by Tessa Layne
He leaned out the window. “You heard about Warren?”
Travis nodded.
“Got his daughter here. Taking her home to catch a bit of sleep.”
“This isn’t your truck. What gives?”
Travis knew everyone but was enough of an officer he always asked questions. Even from the people he knew well.
“I rode in the ambulance. Gunnar lent me the truck to get back.”
“Well, get on then. See you ’round.” The police car pulled forward and drove on.
Maddie crossed her arms, which looked even tinier given the sleeves of his jacket bunched to above her elbows.
“Fine. You win.”
A smile split his face. “Lose much?”
She tried not to smile back, but couldn’t help it. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Gloating.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t gloating. You’ll know when I gloat.”
She took off her glasses and rubbed her face, her exhaustion evident in the dim light. “Look. I owe you an apology.”
“Shh. Enough.” He placed his finger over her lips, trying his best to ignore their softness. “I know you’re not yourself. Let’s get you home.”
The word home slipped out so naturally he didn’t even notice he’d said it until he’d driven a block down the road.
CHAPTER 7
The porch light was still on when they pulled up to the Big House. It was early enough in the season the light didn’t attract bugs. Soon enough they’d have to switch to citronella candles, and maybe gather around the fire pit on the back porch.
True to their word, Ben and Brodie had waited up. Considering first light for ranchers was less than four hours away, they’d all be dragging tomorrow.
Maddie sat in the cab as he walked around to open her door. She looked small and vulnerable encased in his jacket, but the look in her eye said fear and defiance.
Of course. Brodie.
He’d run interference the best he could. He hoped Brodie would know better than to be an ass tonight.
Blake helped her down and kept a hand on the small of her back as they mounted the steps to the porch. Ben rose and grabbed two beers from the mini fridge.
Brodie leaned back, a smirk on his face. “Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here, Britannica.”
Or not. If he wasn’t so exhausted himself, he’d kick the shit of out Brodie right here.
“Don’t be a dick, Brodie,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
Maddie placed a restraining hand on his chest, shaking her head. Then, she marched straight over to Brodie, yanked the beer out of his hands, and proceeded to dump it in his lap.
“What the fuck?” Brodie yelped as he leaped to his feet, eyes flashing.
She stepped forward and jabbed him in the chest, although the sleeve of the jacket covered her hands, so it looked like it was the sleeve hitting Brodie. Blake barely held back the laughter threatening to spill over.
“That…was for picking on me when I was little.”
“This…” She grabbed one of the beers from Ben and, pulling on the waistband of Brodie’s denims, emptied the contents down his pants. “Is to remind you that if you ever call me Britannica again, you are reminding to the world that I am brilliant and you are an idiot. Your choice.”
Ben threw back his head and laughed. Blake joined in. Maddie took the second beer from Ben, took a swig and turned to Blake, eyes flashing. “I choose fighting.” She swung her glare back to Brodie, where he was rooted to the porch, his jaw clenched tight. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect an apology. Don’t expect one from me.” She took another sip of beer, her eyes returning to Blake’s again over the bottle. “I think I’d like to go inside.”
Blake nodded toward the door. “I’ll be right in.”
Holy. Hell.
He couldn’t help the grinning. Never fuck with a Hansen who’s reached the end of a rope. Served Brodie right.
He passed his brothers and grabbed his own beer from the fridge.
“Got yourself a live wire there, brother,” Brodie muttered under his breath.
Yes indeed. He certainly did.
Ben’s laughter echoed behind him. “Brodie, you’ll never learn, will you?”
The screen door slammed behind him and he couldn’t hear Brodie’s answer. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t forget this for a long time, if ever.
Maddie sat at the island in the kitchen spinning her beer. He leaned on the doorjamb just taking her in. Her fomerly tidy bun was messy, softening her features. His coat on her frame made her look waifish. Most people probably saw her that way, but they were wrong. There was nothing waif-like about her. Underneath those soft curves, she was strong as steel. Admiration for her warmed him.
Pushing himself off the jam, he strode toward her. “Feel better?”
She studied him carefully before finishing her beer. She shrugged.
“Let me grab my toothbrush, and I’ll be right down.”
Maddie nodded, pushing her glasses up.
“That’s your tell, you know.”
“What?”
He reached out and gently pushed her glasses up her nose. Her breath hitched. “That. You push your glasses whenever you’re worried, or irritated, or nervous… like now.” He held her gaze for a moment. “What are you nervous about, Maddie?”
She bit her lip. “Umm. It’s late.”
Chicken.
She was a big chicken.
Given the look she just flashed him, she knew it, too. He swallowed his frustration and left her in the kitchen.
Upstairs, he paused at his dresser. Her black glasses were there on a napkin he’d kept from Frenchie O’Neill’s. He’d left in such a fit of anger, he’d forgotten he had them until long after he’d left the restaurant. And after their encounter in the courtyard he sure as hell wasn’t going to seek her out and return them.
He grabbed them off the dresser and headed back to the kitchen. When he strode into the room, he found her hunched over the island. She turned to face him, eyeing him warily. Slowly he took the blue pair off of her and replaced them with the black. “I believe these are yours.”
He studied her intently. The black looked good. Set off the eyes. But the blue was more… her.
“I like the blue better.”
“You do, do you?” She cracked a slow smile. “What if I like the black?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re as contrary as your dad.”
Her eyes widened, and the barest hint of hurt flashed.
Huh.
He tipped her chin up, taking in her full, sweet mouth. He could feel himself falling into them and he stopped just as she inhaled. Neither of them moved.
“You fight, Maddie,” he murmured barely above a whisper. His blood sang in his ears. She parted her lips, the tip of her tongue darting out nervously. He fought a groan as his cock stood at full attention. “You fight because you’d die before you admit you want to fuck.”
He could sense her holding her breath. He leaned in the barest fraction of an inch. So close their lips almost touched. “But I can tell you want to fuck.” He grazed his lips across hers. Lightly, so lightly.
Her breath shuddered out little by little, only to hitch as he grazed her lips again. Time stopped. He could stand here in exquisite agony barely touching her and probably die a happy man. But he wanted more. He shouldn’t. Especially right now. But he did.
He wanted hear her admit she wanted more. He pulled back the tiniest bit. She leaned in.
His cock strained against his zipper.
If he was smart, he’d walk out right now, pile her into the truck, and leave her at the edge of her family’s property. Just like he had once before.
But he wasn’t. She’d wrapped him in some spell that kept him rooted to the spot.
Slowly, he tasted her bottom lip. Ran his tongue slowly over its fullness, tasting remnants of her beer, and sweetness that was only hers.
Her tongue
flicked and met his, sending a jolt straight to his balls. He pulled back and she leaned in. His heart slammed against his chest.
“Tell me you want this, Maddie,” he whispered into her lips.
She answered with a tiny whimper.
Not good enough.
“What would I find if I slid my fingers inside your pants?”
A tremor rippled through her body.
He pulled back a little more, and still she leaned in. Her hand reached up and clutched his shirt.
“Would you be slippery and wet for me? Aching with want?”
He gently bit her lower lip, then tongued where he’d nipped. A sigh escaped her, and he breathed it in, savoring her scent.
His balls were going to explode if he kept this up.
He would kiss her, but only once. He needed one taste of that sweet, sweet mouth. He leaned into her, lips covering hers, tongue sliding in. Opening, probing, tasting.
She melted into him, her tongue gliding against his, exploring his mouth with the same tenderness and curiosity. As if it was their first kiss, not their tenth.
He stood there drowning in her, completely losing himself in her silky wet sweetness. Only when she moaned a little did he come crashing back to earth.
He tore his mouth away from hers, panting. Her eyes had glazed over. And she searched his, asking a hundred unspoken questions.
He shook his head.
“No. Not tonight. Not until you say it.”
He kissed her forehead and stepped back, shaking himself.
“Truck. Now. You’re going to your house.”
Willing himself not to look back to see if she was following, he spun and stalked through the house to the porch. Ignoring Brodie’s laughter, he crossed the porch in two steps, paced around the truck and hopped in, revving it to life.
He was an idiot. And in way over his head.
CHAPTER 8
The tension in the cab could be cut with a knife. Maddie slid a glance over to Blake. He clenched the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles glowed in the dashboard lights. She could swear he was grinding his teeth.
Would you be slippery and wet for me? Hell yes. Her insides were ten kinds of twitchy, and God did she enjoy kissing him. But that didn’t mean it was the right or smart thing to do. Kissing him was reckless, impulsive, and… absolutely pointless.
The most she could ever hope from kissing Blake Sinclaire was an occasional homecoming hookup, which was totally not her style, or a broken heart. Neither were suitable options, so she’d just have to do her best to ignore the electricity zinging around her body every time she was near him.
Like now.
“Stop thinking, Maddie.” His voice held a hard edge.
“What? I haven’t said anything.”
“You don’t need to. Your thoughts are filling up the cab, loud and clear.”
She blew out a breath, crossing her arms. Like he even knew what she was thinking. “Fine, Mr. I Can Read Your Mind, exactly what am I thinking?”
He snorted. “Fine. If you insist. You’re desperately trying to compartmentalize the fact that we have serious chemistry. It doesn’t fit in any of your nicely ordered life boxes.” He turned underneath the Hansen Stables sign and onto the long half-mile drive.
Damn.
Add mind reading to his laundry list of attributes.
She shook her head. “Nope.” Total whopper, but she’d never let him know how close to the truth he’d gotten.
He barked a laugh.
“For all your talk about poker playing, you’re shitty at disguising your thoughts. I bet you lose to your cousins all the time.”
Damn.
Right again.
“Nuh-uh.”
He sighed heavily, shaking his head, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Lie to yourself if you must, Maddie. But don’t insult my intelligence by lying to me.”
Ouch.
There was so much more to Blake Sinclaire than met the eye. No wonder he was in charge of the ranch. For all her teasing him about a poker face, he instinctively got people. At least he got her.
That rankled.
She’d always prided herself on being aloof and unattached. A coping mechanism born out of losing her mom as a young girl, surviving bullying, and then fighting for a place in a male dominated field at a young age. And, with few exceptions, she could keep people at arms’ length. But not him, apparently.
No.
Blake Sinclaire was worming his way deeper under her skin at every turn. And now that she was home in Prairie, there was nowhere to run.
He pulled the truck in front of her father’s modest cabin. It paled in comparison to the grandeur of the Sinclaires’ Big House. The porch light was off, and the house was ensconced in shadow.
She hopped out and made for the porch.
“Maddie, wait.”
His voice stopped her at the top of the steps.
“Let me go first.”
She rolled her eyes. “This is Prairie. No one’s going to jump me.”
He tugged on the sleeve of her coat. His coat, really. “Let me just make sure everything’s okay.”
Irritation flashed through her. “Would you stop treating me like a little lady?”
“Put your defenses down, woman,” he snapped back harshly. “Do you really want to walk in the house and see everything disturbed from this morning?”
Oh.
Her anger dissipated immediately. Of course. There he went again thinking of her. And instead of registering his thoughtfulness, she’d lashed out. Her nerves were completely trashed and all she wanted was to curl up and sleep for days. But that was no excuse.
She let out a tiny sigh, nodding her understanding. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”
He held up his hand silencing her in the darkness. “For fuck’s sake. Will you let me help you?”
The words hung between them.
He ran his fingers through his hair, and turning, braced himself on the porch post. “Look. I get it. I’ve been down this road. I know what it’s like to return to an empty home and the person who should be there, isn’t.”
She nodded mutely.
He was right.
She wasn’t prepared for what was on the other side of the door.
“You’ve decided to stay here. Will you at least let me go in and make sure things are straightened?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice to work.
He crossed the porch, and opened the door. A second later a light blazed on, casting a beam of yellow light through the door. She heard him move down the hall to the kitchen. A moment later he returned.
“All clear. I’ll go get your bag.”
She crossed the porch and paused just inside the entrance, trying to imagine the scene through Blake’s eyes.
The house was shabby from years of neglect. Paint was peeling next to the fireplace. The carpet, dirty and worn. The couch, lumpy. She’d never really thought about those details when she’d come to visit. But in the stark light of a solitary lamp, she could see that it hadn’t been cared for in ages.
It wasn’t a home. It hadn’t been since her mother had died. Over the years, it had become her dad’s place.
The thought hit her with the force of an atom smasher.
This wasn’t her home.
Hadn’t been for years.
Deep sorrow thrust upwards, coming to rest in the form of a deep ache in her throat.
Where was her home?
Where did she belong?
She swallowed hard as Blake’s boots scraped across the porch. She couldn’t let him see her all discombobulated like this. She’d already cried on him once this evening. She needed to pull herself together. Taking a cleansing breath, she turned to him.
“I’m sorry, it’s not much. Blankets are in the closet in the hall. Help yourself to whatever you like.”
He nodded. His eyes were deep pools of compassion. If she allowed herself to look at them too long, they’d pull her in like a tr
actor beam.
She took another deep breath. “I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”
“Okay. But if you need anything at all…”
“I know.” She bit hard on her lip, clamping down on the sudden burst of emotion that filled her belly. “Blake?”
He stayed just inside the doorway, his body taut, his eyes hooded. Electricity breached the distance between them.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t step toward her, or raise his hand in acknowledgement. Just nodded, his mouth softening at the edges.
She broke the connection and turned toward her bedroom door before she did something impulsive like launch herself into his arms.
CHAPTER 9
A knock startled her awake. Sunlight streamed in her bedroom window, turning the dust motes to sparkling diamonds. She was still fully clothed, on top of the covers. She’d spent the better part of the night tossing and turning, nested in the warmth of Blake’s leather jacket. Tumbling Blake’s and her father’s words over and over in her mind until they were as smooth as river rocks.
You fight because you’d die before you admit you want to fuck.
I ain’t sellin’. Especially to the likes of them.
For fuck’s sake, will you let me help you?
People have changed, Maddie Jane. They’re proud of you.
Don’t insult me by lying to me.
Would you be slippery and wet for me?
The knock sounded again. “Maddie?”
She rolled over groaning, reaching for the alarm clock to check the time. Eight-thirty a.m.
No news was good news. The doctors had been right. Her dad had made it through the night. She lay back and inhaled deeply only to be assailed by Blake’s scent on the collar of his coat. It had comforted her throughout the night, like the hug she desperately needed but was too proud to ask for. But in the light of day, lying here drenched in… in him… was too much. It scraped at her nerves like coarse sandpaper taming wood. Left too many edges rough and vulnerable to catching sparks.
She sat up, and rubbing her eyes, reached for her glasses. After a quick hesitation, she picked up the blue ones.
A knock sounded again, and this time the door opened a crack.