Her Royal Bed

by Laura Wright

  “Does that mean you won’t be doing this kind of thing again?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “An end to the spying?”

  She nodded. “I think that would be best. Obviously I can’t handle the outcome.”

  “And which outcome is that? The verbal sparring or the mild inquisition?”

  “Mild?” she asked with a touch of humor in her tone.

  “Oh, c’mon,” said Bobby, his eyes glinting with a dangerous blue fire. “A man has the right—no, the obligation, to find why he’s being tailed. Even when it’s a beautiful woman who’s doing the tailing.”

  He was unbearably attractive, rough and used and slightly broken in spirit. Jane stood there, brazenly staring at him, wondering what it would be like to touch him, to run her fingers over his face, that stubborn jaw, that slash of a scar on his upper lip. She wondered if he would be rough with a woman in bed or achingly slow and deliberate. She wondered if he allowed anyone to comfort him when he grieved for his sister.

  Such strange, diverse thoughts worried her, made her heart thud in her chest, made her belly feel warm and liquid, as though she’d swallowed a cup of sweet honey.

  “So, was there something you wanted?” he asked, cutting into her private reverie, a faint smile playing on his lips.

  “No,” she said quickly, then retreated, shook her head. “Well, that’s not true.” How did she put it? “I was…interested in you.”

  “Was?”

  “Am,” she said without thinking.

  “Is that so?” Smiling lazily, he leaned back against the railing.

  “What you said tonight,” she began, walking gingerly toward him. “What you said…about your sister, and how you feel about her…it really moved me.”

  His expression changed in an instant. Where there had been an easy, roguish grin, a dark, thin line now etched his mouth. “So you’re not really interested in me. You came to find me out of pity.”

  “No,” she said at once, wondering how he could have misunderstood her so, wondering what was pushing her even to continue with this conversation.

  He took a swallow of his beer, then muttered tersely, “The sad dog with no tail, right?”

  “That’s not it at all.”

  “Darlin’, I’ve seen it before, and I’m not looking for anyone’s pity.”

  Above them, the wind played with the clouds, blowing the pale-gray poufs over the stars and moon, while casting Bobby Callahan’s face in an eerily sensual shadow. But Jane could see his eyes clearly enough. Dark, and hot with emotion. A quick shiver traveled her spine. She’d seen that look before, seen eyes that masked great pain and regret. She’d seen that look in herself and in her mother, right before Tara Hefner had lost her sight.

  She took another step toward him. “You have it all wrong, Mr. Callahan—”

  “I doubt it,” he interrupted.

  “I wasn’t offering you pity.”

  “What are you offering then, Jane Hefner?”

  The question startled her. So did his expression. Unmasked passion—though from anger or sexual curiosity, she wasn’t sure.

  She stood on legs filled with water and listened to her heart pound in her chest. What did she want from this man? To talk? To exchange painful histories and hopes for the future? That was an incredibly brazen thing to expect from a stranger, now wasn’t it?

  A pang of need snaked through her, through her belly, up to her breasts. It was a completely insane moment for her as she realized she wanted him to touch her, hold her against him.

  She looked him straight in the eye and said in apologetic tones, “I feel like an idiot here. This kind of thing is all new to me. Like I said, I don’t usually follow men out of parties, spy on them and offer to—”

  “Again the offer,” he broke in, his gaze riveted on her, his eyes an almost stormy shade of blue. “What is it you’re offering, darlin’?”

  A picture of his body against hers flashed into her brain, but she rejected it. For the moment. “I just thought you might want to talk.”

  He stared at her blankly. The deep-cut shadows beneath his eyes hinted at nights not spent in sleep. Was it grief that kept him awake or the soft body of a woman?

  “I know what it feels like to lose someone,” she said, in a quiet voice. She hadn’t lost her mother physically, but in her own way she had. They hadn’t been able to do the same things, share the same things. “I know the pressures of a family member who has a disability.”

  He said nothing at first, just looked at her…or straight through her, she couldn’t tell which. Then he shook his head and muttered a terse, “Not into talking, Miss Hefner. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Mr. Callahan—”

  “I’m not looking for a soulmate, and I sure as hell ain’t looking for pity.”

  “You keep misunderstanding—”

  He pushed away from the wall and covered the few feet between them. “Have a beer on you?”

  “No.”

  “How ’bout a whiskey?”

  She shook her head, tried mentally to slow her pulse as his closeness, his scent, had her heart in her throat. “No.”

  He shrugged, then suddenly reached out, took hold of her arm and hauled her against him. “Well, this’ll do, I suppose.”

  Jane never had a chance to think, much less react as Bobby Callahan dipped his head and covered her mouth with his. As his lips crushed against hers, she felt her belly tighten, felt her knees cease to hold her weight. There was no slow sweetness about his kiss. He was all passion and fireworks, hungry as a wolf and frighteningly demanding.

  For the first time in a month, Jane felt her mind go. His passion, anger, fear, whatever it was that had called her to him tonight, fused into her skin, branding her.

  He moved impossibly closer. He was incredibly tall, and although Jane stood five-foot-eight, she still had to roll up to her toes to gain full contact. When she did, Bobby growled, deepened his kiss, clearly spurred on by her interest. Gripping her waist and back, he tilted his head and eased his tongue into her mouth.

  When he pulled back, left her mouth, his gaze was fierce, but vulnerable. “Unless you can give me more of that, darlin’, we’re done here.”

  Breathless, her body shocked with electricity and heat, Jane tried to find her sense of reason, but it was lost. Completely evaporated into a sky of need. She had been kissed with such desperation, passion and ferocity, it was as though Bobby Callahan wanted to consume her. It was as though she’d been offered a chance to morph into a hawk for one night and fly without any fear or reason. Her thighs trembled, for God’s sake.

  She’d never offered herself to a man. Not like this. Brazen and uncomplicated.

  Swallowing every last bit of unease, Jane curled a hand around his neck and tugged his head lower. But before Bobby reached her mouth, he uttered, “You sure?”

  “Yes,” she said in breathless tones.

  “Because this’ll go way past a kiss.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  His dark gaze flickered to the doorway behind her. “We can’t do this here.”

  Truth be told, she didn’t care where they ended up. On the deck, in a bathroom, against the tiles of a shower. She wanted this man, this stranger. A raw desperation filled her, rationalized her actions. It was complete and utter madness, but she wanted to fuse herself with the one person who had unknowingly touched her soul, the place she hadn’t allowed anyone to touch in years.

  “Come with me.”

  He practically carried her away from the deck and down the hall, his mouth ravaging hers, nipping at her lips, tasting her. Several times, he pushed her back against the wall and kissed her, his thigh pressing between hers, nudging at the pulsing center of her body. Time seemed to slow as they rolled and jostled their way to wherever Bobby was leading. Then Jane heard a muffled click as a door opened. The room was dim, just a faint cast of moonlight through an open window. She had no idea if they were in a bedroom or an office, and
she didn’t care. Bobby’s mouth was on hers again.

  She heard him kick the door closed with his foot. “It’s not locked,” she uttered, her skin itching to be touched by large, rough hands.

  “I know.” He eased her onto the bed, then shouldered out of his tuxedo jacket and white shirt. Jane stared, her lips parted. Bobby’s face remained in shadow, but his chest, that tanned, thickly muscled chest, lay bare, greedy fingers of moonlight washing over him.

  When he lowered his head and Jane found his gaze, she smiled. “This will be far better than a beer, I can promise you that.”

  “Better be,” Bobby said with a lazy grin, though the muscles in his arms were as taut as pulled rope.

  “You’ll let me know…”

  “I’ll guide you every step of the way, darlin’.” Bobby was over her in seconds, his mouth on hers. But he only allotted her a few deep kisses before his head dipped, finding her pulse at the base of her neck. He nibbled at the spot, drew his tongue up the band of muscle. Jane sucked air between her teeth and plunged her fingers into his hair. Down he moved to her collarbone, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin.

  A hungry growl escaped his throat as he tugged the top of her dress down. She wore no bra, and he quickly bent his head, took one stiff nipple into his mouth and suckled deeply. Jane gasped in pleasure and dug her nails into his skull.

  Bobby tugged and suckled her steadily, making her toes point and her thighs tremble. Jane squirmed and pressed her hips up, against the mound of his erection. Bobby eased down her dress and discarded it somewhere on the floor, then returned to her breast, laving slow circles around her aching nipple. His hand slipped down, over her ribs where her heart thudded violently, over her flat belly and under the slip of underwear at her hips. Pure instinct took her, and Jane opened her thighs in response. It had been so long—two and half years to be exact—since a man had touched her. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

  Though she wasn’t sure she’d really been touched before now. Bobby Callahan was an expert. He had skill and an erotic passion she’d never experienced. His emotions were raw and exposed as he ravished her body, acting as though he wanted to consume her.

  His mouth was on her jaw, her neck, as his hand moved over the curls between her legs, his middle finger dipping into the wet seam beneath. Jane’s skin prickled, and her womb pulsed in anticipation. She pumped her hips, urging him to use his hands, his mouth, anything. She wanted him on top of her, splaying her thighs as wide as they would go. She wanted him inside her.

  But he had other plans.

  Chuckling softly, he found the swollen peak hidden inside her slick folds, and flicked the pink cleft lightly between his thumb and middle finger.

  “Oh…please…” Jane uttered, her hips and legs jerking wildly as she felt herself on the brink of orgasm.

  “That’s right,” he whispered in her ear, quickly slipping off her underwear. “Let it come, darlin’. Let yourself come.”

  Her hips thrust up, over and over as he nipped her earlobe and skillfully circled the pulsing, ultra-sensitive nub. Jane’s breathing went ragged, and sensing her urgency, Bobby thrust two fingers inside her.

  Jane’s breath hitched, and she closed around him, her buttocks squeezing as electric currents ran through her, faster and stronger until she cried out, her hands digging into the flesh of his chest.

  Her climax softened only a touch while Bobby ripped off his pants and sheathed himself. Without missing a beat, his mouth found hers as one powerful hand caught her wrists and lifted her arms over her head. She felt him hard and thick against her, pressing solidly against the opening to her body. With one long driving stroke, he was inside her. He was large, but her muscles clamped around him, took him fully.

  No slow thrusts followed. No soft kisses or whisperings of what was coming next. Bobby was really worked up, ready to take his own release and Jane wanted to hear how he sounded when he came.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and thrust upward, meeting every stroke he gave her. He felt like heaven, so powerful, hitting a spot inside her womb so foreign she bit her lip. She tasted blood, but didn’t care. Bobby was riding her hard and she was close to climaxing again. She lowered her legs, then slapped her thighs together under his body so she was holding him inside her as tightly as possible, while he bucked against the ridge of her sex.

  It was too much for them both. Jane went first, her climax harder and richer the second time, and Bobby followed, pumping furiously into the tight glove of her body until he thrust hard upward and held, releasing a dark groan along with the wet heat of his orgasm.

  Sweat dampened the sheets, held their bodies together as outside the moon once again escaped the cover of a cloud and brilliant yellow light beamed into the room, as if to remind them that their encounter was coming to a close.

  But Bobby didn’t seem to have the same interpretation of the moon’s movement. He gathered Jane against him, held her tightly and brushed a kiss over her forehead.

  Jane rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “We should probably get up, get dressed and go back down to the party,” she whispered, the hair on his chest tickling her cheek.

  “Probably,” he uttered.

  But that was all he would say as the minutes ticked by and his breathing slowed. He’d given in to sleep, and for a moment, she wholeheartedly wished she could do the same. To wake up with Bobby, maybe make love a second time before this whole mad fantasy of an evening came to a close. But then reality started to pinch at her. She’d wanted to be close to this man, feel his energy, his pain, his mouth, and she had. What she needed to do now was rise, brush off the tiny flecks of shame she felt for allowing such a tryst to happen and leave.

  Her breathing shallow, she disentangled herself from Bobby’s warm and heavenly grasp and sat up. It took her only moments to slip back into her panties and her dress, which had been in a rumpled pile on the floor. Then she looked back at Bobby Callahan. He looked so appealing in the washed light of the moon, his dark, powerful body wrapped in the sheets.

  A flash of memory assaulted her, brought shivers to her skin—hands, strong and large, exploring, tantalizing.

  She almost cast aside all her good sense and crawled back into bed with him. But instead she covered him gently with a blanket, grabbed her heels and slipped from the room.

  Two

  She was an untamed beast with a spirited attitude, but it was her elegance and beauty that had his muscles flexing and his pulse pounding in his blood.

  The burnt-orange sun dipped into the horizon as Bobby came to a quick stop in the dirt. The charcoal-gray mare trotting beside him followed suit, snorting and smacking the ground with her hoof. Breaking two-year-olds could be a boring process; weeks of training on the ground before you even thought about riding. And even after you did get to ride, there was still not all that much excitement in store. Very little bucking, and a rare thing to take a tumble.

  But this lady, Bobby mused, giving the mare at his right an appreciative look—she was spectacular. Her eyes darted with excitement, as if she wanted him to challenge her nature and instincts.

  Bobby reached around, pushed his finger into the horse’s shoulder, then ribs and hip, grinning when she quickly understood to calmly step away from the pressure. Not a day went by when he wasn’t breaking or training a horse for someone. It was how he made his living, how he kept the ranch going and the kids coming. Sure, the private donations were large, but they were also few and far between.

  Bobby pulled on each side of the mare’s mouth, softening her jaw. This mare was for Charlie Docks, a sweet old man who had a place just north of Paradise, and to whom Bobby had turned for help and humbling support when his father had died all those years ago. He wouldn’t be seeing a bundle of cash for breaking Charlie’s mare, though. The man didn’t have much, but he had offered Bobby a nice, reliable old nag for the kids in exchange.

  “That Charlie’s gal?”


  Bobby glanced up, pushed his Stetson back. “Yep.”

  Standing at the corral gate, his foot propped up on a steel rung, was Abel Garret. KC Ranch’s foreman was almost as big as Bobby, but a sight older with short, graying blond hair, pale-green eyes and a time-worn face. Abel had never told Bobby his exact age, but Bobby had guessed he was somewhere in his fifties. Thing was, he could stick on a grizzly attitude if he had a mind to, and sometimes it made him seem older. Folks thought he was a curmudgeon, but losing a wife to another man could do that to a person.

  “Pretty thing,” Abel remarked.

  Saddle pad in hand, Bobby gently and rhythmically slapped the dusty pad against the horse’s side. “Sure is. Smart as a whip, too.”

  Abel lifted a brow. “You’re getting paid for this, right?”

  “So to speak.”

  Abel chuckled, took off his Stetson and plowed a hand through his hair. “Couple chickens and a quilt?”

  “C’mon, now. The man’s got nothing but a good wife and ten head of Angus. He needs a respectable horse.”

  “Sure he does. But we don’t got all that much more.”

  Bobby scrubbed a hand over his face, barbed with a day’s growth of beard. He wasn’t a rich man, but he was comfortable, had food on his table and a good business that did good work. “We’ve got thirty-two head,” Bobby said to Abel, an easy grin playing about his mouth. “And you’ve been more than a good wife to me.”

  Abel frowned. “Shut yer face, will ya?”

  Chuckling, Bobby said, “You know that you’re talking to your boss?”

  “Yeah, I know it.”

  Bobby moved down the mare’s body, gently slapping the pad against her muscular legs. “Janice Young is coming by today.”

  “Who?”

  “Woman I met at the Turnbolts’ charity event last week.” A shot of heat went through Bobby at the memory. But it had nothing to do with Janice Young. As far as Bobby was concerned, he’d noticed only one woman that night. A woman with smoky-green eyes, hair down her back and legs so long he’d have sworn she could’ve wrapped them around him twice—a woman who had taken over his mind and his body for the past seven nights. Hell, he’d barely dropped on his bed at night before the visions of her slammed into his brain, before sweat broke out on his forehead and the lower half of him went hard as steel.