Down and Dirty

by Crystal Green

  But before he could make her come again, she yanked at his hair, bringing him to his feet, turning him around and throwing him against the wall.

  He laughed, shocked, enchanted, her hands grasping his shirt collar once more.

  “Marriage works both ways, baby,” she said in an even throatier voice than usual.

  His heartbeat felt like stabs of sharp desire. “Damn, you could take a man down.”

  “I do have amazing core strength from dancing, so don’t make me plow you against the wall again.” There was a wicked gleam in her eyes.

  He didn’t argue as she tore off every bit of his clothing then stood back, legs apart in those bad-girl boots as she surveyed him.

  “Well, well,” she said, smiling at the sight of his semi-erect cock while pushing her damp hair back from her face. “Best wedding gift ever.”

  He was getting harder by the second, and when she took him in her hand, as if she was seeing just how big he could get, he had to will himself not to burst.

  “I should use the beads on you,” she said. “You should know how much torture it was.”

  “I don’t need help getting to where I’m going.” Not when her thumb was drawing circles on his tip, her finger casually skimming under his shaft. She was killing him caress by caress. “How long do you think a man can last with you doing this?”

  “I’d like to see. But do you know what I’d like even more?”

  There was no chance to answer before she got to her knees, then pressed her lips to him. The warmth of her soft mouth shot a spike of need through him so hard that he put a hand on her head.

  He watched her as she took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue over him while she brought him in deeper, sucking off of him, then doing it again. At the same time, she gently stroked his balls, making his vision go blurry.

  He shut his eyes, pinpricks of light throbbing on the backs of his lids and getting bigger with every passing second. Thorny neon points pierced him, curling inside him and finding a place to stay, to grow, to ache and hurt with fantastic pain that only expanded, close to breaking apart, only to recede.

  Then to get bigger . . .

  Bigger . . .

  Harder . . .

  He came with a rush of wet ecstasy, her mouth still on him, drinking him in, and in the aftermath, she laved the come off him until he tightened his hand in her hair.

  As he watched her again, something percolated in him, foreign, stronger than any feeling he’d ever felt before, but it had to be lust that was keeping him fascinated with her.

  Only that.

  She looked up at him with those flower-petal eyes. Even in the dimness, he could see the stunning violet color.

  “You liked?” she asked lightly.

  “I l . . .” He almost said loved, but that was a tricky word, even if you were talking about the orgasm a woman had just given you. “Yeah,” he said on a chop of breath. “I liked. A lot.”

  She leaned back on her boot heels, so unmindful of her nudity that it made things feel even more intimate. He wanted to take her to his bed, bend her every which way until the sun came up and they could get back to the actual process of being husband and wife in the morning.

  Or could they go on like this? Pretending they were a happy couple by day and taking care of each other’s business needs, then enjoying each other by night, knowing their time would run out according to the terms of their contract?

  She got to her feet, fluffing her hair. “Wow.”

  Wow, indeed.

  Then she smiled and huffed out a breath. “Good to get that out of the way.”

  “Get . . . what?”

  “The sex. It had to happen, and now we’ll both be much more relaxed tonight.”

  With a chipper stride that went against the whole bad-girl boot thing, she headed out of the hallway, leaving him pinned against the wall.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She paused at the beads, pushing them aside. The only reminder that they’d been a part of their romp was the sight of her absently rubbing them between her fingers, not at all mindful of the imagery it brought up.

  “Hey, what?” she asked.

  He smiled his playboy smile, thinking that’d bring her back here for many more games, no explanation required. One room or two tonight?

  “Ah, I see what you want,” she said. “I was going to tell you earlier, though—I’m good with the guest room, even if it has that zebra-striped bedspread and fuzzy pillows. You don’t mind if I take it, do you?”

  What? It just seemed crazy, with her standing a few feet away, framed by those naughty beads, naked except for a pair of naughtier boots, and she was going to have her own room?

  Taking his silence for agreement, she gave him a sweet smile, then turned her shapely ass to him as she parted the beads and went through them. They flapped against each other, clicking, sounding like titters of laughter.

  For the first time, it occurred to Ben that maybe marriage with Liz wasn’t going to be so easy after all.

  ***

  Liz woke up bright and early, stretching her arms above her head, her muscles nicely worked from the activity last night.

  Mission accomplished. She’d given Ben just enough to make him want more, if she could tell anything by the look in his eyes when she’d left him standing in the hall while she’d gone for some water in the kitchen. After that, when he’d disappeared to his room, she even thought she’d heard him chuckling to himself, probably knowing who held the trump card so far in this relationship.

  He’d be back for even more tonight—she would put big money down on it. And after that? Who knew what could develop?

  All she knew was that she had him on the right track.

  After he’d come out of his room, she’d heard him go into the office, working on a computer into the late hours while she went her to zebra-bedspreaded room, got dressed in a fairly unsexy oversized Lost Wages tourist T-shirt, and unpacked her stuff. When he’d stopped by to wish her good night, he’d kept a polite, respectful distance—no matrimonial end-of-the-day kiss, no begging for more . . . not from Ben Hughes.

  But that only meant he wasn’t taking her for granted.

  She rolled out of bed and went down the hall to the bathroom, where she gussied herself up and put on a pair of yoga pants and a tight long-sleeved shirt, intending to go to the backyard with her mat for some sunrise practice in the bracing morning. When she was done, it was still early, so she went to the kitchen to see what she could do with the slim bachelor pickings in the pantry.

  Oy. For a girl who wanted to run a dinner club—and one who wasn’t a chef as much as a lover of entertainment and good food for others—she had a challenge here.

  She claimed the eggs in the fridge and the general store sandwiches, which had turkey and cheese she could salvage, plus the butter. She even found an onion in the depths of the otherwise empty vegetable drawer, and it was still good, so she was optimistic enough to comb through the nearest cabinet, where she found garlic salt and coarse-ground black pepper.

  Not long afterward, she had two real live omelets cooked up.

  When Ben trundled into the kitchen, dressed in nothing but pajama bottoms, leaving her to sigh at his broad chest and washboard abs, he pushed back his hair, squinting at the digital clock on the microwave.

  “I usually wake up earlier,” he said, like he was apologizing.

  “You had a big day yesterday.” And a big night. “How long did you stay up after you went to your room?”

  “Two o’clock, something like that. I got a lot done there on my laptop, used the passwords you gave me to start erasing those cyber footprints you made. Hey, did you cook . . . ?”

  “Omelets. You’re not familiar with them?”

  She’d plated the food already and brought it to the table, where she’d arranged paper towels because there were no napkins in sight, plus silverware.

  “I have to admit that I’ve never seen an omelet in this house.” He sat down,
reaching for the bottled water she’d set out, too. “This looks good, Liz.”

  “I did my best, but I usually like to add a dab of milk to make my omelets light. Looks like I was crap out of luck in that department.” She joined him at the table. “I’m going to hit the market today, if you don’t mind.”

  “Have at it. I’ll give you money so you can take care of whatever you need. And speaking of money, we’re going to pay off your debts Monday so no more interest accrues for the lenders. It’s the weekend now, and most lending institutions won’t be available, so we’ll need to wait, but you can go over your finances with me so everything’s ready.”

  At the mention of the problems that’d been hanging around her neck for years, Liz felt heavy again. But when she realized that she wouldn’t have to feel the weight of debt anymore, a smile took her over.

  She was free.

  Her heart winging, she gave Ben a grateful look that he didn’t catch because he was busy cutting into the omelet. Her hero.

  “I can’t mention this too many times,” she said, “but thank you.”

  “What’d I tell you? This is going to work out for us both.”

  It was like he was going to say something else, but then he laughed to himself and dug into his food. Was he thinking of last night and how that hadn’t quite worked out for him the way he’d obviously wanted it to?

  Poor snuggins.

  He closed his eyes and said, “I had no idea there was enough in the fridge for this. Damn, it hits the spot.”

  She tried to keep her delight at being complimented for something other than her showgirling under wraps, but a glow was radiating through her chest. “I raided your sandwiches for the omelet fillings. I can go to the general store and replace them, though.”

  “Anything I have here is yours to use.”

  She had no doubt he meant it, but she wouldn’t go overboard, just because he had so much and she’d never had nearly as much. “Thank you.”

  “Honestly, you might as well get used to the fact that you’re a rich man’s wife now. I’m sure as hell going to get used to waking up to breakfasts like this, if they’re in the cards.”

  “I enjoy puttering around in the kitchen, so you can look forward to more.”

  He seemed to be enjoying making offers to her. “You can also take that sommelier class you were talking about at the Bellagio. Hell, you can even take courses at a culinary school if you want . . . and if you have the time with all the work you’ll be putting into your dinner club.” He wiped his mouth with the paper towel, glancing at it like maybe they could use some real napkins, then put it down. “As long as we’re getting our details ironed out, I should ask you—any thoughts on what kind of car you want?”

  A car? Of course. Mrs. Bennett Hughes shouldn’t be wheeling around in a rusty “classic” she’d been driving since she was a teen.

  “I haven’t thought about that,” she said.

  His gaze twinkled, and she fell into it. Deep. Drowning in blue.

  “I’ve mulled it over,” he said. “Want me to tell you what I think you’d like or just surprise you?”

  “Surprise me.” This was like Christmas, and she could hardly believe that she’d somehow ended up with a man who apparently liked to make her smile, could afford to.

  Not that money was the point . . .

  She polished off more of her omelet, then asked, “Now for the big question . . . Are you calling Jameson today with the news?”

  He pushed his empty plate away. “I was hoping to deal with that after I got in contact with a Realtor my personal assistant found for me.”

  “Already?” And on the weekend?

  “Mrs. Altman’s efficient, and obviously put in some overtime yesterday. I’ve known her since I was a kid hanging around the offices, and she always brought me candy, told me not to tell my dad about it.”

  “You charmed her, too, did you?”

  “Maybe.” He seemed proud of that. “But if I’d worked more with her in the present, I’d probably have known she’s a go-getter who promises the utmost discretion. She doesn’t know why I’m looking at real estate out here or why I’m asking for restaurant designer referrals, but she’ll know soon enough.” He held up a finger. “Wait—I remembered that I also know she likes the roses I send to her every birthday. I had to make up for all the candy she gave me somehow.”

  “Roses are thoughtful of you.”

  “Don’t give me too much credit. I have a standing order with the florist.”

  Heck, she’d recognized his practical side before. Was it coming out more now, with this marriage deal?

  He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, then said, “I’ll show you the properties the Realtor recommends online. Are you up for that later today?”

  Trying to keep her mind off the muscles he’d been flexing, whether he realized it or not, she said, “You’re avoiding the real subject, Ben.”

  “Of Jameson. Yeah, I am.” He sighed and rested his hands on his head, looking suddenly weary.

  She leaned toward him, even if there was a table between them. “Just tell yourself that the worst part will be over once you get the truth out there. And remind yourself that he’s going to get on board because this marriage is for the best.”

  Ben relaxed, grinning at her. “How you soothe me, Mrs. Hughes.”

  Another glow spread through her. Could it be that they were truly a team, in this together?

  “You want me to be there when you call?” she asked.

  He seemed to consider it, then straightened in his chair. It was like a shield had gone up in him, shutting her out unexpectedly.

  Why? Were there certain lines he was drawing between them, especially when it came to his family?

  Or his emotions?

  Liz didn’t let that get her down, because she was ready to fight, to stand the ground she’d already gained with him. But when he answered, she felt like she might’ve lost a little.

  “I’ll be fine on my own,” he said, winking at her. “You worry about getting the kitchen up to speed. And call up Anita to tell her there’s more than just a lunch date in store for you today. My wife is going to need a wardrobe that befits her, so there’s a shopping spree to go on, too. Besides, I don’t think it’d be a bad idea for me to win your best friend over with a bit of designer love.”

  As he got up, cleared his plate, and left the kitchen, she tried not to feel like he’d thrown money at her while going his own way. It was just what Jameson had done, and if that trait ran in the family . . .

  It wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

  But the worry lingered as Liz ate the rest of her omelet alone at the table.

  15

  Ben needed to get some of the steam out of him, because merely seeing Liz at the kitchen table with the morning light shining on her had abraded his nerves until they felt exposed.

  Last night, he had run his fingers through that red hair, kissed that creamy skin . . .

  She obviously had no idea how impossible it’d been to try and fall asleep after all that, knowing she was just down the hall, that he’d made her cry out and climax before she’d left him frustrated, his bed empty. He’d tried to work in Boomer’s office afterward, but his mind had barely cooperated. So he’d gone to bed, fantasizing about her, relieving himself with a helpful hand before finally getting some sleep.

  Too bad the frustration had started all over again this morning with a pang of need that hadn’t let go of him, even after he’d walked out of the kitchen.

  He’d put on sweats and his Bluetooth earpiece and struck out into the crisp day, running onto the desert road, not stopping until he’d sprinted halfway to the interstate and was on his way back to town.

  A mint-green, rust-patched Ford pickup slowed down and paced him, the motor purring. Gideon Lane rolled down the passenger’s side window and tipped his gray Stetson with a wry grin.

  “Already running away from the marriage?” he drawled.

  Ben l
aughed. “In case you have no sense of direction, I’m headed back toward town, not away from it.”

  “So you two came to an agreement?”

  Making a gesture that indicated a signed contract, Ben nodded and kept walking, the sweat cooling on his skin, the exercise finally beating down all those disappointed hormones that’d been hounding him.

  It was Gideon’s turn to laugh. “You and that silver tongue of yours probably talked the showgirl into staying. Say, why don’t you get in here and I’ll haul you back to town, save you some energy.”

  “Quick-draw, I think you’re missing the point of what it means to go jogging.”

  Gideon made a dismissive gesture. “You’ve got money and time enough to indulge in your gym membership and running. Me? All I’ve got is a bodyguarding gig to get to after I drop off my groceries. Are you in or out of my truck?”

  “Out.” But Ben’s head wasn’t on travel arrangements. Liz had said something about going to the market today, and his mind was suddenly on her again. “I’ve got to remember to tell Liz where the nearest grocery store is. There’s sure not anywhere in Rough and Tumble for her to go. Better yet, she can shop online and have everything delivered.”

  “There not much of anything I imagine would keep a showgirl here unless she needed to be.”

  “She’s doing okay so far. She thinks this place is ‘cute.’” Ben couldn’t hold back a smile when he thought of last night and how “cute” she’d been in those knee-high boots and nothing else.

  “I got to the saloon too late to meet her, but I heard she danced for Jimmy Beetles. Heard you two got along pretty well on your own, too.”

  “People noticed?”

  “You two were looking fairly married. Kat said you were kissing your wife in the corner. But that was an act, right?”

  Ben shrugged. “Let’s put it this way—we started out liking each other quite a bit, so there’s no reason that has to change. As long as we keep it all business, we’re good.”

  Gideon let out a low whistle. “You’ve known women, but clearly you don’t know women.” He was still pacing Ben with the truck. “You’ve always gone out of your way to make the parting easy with your Rolex Bunnies, but you’ve strayed into some different territory now. This showgirl consented to marry you, drunk or not, and that’s no small thing for any female. There was emotion involved at some point.”