by Annie Evans
This was not the venue for gentle lovemaking, and Eli knew that wasn’t what she was in the mood for either. Adjustment period over, he braced his hands beside her shoulders and flexed his hips, powering in and out of her hard enough to shake the table. She kept her hands low on his flanks just to feel the muscles move beneath his skin while she watched him watching her.
He slowed his thrusts and lowered his mouth to her breasts, scraping his teeth across the satin-covered tips. Bellamy shoved the bra’s cups out of his way and humid breath touched her a moment before his tongue made a wet circle around an achy nipple. She arched closer, ignoring the uncomfortable press of wood against her shoulder blades.
Eli urged her legs around his waist, where she locked her ankles at the small of his back. The angle drove him deeper, pressed her harder into the table, but she didn’t care if it made bruises down her spine. She deserved them for the marks she’d left on Eli’s skin, no matter what he said about enjoying her turn at playing the dominant one. Maybe she hoped that gorging on him tonight might quell the hunger she couldn’t seem to slake.
Or maybe she was kidding herself.
“Bellamy, look at me.”
Sweat gleamed at the base of his throat when she focused on him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were rigid and delineated as they supported his weight above her. A deep flush of color stained his neck and flagged high on his cheekbones, partially obscured by dark chunks of his hair.
Oh, how she loved looking at him. He was so gorgeously made, near perfect as best she could tell. All that passion and purpose focused on her. Those lovely gray eyes held her captive. When he pulled almost all the way out of her, then gradually slid back in, she nearly melted across the table.
Now she understood why he’d demanded her full attention. He wanted to watch her come undone, see every emotion flicker across her face.
Each pass of his cock across her inner walls sent waves of heat rippling through her core. It gathered like storm clouds, building in strength and intensity, promising to sweep her under its depths. When Eli leaned close, grasping the opposite edge of the table in his hands for leverage, saying, “Come for me again,” the frenzy reached its breaking point, spilling through her in luscious waves.
Eli soon followed her over, gasping against her throat, rhythm faltering as he rocked into her body. She smoothed her hands down his sides, across his lower back, feeling him tighten beneath her palms before the tension in his muscles subsided away to nothing.
With a deep, satisfied sigh, Bellamy unlocked her ankles, freeing Eli to ease from inside her. He helped her sit up, dropped a tender kiss on her mouth then left the kitchen to deal with the condom.
She glanced down at the table, running her hand across the dark wood, and wondered what her grandmother would think of her sexually desecrating the sacred antique.
Knowing her nana, she’d probably smile knowingly and tell her that a sturdy flat surface was good for more than just rolling out piecrust.
* * * * *
The ringing of Eli’s phone woke her the next morning. From the warm nest she’d burrowed into beneath the blanket and next to his body, she heard him answer and agree to meet someone for breakfast in thirty minutes at the Cottonwood.
Bellamy groaned, not wanting to leave her toasty spot.
“You have to get up sometime,” Eli said, moving the covers back to nuzzle the nape of her neck. The beard stubble on his jaw tickled her skin, making her laugh and try to get away, but there was only so far she was willing to go, now that the fire had died and the house was chilly again.
“Don’t remind me.”
“I’ll start the shower and get the water hot.” He gave her ass a smack before climbing out of bed.
Forty minutes later, they slid into a round corner booth at the Cottonwood with Kai and Fritz. The waitress had just dropped off their drinks—coffee for Eli and hot tea for Bellamy—when Grace and Tucker straggled in. Grace was still in the skirt and pumps from the night before, but wore a man’s shirt, knotted at her waist. Her hair was twisted up in a clip and mascara was smudged beneath her eyes. Judging by the persistent grin on Tucker’s face, they’d spent the night doing basically the same thing as Bellamy and Eli. Maybe minus a few chains and bruises.
“Coffee, please,” Grace told the server when she reappeared. “Black, and in the largest vessel you have. Better yet, just bring me the pot and a straw.”
“Something tells me you didn’t stop with that last pitcher of margaritas we drank,” Kai said, grinning against the rim of her mug.
“Nope,” Tucker said, and left it at that because Grace shot him a look that said she’d cut off a very important body part if he elaborated.
When Sage walked through the front door, Grace cursed under her breath and tried to disappear behind her menu.
This could get interesting, Bellamy thought. She found it hard to believe that Sage was as oblivious to Grace as she seemed to think. It was unfortunate that sweet, easygoing Tucker Lindley might’ve been used as a stand-in, but it had happened just the same. Unless he wanted more from Grace, Bellamy doubted that Tucker had minded much.
They all adjusted to make room for Sage to sit down and Bellamy picked up her menu, pretending to peruse its offerings while she covertly watched Sage take in Grace’s slightly disheveled appearance and masculine article of clothing. His gaze then swung to Tucker, who was staring back, the grin gone and his jaw set, glaring hard enough to curdle milk, as if he was daring Sage to comment.
Sage just frowned, shook his head and picked up his own menu, sighing so loudly Bellamy heard it across the table.
Yep, definitely not oblivious. Or uninterested.
Grace was just too busy hiding behind her menu to notice the dynamics of the exchange.
“Looks like most of us had a fun night,” Fritz said, then jerked and hissed when Kai did something to him beneath the table. He leaned over to whisper something in Kai’s ear and her cheeks flushed prettily.
Bellamy glanced at Eli’s wrists, praying she didn’t see bruises on his skin. The inside of his right wrist was purple in one small spot just above the bone. Damn. When she looked up at his face, he was watching her. He smiled softly then moved an arm behind her along the booth to trace her backbone with a finger. At the first sore area he hit, she flinched and caught a gasp before it passed her lips.
Point made. Both of them had physical reminders this morning.
They all ordered breakfast, talking about everything from the weather to Ruby’s birthday plans while they waited for their food to arrive.
No sooner had the waitress set plates down than Sage was waving a piece of bacon around, saying to Bellamy, “How can you not eat crispy fried pork fat? Bacon is the meat of the gods. If they made perfume out of it, women wouldn’t need to take a bath.”
“Gross,” Kai said.
“They make bacon-flavored condoms,” Grace said matter-of-factly, her gaze trained on her pancakes. “And lube.”
Kai started to giggle and Bellamy knew why. Then Grace snickered and became overly interested in straightening her napkin on her lap. Bellamy smothered her own laughter with a quick swallow of tea, praying she didn’t choke. At Eli’s quizzical look, she just shook her head. You don’t want to know.
“Wait—you don’t eat bacon?” Tucker gawped at her like she’d sprouted a third eye. “That’s un-American, missy.”
“She doesn’t eat meat, period,” Sage supplied.
Beside her, Bellamy felt Eli’s body tense. “That’s enough, Sage.” She placed a palm on his thigh, trying to tell him with her touch she could handle it. He covered it with his hand and squeezed. “You don’t eat beets, but you don’t see any of us making a big deal about it.”
“They taste like dirt. And a lot of people hate ’em.”
“Seriously, how can you resist bacon?” Tucker asked Bellamy, shoving an entire strip into his mouth.
“You really want to get into a discussion with a vet about all the d
iseases pigs can carry? Because I can go over them in deep detail, if you’d like.”
“Never mind,” Tucker mumbled, screwing his face up as he forced himself to swallow.
“That’s what I thought.” Bellamy took a bite of her delicious veggie-and-cheese omelet, then fed Eli a forkful when he nodded toward it and opened his mouth.
Meanwhile, Sage’s lip curled as he warily eyed the remaining pieces of “crispy fried pork fat” on his plate. Served him right.
“The irony of this conversation is that I have an appointment in an hour with Petunia the pig,” Bellamy commented.
“Aww,” Grace said. “Is she okay?”
Bellamy did a double take at the genuine sincerity on Grace’s face. This from a woman who currently wore a pair of leopard-print stilettos, and would more than likely cry real tears if they ever came in contact with mud, let alone pig poop. “You know Petunia?”
“Everybody knows Petunia,” Fritz said. “She’s probably birthed at least a dozen grand-champion show pigs over the years, and who knows how many blue-ribbon winners. George and Kara Freeman, her owners, have a waiting list of local kids every year who want one of Petunia’s offspring for the county fair.”
“Well, it’s not looking too good for future litters. Mrs. Freeman says she’s lost interest in…the reproductive process.”
“I didn’t know that happened with pigs,” Eli said.
“Sure it does,” Bellamy said. “Especially when you consider they start breeding at around seven months old and it’s a near-constant cycle, with a healthy sow birthing two litters a year. Domestic swine only live ten to fifteen years when well cared for. Petunia’s almost seven, so when you do the math, I imagine she’s grown pretty tired of farrowing local champions.”
“How do you know for sure if that’s what’s wrong?” Kai asked.
“I’ll give her a thorough physical to rule out any health-related issues. If I don’t find anything, we’ll know she’s done.”
“Sounds like she’s earned her retirement,” Eli said.
Tucker seconded the sentiment, his remaining bacon untouched. “I’d say.”
Chapter Seventeen
Too stuffed to eat another bite, Bellamy pushed her plate aside and sipped her tea, grinning as Eli stabbed a leftover mushroom with his fork and popped it into his mouth. While everyone else finished eating, she studied the framed black-and-white photos of Serenity’s early days lining the walls of the Cottonwood.
An older man with short graying hair, a ruddy face and a round stomach beneath a well-worn pair of denim overalls blocked Bellamy’s view. She blinked and started to peer around him when she realized he was staring directly at her, so she gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile.
He moved closer to the table. “You’re Madeline McCoy’s granddaughter, right?” he asked. “The lady vet.”
She quelled a sigh. Why did people feel the constant need to add the sexist qualifier to her profession?
“Yes, sir.”
“Thought so. You look just like her, back when she was a young woman.”
“Well, that’s a very nice compliment. Thank you, sir.”
“She was a fine lady. Made the best peach pies I’ve ever put in my mouth.” He extended his hand for Bellamy to shake. “I’m Wallace Treadway.”
“Bellamy Haile. Nice to meet you, Mr. Treadway.” Where had she heard that name before?
He proceeded to shake hands with everyone else at the table, calling the men by their first names, while Bellamy flipped through the rolodex in her brain, trying to place him.
Then Mr. Treadway’s attention returned to her. “I see you’re living at the old homestead. I’m your neighbor.”
Her mother’s words came flooding back. “Mr. Treadway, the neighbor who owns the adjoining land to the west, has wanted to buy it for several years now.”
Oh no. Please no. Not here. Beneath the table, Eli’s hand moved to her knee. Hers tightened around her mug.
“Are you plannin’ on stayin’ in the house?” Mr. Treadway asked.
“I, um…I’m not sure yet.” Self-conscious heat made a slow crawl up her neck and into her cheeks. She became painfully aware of the silence at the table, despite everyone’s best efforts at acting inattentive and focused on their food.
“Shame to let all that raw land go to waste.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Bellamy said, terrified of where the conversation was headed. She wanted to beg him to stop talking, fake a coughing fit, or slide right under the table and hide. But she couldn’t do any of those things because she was an adult. A professional businesswoman with a vet practice that needed to survive so she could eat and pay her bills. Behaving like a child in public wouldn’t help her cause.
“My offer to buy it is still on the table,” Mr. Treadway said.
“Would you be interested in leasing the land from her, Wallace?” Eli asked him.
Wallace rubbed his protruding belly, around and around, and frowned as if the thought of leasing gave him a stomachache. Bellamy was starting to develop one herself.
“Prob’ly not,” Wallace finally said. “If I drill a new well, invest in removing old fence and installing center-pivot irrigation and she decides to terminate the lease, I’m out a lotta money. I want complete control so I can do what I please with the property. You boys should understand that, since your family owns all the land you farm. And I’d just rather buy this piece outright ’cause it’s contiguous to my homestead.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Bellamy said. “But I’ll have to give it some thought.”
He whipped a pen from the pocket on the bib of his overalls and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser sitting in the center of the table. After scribbling his name and number down, he handed the note over to Bellamy. She folded it and shoved it inside the back pocket of her jeans, thinking that was the second time she’d done so recently with a distasteful piece of information.
“I’ll pay you fair market value for the land, in cash. You can ask these boys here, or that banker lady sitting next to you. I’m good for the money. If you think you might be interested, I’d like to do something before the end of the year if possible.”
For some stupid, stupid reason, Bellamy asked, “What would happen to my grandparents’ house?”
He went back to rubbing his stomach, which didn’t bode well it seemed, and studied his shoes. When he looked up, his face was grim. “More’n likely I’d raze it. It’s just not feasible for me to keep it standin’. Not when I can clear the trees and use the acreage it sits on.”
“I see,” she said, tears burning the backs of her eyes.
Eli offered his hand to him again. “Thanks, Wallace.” Then the man left.
Bellamy couldn’t seem to draw a breath. Some outside force was crushing her rib cage, squeezing the air right out of her lungs. And she couldn’t look up from her cup of tea because if she did, she’d see pity in everyone’s eyes, if they even looked at her at all.
“I have to go,” she said, nudging Eli a little too hard, desperate to get out of that restaurant. He slid from the booth while Bellamy tossed money on the table to cover her breakfast, only to have Eli scoop it up and shove it back into her pocket when she stood.
He followed her out of the Cottonwood. She waited until they’d cleared the front window of the diner before turning around to stop him. “I can walk to my truck.”
“Bell, it’s four blocks. I’ll give you a lift.”
The sun was bright and warm on the sidewalk, and she hoped the light diluted the flush of sadness on her face. “No. I need to walk and clear my head before I get to the Freemans’ place.”
He stepped closer. “Don’t shut me out like this. I know what Wallace said about the house hurt, but we can—”
“Eli, stop. When it comes to this, there is no ‘we’. I’m not a gate or a mailbox post or a,” she swallowed the rising lump in her throat, “a swing that needs fixing. It’s not that simple, it’s messy and confusing
and…and it’s my problem to figure out.”
He squinted in the sun but not before she saw anger flash in his eyes. “I’m not trying to fix you, Bellamy. If that’s what you think, you haven’t been paying attention.”
And with that, he turned his back on her and walked into the Cottonwood, leaving her alone on the sidewalk with the bitter taste of regret on her tongue.
* * * * *
I’m sorry. Again.
He wanted to be mad at her. He really did, and he probably should at least make her wait it out a few days while she wondered if he forgave her for pushing him away.
Instead, Eli found himself turning down Bellamy’s dusty driveway Saturday afternoon because he couldn’t stay away for long. And because the text she’d sent earlier seemed to be saying something more to him besides the obvious apology. She was confused, possibly overwhelmed about what to do with the house and land, with no one to lean on but herself, or so she thought. She wanted to be strong and self-reliant, and he understood that, but every now and then even the toughest souls caved under pressure. Whether she would admit it or not, she needed him just as much as he was coming to need her.
The autumn sun cast long shadows across the yard and burnished the trees in rich oranges and reds as he stepped onto the rickety back porch. A batch of freshly fallen leaves was scattered across the wood, making the place seem even more barren, Bellamy its sole life force. He found the door unlocked, but left his frustration outside with the firewood and her dirty work boots.
When he stepped inside, the house was eerily quiet and cool. Still as a pond in winter. A half-eaten sandwich sat on a paper plate beside the sink, a treat she’d leave for the fox later.
“Bell?” he called out.
“Up here,” she answered from somewhere above his head.
The treads groaned and creaked under his feet, making him briefly question the integrity of the staircase as he ascended. Along the tarnished walls, he could make out the brighter spots in the paint where framed photographs had once hung, the empty holes where the nails had been. Something pinged inside his chest, perhaps an echo of the deep disappointment Bellamy must’ve felt at finding the house gutted when she arrived.