever during a high stress mission, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be “detached”. He didn’t play that cavalier game. Ever.

  Once more, he blazed his stare over her face. Gave her no mercy with his scrutiny, taking in every detail of her tawny brows, elegant eyes, regal Renaissance nose…and at last, the lush berry sweeps of her lips…

  The moment his gaze touched them, they parted a little.

  A little more.

  Damn.

  Just one little move, nothing as intent as the question she’d just blurted. But little moves were the things that made the hugest differences. They moved plates beneath the Earth. Were the difference between first and second place.

  Could transform one question into an invitation for so much more.

  A more he could no longer resist—and didn’t want to. An offer he accepted as every sexual instinct blazed to life, firing into his muscles, sweeping his mouth down to claim hers with brutal force.

  Fuck. Yes.

  She was honey sweet and butter smooth, instantly opening up, letting him plunge and stab, sample and savor, taste and drink every drop of her mewling surrender. As he spread her jaw wider, a gorgeous yelp jumped up her throat. Quite possibly, it was the hottest sound he’d ever heard; the hurricane that ripped the moorings off his self-control. If she still harbored any longings for Rebel, he was pretty damn sure he didn’t care.

  No. He did care—about imprinting so much of himself on her, she’d wonder who the hell Rebel Stafford was, let alone what he’d done to her during the plane ride.

  He pulled back to let her get some air. Probably a good idea, since he needed a few hundred inhalations too. As their chests heaved together, he reveled in the feel of her breasts against his sternum, and barely repressed a groan when imagining how they’d feel without clothes, the peaks pebbled and hot against his skin while he slid in and out of her…

  That was enough of break time.

  Rhett slid his hands away from her face and through her hair, before searching for purchase against the wall. Once he’d planted a firm grip on either side of her head, he lowered his own again—and claimed her mouth with deeper force.

  She exploded like fruit on his tongue, tangy and juicy, giving away her rising arousal. He growled low, communicating how thoroughly that pleased him, before wedging his crotch against hers and grinding with purpose.

  “Oh!” Her high cry shattered the air. If he had to give up kissing her, that sound made the sacrifice worthwhile. He kicked up one side of his mouth while sliding his bulge along her cleft once more, delighting in the perfect circle of her lips as a result. “Rhett,” she exclaimed. “Oh, God…please!”

  Did she know what that begging did to his dick? She sure as hell did now. There was no way to disguise how every vein in his shaft pumped with new blood, reacting to the sweet submission in her voice. Still, he was a smart guy. He was damn sure he had her added up, though the equation of her sexuality certainly wasn’t two and two made four. She was a goddamn algebra challenge; a submissive who didn’t want to be one, a lioness still seeking her lion, but looking in all the wrong jungles.

  For now, it was a good option to let her call the shots. He proved it by teasing a chaste little kiss across her forehead before responding, “Please…what? Tell me, sweet peach. What can I do for you? Are you hungry, perhaps? Should we order a pizza?”

  She grabbed the back of his head, yanking him down for another kiss. Rhett kept true to his pledge, letting her control every passionate second of it, enduring the extra torture on his cock. “No pizza.” Her eyes matched the growl, wildcat bright with lust. She bared her teeth in a gorgeous snarl. Her other hand stabbed between their bodies, reaching for the snap on his pants.

  That was enough of that.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.”

  Her brows knitted. “Huh? But—”

  “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn to take the wheel on this op.”

  Just as fast, those tawny brows jumped. “That so, soldier? And what if—”

  She cut herself off with her own shriek—as he leveraged his hold to hoist her off her feet. When he continued folding her all the way over his shoulder, a second scream followed.

  “What. The. Hell?”

  Rhett marched toward the wing with the bedrooms. “If this is happening, then it’s happening right.”

  The ranch’s master bedroom was at the end of the hall, accessed through double dark wood doors in a dramatic stucco archway. Thick rugs overlapped across the polished wood floor, surrounding a high bed formed of walnut and accented with wrought iron. A glass-walled fireplace faced the bedroom on one side, a sunken tub on the other.

  Having played techno-geek thr
oughout the ranch after arriving yesterday, Rhett knew the fireplace was activated by a toggle switch located in the room’s lighting control panel, just inside the door. On his way to the bed, he flipped that button and no other. As he’d promised, they were going to do this right, and that included the textbook lighting treatment. If this woman’s body was half as exquisite as he imagined, shadows and fire flickers were going to be juuuust fine.

  He sent a pair of resounding thuds through the room while stepping to the platform that held the plush king bed. He lowered Brynna to the mattress, following her down in the same controlled motion.

  He had an initial plan—something about brushing the hair from her eyes, stroking a gentle hand down her body, and gazing patiently into her eyes—that was shot into hell’s huge handbasket once she was prone beneath him. Step one was barely finished before he coiled a hand into her hair, fisting the russet strands in order to lift her face, preparing her mouth for his new invasion.

  They shared moans as their tongues tangled, each devouring the other as if they’d embraced like this ten years ago, instead of minutes. Her arms lifted and wrapped around his neck with unbridled passion. When they pulled apart, that fire flowed into the depths of her searching gaze.

  Rhett forced down a deep breath. Words. This moment needed words. His careening brain only gave him one.

  Unnnhh.

  Unnnhh.

  Fucking great.

  He kissed her again, softly this time, hoping it would break the talons on his tongue. Instead, even the caveman babble went silent, leaving him with no other option but awed silence and what had to be a dorky smile.

  Crazily—magically—Brynna smiled back. She pulled on the ends of his hair before husking four soft words.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  So that was what his brain meant by unnnhh.

  He dipped his forehead against hers. Drawled with a wicked undertone, “Good thing you’re not strolling through my head right now, peach, because my thoughts are far from beautiful.”