Opening her eyes—and not really sure when they had eased closed—she looked up at him, lips curving. “What do you say, cowboy? Let’s ride.”
His teeth flashed. “Move ’em out.” And, suiting action to words, he withdrew in a long, smooth glide, then surged forward once more, setting off new and better fireworks.
Lids going heavy again, Ashley dug her fingertips into his haunches and breathed, “Yee-haw.”
“Watch it. Your city girl is showing.” He moved within her again.
She arched against him, breath thinning. “Oh? You don’t say yee-haw?”
“Not so much.” He set a slow rhythm, pulsing against her and tugging at her most sensitive spots.
“Then what?” She wasn’t even sure what they were talking about anymore, didn’t care as long as he kept doing what he was doing, and more of it. Moving beneath him, she urged him to pick up the pace, helped increase the length of each stroke. Delicious.
His breath quickened, rasped, and his voice gained a thread of tension. “How about round ’em up?”
“Like this?” She circled her hips, creating a new and intense friction.
“That . . . yeah.”
Sweat gathered on his brow, coming from the effort of holding back, she thought, and set herself to break through his control.
“Or this?” She changed the rotation, angling to take him deeper.
He hissed in a breath, froze for a second against her. Then he bowed his head, let out a whole-body shudder, and began to move for real. And everything changed—the rhythm, the angle, the depth, all of it. Suddenly, her body vibrated like a plucked guitar string.
Had she thought it was good before? She must not have known the real meaning of the word, not with him. Because as he gave a raw groan and hammered home, she could do little more than dig her fingers into the heavy muscles of his back and hang on for the ride, feeling like she had straddled a wild stallion that bucked and plunged, untamed and elemental. Yet he was gentle, too—in the clutch of his hand at her hip, the brace of his other arm to take some of his weight off her.
Their scents mingled; their urgent cries mixed in harmony. Her body lit, burned. Unfathomable sensations filled her mind, spinning in a maelstrom of heat, noise, and color that blurred together to a gray roar and sucked her down. Tighter and tighter she spun, the surface pleasure going to numb tingles as a deeper and more urgent wave began to build.
Her head crowded the white-painted headboard; his hands found the spindles. Still, the wave built, drowning out the creak of the box spring, the thud of the bedframe against the wall, the fleshy collisions as he filled her again and again, his face etching with exquisite pleasure-pain.
She glimpsed the moment of almost there—beautiful in the gold-washed light—through fluttering lids that soon shut again as the maelstrom snapped tight and went brilliantly still—a moment of pleasure-paralysis, an eye in the storm. Then it exploded outward, a giant firework of reds, greens, and blues that lit the insides of her eyelids and had her bowing into him, her mouth opening on wrenching cries of satisfaction. Wondrous pleasure. Buckets of it, swirling around her, through her, and then spinning higher once more when he shuddered and came, with a groan rattling in his throat and her name on his lips.
“Ashley.”
The word went through her, kindling another pleasure surge and tightening her inner muscles around him as he jabbed his hips into her in a primal rhythm as he came. She wrapped herself around him and hung on for the ride, her body echoing his, accepting his. Reveling in an orgasm that went on and on and on.
Eventually, though, the waves slowed and stopped. He shuddered in completion. They both did.
Then they rested.
The whole world, it seemed, took a little break. There was no need to breathe, no reason to think, no purpose in doing anything except lie there beneath him and exist. And for a voice inside her to whisper, quite simply, Wow.
• • •
Wow. Ty had said it before, and he would say it again. In a minute. After he regained the feeling in his extremities and shook off the almost overwhelming urge to sprawl out beside Ashley and sink into a coma.
Because, damn. He had also said that earlier, but she did that to him—stripped him down to the essentials, like monosyllables and lying there as if he’d been electrocuted. Which, come to think of it, probably wasn’t that far off the mark. Because, wow and damn, they were good together. He had figured they would be, but it turned out that this was one of those rare and wonderful times when the reality far outstripped his imagination.
And yee-haw for that.
Disengaging, he lowered himself beside her, trying manfully not to flop, and gathered her against his side. Her soft hair fanned out across his shoulder, clinging here and there to his sweat-salted skin.
Figuring he should really say something, he went with “Whoa.” Which at least wasn’t a repeat.
She grinned without opening her eyes. “Ditto.”
And that, it seemed, was that. Apparently she didn’t need a huge rehash or more ground rules.
Tightening his arm around her, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head and let himself breathe her in. Then, summoning the energy that was slowly beginning to trickle back into his limbs, he eased away from her. “I’m going to . . .” He gestured down at himself. “You know, bathroom.”
“Across the hall. Sorry, no en suite.”
“Hey, you’ve got indoor plumbing.”
“You don’t?”
“I do now.” He stood, snagging his jeans on the theory that not all of the blinds were down. “You want anything while I’m up? I believe you mentioned champagne and strawberries?”
“If you don’t mind running downstairs, then yes. I’d love some champagne and nibbles. And then, I believe I saw a couple more condoms in your stash?”
Though he would’ve thought it impossible a minute ago, his blood heated at the thought. “I’ll be right back.”
14
Morning came early, but there was no way Ashley could stay asleep when there was so much to do, so much to feel. Excitement. Anticipation. Satisfaction. Tucked in beside Ty, eyes still closed, she smiled into the early-morning light.
She’d bet anything that the store would be packed today, she and Hen running ragged. Even better, she had a couple of hours before she had to be downstairs, and a gorgeous cowboy in her bed. And surely she could think of something interesting to do with that.
Ty’s warm weight beside her dented the mattress and created a gravitational pull that snugged her up against his side. His steady breathing was a gentle wave, his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek and the hand she had splayed across his heart without meaning to. She might have thought he was still asleep, except for the gentle drag of his fingertips across the point of her hip, soft enough to be on the edge of tickling her, and striking little desire-sparks instead.
“Mmm.” She angled her face to kiss his throat. “A little higher, if you please. Or lower. Lower would work, too.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I would, but it seems that we’ve got company.”
Her eyes flew open. “What!?”
Yellow eyes stared back into hers, coming from a triangular black face that hung, buzzardlike, from a scrawny black body sitting at the edge of the mattress.
“I didn’t know you had a cat.” Ty’s voice was blurred with sleep. “Is that the cat?”
“Yes, it’s the cat. Trapped and vetted, and now living here because I’m a sucker and Nick is a sneaky bastard.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You’re good people, Ashley Webb.”
“Be warned—he’s not very friendly.” She figured the understatement counted as positive thinking. “In fact, this is the first time I’ve seen him since I turned him loose.”
“This is a good sign, then.” His fingers curved
around her hip. “What’s his name?”
“Petunia.”
“Oh, sorry. Her name.”
“No, it’s a him. He just seemed like a Petunia to me.”
“No wonder he looks pissed.”
“Shut up. He doesn’t care what I call him.”
“Says you. Why not just chop his balls off?”
“Somebody already did that. Which sort of sucks, because it means he used to have a home.”
“Now he’s got a better one. Even if he has to answer to a name like that.” To the cat, he said, “You should give her a chance. Trust me—once you get past the prickles, she’s all heart.”
“Prickles!” She poked him in the ribs. “I don’t have any prickles. I’m the least prickly person I know.”
“Are you sure? Maybe we should test that out.” He ran his fingers up her ribs, making her squirm. “Where were those prickles again?”
She squeaked. “Stop that!” She didn’t really mean it, though. There was something wonderful about how easy he was making this, uncomplicated and fun. No pressure, no big discussions. Just taking things as they came.
His hands went to the back of her knee. “Maybe they were over here.”
Twisting against him, she returned fire, tickling him and making him shout. The cat thudded to the floor, shot them a look of utter contempt, and trotted out the door, tail flicking like a conductor’s baton. That only made them laugh harder as they wrestled, trying for each other’s most sensitive spots. Ashley’s breath quickened, and maybe there were even some prickles as her skin tightened and her nipples peaked beneath his touch. She rolled atop him, straddled him, danced her fingers up his ribs, and—
Crash!
The sound of shattering glass came from the kitchen, sounding like a rock had come through the window.
Ty bolted upright, then out of bed. “Stay here.” He was out of the bedroom before she had her feet on the floor, but she grabbed the Louisville Slugger she kept in the corner and pounded out behind him.
“I’ve got—” She skidded to a stop at the sight of a shattered green saucer on the floor and the cat seated between the matching cups and plates in the open-front cabinet where she kept the dishes. “Oh, for the love of— Petunia! Bad kitty!”
Ty frowned at her. “I told you to stay put.”
“This is Three Ridges, not LA, and I can take care of myself.” She held up the baseball bat. “See?” She decided not to tell him how much it mattered that he had gone through the door first. “You, on the other hand,” she said to Petunia, who sat on the shelf, flirting his tail and looking smug, “better watch yourself.”
The cat studied her, reached out a paw, and tapped a green teacup. It slid an inch. Teetered. Tap.
“Hey!” Ashley took a step forward. “Don’t—”
Crash!
As the noise reverberated, the cat took off like he’d been launched from a slingshot. He hit the floor halfway across the room and headed for the hallway at warp speed.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Get back here!” Ashley started after him, only to pull up at the entrance to the empty hallway. “Darn it, where does he go?”
A warm chuckle sounded right behind her. “Looking at you, I don’t blame him for skedaddling.”
“What?” She turned to find Ty grinning at her. “Why?”
He plucked the baseball bat from her choked-up two-handed grip, set it aside. “No reason.” Leaning in, he brushed his lips across hers. “Morning, sunshine.”
“Don’t you Morning, sunshine me. Did you see what that beast did to my teacup?”
“It was clearly premeditated,” he said solemnly. “Murder one, twenty to life.”
“Shut up.” She wasn’t ready to laugh about it. But she could heave a sigh. “Well, I guess it’s progress. At least he came out in the open. Twice.” Turning, she headed for the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“Feeding him.”
“I don’t—hmm.”
“I know, I know. I’m reinforcing bad behavior, giving him attention, blah, blah. But I like those dishes!”
She dumped some Happy Moist Kitty in Petunia’s bowl, determinedly ignoring Ty’s amusement—yes, she was naked and, yes, she probably sucked as an animal trainer, but everything she had read online suggested it wasn’t about training a cat so much as arranging your life around them. Well, except for that Jackson Galaxy guy on TV, who seemed to be able to fix even the orneriest feline with a feather-tipped wand and a tall scratching post. Note to self: Get a really tall scratching post.
Lifting her chin, she swept back to the bedroom for some clothes.
She half expected Ty to follow her, give her more grief, but he didn’t. Probably still out there laughing at me, she thought, but with more amusement than real annoyance. Okay, maybe slapping down a bowl of wet food hadn’t been her finest moment. But really? Did the cat really have to go for the green ones? She liked them best.
“Fine,” she said, emerging from the bedroom in yoga pants and a soft gray T-shirt. “Go ahead and laugh at me, but keep in mind that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I’ve never had a pet before.”
He wasn’t waiting to give her grief, though. He was cleaning up the broken glass. And she was pretty sure she had never seen anything hotter than a naked guy wielding a dustpan and a broom.
He straightened—all muscles and hair-dusted skin, with the sun filtering through the kitchen window behind him. “Me neither.”
What were they talking about again? Oh, right. Pets. “Really? I would’ve pegged you for a dog guy.”
“I like ’em. Haven’t had one of my own, though. Never seemed like exactly the right time.” He lifted the dustpan. “Where do you want this?”
“I’ll take it. You go get dressed—or not, your call, and I’m not going to complain if you declare it Naked Saturday—and I’ll deal with this and get some breakfast started.”
“You cook?”
“I can handle French toast.”
“Got coffee?”
“Do you like toothpaste flavor?”
“What?”
“My coffeemaker has issues. We’ve been trying to work things out, but you know how it goes.”
He handed over the rattling dustpan and claimed a kiss. “You’re adorable.”
“You’re naked.” And adorable. Sweet. Charming. And willing to sweep up broken glass. Her heart gave a silly little flutter.
“Back in a minute.” He shot her a leer. “I like extra syrup.”
“I’ll bet you do.” She watched him go—the rear view was just as good as the front—and gave her head a little shake, bemused by how quickly things could change, evolve, become important. Not too important, though. Sobering a little—Keep your feet on the ground—she dumped the glass in the too-full recycling bin and said, “Okay, cat. You won this round. Don’t get used to it, though . . . I’ll get you some toys and a perch, but I’m getting a plant sprayer, too.” Thank you, Internet. “And fair warning—you go after the blue pitcher and we’re going to have a problem.”
Would it be needlessly stubborn or a good next move to leave the pitcher out rather than hiding it away? Debating, she propped the recycling bin on her hip, unlocked the back door, and swung it open.
Wyatt stood on the landing with a fist raised to knock.
“Eee!” She jumped back.
“Sorry.” He grinned. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I guess you didn’t get my message?”
“I was . . . I, um, didn’t hear the phone ring.” Pulse pounding, she set the recycling bin aside and shoved her hands in her pockets. Her heart tightened at the simple pleasure in his face and the shag of rusty-tipped brown hair that flopped across his brow, making him look like his younger self—back when he’d been her champion and she had been his princess.
Oh, hell. This
wasn’t going to end well.
Last night at the show, it had felt like she and her brother were on the verge of reconnecting. Now, as Ty’s footsteps crossed the kitchen behind her, she knew they were teetering on the edge of something else entirely.
“A little slow on the French toast, darlin’? Want me to start warming things up for you?” Ty’s voice carried loud and clear, and Wyatt’s expression blanked as he locked eyes with her.
She didn’t look away. Couldn’t. “We’ve got company.”
“Who—” Ty came up behind her, wearing jeans and not much else, and stalled. “Oh. Hell.”
Wyatt’s face went thunderous. “Ty.” He looked between the two of them and scowled. “Goddamn it, Ashley. Now what have you gone and done?”
• • •
Ty figured he should stay out of the first salvo—this was between Ashley and her brother, and his stepping in would only make it worse. But he didn’t care for the look in the other man’s eyes, and he didn’t at all like his tone. Putting a hand on her shoulder—and seeing Wyatt’s eyes follow the move—he said, “We should talk.”
“You’re damn right we should.”
Ashley bumped back against Ty, trying to clear the door, but he held his ground and said, “We’ll meet you at the diner in forty-five minutes.”
A muscle ticked at the corner of Wyatt’s jaw, and his balled-up fists said he was on the edge of taking a swing. Instead, he gave a short, tight nod. “Fine. The diner in forty-five.”
“No, dang it. That’s not fine.” Ashley jabbed Ty with an elbow, pushing him back a pace, and turned to look up at him. She wasn’t furious, though there was an edge of anger alongside her determination. “I appreciate you trying to get us to neutral territory, but this isn’t your fight. This is between me and Wyatt.”
Maybe, but he would need to clear the air, too. “You wouldn’t be having it if I hadn’t spent the night.”
Coming Home to Mustang Ridge Page 15