Desire at Roosevelt Ranch

by Faber, Elise

  It was the best conversation she’d had in ages.

  And she hadn’t even asked him a question about himself, but when she parked in front of the ranch and opened her mouth to apologize for monopolizing their time, he placed a finger over her mouth and seemed to know what she was thinking before her apology crossed her lips. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

  “Well,” she said, the slightly roughened skin of his finger making her mouth tingle, “I want to know those things about you, too.”

  His smile bordered on a smirk, but she liked it anyway.

  She also liked when he moved his hand and replaced it with his lips . . . and tongue. He kissed her for ages, mouth working against hers, the slick darting of his tongue slowly driving her insane, but eventually he pulled back, both of them sucking in huge gulps of air.

  “Good,” he said.

  She frowned. “Good, what?” The kiss was more than good, it was fucking off the charts.

  “Good, you want to know those things,” he said, pressing one more kiss to her lips. “Because I can tell you when I come over to learn how to make a cinnamon roll candle tomorrow.” Then, as though he hadn’t just dropped a giant bomb, he popped the door handle and slipped from the car.

  Dumbfounded, she didn’t immediately drive away.

  The knock on her window made her jump, but she rolled the pane down when he gestured for her to do so. But by the time she’d cranked it open—this car was from the Stone Age when electric windows were just a pipe dream—he had a scowl on his face.

  “Did you really have to do that by hand?”

  The gleam in his expression was becoming familiar. “Don’t you dare buy me a new car, Rex Roosevelt!”

  “It would have automatic windows,” he said.

  “No.” She narrowed her eyes. “This works fine, and you’ve already done way too much for me. Now I have a reliable car and phone, so no more.” Maybe if she was firm enough, he’d listen because that gleam was calculating, and she didn’t need to owe this man any more favors.

  He pouted for a moment before his tone went cajoling. “You could have seat warmers.”

  Oh. Now that would be nice.

  No!

  She glared. “Stop it, Roosevelt. You will not woo me with seat warmers and automatic windows, or I won’t teach you my magical mastery of candle-making.”

  He grinned, put his hands up in surrender. “I admit defeat.”

  “Good,” she snapped, backing up so she could pull out of the driveway.

  “Tomorrow?” he called. “Magical mastery is happening tomorrow?”

  She snorted and shifted into drive. “Yes. I get off at six. Come by at seven. I’ll make you dinner.”

  He nodded. “Oh, Tilly?” he asked as she began to creep forward.

  She braked, hand on the window crank. “Yeah?”

  “I took that ride because you offered,” he said, coming close enough to rest his hands on the top of her car, voice rasping, words quiet but no less powerful because of it. “Because you’re beautiful and interesting . . .”

  Her breath caught.

  “And because I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

  She knew the feeling. God, did she know the feeling.

  It was a miracle she didn’t hit anything on the way home.

  But it wasn’t a miracle to see Rex’s car pause at the bottom of her driveway, for her to peek through her curtains and wave at him before he drove off, for the text to make her phone buzz.

  My favorite flowers are hydrangeas. My mom loved them.

  Her heart pounded as she typed back a response. Those things weren’t miracles, Rex checking up on her, following her home, texting her before bed . . . none of them were a surprise.

  For some insane reason, she’d begun to expect those actions from Rex.

  And that was what scared her the most.

  Fifteen

  Rex

  He pulled up the driveway to Tilly’s house, parked, then walked straight across her front porch. There would be no hiding in the bushes any longer.

  Nope.

  Rex had decided to put his impulsivity to the test, stop overthinking everything, and to just go with it. Not that he had a snowball’s chance in hell in staying away from her anyway.

  She whipped open the door, ponytail askew, cheeks flushed red, and still in her diner uniform. “You’re early.”

  The door slammed closed.

  “Um.”

  He knocked again, but the only thing he got in response was another, “You’re early,” though it was significantly more muffled and trailed by the sound of footsteps. But instead of those steps coming back toward the door, instead of Tilly opening it and letting him in, they moved away.

  Rex waited a minute, listening intently. There were more footfalls, a crash or two, and then after a long moment, nothing.

  He hesitated, trying to track her movements again, but when after a few more heartbeats, he still heard nothing, Rex tried the knob. It turned, and he pushed the door open, slipping into the house.

  Small, was his first thought, but not in a negative way in the least. Her living room held a love seat, coffee table, and bookcase, and while none of the furniture matched and there were more than a few dings, scratches, and worn spots, the whole effect was cozy and comfortable. Not decorated by a designer to be magazine-worthy, to capture that false sense of country chic, but real life.

  Lived in rather than put on a shelf.

  And everything smelled fucking incredible—cinnamon and earthy with just the hint of something floral that made his mind want to go in and check it out

  He turned to study the kitchen but didn’t get further than identifying it as the source of the lovely smell and seeing the counter stacked with a variety of bowls and other vessels before he heard a loud thunk followed by a pained cry.

  Moving before his brain finished processing the noise, he sprinted down the hall, passed an open door leading to the bathroom then burst into Tilly’s bedroom. How did he know that it was her bedroom? Well, smart man that he was, Rex was able to deduce it was the place she slept because there was a bed in the middle of the room. Congratulate him now, Alec.

  His eyes didn’t stay on the bed for long, however. Because while he’d spent the last few days imagining what it might be like to get Tilly into a bed, the sight actually in front of him was much more tempting than a mattress and silk sheets.

  What?

  A man had to dream, didn’t he?

  But for now, he had to focus . . . on committing every single one of the details in front of him to memory.

  Because Tilly was in her bedroom. Topless.

  Fucking gorgeous, tits bouncing as she struggled to get out of her shirt. He couldn’t figure out how she’d managed to get stuck, the tangle of bra and cotton completely covering her face, while her arms were somehow bound straight over her head.

  Perfect nipples. Deliciously curved waist. Hips that he wanted to—

  She yanked at the shirt, a pathetic mewl escaping her lips before transforming into another pained cry as she crashed into the dresser along one side of the room.

  Fuck.

  He was standing there ogling her, and she was hurt.

  Ass.

  But that didn’t stop him from staring at her for a few moments longer. Fuck, she had perfect breasts. Rex swallowed, tore his eyes from her chest, and affected a casual, “Need a hand?”

  She shrieked, making him jump. “Don’t look!” she shouted, turning her back on him and managing to catch herself on the corner of the dresser. He caught her before her head collided with the sharp corner. “Don’t you dare look, Rex Roosevelt.”

  “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” he said, studying the mess that was the tangle of her bra and shirt. “Not a chance in hell of ignoring the most perfect pair of breasts I’ve ever seen.” His fingers lifted, started working at the knot, and he fucking deserved a medal for doing that rather than drifting them lower, stroki
ng over the hardened buds of her nipples, or better yet, sucking one deep into his mouth.

  Tilly’s sigh was outraged, and she tried to slip away from him. “You’re a pig.”

  “Yep.” A beat. “Now hold still. I think I see where you’re caught.”

  “It’s my hair,” she groaned.

  “That and the hook on the back of your bra. Let me just . . . there.” He managed to release the tiny hook from the T-shirt then set to work on unwrapping the strands of gold silk. “How’d you get stuck?”

  If those hazel eyes had been on his, if the cotton was out of the way, Rex had no doubt they’d have been narrowed into a glare. “Because you were early.”

  “Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?”

  She huffed as he worked on the final knot of hair. “Because I was late getting off work and still trying to get set up, and you showed up early.”

  “So, it’s my fault because you were late?”

  “Yes.” Another sigh. “No. I just wanted to get out of these clothes and wash my face. I smell like the diner.”

  He sniffed. “I love the way you smell.” Tilly froze, but Rex kept working on the tangle until . . . there. She was free at last. He tugged the shirt up and over her head then placed it in front of her chest before she could so much as blink.

  “I—” She clutched the cotton to her breasts then sighed, defeat creeping into her expression. “Why do I always seem to be thanking you?”

  He didn’t like the direction of her thoughts in the least, so he waggled his brows, a teasing smile on his lips. “If you keep letting me see your tits, you can forgo the thank yous.” Pink had already stained her cheeks, but his words made them go even brighter, and his dick twitched in response. Naked breasts, fiery eyes, and pink cheeks . . . fucking slayed him.

  “Pig,” she accused, smacking his chest. However, in doing so, she managed to lose her grip on the shirt and it fell to the floor.

  Rex wasn’t a fucking gentleman, so he didn’t pick it up. He also sure as shit let his gaze drift back down. Fucking hell. “You’re welcome,” he said, mouth curving, still not helping her as she fought to scoop up the cotton for a few moments then attempted to situate it over those luscious curves.

  “I wasn’t thanking you,” she grumbled.

  “I know. But my mom instilled a manner or two in this lascivious mind.” He tapped his temple, grinned, and turned to leave. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  “Rex?”

  He stopped in the doorway, turned back.

  Tilly crossed over to him. “Why were you early?”

  He was tempted to lie, to make up some excuse about just hating to be late or running ahead of schedule, but he found that with her eyes on his, Rex couldn’t lie to her.

  “Why?” she pressed when he didn’t immediately reply.

  “I needed to see you,” he said softly.

  “Oh.” She was close enough that he felt the heat of her breath on his lips. “I was hoping you would say that.”

  “I—”

  But the rest of his sentence was lost because instead of her breath on his lips, suddenly the shirt was gone, her fingers were woven into his hair, and her mouth was on his.

  Fuck, her mouth was on his.

  And it was everything.

  Sixteen

  Tilly

  Okay, so launching herself topless at Rex Roosevelt may not have been the best idea, she realized. But it was too late. She’d leaped, and now she was topless and in Rex’s arms because he’d caught her reflexively. But that was it.

  He’d caught her. She’d kissed him.

  Then hadn’t moved.

  Not one muscle.

  Cheeks burning, mortification tearing down her spine, Tilly started to pull back.

  “I’m—”

  She’d been about to say she was sorry, but the words didn’t emerge because her mouth had suddenly become otherwise occupied.

  By Rex’s.

  His tongue thrust through her parted lips and swept inside, rubbing against hers in a rhythm that had her squirming close. Especially when his hands drifted up her sides, roughened fingertips brushing along the outside of her breasts.

  Fuck yeah, that was good.

  She arched, shifting and squirming until his palm shifted over, squeezing her, fingers now teasing her nipples.

  And . . . nirvana.

  He pulled back and she swayed on her feet, head spinning, not fully cognizant that her oxygen had been so limited. Thus was the power of Rex Roosevelt. One kiss and she got stupid . . . or passed out from a lack of fresh air.

  But he tasted like mint and cinnamon, and they both knew how she felt about cinnamon. Spicy, intoxicating—

  Any hope of a lucid thought flew out of her head. Rex’s mouth moved from hers, drifted along her jaw. He nipped at her earlobe, making gooseflesh break out all over her body and slid lower, kissing down her throat, teeth grazing her collarbone.

  Then lower still.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned when he latched onto her nipple, sucking it deeply as he pinched and rolled her neglected side between his thumb and forefinger.

  Desire arrowed through her, spreading through her limbs, making her lips tingle and her thighs press together. Her panties were absolutely soaked, and she wanted nothing more than to strip off her jeans, climb on top of Rex, then take them both for a wild ride. As though reading her mind, he slid his palms down her torso, flicked open the button of her jeans and shoved them down to her knees. But instead of scooping her up and tossing her on the bed as she’d imagined, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her.

  Hot breath through thin cotton.

  Damp heat against her pussy.

  Her eyes rolled back and before she could think about what he was doing or the fact that she’d worked a full shift and hadn’t showered, her underwear joined her jeans and his tongue was on her clit.

  “Oh fuck,” she said, knees buckling.

  Rex guided her down to the rug, yanking off her clothes and shoving his shoulders between her thighs.

  And then he got to work.

  Glorious, incredible work.

  Spreading her wide with one hand, he circled the flat of his tongue around her clit, then slid one finger of the other hand inside, pumping slow and steady and deep. Tilly cried out, hips arching, wanting him closer, wanting more, wanting—

  “Rex,” she groaned when he added another finger and timed their motion to that of his tongue. Fire pumped through her veins, scorching her limbs, coalescing in her center, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter until finally it exploded outward. She cried out, pleasure coursing through her, lids slamming shut, and when she finally managed to open them, what felt like hours later, Tilly was half-surprised that her body hadn’t been reduced to ash.

  That orgasm had been—

  Holy fuck is what it’d been.

  Rex shifted, and she felt a bolt of embarrassment shoot through her when she realized he was still between her thighs, chin glistening, blue eyes molten.

  She bit her lip. “I—um—” Clenching her teeth together, she cut off the words, just barely able to stop herself from asking if she’d tasted okay. A little late for that now.

  He lifted the hem of his shirt and wiped his mouth. “What?”

  “That was incredible,” she murmured.

  A smirk. “Yes, it was,” he said and crawled up her body, still fully dressed. He slipped an arm under her shoulders, tugged her against his chest. “But that also wasn’t what you were going to say.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “How do you always know?”

  “Because for whatever reason, the universe has decided to throw us together,” he said. “And for as different as our lives have been up until this point, I don’t think either of us can deny that we have a connection that can only come from shared experiences.”

  She scoffed.

  “Okay, how about similar experiences?” he asked. “Because I have the feeling you know exactly
what it feels like to be on the outside looking in.”

  “I—” She broke off, shock coursing through her. He was right. That—her role as the perpetual outsider—had been her entire childhood. It didn’t matter if she was at school or at home, but she’d never felt like she had a place, and eventually she’d begun to keep people at a distance to stop herself from feeling that way.

  So much easier, so much safer that way.

  He brushed back her hair from her forehead. “I see you know exactly what I mean.”

  She nodded. “I do. I—” She broke off again.

  Another strand of hair tucked safely behind her ear. “No?” he asked, when she didn’t finish her thought for the second time.

  “No,” she agreed.

  “Hmm.” He nuzzled her throat, and she shivered when his voice rumbled against her skin. “So, perhaps we should circle back to the first conversation? To what you stopped yourself from saying?”

  “Um . . .”

  “No?” he asked again when she trailed off. “Well, I guess I’ll fill in the blanks for you then.” His mouth found her ear. “You tasted fucking incredible, baby. Sweet like that cinnamon roll with the barest hint of spicy tartness. It was the absolute best meal of my life.”

  Her pulse pounded, the words colliding with a spot deep within her heart.

  But instead of harming her, of knocking a piece of herself loose, of bruising or slicing, they bolstered . . . and frankly, they turned her on.

  Turned her into a smoldering pile of mush.

  Or maybe just her brain because when he asked, “Who made you feel like you were on the outside, baby?” she actually answered.

  “My mother,” she said softly. “My father.” A long slow breath. “And my fiancé.”

  “You’re engaged?” Rex stiffened, drawing his arm out from beneath her so quickly that her head thunked against the floor. Thank God for the thick rug.

  Blinking, she sat up, crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly vulnerable and self-conscious. “Was,” she said. “Was engaged.”

  “Oh.” He sat up, stripping off his shirt and slipping it over her head.

  Even though she had a perfectly good drawer full of shirts, she let him. Hell, more than let him. Tilly curled into the warm cotton, drew in a lungful of his spicy scent, crisscrossing her legs so it covered her from shoulders to toes.