Betting On The Maverick (Montana Mavericks: What Happened At The Wedding 3)

by Cindy Kirk

  When his tongue swept across her lips seeking access, Margot eagerly opened her mouth to him, pulling him on top of her, her tongue fencing with his.

  Slow? Did such a word even exist, ever exist? It was as if he was galloping full-out across a flat field. The exhilaration that always gripped him in those moments held him in its clutches now.

  Brad wanted her in a way he couldn’t remember wanting any woman. He slid his palm under her shirt, up the silky smooth skin. Her body quivered. His fingers skimmed the curve of her breast before he allowed the tips of his fingers just the barest of contact with her flesh.

  An almost overwhelming need to rip off her clothes and bury himself inside her had him fighting for control.

  The problem was Margot didn’t appear to have gotten the memo about going slow. She pressed herself more fully against him, against the erection straining against the front of his jeans.

  “Someone,” she said in a husky voice that reminded him of naked limbs entwined and sweat-soaked sheets, “wants to come out and play.”

  “We should take it slow,” he murmured in a guttural tone as the offending appendage reared up in protest.

  “I’m not a fan of slow.”

  Damn it. Neither was he. Not usually. Certainly not in circumstances like this.

  “I’m hot,” she said.

  What a coincidence. So was he...

  Somehow she managed to push him back, but instead of getting up, she pulled her shirt over her head to reveal naked skin. No lacy scrap of underwear, just two delectable round breasts.

  “I want to touch you.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she gave a little laugh, her lips curving into a pleased smile.

  Lying on the sofa with her red hair streaming around her, those eyes darkened with passion, she was irresistible.

  He leaned over. As she watched he touched the tip of his tongue to the tip of her left breast. His lips curved when she cried out in delight.

  He circled the nipple before drawing it fully into his mouth. The gentle sucking had her arching against him. At the same time, his hand dipped south, cupping her between her legs.

  She parted for him, catching her breath as his fingers slipped inside her waistband, searching for her slick center.

  The desire to tug off those pants slammed into him with the force of a Mack truck but he knew once that happened he was a goner. What little self-control he possessed would vanish the second her naked limbs wrapped around him.

  When he shifted his fingers slightly and found a single spot of pleasure, she nearly rose off the sofa.

  “Oh, Brad,” she moaned, “don’t stop.”

  He didn’t. He continued to touch her, stroking her, teasing, circling her center as he worshiped her breasts.

  Her breathing now came in fast pants until she dug her heels into the sofa and cried out as her release claimed her. Her climax rippled through her and still he touched her, gentling the contact until the last drop of pleasure had been wrung from her body.

  Then he kissed her, long and deep and soft, doing his best to ignore his own body’s clamor for equal time.

  Margot looked up at him, all languid and sated. She reached over for the zipper of his jeans.

  He clamped his hand around her wrist. “No.”

  Puzzlement filled her gaze.

  “I don’t have any protection.” Brad prided himself on never making love without holstering his gun.

  Her face fell.

  Brad started to set up but she curled her fingers around his arm. “What’s the hurry? Don’t tell me you’re an all-or-nothing guy.”

  With her gaze firmly fixed on his face, she unzipped his jeans and freed him, her fingers gently stroking the hard length of him.

  His breath became ragged as she continued to stroke. When her lips closed over him, he let out a moan.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” she said with a pleased laugh. “Relax and enjoy. It’s time I returned the favor.”

  * * *

  Margot and Leila were the only customers in Daisy’s Donut Shop on Broomtail Road. When Brad had mentioned that he needed to go into town to pick up a few things at the General Store—the one owned and run by his family—Margot rode into town with him.

  She was in the mood for some different scenery but after what had happened between her and Brad last night on the sofa, she wasn’t quite up to a face-to-face with his mom and dad.

  So on the way she’d given Leila a call and was delighted that her friend had time to meet her for a donut and coffee.

  “This place is no Starbucks,” Leila grumbled, looking chic in her trim gray pants and white shirt, “but the coffee is at least drinkable.”

  “And the donuts are terrific.” Margot bit into her second cruller.

  Leila shook her head. “I don’t know how you can eat that much and stay so slim.”

  “Fast metabolism.” Margot spoke around the pastry in her mouth.

  “You should be the one in front of the camera, not me.” Leila cast a longing look in the direction of the bakery case. “The camera shows every ounce and then some.”

  “Are you happy you chose a career in broadcast journalism?”

  “I can’t imagine doing anything else,” Leila said, giving into temptation and taking a glazed-filled out of the sack on the table. “What about you? Are you happy on the circuit?”

  “Definitely.” Margot licked the spoon.

  “This is probably like a little vacay for you.”

  “Hardly. It’s not good for me or for Storm—my Arabian,” she said in answer to Leila’s raised brow “—to be away from competition for so long.”

  “Sounds like you had no choice.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Did I tell you my cousin Sierra is totally crazy about barrel racing?”

  Margot tried to place the child in the Dirks family. “Your mother’s sister’s girl?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Is she competing?”

  “Just started the last couple of years.” Leila paused. “I think she’s doing pretty well.”

  “They’re the ones who live on the acreage outside of Kalispell, right?”

  “Yep.” Leila waved a dismissive hand. “Time to move on to something more interesting, like you and Brad Crawford.”

  Margot leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table. “First, tell me about you and Justin.”

  Leila’s lips curved in a smug smile. “Justin is the perfect guy for one night of fun. We put my father’s cabin to excellent use.”

  “I knew it.” Margot hit her fist against the table. “I saw the way he looked at you.”

  “Speaking of lascivious glances, how about you and Brad? Did you and he...?”

  “We fooled around a bit but stopped short of doing the deed.” Margot shrugged. “No protection on hand.”

  “Allow me to be of service.” Leila reached into her bag and pulled out several brightly colored foil packets.

  “Leila.” Margot scooped up the packets and glanced furtively around before stuffing them into her purse.

  “I was a Girl Scout. Okay, just a Brownie, but all that stuff about being prepared stuck.” She shot Margot a sly smile. “Go forth and sin.”

  Margot laughed. “God, I’m going to miss you.”

  It was true. Margot had friends on the circuit, but no one she missed. No one quite like Leila.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” Margot added.

  “You’ll be gone soon enough yourself,” Leila said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Unless you’re thinking about staying?”

  “I won’t make it to Las Vegas sitting on my duff here.” Margot forced a light tone. “And, as my dear dad is so fond of saying, winning is everythin
g.”

  Leila picked up her donut. “I’m not sure that’s true. But if winning a championship is what you really want, then you should go for it. Life is too short for regrets.”

  * * *

  The call from his brother Nate informing him the Rust Creek Rambler had printed a blind item implying he and Margot were shacking up—and that she was a “fringe benefit” to the ranch—had taken Brad by surprise. He didn’t know whether to punch the wall or laugh.

  Him take advantage of her? From what Brad had seen so far, no one took advantage of Margot Sullivan. And the truth of it was, he liked her too much to do anything to hurt her.

  Not making love to her last night had been one of the hardest things he’d ever not done. But if, okay when, they finally made love he wanted it to be because it was something they both wanted. Not because she was feeling sad and lonely and guilty because of her father being gone.

  And they absolutely had to be stocked up on protection. Not just one measly condom either. As hot as things were between them, one would definitely not be enough.

  With that thought in mind, Brad strode down the sidewalk toward Crawford’s General Store, a place that had a little bit of everything, including several varieties of condoms. Though paying for them wasn’t an issue, paying his mother or father for them was unacceptable.

  On the way into town, Brad had formulated a plan, worthy of any high school boy. He’d “pick up” a box from the back stock and pay his parents...later.

  As he approached the store, his mind kept circling back to the Rambler’s column. One part had been totally out in left field. The cowardly columnist—who never used his/her own name—had mentioned his “me first” history and brought up his failed marriage as a classic example.

  Though Brad readily admitted he enjoyed a good time as much as the next guy, he didn’t promise women more than he could deliver.

  Margot didn’t seem to expect or want anything more from him than a good time.

  For some reason the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Was it because she viewed him only as a good-time guy without a whole lot else to offer? Not that he was complaining. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. And she was leaving soon.

  The bells over the door to the store jingled as he stepped inside.

  He’d barely gone three feet when his mother hurried around the counter to greet him. “What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

  “Just stopped by to pick up a few things.”

  “Tell me what they are and I’ll get them for you.” Laura smiled brightly. “It’ll be much faster. I know exactly where every item in the store is located.”

  How about condoms? Can you grab me a couple of boxes?

  It might have been worth the look on her face to ask the question. Then again, she was the mother of three grown sons. He doubted much could surprise her.

  “That’d be great, Mom.” Brad handed her the sanitized version of the list and glanced toward the storeroom. “Where’s Dad?”

  “At the ranch,” his mother said absently, her gaze focused on the list. She looked up. “Could you watch the register while I pick these up?”

  “Sure.” Brad shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Mind if I grab a cup of coffee from the back?”

  “Not at all.” She gave his arm an affectionate pat as she brushed past him. “Just listen for the door chimes.”

  Brad waited until she disappeared before heading into the back. Like all of his siblings, he knew exactly where items of interest were stored. He found the condoms and popped a box in each of his jacket pockets, then poured a cup of coffee and wandered back to the counter.

  When the bells over the door chimed he looked up and nearly groaned when he saw Justin walk through the door.

  “Didn’t realize Ma had put you to work,” Justin said with that cocky arrogance that Brad occasionally found entertaining. Today, there was something about the gleam in his little brother’s eyes that put him on guard.

  “Just holding down the fort until you showed up, little brother,” Brad said with an easy smile.

  He knew for a fact there was nothing Justin liked more than to get his brothers riled up. It drove the youngest Crawford male crazy when his older siblings simply ignored him.

  Justin smirked. “Read all about you in the newspaper.”

  Brad feigned a bored expression. “I didn’t know you were into gossip. I thought only girls liked that kind of stuff.”

  If the red rising up his brother’s neck was any indication, Brad’s comment hit the bull’s-eye.

  “Everyone is talking about it.” Justin’s eyes turned razor-sharp and Brad knew he was looking for any sign, no matter how small, that his needling was connecting. “Just like when Janie walked out, you’re once again at the center of town gossip, bro.”

  “Whatever.”

  It was the wrong response. Brad sensed it immediately when Justin sauntered closer. He should have laughed or made some joke. But the failure of his marriage remained a sore spot.

  “I have to tell you, I envy you.” A gleam filled Justin’s eyes. “She caught my eye right away. I wouldn’t mind getting a piece of that action—”

  Brad’s fist shot out, connecting with Justin’s jaw and sending him to the floor.

  * * *

  “You hit your brother?” Margot gave a horrified laugh when he finished telling her the story as they left Rust Creek Falls for the ranch. “Over a silly newspaper article?”

  “There was a little more to it than that, but yes, I punched him.” Brad didn’t see any need to go into what Justin had said about her. Knowing his brother, the guy was just trying to get his goat. Unfortunately, this time he’d succeeded.

  Brad had expected her to be upset when he told her the news but he’d discovered Leila had already filled her in. “Don’t you understand,” he said, feeling the need to impress upon Margot the gravity of the situation. “The article implied you and I are shacking up.”

  “We are shacking up.”

  When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand.

  “Think about it, Brad.” Her expression held amusement rather than distress. “We live under the same roof. No, we’re not sleeping in the same bed,” she hurriedly added when he opened his mouth to speak, “but we both know that’s just a matter of time.”

  What could he say to that? The boxes in his pockets were lumpy pieces of evidence to that hope.

  “There is one thing that bothers me, though...” She exhaled a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh. Or suppressed laughter.

  “What?”

  “We’re getting all this press and we’ve only made it to third base.” Even as her eyes twinkled, she shot him a mournful look. “It’s really quite depressing.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Knowing Brad planned to pick up condoms while he was in town, Margot fully expected them to start shedding their clothes the second they reached the ranch. But on the drive home an overwhelming lethargy had wrapped tight tentacles around her. Granted, she hadn’t been sleeping well the past couple of nights but she was only twenty-two. If she was in college, she’d be pulling all-nighters.

  At first she thought it might be due to the temperature being too warm in the cab. She hurriedly stepped from the truck into the crisp autumn air, hoping the cool breeze would make a difference. Instead, her head began to swim. She grabbed the door and held on tight, praying for the world to quit spinning like an out-of-control Tilt-A-Whirl.

  In seconds Brad was at her side, concern blanketing his handsome face.

  “No worries.” Despite her death grip on the door, she swayed slightly. “I’m just a little dizzy.”

  “You’re white as your shirt.”

  When he scooped her
up into his arms, she didn’t fight. She couldn’t. The dizziness made her sick and she had to keep her eyes firmly shut to keep control of the nausea.

  He’d removed his coat in the car, so only a layer of flannel separated them. She felt his heartbeat galloping as he laid her gently on the sofa.

  Vivian gave three short barks as if letting Brad know she was on duty.

  Ignoring the dog, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket. “I’m calling the doctor.”

  “No, Brad, please. There’s nothing he can do for me.”

  Something in her tone must have gotten through because he moved to her side, crouched down beside the sofa and took her hand. “Your concussion was months ago. This isn’t normal, Margot.”

  “I didn’t just have a concussion. I fractured my skull and had a traumatic brain injury.” She hated reliving the time immediately after the accident but knew if she didn’t explain fully, Brad would have the doctor at the ranch in a heartbeat. “I had all kinds of specialists look at me. They told me to expect this, especially if I don’t take it easy.”

  Brad frowned. “You said you were cleared to do everything other than an activity where you could hit your head.”

  “That’s true.” While she may have glossed over a few of the additional instructions, or omitted them entirely, she hadn’t lied. “They simply told me to pace myself and make sure to get all the rest I needed. The doctors said if my symptoms got worse, or if I noticed new ones, to consider it a sign I’m pushing myself too hard. How I feel right now tells me I need more sleep.”

  “You’ve been working too hard.” He brushed a strand of hair back from her face with a gentle hand, his brow furrowed in worry. After a long moment, he pocketed his phone. “Have you told me all of it now? No other forgotten details?”

  He took her hand, played with her fingers while his gaze remained riveted to her face.

  Margot closed her eyes, the warmth of his concern as soft and soothing as any embrace. “You know everything. I’m absolutely certain that after a few minutes of rest I’ll be good as new.”

  The fact that she honestly believed she’d get up after an hour and go back to work illustrated she didn’t know how Brad Crawford operated.