by Snow, Nicole
Fuck.
My jaw tightens, my brain sifting through the many ugly possibilities he’s conjured up.
“He’s right. We’ve made the same mistake too many times, sitting back and manning our fort.” Warren strokes his chin, looking past me, out the window at the sleepy, idyllic night grounds of Charming Inn. “We need to flush his ass out.”
“Can’t be that easy, War,” Blake chimes in. “Holt said this guy’s crafty. If he’s really that sly, he’ll see it coming from a mile away.”
“No, wait,” I say. “There’s one way we can do that, and one way only—Sierra Potter.”
Four heads swivel toward me, eyes tense in the moonlight, slowly blinking.
“You really think she’d flip on him?” Blake asks weakly. “From what you said, the poor girl’s smitten with this clown. She’d—”
“She’d be sorry if she fucked her sister over,” I say, sitting up straight in my seat. “She may be confused, reckless, desperate, and misled. But mean-spirited isn’t the vibe I got from Sierra. She doesn’t want to hurt Libby, not really.”
“It’s not crazy.” Doc nods firmly, his keen mind in overdrive. He senses it too. “She’s been lied to, not unlike the rest of this grifter’s little army. I only fear she won’t have a chance to figure it out, much less escape.”
My blood goes cold. It’s a real possibility, even if by some miracle Sierra figured out her boyfriend’s a dumpster fire and walked out on him tomorrow.
“We won’t let that happen,” I say, without a clue how I mean to make good on that promise. “I’ll find her, have Libby talk some sense, and get her to give up that fuck’s location.”
Doc leans back in his chair, sneaking another cookie under the table.
“We’ll keep our ears open and draft a few more, then,” Leo says, looking at me and his friends, one at a time. “The girls hear and see all sorts of traffic, seeing how busy they are. We’re lucky men. We need our wives for this shit. Help them help us find Sierra, and then we can turn her over to you and her sis. I know how the bond with sisters goes, no matter what comes between them. It’s freaky shit, too strong for any asshole to sever.”
Heads nod all around. I bite back a grin.
It’s honestly a bit touching to see these bruisers looking all starry-eyed when they talk about their women. I’m also humbled at them bringing in Haley, Ember, Clarissa, and Peace. Their girls are as sharp and battle-tested as they are beautiful.
The fact that they wound up with these guys at all means they did their fair share of suffering, too.
“I’m grateful,” I tell them, trying to keep it short and sweet. “Not just because you’re all doing your thing keeping Heart’s Edge safe. Again. When I first came back here, I didn’t have a friend in the world with the arson thing and all...now, I’m just happy somebody’s got my back. I won’t let you down.”
A big hand slaps my back. I look over to see Blake grinning like the big dumb weirdo he is.
“No need to get these guys all teary, man. We’ll figure this out. You just keep Libs and her horses safe.”
We break up then, and I clasp four powerful, sincere hands as everybody clears out. Can’t resist stealing a couple cookies myself for the road.
Blake trails me to my truck, keeping pace better than he could months ago, that trademark limp of his down to a barely-there cowboy swagger.
The crickets are loud tonight, our background track for every word.
“I still feel like an asshole for burdening everybody like this,” I tell him, leaning against my tailgate. “If it weren’t for the body, I’d go to Langley and the Feds, but...damned if you do, damned if you don’t barely cuts it here.”
“Hmm. Can’t decide whether or not I like this,” Blake says, sweeping his coppery brown hair back.
“What?”
“You having a conscience and all. Seems like now that you’ve got one, you don’t know where to point it, bro.” He grins his usual insufferable shit-smile.
“Yeah? That more of your sage radio wisdom when you’re not taking on callers who want to talk about alien butt probes?”
He chuckles. At least he’s used to me giving him crap about his ridiculous Coast to Coast AM meets love doctor radio show.
“That’s me helping you pull your head out of your ass, Holt. I told you what you need to worry about,” he says.
I fold my arms, quirking an eyebrow, waiting for him to enlighten me.
“Libby, Libby, and also Libby. You know your shit, man. You’ve been through active service and busted a few heads like everybody else. Protecting her from bodily harm ain’t the hard part.” He pauses, glancing up at the stars. “You’ve gotta do her heart right, too. If it were me, I wouldn’t be wasting another second here while she’s in bed waiting. So go tuck her in. Take her on a real date, too.”
I start to open my mouth and fling something back, but it’s in his smile. He’s being serious.
It’s like he’s speaking from experience with Peace, and I can actually believe him.
I just nod, mutter another thanks and goodnight, giving my brother a parting handshake.
They say good help’s hard to find, and maybe it’s true.
Here in Heart’s Edge, it’s closer than I ever thought, and only a royal pain in the ass about half the time.
17
Dark Horse (Libby)
By the time the weekend rolls around, I’m almost ready to chase his ass away.
Listen.
Otherworldly gravity defying monkey-sex every night is cool.
But you try functioning like a normal human being less than eight hours after you’ve been cored out like a freaking apple, left sore and sated and not remembering how to curse the man who did it?
Yeah.
It’s a little much.
It’s even more disgusting when, come Saturday morning, he’s bouncing out of bed with that same endless energy while I’m just dead in the covers.
Well, he can run the farm today.
I’m sleeping in.
“What do you want for breakfast?” he asks, nudging my side and leaning over to gently bite the back of my shoulder.
“Solitude,” I mumble, reaching back to swat him. “Are you an incubus or what? Where do you get the energy?”
“You. So maybe I am.” Snickering, his beard scrapes against my oversensitive skin, he nips down over my shoulder, toward my shoulder blade, while I push my face into a pillow. “You make me happy, Libby. Guess that gives me all the pep I need.”
I push myself up on my elbows and give Holt a disgusted look through the mess of hair falling in my face. “It’s way too early in the morning for sweet talk.”
“Not sweet talk. Truth.” He brushes my hair aside, tracing his lips over mine gently. “Get some more shut-eye. I’ll cook and then start on what needs doin’.”
“You’re gonna work? On my ranch?” I arch a skeptical brow.
“Why not? The crew’s out for the weekend, the site’s packed away, and I’m not looking to sit in the house and do nothing while you slave your butt off.” Holt steals another kiss and nearly gets bitten for his trouble when I snap my teeth at him, making him laugh. “No fussing, lady. If I help, you can finish early, and then maybe we can go on another date.”
That sparks my interest. “Where?”
“Anywhere you want.” He raises his brows. “Is the old drive-in still open?”
“Only sometimes. But we can see if they’re showing anything tonight.” I sit up, yawning and stretching, enjoying the way his eyes fall over my naked body.
He’s gonna make a girl vain at this rate.
Can’t really complain.
But I fish around until I find the shirt I ripped off of him last night, stealing it to wrap myself up, the warm flannel saturated in his scent. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I flick his arm as I stand—and bite back a wince as my thighs protest.
Nope, I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“I
’m up now,” I say. “I’ll help you with breakfast, then we can let the sheep out.”
Seems like I’m in for an easy day.
Or so I think.
I swear to God, if I didn’t know it, I wouldn’t believe Holt grew up in Heart’s Edge.
I’ve never seen a clumsier man on a ranch in my life.
All that confidence I’d seen at the construction site?
Gone.
He’s hopeless. Dropping stuff, tripping over everything, almost ending up ass-first in the ditch again. It’s cute as hell but also slows me down.
I give up around the time he manages to spook the sheep into nearly breaking out of their pen.
You’d think sheep couldn’t stampede.
You’d be wrong.
I don’t even know how he did it.
Next thing I know, Plath’s pitched him off and gone charging off on her lonesome to cut the sheep off, tossing her mane with something almost like annoyance.
A good horse is as awesome as a sheepdog, if you train her right.
Turns out, horses train way easier than men.
I leave Holt rolling in the dirt for a few while I kick my heels and send Frost charging forward with a challenging snort. He moves at an angle to Plath so we can stop the sheep from ramming the fence. It’s all upset baa-ing and stomping and clouds of dust.
Total chaos.
But after a few wild minutes, I get them under control and settled back in their pen.
Plath’s a little harder to contain.
She’s a bit like me.
Feisty as hell, and once her blood’s up, she’s ready to go hoof to hoof with just about anyone.
Thank God for Frost.
She’s got this thing with him where she just can’t bring herself to lash out at her buddy—and when he trots me over to her and lays his head across her neck, she stops her snorting.
I swing down out of the saddle, looping my arms around both their necks and stroking their manes; their big heads hang heavy against my shoulders, hot horseflesh against my skin.
“There we go, guys,” I soothe. “Everything’s okay.”
Holt comes loping up, chagrin written all over his face as clearly as the dirt streaked all over him.
“Sorry,” he says. “Don’t know what happened. It’s like the sheep just hate me.”
“Animals can sense pure evil,” I say dryly, and he belts out a laugh while I snort. “Look, you obviously can’t be trusted not to destroy this place if I let you do anything hard. Why don’t you put Plath away, give her a good rubdown and a carrot or two, and then muck out the stalls?”
He blanches. “I fucked up so bad you’re putting me on horseshit duty?”
I smirk, nodding. “Yep. That bad. It ain’t glamorous, but at least it’s hard to screw up.”
“Fuck, fine,” he growls out an exaggerated sigh and hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me in close with an easy strength that makes my stomach flip. Leaning down, he buries his face in my hair, breathing in deep. “Just let me get a smell of you first for the road.”
Tangling my fingers in his grubby shirt, I choke on a laugh. “Aww, c’mere.”
I don’t need to ask him twice.
My lips hit his and we go hard.
He kisses me rough, makes me forget everything but the feel of Holt Silverton completely taking me over in shivers and gasps. I’m nearly rubbing my body against his in rhythm with the deep, teasing stroke of his tongue.
There’s a sweet friction to it, slick and velvety as our tongues duel.
I feel every caress, warming me up so hot I know I’ll be feeling him for hours.
God, I’m letting him in too deep.
I know it.
I just can’t seem to help myself.
Finally, I break for air, shoving at his chest.
“Go,” I say. “Get gone.”
“Getting gone,” he says, saluting me with that unrepentant grin. It’s made all the worse by the fact that his mouth is so red.
I watch him storm away on those long, muscular legs, looking like walking sin.
Yep, I hate that man.
...if only because I love how he makes me feel.
It just ain’t fair.
* * *
There’s a lot that goes into running a ranch, and with Frost for company, I head out to mend a few fences that’ve been left neglected for far too long.
Don’t even go there with the Sierra metaphors.
It’s twilight by the time I’m done.
When it’s over, I’m sweaty, scraped up, sore, and working out a few splinters.
Still picking them out, I mount up and head back to the barn. I’m so in tune with Frost’s gait that I can ride without even holding the reins, busily focused on tugging little bits of wood out from under the skin of my fingertips.
I find out real quick that’s a mistake.
When as I draw up to the barn, I catch a hint of motion.
Holt, standing there outside the barn with the hose held over his head, water pouring down him in glittering sheets.
Crap city.
He’s shucked his outer shirt, leaving one of those ridiculously tight undershirts and his jeans, both of them soaked to his skin until he might as well be naked.
The fabric clings, outlining every chisel of his abs, every hard edge of his pecs, every ripple and bulge of the gorgeously toned muscles in his thighs. His bare arms glisten, the water running into the sharp-cut channels between stark ridges of biceps and forearms.
He sloughs off dirt from the barn like he’s trying to tease me to death.
It’s like one of those pinup calendars with half-naked cowboys come to life.
And I’m so busy watching I don’t even realize I’m squeezing my hot, aching thighs against Frost’s flanks so hard the horse jolts forward.
I’m not sure if the lurch in my gut is vertigo or a sudden flare of twisted desire.
He doesn’t even see me yet.
Doesn’t realize I’m watching this lion of a man with a ruthless hunger building up inside me.
But I can’t hold back.
I’m swinging down before I realize it, looping Frost’s reins around the closest post and striding across the space between us like I’m being pulled on a tether.
He lowers the hose, bowing his head down just as I close in.
There’s a second where his head tilts.
His eyes widen.
His lips part.
He’s about to say my name.
I don’t give him half a chance.
My hands move, grabbing wet handfuls of his shirt. Steaming with his body heat, we go down hard.
I don’t know if I’m kissing him or it’s a freaking attack.
All I know is, I’m gonna die if he doesn’t touch me right the hell now.
It’s like striking a match to a lake of gasoline.
First one spark, and then everything bursts into flame.
Next thing I know, we’re stumbling back toward one of the empty stalls, first me pushing him and then him pushing me, fighting for it—and my back slams hard against the wall.
Yes!
Be rough with me.
Make me feel it, make me fight for it, make me scream for every second.
He reads my mind.
His hands rake every bit of me, dragging at my clothes, and I’m ripping at him, too.
We race to unwrap each other.
God, he feels good when he’s steaming wet and sultry to the touch underneath that slick water, hard muscle glistening and burning against my palms.
“Fucking hell, Libby,” he gasps out, his fingers digging hard into my ass, lifting me up against him until I wrap my legs around his waist.
He’s the only thing holding me up, my body grinding tight against his.
I love how his weight shadows mine, my breasts dragging against his chest, my nipples puckered.
I also love his hardness against my stomach, already so stiff it gives me a thrill to know
he gets like this for me.
And I definitely love the challenge in his eyes as he lifts me higher, dragging my panties down, ripping them off, burying his face in my neck.
It’s almost a game.
How long can I torment him before he has to be inside me?
Today it’s a game with one round.
The second my bare flesh presses against the denim of his jeans, hot friction making me scream like a cat in heat, dragging against me and getting me so, so wet...he curses, biting at my neck, tearing his jeans open, freeing his cock.
The head presses against me—right there—his thickness making me squirm.
Oh, baby, I do, twisting my hips, trying to take him inside me.
But he’s got me tight, keeping me on the edge, and I scream, cursing and shoving and biting his shoulder.
“Holt!” I hiss, and he chuckles against my throat, licking the stinging bite mark.
“Let me have my little pleasures, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice like booming thunder.
Then he catches up a handful of my hair, pulling my head back gently—but still hard enough to make me thrill, hot and burning and begging.
My scalp prickles and my whole body ignites with a ripple of wild heat.
He’s got me pinned against the wall.
I stare up at him, smoldering with need, with something that feels like hate, but I know it isn’t even close.
A second later, he crushes his mouth down on mine.
Make no mistake: this is a kiss that claims.
Probably for life.
His rock-hard cock pushes into me, piercing me and filling me in a single smooth stroke.
He gives up everything I’ve been demanding, everything I crave.
It’s quick. It’s hot. It’s rough.
I don’t care what it is as long as it puts out the fire burning me alive.
I’m greedy, shameless, and every time he slams into me, I’m ready to kill him when he pulls back out. It leaves me feeling so alone, so empty, dying for his fullness inside me, slamming deep and touching this spot somewhere that makes me lose my ever-loving mind.
Leave it to Holt to discover parts of me I didn’t know existed.