by Jackson, Ava
“Shit.” She breathed, shoving her dress down. I followed suit and zipped myself back into my pants. “I can’t believe… what was I thinking?”
What was she thinking? What was I thinking? Jesus. I’d never forgotten a condom in my life. Never. And I’d never let a submissive derail a scene so completely either. I didn’t know what the fuck Emma was doing to me. I needed to back off and get my head together.
“We should get back to the reception.” The words came out harsh and low, but I didn’t do anything to soften them. My gaze snagged on the black silk at my feet. Her fucking panties. I snatched them up and held them out. “You need to put these back on.”
She accepted the wadded-up underwear, but looked down at them questioningly. “I think I’ll pass on putting those back on … considering they were just on the ground.”
It seemed as soon as the binding had come off, her headstrong nature rose to the forefront. I wanted to see her bend to me—even in something this simple.
“Emma, your panties are going back on.”
“Ford,” she said, her chin tilting up. “They’re really not necessary. Just shove them in your pocket or something.”
I stepped closer, crowding her against the wall of the gazebo. My voice was low, and my tone brooked no argument. “I don’t think you understand, pet. You’re not fucking leaving this gazebo without those panties covering that tight little pussy. I cannot be held accountable for my actions if I know that you’re out there, not wearing anything under that dress, and dancing with other men.”
Her mouth dropped open, which just made me want to push her against the wall and start all over again.
I backed away. When she made no move to put her underwear back on, I snapped, “Now, Emma. Or I’ll put you over my knee and you won’t sit for the rest of the night because your ass is red.”
Her mouth snapped shut, and she stepped one foot and then the other into her panties and pulled them up her legs. Her expression turned mulish. “There. Happy now?”
“I’d be happier if I were buried balls deep inside you. Now let’s go.”
I was tempted to grab her hand and drag her back to the reception behind me, but I didn’t want to raise any suspicion about where we’d been. Not that anyone would guess what we’d been doing, but I wasn’t looking to tempt fate. Instead, I made a beeline for the bar.
“Maker’s. Three fingers. Neat.”
My gaze darted to my left at the giggle that erupted. Emma’s blue eyes were shining, and she’d bitten her bottom lip.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
She shook her head and looked to the bartender. “Nothing. I’ll have the same.”
The bartender served up both our drinks and we took them to an empty table. I sat and tossed back a healthy swallow. Surprisingly, Emma sank into the seat beside me. She still had that grin on her face.
“What?” I asked, taking another swig.
She bit her lip again. “Guess this is my only chance of getting three fingers tonight, huh?”
I spat my whiskey all over the fucking floor.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
Chapter 9
Emma
I stayed in the seat next to Ford until I'd choked down my fiery drink. Then I got to my feet, feeling restless. My system had definitely needed that whiskey, but it still wasn't enough to take the edge off my raging libido. And if I couldn't have the man sitting next to me—or get so drunk I'd just end up throwing myself at him again—then food would have to do.
As I prowled around the reception tent, the demolished wedding cake caught my eye. It probably wouldn't hurt anything if I took a second slice. Only a handful of people were still whooping it up, and they seemed more interested in slow-dancing or taking advantage of the free booze. The old folks and the parents with young children had gone home hours ago. Mom and Russ were nowhere to be seen. Probably upstairs already, I thought, and immediately felt grossed out. That image sure cooled me off a bit, but I didn't want to dwell on it.
I cut myself a fat chunk of cake and indulged. Unsurprisingly, considering Mom's sweet tooth, the caterer had gone all out. The paper plate almost bent under the weight of dense, bittersweet chocolate and whipped vanilla frosting, topped with glossy ganache. But all the sugary goodness in the world couldn't touch the sexual frustration I felt.
I gazed out across the lake as I lifted each fluffy forkful to my mouth. That damn gazebo was just barely visible in the moonlight. I giggled, remembering the look on Ford's face at my “three fingers” comment. After all the shocks he'd given me over the past week, he deserved a little taste of his own medicine.
“What's so funny?” asked a woman behind me.
I whirled, almost rolling my cake right off the plate. Celeste stood with a flute of champagne in her hand and a slight smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.”
But I bet your heart's not breaking over it, either. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone Celeste. “It's okay,” I replied. “I was just … remembering something from earlier.”
“Before you and Ford disappeared?” Her snake-like smile didn't budge an inch.
I blinked at her. Okay, what the fuck? Was this an interrogation? “Uh … ” My mind flew in every direction at once, leaving me to stumble over my words. If she'd noticed us leaving together, there was no point in insisting we hadn't.
But did I even need to lie? After all, we were step-siblings now. For all she knew, we'd been hauling the reception stuff back to the house or showing Mom's uncle the stars or something. “While we were gone, actually. He can be a pretty funny guy when he wants.”
Her brow creased. “Really? He's always so serious with me. He must be a little tipsy right now.” She looked over to where Ford still sat, nursing a second whiskey. “But I kind of like the strong, silent type, don't you?”
Good thing she likes the sound of her own voice, too, or I'd have to think faster. I made a noncommittal noise while I chewed, then swallowed and replied, “Sometimes it works. Depends on the guy, I think.”
Looking unconvinced, Celeste glanced at Ford again. “I should finish packing soon … oh, did I mention? Russ and Cynthia are sending me on a cruise while they're on their honeymoon. I tried to say no—it's way too generous—but they insisted because I'd worked so hard on the wedding.”
“Oh, that's really nice of them,” I said. “I guess we'll just have to survive without you for a week.”
She nodded soberly. Either she hadn't caught my whiff of sarcasm, or she'd decided to ignore it. “Anyway, I think I'll go say hi to Ford real quick. Let him know how good that tux looks on him.” Her smile turned predatory. “Just between us girls, he looks even better out of it.”
I held back a frown. Had she and Ford hooked up before? Somehow I doubted that—but her attempt at bluffing annoyed me all the same. I was tired of navigating around the ten-pound hints she kept dropping. She clearly wasn't trying to make friends over a little girl talk. She wanted to get a reaction out of me. What reaction, I had no idea.
I needed to stop overanalyzing her bullshit and just get out of there. My plate was finally empty and I wasn't interested in watching Celeste hang all over Ford. “I think I'll call it a night,” I said. “See you when you get back.”
“Bye,” she replied over her shoulder, already on her way to Ford's table.
I tossed my plate in the trash and went into the darkened house. Once in the safety of my room, I stripped off my bridesmaid dress and flopped on the bed. For a minute I just stared at the rounded timbers of the ceiling.
Sleeping with my stepbrother … what the hell had I been thinking? Sure, I had wanted it, and I actually still did. I couldn't deny that. But now that I had some distance from the situation, I realized that I'd dodged a bullet. My hormones had driven me temporarily insane, that was all. It never would have happened if I'd just spent a little more private time with myself.
Speaking of which, I'll never
get to sleep without some relief. I sighed and let my hand creep down. When I closed my eyes, I felt Ford's hands on my skin, the stripes around my wrists where his silk tie had dug in. I ran my tongue over my lips, still swollen from his forceful kisses.
But I froze, fingers skimming the top of my panties, at the thud of footsteps. They came up the stairs, drew closer, and then paused by my door for the briefest instant before continuing on. I guess Ford had enough of Celeste, I thought. Had he also written off our encounter as a mistake, or …
My mind filled with the image of Ford on his own bed, doing what I'd been just about to do, and the pit of my belly ached with desire.
This was going to be the longest summer of my life.
* * *
After an early, Celeste-free breakfast the next morning, our parents left for Napa Valley. They would be touring the vineyards for a week, staying at a villa near the winery where they first met. Ford and I would have the place all to ourselves.
Still picking at the last of my scrambled eggs, I wiped Mom's lipstick off my forehead where she had kissed me goodbye. This house was too big on a good day; now, with only two people rattling around its empty halls, it felt cavernous.
I sneaked a glance across the wide dining-room table at Ford. He had polished off his food, but still lingered at the table. He noticed me watching him and met my eyes with a cool, indifferent gaze of his own. I quickly looked back down at my food. Was he going to bring up last night? Did I want him to?
Without waiting to find out, I got up and went to the kitchen. I needed to stop driving myself nuts and take my mind off Ford. As I rinsed my plate and stowed it in the dishwasher, I tried to think of how I could keep busy. I didn't feel like hanging out with the ranch hands, and they had their own work to do anyway. Maybe I could take myself on a tour of the ranch. Well, not the whole thing—forty thousand acres sounded like a hell of a lot—but I could handle following a fence for a few hours. Without any better ideas, I settled for that and started rummaging through the fridge for sandwich fixings.
Footsteps approached from behind me. “What are you doing?” Ford asked.
Without turning around, I mumbled, “Making a sack lunch.” Dammit, why had I said that? Now I’d have to explain why, and he might ask where I was going.
But his only response was, “Don't use mayonnaise. It'll go bad if you're prancing around in the sun all day.”
That made me glance back to where he leaned against the doorframe. I guess he can tell that I want to be alone … or maybe he just doesn't give a shit what I'm up to. Either way, I shouldn't have expected a Mom-style third degree. “You want to come?” The words were out before I could think.
He jerked his head. “Now that the damn wedding's finally over, I can't put off work any longer.” As he walked out of the kitchen, he commented, “You should bend over more often.”
I resisted the urge to throw the jar of mustard after him.
Outside, there were no clouds, but a warm breeze carried the earthy smell of rain from just before dawn. I set out through the tall, yellowed grass for a fence I could barely glimpse. Occasionally the patter of distant hooves floated across the rolling hills, but the only creatures I saw on my walk were a few black-tailed prairie dogs. I threw them my crusts when I stopped for lunch. They inched just close enough to nab their prizes, then flashed back underground.
The sun crept high and slid down the sky again. When it was a thumb's width above the horizon, I realized that I'd probably stayed out too late already. I hurried back.
Just as sunset fell, my feet found the brick walkway leading to the house. Light glowed from the kitchen window, a friendly eye in the mansion's otherwise dark face. As I opened the front door, the rich smell of garlic, oregano, and tomatoes greeted me. I found Ford in the kitchen, stirring a huge pot of bubbling red soup.
“Did you make this?”
“Who the hell else is here?” he replied, his hand never pausing.
I walked closer to peek into the pot: clams, scallops, crab, mussels. My mouth watered. Living in California had given me a taste for seafood, and whenever I visited Mom in Napa, she always treated us to the best cioppino in town. When had I even mentioned that I liked this? How much did fresh shellfish cost in Montana? Most startling of all, why was Ford being so thoughtful? But what came out of my mouth was, “I didn't know you could cook.”
He looked up and snorted. “Somebody has to. I reached a good stopping point in my work, so I figured I'd make dinner for the next few days.”
I smirked at him. “A dinner which just so happens to be one of my favorite foods.”
“You're not the only Californian in the world. I grew up in Silicon Valley. Come stir this.” I stepped into his place as he started taking down bowls and wine glasses from the cupboards.
“That's a shame,” I said. “And here I was thinking that you'd decided to win my heart through my stomach.”
“Of course not. Haven't you ever heard 'candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker’? Which is why … ” He pulled a bottle of Riesling out of the fridge. “I brought this up from the cellar. Our parents shouldn't be the only ones getting some good wine right now.”
Are we flirting? Another thing I wouldn't have expected from Ford. He seemed more like the “so you wanna fuck or what?” type. Not quite that rude, exactly, but fast and straightforward. He didn't have time to play love games—and with his jaw-dropping looks—he didn't have to.
That's not the only reason this is weird, I forced myself to remember. Normal step-siblings wouldn't be talking to each other like this. Or having a fancy dinner for two, either.
Somehow, though, I couldn't bring myself to care too much. This was fun. I deserved to enjoy my last real summer vacation with my new stepbrother. The fact that we'd almost screwed yesterday was pure coincidence. If I brought that up, then I'd be the one making things weird.
Fuck it, I thought, and poured myself a glass of wine.
Chapter 10
Ford
“You bring a swimsuit?” I asked Emma as we finished washing and drying the dishes. All through dinner and clean up, we’d talked. Well, I’d flirted my fucking ass off. I hadn’t done that since … I couldn’t even remember. It was unsettling on some levels, but something about Emma just brought it out of me.
“Swimsuit?” She glanced over at me as she closed the cupboard door. She looked so damn … pretty in her pink skirt and white tank top. It was simple, but feminine. And it had kept my dick hard all through dinner. Well, that and her laugh. And her smile. Shit. What was happening to me? I met her eyes, determined to get myself back under control.
“Yeah, a swimsuit. For the hot tub. You know, a bikini?”
Her teeth sank into her lower lip. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know … I just thought…”
Interrupting, I said, “Emma, don’t think so much. Just go put on your suit.”
Her cute as hell chin lifted an inch. She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but I closed the space between us and lifted my thumb to her lips. “Please.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, and she nodded slowly.
“Good girl.”
Emma left the kitchen, looking at me over her shoulder as she went. I opened the cupboard door she’d just shut and retrieved two wine glasses. Turning to the wine fridge, I selected a bottle of my favorite white. Sweeter than the one we’d had at dinner … and perfect for dessert. I headed upstairs to change into my swim trunks, fighting the urge to slow as I passed by Emma’s door. I wondered if she was debating over her choice of suit. I could picture her standing in front the dresser, telling herself that she shouldn’t pick the bikini just because I’d told her to. I was counting on her desire to please me to win out. She might not realize it, but her natural submissive tendencies were there, just waiting to be explored. I pushed my own door open, grabbed my swimsuit out of the dresser, and shucked my clothes
in record time.
I beat Emma up to the roof and had the cover off the hot tub, the water bubbling, the tiny white lights hanging from the pergola on, and the wine poured by the time she appeared, wearing a white terry cloth robe.
Her look of surprise might have rubbed me the wrong way before, but tonight … tonight I was seeing a different side of her.
“Cowboys can do romance too, Emma.”
Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “I didn’t know romance was part of the deal.”
I stepped forward, bringing us toe-to-toe, and wrapped my hand around the belt of the robe. “It is if you want it to be.”
She studied me, apparently seeing something that met her satisfaction, because she nodded. Her hands slipped beneath mine and she unknotted the belt. The sides of the robe fell open, revealing a turquoise bikini, with a tiny triangular top and tie bottoms. A smile stretched across my face.
“You are a good girl.”
Her shrug was not only endearing, it made her tits bounce deliciously. When her cheeks flushed, I held out a hand. She took it and climbed the stairs to the hot tub. Stepping carefully into the water, she sank beneath the surface until only her shoulders and the tops of her breasts were visible. I followed her in and settled on the bench diagonal to her. I grabbed the glasses of wine off the edge and started to shift closer, when her easy expression turned hard.
“You do this often? With your parade of women? It seems like a pretty practiced seduction scene.”
What the fuck? Practiced?
Her tone turned sharper when she added, “Do you do this often with Celeste?”
I set the wine glasses back on the edge of the hot tub with a clink. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“This.” She lifted her hands out of the water, droplets flying. “The wine, lights, and stars.”
I couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “The stars? I can’t take credit for those, sweetheart.”
“You know what I mean.”