by Jami Alden
She’d heard him talking with Damon about eventually building something bigger, maybe out of logs or stone.
Something more permanent, he’d said.
I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay. His words from the other night, and the mysterious family emergency, the details of which he’d yet to share with anyone, made her wonder if he would still need something permanent in Big Timber.
She shook the thought out of her head as she pulled her car in behind Brady’s truck. It didn’t matter to her one way or the other if Brady was here for a few more weeks or a few more years. Once the spark between them flared out they would go their separate ways. Molly would continue her life her in Big Timber, and where Brady ended up would be his business.
She got out of the car, shivering a little with anticipation as well as cold as the October air cut through the soft knit of her sweater. Her stomach fluttered as her boots crunched up the driveway and up the three stairs of his front stop. From inside, she could hear the murmur of voices, and assumed Brady was watching TV.
The porch light was on, illuminating the fog of her breath as she tapped at the metal screen door that fronted a wooden door behind it. Heavy footsteps approached and the sound of the talking got louder until Brady flung open the door.
He looked vaguely disheveled and sexier than any man had a right to be with his bare feet, shirt untucked from his faded jeans, and his thick, dark hair ruffled as though someone had been running fingers through it.
He was also, she realized, on the phone, which would explain the voices—or voice—she’d heard. He pointed to the phone he held to his right ear. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
From the look on his face, all furrowed brow and tight jawed, the conversation wasn’t a happy one. Molly made a placating gesture and started to back down the steps. He gave his head a quick shake and grabbed her wrist to pull her over the threshold. He pulled her gently but firmly through the little entry way and into the main room that comprised the kitchen and the sitting room and over to the couch.
“Uh huh,” he said to whoever was on the other line and walked over to the small kitchen. He poured a glass of wine from a bottle open on the counter and brought it to her.
“Stay,” he mouthed.
Molly nodded as she brought the glass to her lips, frowning as he abruptly turned and headed for the hallway off the other side of the kitchen. Footsteps were followed by the sound of a door shutting.
She sipped at her wine, but it didn’t do much to mellow her out as the thin walls of Brady’s house didn’t do much to muffle the sound of his side of the conversation.
“Goddamn it, I’ve only been gone for three days! How can it already be gone?”
Her head cocked, interest piqued as she surmised whoever was on the other line was involved in the mysterious “family emergency” that had him packing up at the end of August to deal with a situation with a family no one—well, not Molly anyway—ever knew he had.
Then, “Yeah, I do think I get to tell you what to do when I’m the only one who…” Molly couldn’t quite make out the rest. Her curiosity to hear what he was saying was no match for the voice in her head reminding her that it was rude to eavesdrop.
But Brady’s voice had dropped to such a pitch that short of sneaking down the hall and draining her wine glass to put it up to the wall, she wasn’t likely to catch more than an occasional word here and there. She decided to distract herself by poking around Brady’s house. Until now, she’d only seen it from the outside. The only other time she’d been out here was to drop off a check one week when she’d been a little late getting payroll done. As a result, his paycheck, rather than being ready to collect by Friday close, wasn’t available until Monday, when Adele’s was closed and everyone had the day off.
Whether he was being contrarian or engaging in another of his many missions to piss her off, Brady refused to come to the restaurant on his day off and insisted Molly drop it off at his place.
Even though she could have easily asked one of the others to do it—Janelle, for example, who lived close and would only have to go a couple minutes out of her way—Molly had been compelled to do it herself.
She would never have admitted it at the time, but even then she was curious about where he lived, about this place he’d been so excited—as excited as Brady got, anyway—about when he bought it.
That time she’d only seen it from the outside, and now she took the opportunity to study the interior.
The house was sparsely furnished, with just a small beige sofa, wood coffee table, and a lamp occupying the small front room, along with the obligatory flat screen TV that took up most of the wall space. The kitchen was separated by an L shaped countertop. In front of the countertop was a single barstool.
For some reason she couldn’t name, it made her a little sad to think about Brady sitting on that solitary barstool, drinking his coffee or having one of the few meals he ate outside of the restaurant.
She shook her head, reminding herself that Brady was hardly lacking for company, female or otherwise.
Still, she couldn’t help noticing that there were no pictures on the wall, no photographs of family or friends.
He’d lived there for nearly a year, and from what she could see it was furnished like a room in one of those long term efficiency hotels, almost like no one lived here. Of course, if he was planning to build a new home on the property, it didn’t make sense for him to put a lot of effort into this place. But it didn’t seem like it would take too much money or effort to put a rug under the coffee table for a pop of color, maybe a couple of throw pillows to wake up the sofa—
Stop. You have no business decorating his house in your head. Remember the last time you chose furnishings for a man’s house? He took that beautiful antique farm table you found in Bozeman to Texas with him so another woman could eat off it.
She drained her wine and poured herself another half glass, agitated as the minutes dragged on and Brady’s muffled voice continued to bleed through the walls.
###
Brady hit the end key and pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes as though that could somehow ease the tension building back there. He glanced at the clock radio on the bedside table next to the king size bed he was sitting on.
Fuck. Molly had been cooling her heels for a solid fifteen minutes while he tried to deal with this latest mess from hundreds of miles away.
He’d be lucky if she hadn’t bailed by now.
Maybe it’s better if she does. You know you can’t give her what she wants.
As if that hadn’t been clear enough back at Damon’s, listening to her wax on about the Patton’s perfect picket fence life, the phone call he’d received on the way home had hammered it home.
He’d never talked much with Molly or Ellie directly about their upbringing, but from the bits and pieces he’d gleaned he knew they’d moved around a lot for the first part of their lives, before Adele moved back to Big Timber.
And their dad appeared nowhere in the picture, as Molly confirmed earlier.
Nothing, as far as he was concerned, compared to the chaos that had been created when Lizzy Flannery of the notorious Flannerys of Sandpoint, Idaho, had hooked up with Patrick McManus of the not quite as but getting there notorious McManuses.
His family, both immediate and extended, was about as far away from Molly’s picket fence dream as you could get.
With their marriage came the union of two extended clans populated alcoholics and drug addicts, most of whom made their living as drug dealers and petty thieves. There was even a murderer in there for a while, until his Uncle Emerson was posthumously cleared of the kidnap and murder of young Michael Beckett twelve years ago.
But even finding that the real killer was not a trashy Flannery but a wealthy longtime friend of the Beckett family wasn’t enough to even begin to wipe away the stain saturating the family name. Besides himself, the only normal, contributing member of society was his cousin Erin Flanne
ry, daughter to his mother’s sister.
Erin had figured out even before Brady that the only chance she would have at a future was to do the exact opposite of whatever her family had done. So she’d worked hard in school, gotten good grades, and worked at a local restaurant in Sand Point, Idaho, thirty miles from where Brady had grown up, to earn money for college. And then she’d gotten the hell out.
It had taken Brady a few brushes with the law for drinking and fighting—luckily while still a minor—and getting suspended from the football team for him to clue in. When his coach had handed him a brochure from the local army recruiting office, Brady had taken the hint.
The only thing Erin had ever done that made him question her judgment was her harebrained decision to move back to Idaho five years ago to run the restaurant Mary Curtis had left her in her will.
As far as Brady was concerned, someone could offer him a million dollars outright to move back, and he would still refuse to get near that hornet’s nest.
But the silver lining was that with Erin in Sand Point, at least there was a sane person close by to help him deal with this latest episode in the dysfunctional family feud.
He heard the sound of slow footsteps pacing on the other side of the wall and forced his thoughts away from the fucked up situation back home and instead on the beautiful woman he’d kept waiting for far too long.
He walked down the short hallway into the living room, trying to school his expression into something other than the scowl it naturally creased into whenever he dealt with his family.
Tried and failed, because when Molly turned the expectant look on her face went wary.
She set her wine glass down on the kitchen counter. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” he said before he could stop himself. “But it doesn’t matter,” he said and started toward her, the anger and frustration with his family already fading at the prospect to of peeling Molly out of her sweater and jeans.
He felt the familiar need rising in him—for Molly, but also to lose himself in the primal release that sex always provided. The only thing that could make him forget—if only temporarily—about the chaos his family continued to create, no matter how far away he managed to get.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
He couldn’t hold back the rough laugh. “You’re the last person I want to talk to about it,” he said again, then wondered where the fuck his internal editor had gone as hurt flashed in her eyes.
“Maybe I should go,” she said and started for the door.
He caught her before she made the second step, curving his fingers around her upper arm. “You definitely shouldn’t go,” he said and pulled her until she was flush against him, the soft rounds of her tits pressed tight against his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to forget about it all for a while. I want you to make me forget about it all for a while.
Even though he knew he was being selfish, knew he was rotten company, he needed this. Needed her, like he needed his last breath.
He covered her mouth with his, heard her startled gasp at the force of it, his lips crushing hers, his tongue delving deep, starving for the taste of her.
He told himself to slow down, ease up, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her so tight she could barely catch her breath.
“Brady.” There was no mistaking the undercurrent of unease, or the way she’d stiffened against him.
You need her so much but you can’t ever give her what she needs.
Even as the sly whisper echoed through his head he slid his hand up her ribcage to cup her breast through the soft fabric of her sweater. He could feel her nipple harden through the fabric of her sweater and the bra beneath, heard her gasp as he pinched it hard between his thumb and forefinger.
She shivered against him and he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping at her, feeling like he could devour her any second.
A strangled sound of pleasure told him the moment she lost herself with him. Her body relaxed into him as her arms wound around his neck. Her fingers threaded in his hair as she parted her lips under his, her tongue eagerly tangling with his.
A familiar, dark triumph rose in him. He might have been powerless against the circumstances of his family or how people treated him, but in this, he always had the power.
He might not be able to give Molly the picket fence life she wanted, but tonight, he could give her what she needed.
What they both needed.
Chapter 6
Molly moaned against Brady’s mouth as he abruptly lifted her off the floor and started carrying her down the hallway. Presumably to the bedroom, but frankly she didn’t care as long as they were destined for a flat surface.
He set her on her feet, and she opened her eyes to confirm that yes, they were in a bedroom—his bedroom.
She barely had time to take in the simple furnishings—a queen bed on a simple metal frame, a wooden nightstand that matched the dresser in the corner—before he curtly ordered her to strip.
She kicked off her boots and pulled her sweater over her head while he did the same with his t-shirt. A niggle of something that felt a little like fear pulsed through her at the expression on his face.
Grim and broody, not at all the expression of a lover anticipating a night of passion. Although, as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down his legs in one motion it was clear he was—hello—more than ready to perform.
Done with his own clothes, he helped her with hers. He unclipped her bra and yanked it down her arms, unfastened her jeans and shoved them down her hips so forcefully he almost knocked her off her feet before picking her up and laying her across the bed.
She swallowed hard as Brady climbed on after her, every muscle bulging in stark relief as he held himself over her.
Obviously whatever he’d been dealing with on the phone had left him edgy and frustrated. And it looked like he was planning to take it out on her.
In that moment, she didn’t know what was scarier: Brady himself, or the fact that her body responded by sending a pulse of heat and wetness between her thighs. Instinctively she parted her legs, wanting him to know she was ready and willing to take anything he wanted to give her.
He groaned as he settled between her thighs, his breath hissing as the tip of his cock brushed against the soft skin of her belly.
He braced himself on his elbows as his fingers coiled in her hair, holding her still for another one of those ferocious kisses. She felt a prickle in her scalp as he pulled a little too hard, and to her shock, another pulse of heat at that little taste of pain.
“Fuck, Molly,” he groaned against her mouth. “I can’t go slow tonight, need you too much.”
“You don’t have to.” She took one of his hands in hers and guided it between her breasts, down her stomach until it rested between her thighs. “Feel that.” Her eyes drifted closed as she pressed his fingers against her folds.
His low rumble of pleasure echoed her moan as he rubbed her clit with his thumb and a finger inside. “God, I love how wet you get for me.” Another finger joined the first as he continued to circle her clit in firm strokes.
Her stomach muscles tightened and she could feel herself nearing the edge. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, to stop him or to urge him on she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that in the space of five minutes she’d gone from slightly fearful to almost orgasmic and she was loving every second of it.
“Please,” she managed to gasp. “Inside me. I want to come with you inside me.”
His big, muscled body exploded in a flurry of activity. She heard a fumbling and the slamming of a drawer and then he was stroking a condom down the rock hard length of his cock.
He buried himself deep with one hard stroke and she felt the slight pinch as her body struggled to accommodate him.
He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back home, and that was all it took to send her over the edge.
; ###
“Yes!” Brady couldn’t hold back the triumphant shout as Molly stiffened and shuddered beneath him. He’d been worried before, as he’d realized that no matter how loud his brain shouted for him to slow down, to ease up, at the first taste of Molly’s mouth he’d lost all control.
He was used to using sex to drown out his anger. But no matter how dark things got, he always managed to keep a tight leash on himself and his needs.
Until now. Until Molly, who managed to turn him on with a single sidelong glance. Who’d unknowingly been twisting him in knots and keeping him in a constant state of arousal for the past year.
His deep-seated desire for her combined with the darker emotions stirred up by tonight’s phone call had resulted in the perfect storm of emotional combustibility. For once, he was left powerless to fight it.
But goddamn, she took it. Not only took it, he realized with a groan as her muscles clenched tightly around him.
She liked it.
He hammered into her, thrusting so hard he was moving her up the bed with every stroke. She spread her legs wide and braced her hands against the wall behind her. Her hips rocked, meeting his every thrust as his name echoed on her lips.
Suddenly she stiffened against him, every muscle pulling tight. He felt her pulse and clench around his cock and realized, unbelievably, that she was coming again.
His own orgasm exploded through him with the force of a Mack truck. A groan ripped from his chest as he came so hard he felt like every molecule of his body was trying to escape through the tip of his dick.
Seconds, possibly hours, later he became aware of the gentle tracing of her fingers down his back, the softness of her body under him as he lay still cradled between her thighs.
He rolled them over so she was on top and felt his cells slowly start to come back together. It shouldn’t have been such a shock, not after last night. But as he lay there, exploring her curves with hands that could be gentle now, he marveled at how different it was with her.