“I’m okay, Martine. I really am. I want you all to have what you deserve, and Lassiter Adams has to shit or get off the pot someday. He can’t just keep digging forever. We have to figure out what he wants and try to offer him something.”
Damn, she hated the failure of her voice in her own ears. Fuck Lassiter Adams. The defenseless animal killer! “Just give me a couple of more weeks and let’s see what happens, okay? I’ve been in a tangle or two with the likes of worse than Lassiter. Unless I’m imposing…” She let her words trail off. Maybe they were just sick of her interfering in their lives? Emerson could be very single minded when it came to the environment. When she was off trying to preserve something, she forgot much else.
Like her nails.
Looking down at her hands, she realized they were in need of a good manicure. Everything went by the wayside when she had the environmental bug up her ass.
“Emerson can stay as long as she wants. Got that, Em?” JC called from inside the freezer. “She’s the only other person in this house who hasn’t made fun of me because I’m worried this baby created by my farm stud is going to be born with better hair than me.”
Max’s chuckle was playful when he crossed the kitchen to swat at JC’s backside.
“You can stay as long as you like, Emerson. You’re no imposition. We feel like we’re imposing on you.”
If only Max Adams knew how good his family was for someone like Emerson. Someone like Emerson who didn’t have the support of her own family, but had found it with these people.
Her reluctance to give up was bolstered.
Lassiter Adams could kiss her hairy lupine ass.
And why did the very thought of that give her chills? And not the kind that were unpleasant.
* * *
Emerson rapped on the thin, white door of Lassiter’s trailer. Trees whipped with the nippy breeze and the air was clean with the scent of freshly dug dirt. The night was chilly, calling to her to shift and roam freely over the hills and valleys of the Adams farm.
But ya can’t do that if Lassiter Adams is going to be hot on your ass with his bulldozer, now can ya?
That was the very reason Emerson was here. To try one last ditch effort to talk Lassiter out of keeping the land. Maybe she could talk him into allowing Max and his family to pay back the money he’d forked over. Like easy lifetime installments on a monthly basis.
“Ah, the tree hugger,” Lassiter mocked, opening the door to reveal the brick shithouse hard body he was. His voice was like brown sugar melted with butter, thick and bubbling sweet. He grinned in that smug, disarming way that made her furious and tingly at the same time.
Emerson let out a loud, exasperated sigh and bit her tongue. “Yes, it’s me. The tree hugger. I’d like to talk, if we could.” She was shooting for amicable, but saying the words through clamped teeth might ruin the effect she was aiming to achieve, so she loosened her face into an almost smile.
“Shouldn’t you be off trying to save the almost extinct tsetse bat in Zimbabwe or something?”
Folding her hands in front of her, she clasped them together to keep from clocking him in his perfect chops. Pleasant. She could be pleasant. She had to be pleasant if she wanted to try and find a rational end to this. “I don’t think Zimbabwe has tsetse bats. I could be wrong, but last I checked, no tsetse bats.”
Lassiter’s jaw twitched and his hands rested on his lean hips. “Well, there must be a better cause than this. Go find it, Emerson, and leave this cause alone. It’s a dead issue. I’m not leaving.”
Sucking in her cheeks, she tamped down the ire that swirled in her throat and worked its way to her sharp tongue. “What is it you want, Lassiter? You haven’t built anything, but you keep digging up stuff and ruining perfectly good wilderness. Why can’t you just let the Adams be and go dig somewhere else?”
“Because you’ll just follow me to ‘somewhere else.’ I figure I’m hiding in plain sight here.” He chuckled, probably because he thought he was clever. When really, he was just a shithead.
Ohhhhhhhh, that smug, arrogant tone of his chewed at her ears, making them burn. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she plodded on. “I don’t follow you, Lassiter. I follow a cause,” she said with a calm she didn’t feel.
Rocking forward on his toes, Lassiter positioned his body close to hers without actually touching it. The heat he emanated was sexy and daring, and Emerson’s nostrils responded in kind, flaring to the musky, male scent. “Your cause won’t stop me from doing what I need to do, Emerson.”
And what the fuck was that exactly? What did he need so desperately to do? Emerson looked into his dark brown eyes, staring down at her, and narrowed her own.
“You never change, Lassiter Adams.”
His breath fanned her cheeks, warm and smelling faintly of something sweet.
“Neither do you, Emerson Palmer,” he said with sinister glee before hauling her to him and pulling her into the trailer, then shoving the door shut with a booted foot.
Emerson hung in his arms, neither allowing nor preventing her capture. Calling Lassiter large was, by far, understating his bulk. The arms that held her tightened, holding her much smaller frame close, allowing her a sampling of his thickly muscled thighs.
And what hung between them.
Some things, like the hard thing between Lassiter’s legs, never changed.
Chapter Three
“So when are we going to stop behaving as if we don’t know each other, Em?” Emerson leaned back and she braced herself on his hard forearms. His rugged face, always suspiciously pale for the amount of time he spent in the sun, loomed in front of hers. “I never said I didn’t know you,” she hissed, finally losing the control she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.
“So then you’ve told the Adams you’re privy to me in, er, the most carnal of ways?” he taunted, but didn’t elaborate.
Her cheeks burned. “That’s no one’s business but mine. It has nothing to do with what’s happening here at the Adams’. However, if you choose, you can give me up. Go crazy,” she dared him, defiantly letting her gaze slip to his.
Lassiter’s hand slid down her spine, resting on the curve of her ass. The hip hugger jeans she wore now seemed terribly tight, making the heat of his bulk an entity she wasn’t willing to encounter. His tight, full body press was keeping Emerson from thinking clearly.
“So, that was just a weak moment for you last year in California? I meant nothing to you, is what you’re saying? I’m some cheap lay to be discarded at whim?” His tone was light, but the underlying anger in it was there too. She sensed it in the way he said discarded. Eyes like melted chocolate stared into hers, daring her.
To do what, she didn’t know.
To say what, she knew even less.
Oy. No, it hadn’t been like that at all. It had, however, been very foolish on her part, and when all was said and done, she’d left California for less humiliating territory with her tail between her legs, literally. “I’m saying that it happened and it’s over. What’s happening here has nothing to do with California.”
His head dipped and he rasped his tongue over the smooth column of her throat, evoking her raw nerves to dance to life. “Do you always fuck the men you hope to annihilate for your cause?”
“Do you fuck the women who hope to annihilate your cause to prevent them from coming out on top?” she shot back snidely.
“I was on top, as I recall.”
Emerson’s body trembled, not only with the memory of their one-time encounter, but with the idea that she wasn’t trying very hard to keep another from occurring. “No, Lassiter. You know —”
“I know nothing, Emerson. I know we screwed our brains out and the next day you were gone. Your replacement didn’t have nearly the ass you do, especially when he chained himself naked to a tree.”
“I had business to attend to elsewhere. Now I’m here and we meet again. You on one side and me on another. That’s not news. We had no business d
oing what we did. So could we forget that and move on like adults?”
His fingers swept over the underside of her breast and his mouth lingered over hers, the tip of his nose just touching her own. “Sure we can,” he answered cockily before taking her lips to his and nibbling the soft flesh.
“Good,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Rotating her head away from his, she said brokenly, “That means — well, it means — that you have to —Ohhhhh…” she murmured, distracted by the slither of his tongue, silky and hot, cool and sweet all at the same time, slipping between her lips and devouring her senses. Her mouth parted like the Great Divide, opening in acceptance, letting his tongue wreak havoc with her body.
His chuckle was low when Emerson responded, returning the kiss fully by arching into him.
Long fingers dipped into the top of her baggy sweater, trailed over the top of her cleavage, teasing her nipple with an elusive wisp of a swipe. He lingered, caressing the skin and kissing her with a greedy mouth that demanded she comply. Lassiter’s hands delved deeper, popping a nipple out of her lace bra and rolling it between his fingers.
Emerson’s groan was long, shuddering, tormented by the electric shots of pleasure that flew to her cunt with rapid fire. Liquid and like molten lava, she found herself wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer, inviting him to relieve the burning ache in her pussy.
His fingers found the buttons of her sweater and deftly opened them, parting the sweater and popping the clasp on the front of her bra. He roamed over the swell of each breast, moving from the soft texture of skin to the harder, rippled texture of her nipple.
The internal battle for supremacy was losing in the wake of Lassiter’s hands. Strong, callused, expertly moving from breast to breast, massaging them in sensuous circles.
She shivered, relaxing into him, straddling Lassiter’s thick thigh and rubbing against it with a slow slide. The friction of her jeans, coupled with his long fingers teasing her nipple, left Emerson wet, squirming, and she clung to him.
When he dove for her nipple, latching onto it and sliding his tongue along the rigid flesh, Emerson sighed, leaving a residual squeak to slip out in its wake. His mouth was heaven, his tongue raspy and hot, lapping at her aching nipple.
Her trembling was supported only by his solid hold on her, keeping her from melting on the spot. The sharp sound of the zipper on her jeans sliding down was mingled with her exhale. Lassiter sinuously slid a hot hand over her abdomen, circling her navel with his forefinger, trailing it over the top of her bikini underwear. Slipping under the silk, he wasted no time spreading her flesh, roaming over the lips of her cunt, wet and hungry for his touch. She bucked against his hand, letting the heat of it hold her captive, absorbing the delicious torment he stirred.
When his finger found the hard, swollen nub of her clit, she bit her lower lip to keep from howling. Lassiter fondled her clit with gentle passes, then slid a finger into her passage, allowing a moment for her to adjust before thrusting with firm strokes.
The rise of an orgasm Emerson shouldn’t be having lashed at her with a careless abandon. Small tendrils of smoke gave way to an inferno of sensation, clawing at her gut and settling in her pussy.
She fucked his finger, focusing all of her attention on the rigid pleasure it brought, while his mouth tugged at her nipple. Her hands grabbed at the thick locks of hair on his head, clutching and driving them into his scalp as the wild need to come took over everything else.
When his teeth grazed her already sensitive nipple and the heel of his hand caressed her clit, Emerson whimpered, then let go with a heave of air. The pressure of her climax suspended and held her in its grip, then slammed into her with hurricane force, making her knees buckle.
Lassiter’s firm hold on her never wavered. When his skillful ministrations seized Emerson, she collapsed against his rock-solid frame, blowing out a gush of air and clinging to him for support.
Dragging her upward, Lassiter stood her up to face him and smiled. “So, I guess we’re going to do the ‘this was a mistake’ thing again, right?”
Emerson’s lips wouldn’t move and her throat was Sahara desert dry. She shook her head. Cheerist what was wrong with her? What was it about this man that had her one moment wanting to slice his balls up and serve them as pâté on a cracker, and the next melting like so much butter in his hot hands?
Gathering her focus, Emerson looked into his dark brown eyes and gave him a wan smile. “No. It’s never a mistake if I come.”
His eyebrow slid upward, but his impassive face remained calm, letting her know he wasn’t going to be ruffled by her smart mouth. “Well, at least someone did.”
“The right someone,” she shot back through teeth that were clamped.
He stepped back from her, letting his arms fall to his sides. “That someone is still not going to get what she came here for. Whether she lets me play with her fun stuff or not.”
“Yeah? Well, that street goes both ways, stud! Playing with my fun stuff doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop harassing you until you go away.”
The implication that she’d come to win by any means, even if that means was trolling, finished it for her. It simmered in her brain, and then boiled over. Her temper did what it always did. Flared, zinged to an all points bulletin, and then spilled out of her mouth. “Screw you, Lassiter! I don’t give a shit how many bulldozers you have or how much money you throw around. I’ll see you in hell before I’ll let you trash any more of the Adams’ land!”
Swinging around on her heel, Emerson clomped out of his shabby trailer and into the night, letting her fury allow her to shift.
The shift of bone led to the ripple of muscle and tufts of fur appeared on her arms as she bent to go with the flow of her change. Her clothes fell away, pooling on the ground, shredding with the force of her growth.
She shook her now furry head, the snap of her ears satisfied her that she had indeed completed the shift. Once on all fours, Emerson lurched forward, hitting her stride with a light jog, then allowing her fury to fuel a fast paced trot.
The fucking son of a bitch.
The goddamned, thick haired, hard bodied, rippled abbed son of a bitch!
How dare he even imply she was willing to hock her wares for an environmental cause!
She just couldn’t figure out why her cause didn’t stop her from allowing him access to the wares in question.
* * *
“Screwyou. Screwyou,” Bud chirped from his cage across the room.
“Okay, I get it. Shut up already,” Lassiter warned testily. “Don’t make me take your bird bath away, pal.”
Damn it. He hadn’t meant for things to get carried away. Emerson had a way about her that either had him cocked and at attention, or so pissed off he couldn’t see straight. Her defiant arrogance, her flashing blue eyes, her rigid posture lent to a lust that took on a life of its own.
She wasn’t typically what you’d call hot. Her lips were too full, her body almost too lean and her hair, always falling down around her heart shaped face in unruly, silken strands of blonde the color of wheat in the sunlight, was always a mess. Her nails were short and sometimes ragged — most likely from all of the chaining herself to inanimate machinery. Her clothes were anything but what he’d seen on the average hottie in a bar or at the mall.
Emerson didn’t much care for female finery, he supposed. She didn’t wear what the current fashions were, according to what he saw on television, but it didn’t stop him from wanting her just the same.
She did things to his nether parts that no woman should be allowed to do. It could be called indecent, and all she had to do was show up. After almost a year since their last meeting, he still warred with the urge to hunt her luscious ass down and make her submit to him. Yet, there she stood at his door, fresh faced and blonde, fighting the obvious urge to wallop him one and it started all over again.
She turned him on. Her scent made his nostrils flare and his unrelie
ved cock swell, straining against his jeans. She engaged every last sense he had, and it infuriated him to find that he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
Emerson smelled like a warm summer breeze laced with a hint of jasmine. It clung to his nose and lingered there. Bringing his hand to his face, he caught the remnants of her desire on his fingers. Tangy and sweetly laden with the thick cream of her satisfaction.
In exasperation, he shoved a hand in his pocket. Fingering the well-worn, rumpled piece of paper that never left his hands, the reminder of why he was on Adams land to begin with, Lassiter resolved to get a better grip on his loins.
No one, not even Emerson juicy lipped Palmer, was going to keep him from achieving that.
No one.
Chapter Four
Emerson ran with the chilled breeze at her back — as if running could keep her ahead of Lassiter Adams — as if his sensual invasion of her body could be run from.
She’d done just what she’d done in California.
Or, close to what she’d done in California.
Pausing under a barren oak tree, Emerson lay down. Paws in front of her, nose buried between them, hunkering into the cold ground.
Aren’t you the little tart? her conscience called.
Indeed, she was. Throw a little weak and spineless into the pot, and she had a bubbling sauce of sissified Emerson.
Lassiter had something, whatever that something was, that made her forget everything but her hormones. She had no other explanation. It was the only one she could come up with.
Especially after California.
Their encounter had happened quite unexpectedly and probably not the way most one-night stands do. One moment they were spewing fire and brimstone, the next, kissing the living shit out of each other and throwing down.
Oh, and they had thrown down.
In fact, it was the best throw down she’d ever had.
It all happened so quickly, after months of their ongoing battle, that when it was over, neither of them knew what to say.
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