by Stacy Gail
A thrill of excitement zipped through her so strongly it almost smothered the flash of panic. “What, like a gold star?”
“I’m guessing I can come up with something a bit more memorable.” With that, he slowed down, pivoted, and before she knew it her back was flat against the pillar-straight trunk of a tree. “Ready for your reward, darlin’?”
“You’d better make it good.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised before his mouth came down on hers.
This wasn’t like his first kiss. Oh no. Before, there had been a humor and casualness about it. Pleasantly hot, but without a focused intent.
Not this time.
This kiss had the absolute intention of unraveling everything that held her together. Her attempts at indifference. Her defenses. Her belief that she had a chance of being the same after this.
He unraveled her, because every lie she’d told herself couldn’t stand up to the truth of his kiss.
At some point her eyes closed, her hands moved to sweep the hat from his head, and the caress of his tongue became the most important part of her tactile universe. Greedy for more, she arched up to seek it out, her fingers sifting through the thick silk of his short hair. God, she loved the feel of it. She’d never be able to get enough.
Did people ever realize they were becoming addicted to their fix while it was happening? Maybe she was unique in that regard, because she could feel the irrational need seeping into her, molecule by molecule. Ry was fast becoming her addiction, and if she didn’t do something soon, she was in serious danger of getting hooked.
She didn’t want that.
She was almost sure of it.
It took most of her strength to turn her head, and even then she moved only an inch or two away. And forget about forcing her hands from his hair. They weren’t giving up that manly goodness until they were good and ready. “Wow. Wait. I have to—”
“No, you don’t, darlin’.” His mouth had slid to her jaw, weakening her resistance further. His tongue tasted her skin before his teeth nipped at her in a way that made her wobbly hold on sanity slip even more. “We’re not talking now. Talking’s not on my list of favorite things to do. Kissing you is.”
Something vital inside melted. “Listen, I—”
“I’m going to make it so kissing me is on your favorites list, too.” With that, he brought his mouth over hers again and silenced her.
Boom.
Lust pumped through her hard and fast, and any remaining thought of holding back went up in smoke. Why the hell would she ever hold back when he gave her so much? From the hard wall of his chest crushing against the softer cushion of her breasts and the fierce hardening of her nipples, to the way his fist tightened in her hair as he pressed his mouth to hers—all of it filled her senses until it blocked out the rest of the world. It was exhilarating, what he made her feel, and all she wanted was more.
But since there was no way she’d take her mouth from his to tell him that, she told him the one way she knew how by rubbing her body in a slow, delicious friction against his.
A harsh growl sounded in his throat as the heat between them went nuclear.
The hand that wasn’t in her hair slid boldly over her ass, claiming it in a demanding grip. Her pulse tripped over itself when he pulled her hard against him and rubbed her hips against the obvious swell of his cock.
Oh...wow.
Wetness bloomed in her cleft even as a faint alarm went off that things were going too far, too fast. But the alarm was easy to ignore when she was filled with giddy joy that he was as turned on by her as she was by him. If he felt even half as achy and hungry as she did, she was one lucky woman.
He growled her name into her mouth when she shifted her thigh to make way for his advancing knee, and he took full advantage by gripping her leg and pulling it up to his hip. At the same time he arched his hips deep into the juncture of her thighs, rolling them in such a sinuous, sexual motion it was almost like he’d already buried his stiff flesh inside her.
Yes.
The frustrating barriers of clothing made her want to scream, and she was just getting ready to pull up her skirt when she thought she heard a voice from far off.
Shit.
Somehow she’d forgotten they weren’t the only people in the world.
“Fucking kill that dumbass brother of mine.” Ry’s mouth rolled from hers to swear bloodthirsty vengeance, confirming that there were indeed other human beings in the world, and one of them was coming closer to where she’d almost...almost...
Lifted her skirts to have crazy-hot stand-up sex against a tree with Ry Brody.
Oh, my God.
Reality crashed in like a ton of bricks. She had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle both a growl of frustration and a wail of dismay at her loss of control, even as his hand curled around her bare thigh, pulling her closer.
“When we’re together, that’s what’s important—us being together,” he grated, sounding downright dangerous. “Nothing else matters. I won’t fucking tolerate any interruptions.”
“It...” Good grief, she was breathless. Breathless and hot and horny as hell. And though she knew it was insane, she wanted to shriek in protest when he at last lowered her leg to the ground. “Um. It’s good. It’s fine.”
“Good? Fine? Seriously?” Not even bothering to cover up how hot he was still running, Ry glared down at her as if all he wanted to do was devour her from the top down. “You want my hands on you, Celia. Making you shiver, making you moan, making you scream. Admit it.”
Oh, hell yes. “And you don’t want the same thing?”
“Hell yes, I do,” he breathed, echoing her inner thoughts so perfectly she could only stare up at him. “Just the thought of you touching me is enough to make my skin so damn tight I swear to God I’m feeling like I’m gonna bust right out of it. The only reason I’m breathing right now is so I can get to the next moment when we can be alone together. Maybe then I can get those hands on me where they belong.”
Any second now her panties were going to burst into flame. “You say the craziest things.”
“Want me to stop?”
“Don’t you dare.”
He started to laugh, but it quickly vanished under a growl when his name was called again. “Don’t move,” he muttered, his brow coming to nuzzle hers in an oddly endearing caress before he planted a firm hand against her chest above her dress’s neckline, pinning her to the tree while he looked around the wide trunk in the direction of the house. “What the hell, Fin. I told everyone I’d have a royal shit fit if I was disturbed today. You think you’re not a part of everyone, or did you not take my shit fit threat seriously?”
“Since Dottie was too spineless to bother you with business, I got tapped to do it, so don’t bitch at me,” came a curt response from the second-youngest of the Brody brothers, Finian. “Uh, hey there, Celia.”
“Do not talk to her. Do not say her name. Do not even think about her when you’re daring to interrupt my time with her,” Ry snapped, sounding borderline scary even as Celia took in a breath to offer up a self-conscious hello to a man she couldn’t even see. Bewildered by the threat in Ry’s warning, she tried peeking around the trunk of the tree, only to have him press her more firmly in place. “We don’t have to go over the rules again, now do we?”
“Jesus,” Fin muttered in a way that Celia could easily envision him—a longer-haired, younger version of Ry—looking up to the heavens for strength. “Off-limits, I got it. I was just being polite.”
“This is me not giving a damn about you suddenly remembering you’ve got manners,” Ry snapped off so bluntly Celia could actually feel the tension rise. “What’s Dottie’s message?”
“She’s run into a brick wall over that embryo canister fuck up, and she thinks it’s time to bring in the lawyers. I say before we shell out a bunch of doug
h on that score, we try talking one more time to the insurance assholes who want to push the payout responsibility onto the company that shipped the canister. The reason we bought the damn insurance in the first place was to make sure we didn’t have a profit loss should something happen in transit. But I’m thinking that talk should be done face-to-face, just to let the insurance assholes know they’re not dealing with a bunch of dumbass farmhand rednecks from the sticks.”
“Shit.” Ry looked up at the green canopy above them, then scooped his hat off the ground with a sigh and turned his attention back to Celia. “I gotta take care of some business, darlin’. Since it sounds like it’s going to take a while, I’m going to have to put a rain check on the rest of the tour.”
“The rest? Didn’t I see everything?”
He lifted a brow as he put his hat back on. “Talk about a loaded question.”
Just when she thought her temperature couldn’t rise any higher. “I meant here at the ranch.”
That wicked grin of his flashed. “I had plans on taking you over to my place a few acres over, closer to the river. Guess that’ll have to wait until next time.”
She tried not to shiver in anticipation. “You think there’s going to be a next time?”
“No doubt about it. And next time, wear jeans. We’ll ride over to my favorite fishing hole. Make a picnic out of it.”
“Ride?” She was fairly certain her eyes bugged out of her head. “Like, on a horse?”
“Yep. We don’t use horses to herd as much as we used to, now that the cattle come running to us when they see the feed trucks, but it’s still a good idea to keep in practice in case of emergencies like floods and washed out areas.”
“Good luck in getting me on a horse at any point in my lifetime.” Relieved that sanity had returned—and deeply disappointed for the exact same reason—Celia tacked on a smile and did her best to emulate Fin’s politeness by ducking around the tree and lifting a hand in an awkward greeting. “Uh, hello, Fin. Good to see you.”
Fin’s face lit up. “Always good to see you, Cel. Wow, look at you, pretty girl. Yellow sure looks good on you.”
“Shut up. And you,” Ry added, swinging his gaze so sharply to her it made her take a half-step back, while something like harsh disapproval burned unexpectedly in his eyes, “it’s time for you to go. I’m taking you home—now.”
Chapter Five
Celia wasn’t sure when she had lost her mind, but she had a sneaking suspicion it was around the time she’d agreed to have dinner with Ry. Before that moment, life had been boring and far lonelier than she’d ever imagined, but at least she’d never acted like a crazy-pants idiot with a nervous tick. Twenty-four hours out from being danced into the hottest kiss she’d ever experienced, and she was checking her phone approximately every eight seconds to see if Ry had called.
Or texted.
Or even sent a stupid email.
Nothing.
She tried telling herself she was glad. Relieved, even. She had yet to make a decision on whether or not she was going to accept the Green Rock Ranch project, so she tried convincing herself that she was glad Ry was giving her space. Heaven knew she didn’t want him hanging around, being all distracting with his sexiness and mind-blowing kisses. What woman would want that?
Her internal wanton hopped up and down, waving a hand wildly in the air.
Okay.
Maybe that had been a stupid question.
For a while during her mostly sleepless night, she’d wondered if he’d turned on all that devastating Casanova charm just to get her to agree to do his project. But around three o’clock in the morning she realized that didn’t make sense. Sure, she was good at what she did, but there were plenty of promo people out there in the world who could accommodate the needs of Green Rock. She might be the hometown girl he said he wanted, but she certainly wasn’t the only game in town.
So, why had he kissed her?
There was only one answer she could find. Ry had kissed her because he’d wanted to. And it wasn’t just kissing he’d been interested in, if what she’d felt going on in his jeans was any indication. If they hadn’t been interrupted, she could only imagine what he would have done with that exciting stiffness she’d felt and had rubbed against. She’d wanted that impressive bulge freed from his restraining clothing so she could get it between her legs...
Goodness, it was getting downright sweltering for this time of year.
So the signals he’d sent yesterday had been crystal clear. But not hearing another word from him sent another kind of signal, and it wasn’t one she was sure she wanted to receive.
His silence told her he wasn’t that into her, after all.
Phones worked both ways, her brain stubbornly reminded her as she parked in front of the small post office facing Bitterthorn’s town square. Now that she had Ry’s phone number, she could call him up and...what? she thought, opening the trunk of her car to unload a stack of packaged portfolios that several ad agencies to which she’d applied for a job had requested. What could she possibly say to Ry that wouldn’t sound needy and pathetic?
Hi, I was just thinking of you...
Ugh. No to the sappy greeting card vibe.
So, any particular reason why I haven’t heard from you?
Too confrontational and needy. Though truth be told, she’d love an answer to that one.
Ry, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that impressive hard-on you had going on while we were kissing.
Oh, dear God, no. TMI.
She had to face facts. As her social life had gone down the tubes over the past few months, her man-woman social skills had gone right down with it.
So she couldn’t call him. She’d make an utter fool of herself if she did, and she wasn’t eager to once again put herself in a position where he’d laugh at her.
But, maybe she wouldn’t make a total idiot of herself if she sent him a pithy little text. She could probably pull off pithy if she worked at it—
“Whoa, looks like you got quite a load going on there,” came a friendly masculine voice as she approached the post office’s door.
“Um.” She came to a dead stop, stunned and automatically looking around to see if there was someone else this person was talking to. He couldn’t possibly be talking to her. Outside of a handful of boring old married guys and Ry, no man talked to her anymore. Maybe having dinner in public with Ry showed the town she was officially forgiven by the prince of Green Rock Ranch, she thought, hope soaring so fast she was almost dizzy with it. Maybe her time of being avoided was at long last coming to a close. “I probably should have made two trips. I hate to ask, but would you mind if I asked you to get the door for me, please?”
“I can do better than that.” An unfamiliar face appeared over the top of her parcels. Friendly brown eyes smiled down at her from beneath a John Deere cap, and his face was covered with an impressive amount of freckles. “I would be honored to carry your parcels for you, and you can get the door for me.”
She could have wept at the basic human kindness. What a good soul. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m insisting.” All smiles, he began taking the packages from her one at a time. “My mother would never forgive me if I let a beautiful woman struggle along with all this without offering a helping hand.”
Just as she was about to canonize him as a living saint for listening to his mother, something inside her applied the mental brakes. Beautiful woman? That was sweet, but she wasn’t sure her rusty social skills were up to navigating her way around a bold flirt. “Your mother obviously raised a gentleman. I’m both grateful and impressed.”
“So I’ve impressed you? My day is complete.” As he put the last of her packages on the pile he now cradled in his arms, he tipped her a wink. Yep. She definitely had a flirt on her hands. “You want to g
et the door for me, beautiful?”
A self-conscious laugh escaped her before she turned to the heavy door. “Uh, sure. And thank you. Not sure I fit that description, but I appreciate the compliment.”
“You definitely fit the description, but I can see how it might get awkward if I keep calling you beautiful, beautiful. Do you have another name I could use? I’m Brad, by the way.”
“Hello, Brad.” Smiling cautiously, she reached for the heavy post office door while trying to figure out what to do. It had been so long since a man had come on to her, she’d all but forgotten how to handle it, especially when it wasn’t something she wanted. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Celia.”
“That’s a pretty name. Wait...” He came to an abrupt stop a few feet from the door, as if he’d suddenly hit an invisible wall. “Did you say Celia?”
Her brows shot up. “Yes.”
“Celia Villarreal?”
Bewildered, she stared at him. “Yes. Have we met before? I’m sorry, I don’t remember where—”
“Shit.” A grimace crossed his face, wiping out his flirty smile as if it had never been. “Celia friggin’ Villarreal. Just my luck.”
Her jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can’t.” Looking around as if he thought he was about to be attacked, he shoved her parcels unceremoniously at her. Startled, she jumped forward to secure the stack of portfolios, the post office door swinging shut as she juggled the awkward load. The man, Brad, turned on his heel and walked briskly away, not even bothering to look back as the pile of packages cascaded to the ground.
“Wait—”
Behind her, the post office door suddenly swung open. Distressed, she looked back just in time to watch the sweep of the door crunch one of her portfolios against the building’s outer wall. The man exiting took one look at her, then at the scattered packages on the ground, his expression momentarily horrified. Then he stepped carefully over the spilled packages without a word or an offer to help pick them up, or even a simple glance her way to acknowledge her existence.