Prairie Passion (Cowboys of The Flint Hills #2)

by Tessa Layne

Uncertainty lurked in the depths of his sex-satisfied hazy expression.

  “God, Brodie. I’ve never…”

  “Yes?”

  Her cheeks flamed as she confessed. “I’ve never come so hard I couldn’t feel my body.”

  His face lit up with a triumphant grin. “Yeah?” He continued caressing her backside in long even strokes.

  She could get used to this. Very used to this. “Yeah.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down, then shifted, rolling them over so she lay pinned beneath him, his weight a comforting blanket. “Good. Now that I’ve got you where I want you, I need to tell you some things.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Jamey’s brows were so cute when they arched in question like that. Especially when her face still glowed from the intensity of her orgasm. Everything about her had softened. Brodie leaned in for another taste of her. He couldn’t help himself. She tasted better than any candy from the five and dime.

  Sliding onto his side, he gathered her in a loose embrace, his chest tightening anxiously as he settled them. “I’ve never been good at emotional stuff.”

  Her eyes widened slightly and she cocked her head to study him, a small smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. “Nobody’s getting married here. We can keep things light.”

  “That’s just it…” He stopped. His mouth turned to dust, and the words stuck somewhere between his tonsils and his belly. Running his thumb over the protrusion of her hipbone helped steady him, like fingering his lucky belt buckle while waiting in the box for a calf to tear out of the chute.

  Her eyes shuttered, and her muscles tensed under his hand.

  Shit.

  He was losing his window.

  He swallowed hard, trying to quell the empty roiling of his belly. Another awkward moment passed. Giving up, he shook his head. “Aw hell, Jamey, I don’t know how to do emotional stuff.”

  Her fingers covered his mouth, and before he could stop himself, he captured the tips between his teeth, giving them a gentle nip before sucking gently.

  “No pressure,” she answered, her voice slightly brittle. “We don’t need to name this. It’s just sex.”

  But it wasn’t.

  Not for him at least.

  Was it for her?

  The words were right on his tongue, but his tongue wouldn’t move. He’d never been good with expressing his feelings. At least the nice ones. He had no trouble beating idiots into next Tuesday.

  But this…

  He’d rather face down a two-ton charging bull in bare feet. Since that wasn’t an option, the next best thing was diversion. He kissed her. For courage, of course. Not because he couldn’t resist the way her lip curved. He lost himself in the sweet velvet of her mouth, his tongue exploring little crevices and pockets until she made that sexy noise in the back of her throat, and clutched at his shoulder.

  God, he loved kissing her. He could do this. He could tell her. “It’s not just sex,” he rasped into her lips.

  She pulled away, eyes puzzled. “What’d you say?”

  “It’s not just sex.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  Oh, God.

  He was going to puke.

  “What is it then?” She spoke slowly. As if she didn’t quite believe what he was saying.

  That wouldn’t do.

  He wrestled steers with his bare hands. Surely he could confess a few things to a lovely naked woman in his bed? A woman he had feelings for? Big feelings. The realization ran through him like a hot poker. How in the hell was he supposed to handle that?

  His chest began to burn, a flush creeping up his neck and down his limbs. He’d die of combustion if he didn’t open his mouth. “I was thinking…” he swallowed, his tongue thick.

  He cleared his throat and started again. “I was thinking about what you said. About what I wanted. I… I… never wanted anything. I… never let myself.” His breath snagged as buried anguish from his youth burst inside, leaking all over everything. “I was an asshole. A sad asshole. It was easier to be a dick than to let anyone see that I hated I was stupid.”

  She made a clucking noise and brought her hand to his face. “You’re not stupid. You never were.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not the point. I’ve spent most of my life being an ass to people I love because I don’t know how not to.”

  “That’s not true. I see you with Simon. You’re patient and gentle with him. I see how you do things. Build things people need.”

  His chest tightened, a lump pushing out on his ribs. “I’ve never… I’ve never been with anyone I called a girlfriend.”

  “Even Kylee?”

  “Especially Kylee. I was a stupid, horny sixteen year-old who didn’t have a clue about girls. She took advantage of that.” He shut his eyes, then forced them open.

  Her eyes were right there, waiting. Wide and sorrowful. The tang of bitterness scratched the back of his throat. He could handle a lot, but not her pity. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

  He took a deep, slow breath, then met her eyes again. “I’ve made a pretty good mess of my life… But I want to make it different. And I want… this… between us… to have a name.”

  Her eyes crinkled, and she bit her lip, a smile tilting one corner.

  “Don’t laugh.”

  “That’s about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Her mouth morphed into a full on grin, and she waggled her eyebrows. “So what kind of a name? Girlfriend? Lover? Partner?” She giggled. “Ooh, how about paramour?”

  He rolled his eyes, a small, embarrassed laugh escaping. “I don’t know how to spell that.”

  He’d never admit it to anyone else. But with her, it felt… natural.

  Normal.

  Like he wasn’t stupid.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer, so her lips were a breath from his own. “I don’t care about your spelling.”

  “What do you care about?” He held his breath, not sure what she’d say.

  “Who, Brodie.” Her voice washed over him like a caress, seeping in and smoothing out all the rough, scarred edges. She kissed the corner of his mouth. Then the other corner, each touch softening the hard lump still stuck between his ribs. “It’s who I care about, not what. And I care for you, you great lump.” Her mouth smiled against his.

  Surprise and delight rippled through him. She cared for him. Him. Brodie Sinclaire. He twirled a flyaway curl around his finger, studying the different shades of copper, gold, and orange, intently. Warmth settled in his chest, relaxing his limbs.

  Was this… contentment?

  “Brodie?” There was an edge of anxiety in her voice.

  He leaned back to study her. Had he done something? Had she changed her mind already?

  His voice sharpened in concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  His gut twisted in sick anticipation.

  She rolled away, staring at the ceiling. “No one knows this.”

  “Not even Maddie?”

  She shook her head. “No… no. This was something… is something,” her voice hitched, “I needed to deal with by myself.”

  Wonder that she would share a secret with him smacked him in the chest. At the same time, a lump of dread formed in his gut. Whatever it was, he would help her. By God, he’d slay dragons for her. At the very least, he’d make mincemeat of anyone who’d hurt her.

  He gathered her close, protective instincts kicking into high gear. “I swear, Jamey. What do you need me to do? Did someone hurt you?”

  She let out a breathy little laugh. “No, no. Nothing like that.” Her fingers skated nervously back and forth across his collarbone, and she kept taking little half breaths, like she was screwing up the courage to let whatever it was out.

  He shifted, bringing his fingers under her chin and gently lifting so she couldn’t look away. Her eyes were stormy pools.

  “Jamey, sweetheart.” He peppered
her forehead with tender kisses. “Whatever it is. We can manage it together.”

  She let out a little sigh, a tremble shaking her body. “I have a condition called celiac disease.”

  Oh, God.

  His chest turned to stone. He was going to lose her right after he’d found her? Yet another ‘fuck you’ from the Universe. Bracing himself, he asked. “Will it kill you?”

  She let out a little half-laugh again. “No, no. The only thing it killed was my career.”

  He slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. Oh, thank God. “That’s a relief.”

  She glanced at him sharply. “It’s a relief my career went down the toilet?”

  “Darlin’ if you’re saying that what you’re doing here is your career down the toilet, then yes. And besides,” He planted a kiss on her nose. “You’re not dying.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled back. “You don’t understand.”

  He would not let her prickles get the best of him.

  Not this time.

  He tamped down on his growing frustration. “Woman, you test the patience of a saint. Help me understand.”

  She blew out a breath. “Celiac is an autoimmune disease. There’s no cure.”

  “But you’re not going to die?”

  “No.”

  “So what’s the big deal?”

  She pushed away from him and sat up. Completely unaware that from this angle she looked like a wild spirit, sinewy and strong. His cock stirred. He couldn’t help it. She captivated him.

  Completely.

  But whatever this celiac thing was, it was hurting her, and he wanted to help. So his needy cock would have to wait.

  “The big deal is that I’m a damned good chef. And I’m brilliant at pastry. Or at least I was.”

  “Still not following.”

  She leveled a glare at him.

  He ran a hand down her magnificent thigh. “Calm down. Before you get your Irish on, you need to remember I’m not a cook.”

  She made the cutest little grumble in the back of her throat. “Flour. My body can’t digest flour. Gluten really, which is in flour. And beer… and other things. I can’t touch it, breathe it, or eat it.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. “Do you see where this might be a problem for a chef?”

  “But you cook good food. I don’t see the problem.”

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Cockwaffles,” she gritted out. “Douchenozzle motherfucking cockwaffles.”

  His cock stiffened to half-mast, and he stroked down her thigh again, letting his thumb caress the softer inner part. “Better speak fast, darlin’. Your temper’s always been a turn-on.”

  She glanced down at his rapidly thickening cock, eyes widening. She covered a little laugh. “You dirty man. I’m baring my soul and you’re thinking about sex?”

  He grinned at her, unashamed, and lifted a shoulder. “Can’t help it. You turn me on. Inside and out.” He reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Now, where were you?”

  She sighed, dipping her head. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be serious with… that… bobbing in my vision?”

  He rose to an elbow, conviction thrumming through him. “If I could kiss your problems away, I would.” He punctuated his words by kissing each of her fingers. “I don’t mean to make light of this… flour issue… but you’re overcomplicating this. You’re not dying, and you cook great food.”

  Her eyes held a faint glimmer of suspicion, and she made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat.

  He tugged on her hand. “Hey. You think I’m making this up to get laid?”

  That earned him an immediate laugh.

  “Has anyone here complained about your food?”

  She shook her head. “But I can’t work in a regular restaurant ever again.”

  “So stay here.”

  It popped out before he’d realized the implications. Technically, she was only contracted for a few more weeks. But… would she consider it?

  She leveled a piercing gaze at him. The kind of look that peeled back his carefully constructed defense layers and left him bare.

  He swallowed down the ache that suddenly formed in his throat. “Think about it, at least. You have options.” Now he was backpedaling, but dammit if he didn’t want her to stay. “We can talk about it later.”

  “Okay.” She’d untwined their fingers, and her thumb now pressed lazy circles below his hipbone, springing his hungry cock to a new level of arousal.

  “Uh… Jamey?” A wave of desire tightened his balls.

  “Conversation over.” She pushed him onto his back and settled on her side, her hand stroking up the inside of his thigh and only stopping when she’d cupped his balls. She licked her lips, a wicked light gleaming in her eye. “My turn to rock your world.”

  “You already do.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. Once the admission had slipped out, the bigger emotions quickly filled in the holes. There was nothing left to do but to hang on for dear life and hope he survived the ride.

  CHAPTER 31

  Jamey stopped her mad rushing in order to pop the cork on a bottle of champagne. It had been a hectic week between guests and preparations for Maddie’s baby shower. But today was going to be great. And not just for the mom-to-be. She grabbed a flute and filled it, surveying her handiwork spread across the counter.

  She’d outdone herself.

  But she didn’t just have herself to thank. What Brodie had said to her about overcomplicating things a few weeks back had unstuck whatever hang-ups she’d had about attempting gluten-free pastry. Of course, the copious amount of sex they indulged in probably didn’t hurt her creativity either.

  The island was filled with plates of macarons, mini scones, and flaky, savory cheese crackers. Smoked salmon, grilled asparagus, mushroom bacon and leek mini quiches. Bison summer sausage, compliments of Blake, and flaked parmesan. Mixed olives. Strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and almond orange teacakes. Champagne and sparkling cider.

  “You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Maddie called from the doorway, a questioning twinkle in her eye.

  Jamey saluted her with the flute. “A feast fit for a queen. Prepare to be pampered.”

  Maddie’s laughter trilled through the kitchen. “Don’t you remember me telling you about my wedding shower? Prepare for grannies gone wild.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you sayin’ I’ve met my match?”

  “You know you have. That’s why you and Dottie butt heads.”

  The observation stung.

  A look of sympathy crossed Maddie’s face. “I know you had to fight to be heard at home and in Chicago, too. But here, it’s different. People respect you. Dottie respects you.”

  “Ha.”

  “It’s true. I overheard her in the diner the other day telling someone Brodie’s lucky to have you running the ship. That’s high praise.”

  Was Dottie making room for her? Dottie as an ally would be so much better than Dottie as an adversary.

  Maddie slipped around the island and wrapped her in a hug. “You’re the sister I never had. You and Hope. Aunt Martha and Dottie have been the moms I never had. I love you all so much.”

  Jamey squeezed back hard. “Aww, Mads. You’ll always be part of my family. And little wiggle worm, too, whoever she or he is.” She rubbed Maddie’s belly, still amazed that in only a few months, Maddie would become a mother.

  Maddie tilted her head up, a sly look in her eye. “Now why don’t you tell me why you really look like the cat that ate the canary?” She stepped back and spotted the new pair of boots on her feet. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth. “Jameyson O’Neill, are those hearts on your boots?”

  The flush started in Jamey’s chest and rapidly moved up, setting her face on fire.

  Maddie skewered her with a hard look. “Those are Tony Lamas. Do you have any idea how much those cost?” She crossed her arms over her protruding belly. “Spill.”

&nbs
p; Jamey shrugged. “Honestly, there’s not much to tell.”

  Maddie made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. “Except that my brother-in-law is buying you gifts. That you’re wearing.” She raised her eyebrow archly. “I’ve never seen you out of your purple Doc Martens except at my wedding.”

  She shifted uncomfortably, wiping her suddenly sweaty hands on her short skirt. “He’s… we’re… it’s complicated, Maddie.”

  Maddie’s eyes flashed concern. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Jamey? I don’t want you to get hurt. He stood you up. I know you tried to hide it, and–”

  “And he’s dyslexic, Mads.”

  Maddie’s eyes widened as her disclosure sunk in.

  “Severely dyslexic.”

  Maddie opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut, shock on her face.

  She hated disclosing that. It wasn’t her secret to share, but Maddie needed to know there was a good man underneath his blustery exterior. And a great lover. “Please, please don’t say anything to Blake. I don’t think anyone knows but me right now, and it’s up to Brodie who knows.”

  “He’s sharing secrets with you?” Maddie squealed, her voice incredulous.

  No denying it any longer. Not with the boots on her feet. They’d agreed to be discreet, but it didn’t feel right keeping everything from Maddie. Guilt prodded at her. If the party went well, she could tell Maddie about the gluten, after.

  Maddie clapped her hands. “Brodie and Jamey sitting in a tree…”

  Jamey held up a hand, trying not to laugh. “Stop.”

  “K-I-S-S–”

  “I mean it Maddie. It’s new. And we’re still feeling our way.”

  Maddie blew out a breath, lifting her bangs off her forehead. “Well it’s no surprise, really. You two have chemistry for days. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you at the wedding.”

  The reminder of the searing kiss they’d shared down at the barn sent a rush of warmth straight to her pussy. Maddie was right. They did have chemistry for days. And it seemed like there was much more underneath.

  She’d been shocked when Brodie had come into the kitchen with the boots the other morning. And the pink embroidered hearts were a sweet touch. There was a thoughtful, romantic side to Brodie she was quickly falling for. He might not say the right words, but his actions, his encouragement… the way he paid attention to little things, impressed her.