by Becky McGraw
She owed him a huge thank you for helping her move on Tuesday anyway. He’d done most of the heavy lifting and loading. Dylan hadn’t done much but get in her business. And drive her crazy with those damned vibrating panties.
On the way back to the ranch, Dylan had been quiet. Eerily quiet. So quiet, she’d gotten worried something was wrong with him. Or with Chris. He kept assuring her he was fine, and Chris was fine too. He told her he was just thinking.
Well his thinking made her nervous. More anxious than she’d ever been in her life. He forced her to sit beside him up front. To smell his musky outdoors scent, feel his heat. But he didn’t touch her. Or make a move to put his hand in his pocket. The expectancy that he would at any moment kept her squirming on the seat the whole way home.
Her body was practically buzzing with anticipation by the time they got back to the ranch. Carrie waited for Dylan to help her out of the truck again like he had at New Hope. Wanted him to, but he didn’t. Neither did Zane. They promptly began unloading the truck, and left her stewing in her juices.
When Carrie went inside, Terri was waiting for her. Terri asked how it went with Chris, and Carrie thought she mumbled the correct answers. She was so distracted watching Dylan as he walked in and out of the house unloading things, she couldn’t be sure. When Terri brought up the upcoming events, Carrie just couldn’t focus anymore.
All she could concentrate on was Dylan’s location in proximity to her. That joy button’s proximity to her panties. Her agitation grew with every second she waited for him to seize the chance to make her dance on his string in front of Terri like he had Sharon. This would be the prime opportunity for him to see how much she could take before she broke. He had to know she was so primed it wouldn’t take much.
She got wet just thinking about it. Waiting for it.
But he hadn’t taken it. After he made the last load, Dylan walked right past her without a word, out the front door, and he and Zane headed to the bunkhouse.
Carrie had been a little disappointed, and more than frustrated. But she didn’t relax her guard. It would have been just like him to lull her into a false calm, then come back to zap her. She remained on edge until she got to her room and removed the panties to wash them with her in the tub. Until then she held out hope he would come back to harass her after he showered.
She was pissed at herself for hoping when she finally went to bed.
The next morning, Carrie put the panties on and took them off three times, before she finally left them on. That had been hours ago, and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Dylan yet. All morning she had been just as agitated as if he were standing there pressing the button.
The waiting was driving her insane.
She wanted him to get his butt over there with that remote and put it to use. It wouldn’t take much. She was so amped up now, he could probably blow on her and she’d come. One zap on the low setting and she would be wailing. But it looked like he planned on keeping her wondering, to keep her in sensual agony. Carrie was going to do the job herself last night in the tub, but after turning her closet upside down, she realized the bastard had confiscated her toy bag.
He’d done that on purpose, because he knew how she was feeling. Letting her have that silver bullet to find her own release wasn’t in his plans. From experience, she knew her own hand would not do the trick, so she didn’t even try.
Dylan wanted control. To torture her mentally, until he decided to let her have an orgasm.
He was doing a damned good job of it, she thought, squeezing her knees together. Sleep didn’t come easily last night, so she’d gotten up early to bake.
Now it was late afternoon, and he still hadn’t been to the house the whole fricking day. That was unlike him. When the guests were out on a trail drive, like they were now, Dylan always came up here in the morning at least once to see what was cooked for breakfast. He must’ve cooked for himself, so he didn’t have to come over here.
“Dammit,” she grumbled as she sifted the cake flour into her cake mixing bowl.
The front door opened, and Carrie held her breath until she heard tiny sneakered feet squeaking on the hardwood floor.
“Hey, mommy!” Izzy chirped as she hurried to the breakfast bar to pick up a cupcake and take a big bite. “Mmm…these are yummy,” she said around the bite.
“Don’t talk with food in your mou—“ Carrie grunted when a shockwave hit her right between her legs. A strong one that lasted several seconds. She clenched her teeth, and the handle of the metal sifter cut into her palm, as she leaned her elbows on the counter, trying to breathe through it. The urge to moan was so great, her throat burned from holding it back.
“Mommy are you okay?” Izzy asked with concern as she ran around the counter.
“Where’s Dylan,” she ground out through her teeth. He was around there somewhere. With that damned remote control.
“He was outside. He gave me a riding lesson, then said I should come find you,” Izzy said with a shrug. Anger scorched through the endorphins in Carrie’s brain. He had used her daughter in his game. That wasn’t acceptable, and she was going to tell him that. Izzy was not part of this game. Sucking in a breath she raised up, and wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist.
“Go play in your room, baby. I think your toys are in the closet,” Carrie said, stiffening her shoulders, as she turned toward the back door. Another forceful shock hit her and her knees almost buckled. She grabbed the counter and moaned low in her throat.
“Something’s wrong. I’m going to get Miss Terri,” Izzy said with fear in her voice.
“No baby, I’m fine,” Carrie wheezed, as steady pulsations worked through her inner muscles in waves. “You go play,” she forced out through gritted teeth.
Dylan must’ve figured out how to use that damned remote. Carrie knew it had ten settings, and it felt to her like he was trying out every one of them.
“Okay, mommy,” Izzy said, not sounding convinced, as she turned and ran out of the kitchen. Carrie staggered to the door, and gripped the knob in her hand while she fought through another wave of vibrations.
She flung open the door and there stood Dylan, grinning like a fool. His eyes met hers, and sparkled evilly as he pressed the button again. Electricity shot through her body, zapping every nerve ending, seizing her brain. Carrie whimpered and dropped to her knees in front of him. Another jolt hit her hard. Leaning forward, she hugged herself, and her body shook violently as the most incredible orgasm she’d ever had in her life barreled through her. Took over her body. Engulfed her soul. She hugged herself, hanging onto to the runaway rollercoaster as she freefell through the storm raging inside her.
Hot tears overflowed her lids as she squeezed them shut. Little mewls forced their way past her lips as she rode out the tremors. The vibrations ceased, and she slammed into the ground. A wave of dizziness grabbed her and she thought she might pass out.
Dylan knelt beside her, and stroked her hair. “Are you okay, baby?”
Carrie’s chest finally loosened enough for her to drag in a shaky breath. She reared up on her knees and grabbed his shirt in her fists. Her head felt like it was going to explode. It had been a long damned time since she’d been this angry.
She put her nose close to his to growl, “Don’t you ever, ever drag my daughter into your dirty little mind games. Do you hear me?” It was all she could do not to add a slap to his handsome, shocked face to emphasize her words.
Dylan sighed, then fell back on his butt, as her fingers loosened on his shirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t thi—“
“You didn’t think. That’s the problem. She’s a kid. Izzy didn’t know what was going on. She thought I was hurt.”
Carrie went to get to her feet, but he pulled her onto his lap. His arms wrapped around her like steel bands. “I would never hurt either one of you. I told her to come inside and find you over an hour ago. I didn’t realize she was in the room with you, or I wouldn’t have done it.”
&n
bsp; The sincerity in his tone made Carrie’s anger fizzle. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt this time. She hadn’t ever seen him do anything stupid or hurtful around her kids. “Make sure she isn’t next time.”
He kissed her cheek. “Next time?” he growled and nipped her earlobe.
Carrie shivered. “You haven’t told me I could take the panties off yet,” she reminded him shyly, as he kissed her cheek then nibbled the corner of her lower lip.
His body tensed. “I haven’t, have I?,” he murmured, before his mouth covered hers in a delicious kiss that she felt in the center of her chest, down at her throbbing core, in her dazed brain. She moaned and wrapped her arm around his neck to pull him closer.
There was a heavy sigh, then Terri said, “Y’all gathering sugar for this cake on the counter?” Carrie pulled back breathing hard, and it was a good thing, because Izzy ran around the corner right after Terri.
She skidded to a stop beside Terri, and just stared at her for a second. “Mommy, why are you sitting in Dylan’s lap?” she asked.
“Um, I, ah…” Carrie stammered.
“She had something in her eye, and I was getting it out for her,” Dylan said, grabbing her chin to pretend to inspect her eye. He winked at her and her lips twitched. He winked again. “Blink like that, Carrie. I’m sure it’ll come out.”
She batted her left eye comically and he laughed. “Hang on, I think it’s gone. Let me kiss it to make sure.” Dylan leaned in to kiss her on the eyelid. Light butterfly-wing sensations floated through her to flutter around in her stomach.
“What’s this cake for?” Terri asked, evidently ignoring Dylan’s show.
“Oh, I’m making a cake for Zane’s birthday tomorrow,” she said cheerfully. Dylan’s whole body tensed. He went still as a statue, then she heard a rumble in his chest that resembled a roar, as he shoved her off his lap and stood.
“What’s wrong?” Carrie asked scrambling to her feet.
“Not a damned thing,” Dylan said in a dark voice that scared her. He grabbed the knob in his hand and twisted it. “Enjoy your cake. Hope you get to eat some too,” he said as he walked out the door and slammed it behind him. The window panes rattled and Carrie flinched.
Dylan walked across the yard toward the bunkhouse with the green-eyed monster, who now knew his first, middle and last name, riding his shoulder like a jockey pushing a horse toward the finish line at the Kentucky Derby.
As mad as he was at the moment, as frustrated, he would love nothing better than to take his frustration out on the man causing it. Zane Lawrence. Mr. Suave-talking Aussie Cowboy. Scoot over, love. Those words boiled the bile in his stomach to bitter acid, as he walked through the door of the bunkhouse and slammed it.
When he started the game with Carrie Collins, Dylan had thought it would be some sexy fun torturing her. He’d pushed her and pushed her, and he had enjoyed the hell out of it. But she was thinking of another man while he was doing it. He had been kidding himself thinking she wanted him.
She was baking a fucking birthday cake for the man. That told Dylan all he needed to know. It was time to get away from her. Zane Lawrence could have her cake, but she wasn’t going to eat it with Dylan too.
He was done with her and her problems. With her troublemaking kids.
Tomorrow he was getting up early to go to town. His doctor’s appointment wasn’t until tomorrow afternoon, but he wanted to get out of here. Away from her. As fast as he could. He flexed his shoulder, rotating his arm, testing it. No pain and no soreness. His hope that he’d get his walking papers from the doctor tomorrow raised a little, as he walked down the hallway and slammed his bedroom door. Maybe he should pack his duffle bag before he left.
If he got that piece of paper he’d find out where the next stop on the circuit was, hook up his trailer to his truck, and see if he could get a job, any job with them, to carry him over until next season. He would leave and not look back at the R & R Ranch or at Carrie Collins. His heart did an odd little somersault in his chest.
Dylan rubbed it as he walked to his bed and flopped down. He shoved his boots off, then shucked his jeans, careful to avoid his painful erection when he slid the zipper down. He took off his hat and tossed it toward the dresser, but it bounced off the edge and fell on the floor.
He didn’t get up to pick it up, he laid down and stared at the ceiling trying to get a handle on his anger, so he didn’t do something stupid. Like go out to the barn where he knew he could find the Aussie and kick his fucking ass. It wasn’t Zane’s fault. It was Carrie Collins’ fault for leading both of them on.
His game was over, and so was hers. Dylan wasn’t playing anymore.
The next morning, Dylan was showered and dressed by six-thirty. He’d get breakfast on the road, and he’d call Joel to talk to him as soon as he found out what the doctor had to say. He jerked the lower drawer on his dresser open and pulled out the stack of underwear then walked to the bed to stuff it inside. The bag was overflowing, so he leaned on it while he slowly pulled the zipper to close it.
He stood back up and huffed a breath, looking around the now bare room for anything he’d forgotten. He knew he was counting his releases before they were in hand, but even if he didn’t get it today, he might stay in Amarillo until he could get one. He was that over this place, and these folks. He jerked the bag off the bed, tried to heft it to his shoulder and the weight dragged his arm to the ground. Pain ripped up his muscles to settle in his shoulder in a throb.
“Fuck!” he shouted, releasing the strap to massage it, until the pain turned to a dull throb.
Being so right-handed, Dylan had to force himself to remember not to grab things with his right hand. That had been the hardest part of this whole ordeal. It was exactly the reason after a year-and-a-half he was still having issues with his shoulder. He’d had the surgery, done the therapy, tried to coddle his right shoulder. But he just hadn’t been able to retrain himself to rely on his left arm. That meant he continually reinjured his shoulder.
He was damned worried about switching to riding left-handed too. Switching wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t something many riders did. Your dominant hand was your natural riding hand. He’d seen guys do it before, but not because their other arm was weak. They did it so they could ride better. Dylan did not ride better left-handed. He knew that. But he was going to try if it fucking killed him. At least he’d go down doing something he loved. Not idling at a dude ranch wasting his life away. Yearning for sugar cookies he couldn’t let himself want.
A quick knock on the door preceded it being flung inward before he could tell whoever was there to fuck off. Zane Lawrence filled the doorway. He smiled that big-toothed smile, and Dylan’s hand flexed. “Hey, mate. I wanted to invite you to my birthday party,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve never had one before. Terri and Carrie seem to think I need one.”
Dylan tightened his chest to squeeze back the growl. He just stared at the Aussie and wondered if the man was prodding him again. Wanting the reaction Dylan wanted so badly to give him right then. If he wanted Dylan to plant his fist in his grinning face. “I won’t be here,” Dylan said bending to pick up his duffle strap with his left hand. With a grunt, he hefted it then slid the strap over his shoulder.
The Aussie’s smile slid off his face as his eyebrows lowered. “You going somewhere?”
Dylan grabbed his hat off the dresser, and nudged him aside with his elbow so he could get by. “I’m out, dude. Good luck with the merry widow and her brood,” he grated as he headed toward the front door. He swung the door open and went to take a step, but Carrie Collins stood there with a bag in her hand. “Move,” he growled.
She shoved the bag toward him, and the paper rustled, because her hand was shaking so badly. “I made you cookies yesterday to thank you for your help, but you left too fast last night for me to give them to you,” she said, with a quaver in her voice, her expression hurt and insecure. Her eyes landed on the duffle bag under his arm. “Where are you going?
”
“I have a doctor’s appointment in town,” he replied shortly, glaring down at her. “And I’m going to be late if you don’t move.”
She studied him a moment, then her eyes darted to the duffle again. “You staying in town for a while?”
“I’m staying for good, hopefully,” he replied evenly. He used his body to push her aside. “Goodbye, Carrie. Can’t say it was nice meeting you.”
He heard her shocked gasp, then a little whimper as he strode to the steps. Emotion made his head feel like it was an overfilled helium-filled balloon, and it pissed him off. He stomped down the steps and headed toward the barn where his truck was parked.
Stopping at the bed, he hoisted his duffle up and it clanked as it landed in the middle of the bed. His hand shook as he shoved his hand into his pocket to find his keys. His heart was galloping in his chest, and something just didn’t feel right with him. Leaning his forearm on the truck, he rested his head there for a minute, breathing slowly and deeply.
A trembling hand dropped on his back. “Please don’t leave. Tell me what I did to upset you. Was it because I yelled at you for, um, involving Izzy? Whatever it is, I‘m sorry, Dylan. You’ve been good to us, and I appreciate what you’ve done for Chris.”
What she did to upset him was make him fall in love with her sugar cookies. Make him want to stay in one place more than he’d ever wanted to in his life. That’s why he had to leave, before that thought took root, and he gave up everything.
For sugar cookies, and the woman who baked them.
“I’d like to go with you to your doctor’s appointment, if you’ll let me,” she said quietly. “It’s for your shoulder, isn’t it?” There was deep concern in her tone. Dylan heard it, didn’t want to let it affect him. Didn’t want to acknowledge her hand rubbing his back soothed him either. When he didn’t respond, she continued in a rush, “They might do something to it that you can’t drive home. You’ve helped me, let me help you.”
“I’m not coming back,” he said firmly.