by Fiona Archer
“You’re protected here, Chloe. Trent can’t get to you in this house. Noah and I are now your personal bodyguards. Plus, we’ll have our team for backup. You should know every man working on this ranch will keep an eye on you. That means nobody will get on or off our property without us knowing.” Flynn’s warning could not be misunderstood.
“Flynn, you’re blowing this break-in out of all proportion.” She wrenched her hand free. Shit, she had to stop this now before she couldn’t climb her way out of the king-sized hole Trent had dug for her. “For all we know, it could have been kids. They could have been drunk or…whatever. We don’t know for sure that it was Trent.” Desperation drove her to offer ridiculous alternatives.
“Jesus, woman, when are you going to get it through your head you can confide in us?” Flynn’s bark made her jump. “Trent Young is one fucked-up individual. He’s obsessed with you. He’s stalking you and yet you’re trying to convince us it’s a simple break-in.” He jammed a hand through his hair, his glare fusing Chloe to her chair.
Dread clamped into her stomach tighter than the jaws of a steel trap. No, this cannot be happening! What could she say? Flynn had called her out.
“Sweetheart, how long has he been stalking you?” Flynn asked, his tone surprisingly gentle as his hand recaptured hers on the table.
“Not that long. I’ve been avoiding him, and he’s frustrated.” Her throat felt so thick she fought to get the words past her dry lips. She swallowed, her gaze fixed on the table.
“Ripping up your bedsheets and writing slurs on your wall is more than frustrated, Chloe. He’s angry. He wants to hurt you, frighten you. Why?” Noah asked. “Did something happen? What does he have on you, little teacher?”
Her head snapped up at his question. Noah’s eyes narrowed but he remained quiet, waiting. Fear stabbed at her belly. He couldn’t know, could he? No. There’s no way. Those records were sealed.
“Nothing happened. He’s a mixed-up guy. We’ve had a strained relationship for years.” That was putting it mildly, but she wasn’t about to get into the details.
“Luv, whatever it is you’re not telling us, we’ll find out one way or another. Why don’t you make it easier for everyone and tell us now?” Flynn’s thumb swiped over her knuckles. Earlier, the gesture had been soothing. Now each swipe felt like a lash against her nerves. He was too close. She snatched her hand away, clasping them together in her lap.
“Jeez, Flynn, not every family is happy.” Chloe battled to keep her voice from rising. “We were a blended family, Mom and I, and Trent and Hank. We didn’t turn out like the Brady Bunch. Mom passed away. Then Hank died. Trent had his own issues. Some of them he blames on me. Shit happens. Is that enough for you?”
“No, not by a long shot, but it will keep.” Flynn sat back in his chair, sizing her up as if he was measuring her for the gallows.
“So, when can I go back to the house?”
“You don’t. You’re staying here. I’ve arranged for your car to be driven here this afternoon.” Noah interjected.
“Now hang on, I agreed to come to the ranch for one night.” She held up her free hand when Flynn would have interrupted. “One night, that’s all.” I want so many more. “You guys were under no illusions about that either last night or this morning.”
Oh, God, did she have to be the one to bring that up? Her face burned. She sneaked a peek at both men and silently cursed.
Shoulders relaxed, breathing nice and even, calm control oozed from their every pore while her composure unraveled like a dropped ball of string.
Her gaze followed Noah as he reached across the table and grabbed two half-filled coffee cups, placing them in the sink. He glanced at her over his shoulder.
“Do you want some orange juice as well as your coffee?” Noah asked.
Huh? “That’s all you’ve got to say?” Chloe blinked.
“Correct.” He strolled to the fridge. After placing glasses, juice, and coffee on the table, Noah moved to the oven and pulled out dishes piled high with crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. He sat down opposite her at the table.
He was calm, too calm. “You have no intention of letting me leave the ranch, do you?”
“None whatsoever,” Noah declared.
“Look, guys, you need to understand—”
“No, Chloe, you need to understand once and for all, you’re staying here. And you can wipe that pissed look off your pretty face or you’ll end up over my knee.” Noah lifted one brow, daring her to defy him.
She sucked in a breath. He’d do it, too. Wetness soaked her panties at the memory of this morning’s spanking.
Flynn stood, found plates and cutlery, and then returned to set the table. He scooped eggs, bacon, and toast onto a plate for Chloe before serving himself.
“Anyway, where would you go? You can’t stay at your house. It needs repairs, and you can’t bunk with Purdy. You’d be placing her in danger. I’m sure you don’t want that.” Flynn’s note of censure burned the limits of her patience.
“Of course not!” Chloe glared at both men. Placing Purdy in harm’s way was out of the question, even though she was certain her friend would jump to offer her sanctuary.
Until she could guarantee there was no chance of danger, she had few options.
She lifted a hand and rubbed at the knot of pressure building at her temple. All her carefully laid plans for a new start could disintegrate if she wasn’t careful. She had not come this far to let Trent win.
“Okay, I’ll stay here at the ranch. That is”—she paused, spearing a glance at both men—“until the break-in is processed and the repairs made on the house. I’m sure that won’t take more than a couple of days.”
“No. You’ll stay here until we have the perp in custody. There’s no telling how long that will take, so you might as well get comfy. Now eat your eggs.” Noah lifted a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. She had no choice but to chew and swallow.
“Baby, you know there’s no point in arguing. We want you to feel safe here, not pressured. Give us a chance to spoil you.” Flynn’s soft tone and bedroom eyes cajoled her frayed nerves, massaging her toward capitulation.
This wasn’t a battle she had a hope of winning.
“Fine, you win. I’ll stay, at least for the time being.”
As she snagged a piece of bacon from her plate to feed Digger, she could have sworn she heard a whispered “Forever.”
Chapter Nine
Inside the bathroom, Trent scanned the vanity and snatched up the small tablet of soap the motel provided. A shower, then bed. Alone. His hand curled around the soap, his palm indenting the sides. Soon he’d have his prize. And he’d never be alone again.
He’d played the game. Married. Anita Hayes, a pale imitation of his prize, had been so…understanding. With the desperate urgency of an unloved puppy, she’d tried hard to make their marriage work. Her promise of inheriting her father’s business, his payoff, had shined in the distance.
Carson Hayes, a man without sons, chose his seventieth birthday party to announce his heir apparent. The house had been filled with business contacts, underlings, all eager to share in the glory and gain favor with the new prince.
Trent had stood to Carson’s right, his arm around Anita, who stayed quiet, her gaze darting between her father and his cronies. To Carson’s left, a brash young flunky, Angelo Martinez, stood close by, charming the boss’s youngest daughter, Sasha. Carson spoke of his glory days, stringing the drama out until he reached the decisive moment. Trent’s heartbeat had thumped double speed. All the insults he’d endured—the veiled mistrust, silent questions of whether he was worthy—this was the payoff.
With his hand outstretched and a smile on his face, Carson turned to the man on his left.
Trent had played the game. And he’d fucking lost.
He ripped back the plastic shower curtain, stepped into the stall, and wrenched the taps on full force, hissing as the freezing cold spray took precious secon
ds to warm. His cock hardened under the attack. Pain was something to be savored.
Hot water sluiced over his body. He closed his eyes and soaped his chest. His mind traced back over the last week. The automatic GPS on his prize’s smart phone was the jackpot he’d been waiting for. Technology had never been her strong point.
Dirty cops had friends with the expertise to track down the number of her cell phone. Leaving the message on her phone was pure vanity on his part. Was she excited at his call? Scared?
He soaped up his cock, gripped it hard, then squeezed and tugged along its length. He wanted her mouth on his cock. Soft lips, sucking hard and slow. He’d make her kneel and take all of him until she gagged. Grip her hair. Hold her in place. She’d whimper, try to shake her head. But those sweet, innocent eyes wouldn’t lie as they watered, begging him for more.
His balls drew tight. He stroked faster. And her cunt? She’d be virginal tight. Made for his cock. She’d grip him, hold him—“Fuck.”
His release spurted out, coating his fingers. He dragged in a ragged breath, leaned his head against the generic beige tiles, and let the water rinse him clean.
Yes, he’d train her—in the ways of giving head and much more. He had plans for their life together. The money he’d siphoned from Carson would provide for them. She’d need no job. No friends. Nothing to get in the way of their happiness. All his.
Years ago, her innocence had enslaved him, so different from the slut who’d given birth to him and then abandoned him when he’d still been in preschool. The sweetness of her smile remained unchanged, despite the ripening of her body. Each day imagining those firm, young tits hidden under her baggy cotton tops was torture. Her lack of guile convinced him she was the one. His prize. He would take her virginity. Him. No other.
Once Chloe’s own mother had died off, he’d had his chance. He’d had to break her in slowly. Hugs at first. Touching her hair. He’d planned his night of claiming down to the last detail, even adding a small sedative to her meal. If it wasn’t for his father…
He jerked off the tap, stepped out of the stall, then grabbed a towel. “Stupid fucker. You learned the price of interfering.”
She’d been taken away, beyond his reach. Fifteen fucking years. Now, they’d been given a second chance. He wouldn’t waste the opportunity. Nothing would stand in his way.
New game. New rules. There was one winner. Him.
* * * *
Banished from the kitchen, Chloe sighed. Her offer to help clear away the breakfast dishes was refused and countered by a demand not to go outside unless one of her men was with her. Tempted to tell them to shove their order, she reined in her temper. Arguing over their bossy attitude wouldn’t change their minds. She’d pick her moments for all-out rebellion.
After a quick phone call to reassure an anxious Purdy, who insisted on paying her a visit at the ranch later that day, Chloe retraced her steps along the wide hallway, landing back in the front foyer area.
Off to her right, she spied a wood-paneled library. She couldn’t resist peeking inside.
Her sock-covered feet made no sound against the Persian rug that ran the length of the room. Carved mahogany bookcases teaming with books and leather-bound volumes stretched proudly to the ceiling. A soft sigh escaped her lips. Heaven.
Two matching couches upholstered in rich brown leather faced each other in the center of the room. Their oversized proportions allowed for men the size of Noah and Flynn to stretch out in comfort. She inched closer and slid down against the firm padding of the leather.
The faint hint of lemon-scented polish filled her nostrils. Her gaze danced over the room. A stack of wood lay in the open fireplace. Sapphire-hued blankets sat folded on one arm of each couch. A coffee table, in the same mahogany as the rest of the room, nestled between the couches. Then there were the books—classics, best sellers, she even spotted a large assortment of murder mysteries. The hours she could spend in here and never have to come up for air.
“Ah, little teacher, I was wondering when you’d discover the library.”
Noah wore a huge grin as he leaned against the doorframe. He crossed his legs at the ankles, his thumbs hooked loosely in his pockets. How long had he been watching her?
“I feel like a kid in a candy store.” So she was a nerd, but they knew that going in, right? “I wouldn’t know where to turn first—so many books and yet so few hours in a day.” Laughter bubbled past her lips, and she didn’t fight the smile that tugged at her mouth.
Her tawny-haired giant pushed away from the door and moved with an easy grace to sit next to her. He palmed her hand in his. His thumb stroked in an absentminded pattern over the top of her hand. A fizz of delight shot up her arm.
As he turned to look around the room, she studied his relaxed form. Denim and flannel never looked as sexy as it did on these men. Yummy.
“Over the generations the family’s built up a bit of a stockpile. Flynn and I have added to the collection, mostly sci-fi and thrillers, but our tastes are pretty varied. We enjoy non-fiction, too.”
“I bet my murder mysteries can kick your sci-fi sagas to the curb.”
He turned to face her. “You think so?”
That voice. When he went deep and added a rumble of danger…Oh, man, she wanted to curl up like a kitten and purr. The merits of her literary argument flew right out the window.
“Sweetness, you keep looking at me like that and my head will be buried deep, but it won’t be between the pages of any book.” Noah’s lazy smile teased with the promise of carnal pleasures.
Her clit zinged with anticipation. The vivid memory of Noah’s head nestled between her thighs tested her self-control. It would be so easy to lean in, press her lips against his, and trail her hands—
A series of car doors slamming and boots stomping on the front porch ripped her out of her sensual musings.
Noah groaned. “Sorry, luv, I meant to give you a heads up, but we became distracted. We’ve got a meeting of the war cabinet.” He scrubbed a hand along the back of his neck as a wry smile played across his features.
Uh-oh, that didn’t sound good. “War cabinet?”
“Hey, boys, you around?” a deep voice bellowed from the front door.
“In here.” Noah squeezed her hand, rose, and gently pulled Chloe to her feet.
Three men, tall and broad shouldered, entered the room and studied her with varying degrees of curiosity and interest.
One sported tawny-blond hair similar to Noah’s, though his blue eyes were a lighter shade. He moved with a loose agility as he crossed to stand next to Noah.
The tallest man, a bald giant, hung back from the others.
The third man, his midnight-black hair cropped military short, walked with a limp. Her gaze flicked to the cane gripped in his right hand and then back up to the sharp outline of his face. His stare locked with hers, guarded curiosity reflecting in the richness of its espresso-colored depths.
The urge to lower her gaze to the benign safety of the Persian rug was overwhelming. She shifted her feet but kept her chin high.
The giant, his gaze clinical as he dissected her every movement as if cataloging it for evidence at the scene of a crime, spoke first. “So this tiny lady is the woman that’s managed to rope Noah and Flynn.”
More like they roped me.
Chloe steeled herself against shrinking back and melting into the couch.
Noah, as if guessing her instinct for escape, seized her hand and drew her closer into the group. Securing her gently by his side, he made the introductions.
“Chloe, these three ugly bastards are Mike Langley, best sniper the SEALs ever had until he picked a fight with an IED in Iraq, Quinn Sullivan, former SEAL and security expert, and Caleb King, a distant cousin, ex-Army Ranger and complete pain in the arse but we think he’ll be the next sheriff, so Flynn insists we stay friends so we can suck up and gain favors.” With a wave of his hand, Noah indicated each man. “Everyone, meet Chloe Morgan.”
&n
bsp; Chloe’s face warmed under their scrutiny. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Honey, you know what you’re letting yourself in for with Noah and Flynn, right? This one here is a stubborn cuss, used to getting his way. And they eat Vegemite. Have you seen that stuff?” Mike’s lips twisted as he shuddered.
Noah snorted at his friend. “Fair go, mate. You Yanks are too gutless to sample some yourself.”
“Don’t worry Mike, there’s no chance I’d go near Vegemite. It looks and smells like the Antichrist in a jar.” Chloe’s heart lightened at the men’s bursts of laughter.
“I like her already,” rumbled a voice to her left.
The owner of the voice, Caleb, winked at her with a bold assurance that spoke of an easy confidence around women. She’d have to stay on her toes around all of them but watch this one in particular. This must be Purdy’s former high school sweetheart, the deputy the guys had referred to the night of the dance.
Her stomach muscles tightened. Lord, she’d give anything for the relative safety of the bedroom. Well, safe if the bedroom door was locked, bolted, with a reinforced steel bar across its middle and Noah and Flynn languishing on the other side of said door.
“Sweetheart, if he gets to be too much of a grouch, you can always stay with me. I don’t bite…much,” Caleb teased, side-stepping a cuff to the head from Noah.
Despite her wariness, Chloe felt a smile creep at the edges of her mouth. The men’s camaraderie was infectious.
“Hey, what are you all doing in here? Come on. Coffee’s on in the kitchen,” Flynn said from the doorway before herding the men toward the back of the house.
With Noah’s hand caressing the small of her back, Chloe followed the men toward the kitchen.
This morning, when it was just the three of them sitting for breakfast, she had believed the kitchen table gigantic. Now, with her plus five men camped around the edges, the slab of oak seemed miniscule.
Digger, managing to single her out from the tangle of limbs under the table, rested his head on her thigh. She scratched him behind his ear. Digger rewarded her efforts with the occasional thump of a tail and warm lick against her wrist.