Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  “I never thought you were stupid. Shallow, maybe, but not stupid.”

  One corner of her mouth quirked up wryly. “Fair enough. I think we can both agree, though, that I was stupid to let myself get drugged.”

  “It’s not your job to assume that every guy is a criminal creep—”

  “And yet I knew better. It was my fault. Let me own that.”

  He shrugged. “All right. You did something stupid. We all do from time to time.”

  Yeah, like him barging in to rescue her and losing his temper and assaulting her assailant.

  “Getting drugged scared me. Really scared me.”

  “Good.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You needed a hard scare. Maybe it’ll help you make better decisions in the future.”

  “The best decision I’ve made since then was coming out here to see you.” She smiled sadly. “But I doubt you see it that way.”

  For an instant, humor glinted in his gaze. “I was pretty furious when you showed up at my door unannounced.”

  She got the impression he wasn’t just talking about the night she’d arrived. She sighed. “You have a right to feel that way. I’m impulsive and selfish and don’t stop to think about the consequences of my actions for other people.”

  “You don’t have to put yourself down all the time, you know,” he murmured. “You’re not a completely bad person.”

  “Gee. Thanks,” she responded drily.

  His chest shook with a silent chuckle.

  “Where does all of this leave us?” she asked.

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Do you still hate me?”

  “Sometimes.”

  That was progress. At least he hadn’t answered with an unqualified yes. And he was still holding her in his arms.

  “I am a horrible person sometimes,” she declared.

  “Agreed.”

  “But sometimes I’m not.” It felt strange admitting that after all this time of self-castigation and self-recrimination.

  Wes didn’t respond to that other than to stare down at her intently, as if he was waiting for something. Although she had no idea what, exactly.

  She always had leaped before she looked, and that would never change. Following her gut, she lifted her chin and murmured, “Sometimes, I go after what I want.”

  “What do you want, Jessica?”

  She leaned in the last few inches and kissed him.

  CHAPTER 9

  A thousand emotions exploded in Wes’s gut as Jessica kissed him. Disbelief. Caution. Anger. Relief.

  And foremost among them was desire, burning hot and bright and strong. He had never, not for a second, stopped wanting this woman. No matter how much he hated her. How much he wanted to hurt her. Not even when she destroyed everything he did and ripped away who he was.

  It was fair to say he’d passionately hated her after the debacle in Washington. But, as it turned out, hate was a passion not entirely in opposition to lust...or to other, deeper emotions.

  He shouldn’t kiss her back. He should walk away from this woman. She was Trouble. Capital T.

  And yet he slanted his mouth across hers hungrily, and she opened for him, her tongue tangling eagerly with his. Her entire body undulated hungrily against his, and he absorbed her desire into himself, reflecting it back tenfold.

  This was a mistake. She was nothing but bad for him.

  But cripes. Hearing that gunshot in the background as she’d called him—again—frantic and sure she was going to die, had scared ten years off his life. He couldn’t very well just listen to her die.

  If only he could find a way not to give a damn about her. To let her go completely. To walk away from her. Of course, that assumed she wouldn’t follow him and suck him back into her vortex of drama like she always did. But after her frantic call and the gunshots in the background, adrenaline was still surging through his veins, seeking an outlet—and insisting that hot, sweaty sex was a fantastic idea.

  Her hands tugged at his shirt, and then her soft palms splayed against his bare back, her nails digging into his skin just enough to be sexy as hell. She had always been bold in bed, and the reminder sent lust raging through him. He craved her pretty much every waking moment. And here she was, crawling all over him, hot and willing—

  What the hell was he supposed to do with her? His brain said to run screaming from her. His body...well, that was a different matter. And what about his heart? It was torn between strangling her and throwing her down on the couch and making wild love to her.

  They still didn’t know who’d been shooting at her. Did the shooter know where Outlaw Ranch was? Know she was here? Surely not, or bullets would already be flying in through the window. God. He would never forget the sound of those gunshots coming through the phone, getting closer and closer to her.

  In his residual terror, the desire raging through him won out over logic. He was too raw, too shaken to fight the feelings right now.

  He carried her down to his sofa, shoving aside her clothing and his with clumsy hands. It was awkward and cushions went flying, but then he was pumping into her tight, welcoming heat, with each thrust reassuring himself that she was alive. That she was here. Safe. With him.

  The lust that always flared in his gut with her was as bright and sharp as ever, as blinding as a blowtorch and every bit as dangerous. A torch could create things—build structures and form beautiful art. It could also destroy, incinerating everything in its path. Such was this thing between them.

  But for the moment, he lost himself in it. He let the pleasure roar through him, wiping out thought or reason or caution. His entire existence narrowed down to her. How her eyes glazed over with desire. How her slim, athletic body writhed beneath him in the throes of pleasure. How the cries torn from her throat resonated through his own chest. How the slick glide of her body against his made for unbearably fantastic friction. She stroked his body to a place where he was overwhelmed, stripped bare and flung out of his mind into pure ecstasy.

  He threw back his head and closed his eyes, completely lost in the sensations, glutted with lust yet greedy for more. He couldn’t take much more of this. It was too much. Too good.

  His entire body clenched and then exploded. He surged into her as everything inside him broke loose. It felt like a raging river had burst through a dam in his mind, annihilating everything else within him with its fury.

  He collapsed, exhausted, hanging between his elbows, which were propped on either side of her head. Her chest heaved beneath him, too. They’d had some intense sex in the past, but this... This was a new level altogether.

  She totally wrecked him.

  It was long minutes before he was able to gather himself enough to press up and away from her. He turned his back and put his clothes to rights. When he finally looked over his shoulder, her clothes were back in place and she was sitting upright, her hands folded primly in her lap. She looked like a teen who’d just gotten caught making out under the bleachers. The mental whiplash was severe. She threw herself into sex with him with wanton abandon and then retreated into this other persona that was polite, cautious and contrite.

  Yeah. That probably had been a mistake.

  But, hard as he tried, he couldn’t muster any regret over it. Sex with Jessica was like no other sex he’d ever had.

  She opened her mouth to speak, and he cut her off. “If you apologize again, I’m throwing you out on your ear. Besides, I’m not sorry for that.”

  “Good. Then I’m not either.”

  He moved over to the raised stone hearth and sat down on it, cautiously placing the coffee table between them. As if that would stop them from tearing off each other’s clothes and crawling all over each other when they lost control the next time. Ha.

  No doubt about it. This woman was bad news, although, to be
fair, they brought out the absolute worst in each other.

  “We need to talk, Jessica.”

  Caution danced across her mobile features. “About what?”

  “About who was shooting at you. I called the sheriff, and he’s going to try to find out where the shooter was and look for evidence to identify him or her. He’s going to want to talk with you, too. The first thing he’s going to ask is who has a grudge against you.”

  “Besides you?” she asked wryly.

  He rolled his eyes.

  She answered seriously, “The only person I can think of is the guy who drugged me and whom you pummeled.”

  That was what he’d figured. Jessica was spoiled and wild, and at her worst she could be a brat, but she wasn’t a hateful person. She didn’t tend to make enemies out of anybody. He asked, “Can you think of anyone, besides that guy, who was obsessed with you? Maybe showed stalker tendencies?”

  She was thoughtful for a minute and then shook her head. “Nope. I’ve got nothing.”

  “So you really weren’t kidding when you said someone had threatened you—and me,” he commented.

  “Uh, no,” she retorted.

  “This is nuts. Who would want to hurt you? Who did you tell that you were coming to Montana?”

  “Nobody!”

  “Surely you told your father.”

  “No. Not even him. I just got in my car as if I was going out to run an errand and kept on driving.”

  “Did you check your car for a tracking device?”

  “Why on earth would I do that?” she responded. “Who would secretly track me? It’s not as if I’m a spy.”

  “If someone really was following you, they could easily have planted a tracker on your car.”

  To that end, he pulled out his cell phone and gave his cousin, the county sheriff, Joe Westlake, another call on his cousin’s private cell phone.

  Joe picked up immediately. “Hey, Wes. Is Jessica okay?”

  “She’s rattled, but she’s fine. She’s here with me.”

  “Cool. I’ll stop by to interview her when we’re done on scene.”

  “Any luck ID’ing the shooter?”

  “We found the spot he was shooting from, but he policed all his brass and didn’t leave behind any evidence to speak of.”

  “Did any slugs lodge in the car itself?” Wes asked.

  “Yup. We’ll at least find out the caliber and type of weapon he was shooting. It appears the shot that took out her tire happened from almost directly behind Jessica.”

  “So he was driving behind her?”

  “That’s how it looks. Then, once she pulled over to change her tire, he exited his own vehicle and commenced sniping at her,” Joe explained. “I can tell you it appears that one individual did all the shooting.”

  “Good to know. Hey, I called to let you know you need to check for a tracking device on Jessica’s car. And not just the undercarriage. You’ll need to fine-tooth comb the car and engine for one. The person who might be after Jess could be sophisticated and have money.”

  “Ohh...kay. That sounds ominous. Guess I’ll be doing that interview with your girl sooner rather than later.” Joe hung up, and Wes stared unseeing at his phone.

  Your girl? His gut tightened at Jessica being called his girl, but he couldn’t tell if it was a good tightening or a bad one. Either way, it was weird. Even when they’d been dating, he had been worried about what General Blankenship would think of him sleeping with Jessica, and they’d been extremely secretive about their relationship. Indeed, as soon as the Old Man had found out about them, he’d put his foot down and told Wes to end it with his daughter.

  By then, Wes had already figured out that Jessica—as amazing a chemistry as they had—was not going to make for a quiet, supportive, conservative military wife. Not that all military wives had to be that way. He would just need a politically correct wife if he planned to climb high in the Pentagon power structure like his boss had. And like his father had expected of him.

  Word had it Blankenship’s wife had been from a powerful East Coast fortune built in the defense contracting industry. She might have come from a politically advantageous background, but from what little the general had said of her, Wes gathered she’d been wild and artistic and creative—a lot like Jessica—and had been nothing but trouble for his career.

  Of course, by his wife dying young and tragically and leaving him with a small daughter, George had garnered all kinds of sympathy and support. The tragedy had ultimately landed him the job that had catapulted his career from ordinary to the fast track.

  All of that was moot, now. Wes had no career to worry about. And he doubted his cattle would care if his wife was a free spirit or not—

  “Where did you go just then?” Jessica startled him by asking.

  “I was thinking about your mother.”

  “My mother! What for?”

  “I was thinking about the parallels in your lives.”

  “She wasn’t shot. She drowned.”

  “True. But, according to your father, you’re a lot like her.”

  Jessica shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I barely remember her. And her family had nothing to do with my dad or me after her death.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I suppose they blame him for taking her away from them and maybe indirectly for her death.”

  “That’s pretty harsh. I can’t imagine my parents shunning a grandchild, no matter how much they disliked the remaining parent.”

  Jessica shuddered. “I’ve met your parents. I would hate to test that theory.”

  He grinned crookedly. “Me, too.” He added, “Joe’s going to stop by here in a little while to talk with you.”

  She nodded and then asked him shyly, “Any chance I can go out to the barn and see the new calf again?”

  He couldn’t help smiling. “Sure.”

  He led her out to the barn and to the stall where Number 19 was resting with her calf. Both were lying down. Mama raised her head briefly and then went back to placidly chewing her cud. The scent of hay and corn and warm cattle surrounded him in familiar comfort. It was peaceful in the calving barn, with a deep quiet that sank into his bones.

  Funny how much he’d hated ranching when he was a kid and thought it was the only future available to him. But now, after traveling the world, after seeing war and famine and suffering, the simple goodness of living off the land was starting to appeal to him. Even the idea of putting down roots didn’t scare him as much as it once had.

  “The calf is so adorable,” Jessica murmured. “Have you named her yet?”

  “Cows don’t have names.”

  “Why not? You’re not going to eat her, are you? Your dad explained to me the other night at supper that ranchers keep the heifers to have more calves and grow the herd, and sell off the steers to pay the bills.”

  “He’s right about that.” Wes shrugged. “I suppose you can name her if you want to.”

  Jessica tried out a half-dozen names and settled on Daisy, declaring it perfect.

  He rolled his eyes indulgently. “Fine. Daisy it is.”

  Then Jessica surprised him by asking, “Do you have long-term plans for your ranch?”

  He actually felt a little embarrassed as he admitted, “Yeah. Get bigger and richer than Runaway Ranch.”

  “Daddy issues, much?” she replied, twirling a piece of straw in her fingers.

  “Pot calling the kettle black, much?” he retorted.

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “Touché. I’ll pit my father against yours anytime for who’s the craziest, though.”

  Wes answered seriously, “Your father would win, hands down. Mine is tough as nails and can be a bastard, but he doesn’t have the mean streak yours has.”

  Jessica glanced at him, looking surprised. “You saw that si
de of him, huh? He doesn’t let many people see it.”

  “I worked with the man day and night for four years. It was inevitable that he would show his true colors around me. Your father was ruthless in pursuit of his ambitions.”

  “Huh. Yeah. That didn’t work out so well for him,” she commented. “He found out last month that he didn’t get the job in the Secretary of Defense’s office he wanted. And he just got passed over for his fourth star.”

  Wes hadn’t heard that. Getting passed over for a promotion at that level was the kiss of death for any further advancement in rank for Blankenship. So, the Old Man was going to top out at three stars and not make it all the way to the pinnacle of the food chain? Wes wasn’t sorry to hear that. “Your father must not be happy about getting passed over.”

  “He’s livid.”

  “Is the military going to force him to retire soon?”

  She grimaced. “Any day. God knows what he’ll do with himself after that. He’s a Marine and nothing else. He’s talked for years about looking forward to retiring, but I think he’s been lying all along.”

  Wes snorted. “He can always go into cattle ranching. My dad made the transition to it, okay.”

  “Your dad had your mom to help him make the transition.”

  “Well, your dad has you.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “Except he treats me like I’m fifteen and the boys are just starting to come sniffing around. I’m twenty-six, for crying out loud. The last thing I need is him hanging around, hovering over every aspect of my life more than he already tries to.”

  Wes grinned crookedly. “I’ll probably be the same way with my daughters, so I can’t really fault the guy for being protective.” He added soberly, “And as it turned out, he was not wrong. You nearly got into some serious trouble.”