by Sabrina York
In no time at all, he and Travis had her set up. Jill hugged Mercy goodbye and took off, leaving the three of them alone.
Outside the cabin, birds squawked, leaves rustled, a few cars whooshed by. In here, no one said anything. Mercy divided her attention between him and Travis, her adoration obvious.
Damn. How had he missed it before? Dutch rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles aching with tension.
Travis cleared his throat. “There’s stuff we have to go over.”
“Stuff?” Mercy stepped closer. “Like the ground rules you’d mentioned?”
Suddenly, Dutch didn’t want to hear them. Her lips fascinated him. The Popsicle had made them unbelievably red. Were they now cold on the outside, while her mouth was hot and wet?
“Yeah,” Travis said, then hesitated, obviously searching for the right way to tell her there wouldn’t be any fun here.
Unwilling to hear that, Dutch dropped his hand and blurted, “What you’ll be doing in the kitchen.” He spoke to Travis. “We should show it to her.”
Travis looked uncertain, then finally nodded. “Sure. We’ll start with that.”
They walked side by side to the saloon, Mercy between them. A gust of wind caught her hat, pulling it off. Dutch chased the hat across the lot and handed it back to her. She beamed. He smiled, then sobered, keeping his distance. Walking behind her.
Lord, what an ass she had. Dutch had always liked meat on women, something to hold onto while he drove himself into their sweet, hot depths.
But not hers. Too risky, just as Travis had said.
Dutch pushed his X-rated thoughts from his mind and followed them into the saloon. A large room with scuffed wood floors, battered tables, a long bar with stools, conical lights hanging overhead, neon beer signs on the walls, and a lone pool table. Simple surroundings for an unassuming clientele.
Mercy seemed more impressed than she should have been, craning her neck to take in what little there was.
When she saw the kitchen, her hand went to her chest. Grease spatters and unwashed pans decorated the small, dingy space.
“Greg took off kind of fast,” Travis explained.
“Something about an outstanding warrant,” Dutch added. “He usually cleaned up after himself.”
She made a face at the inside of the stove. “When was the last time he really cleaned this?”
Dutch lifted his shoulders, feeling bad for her.
Sighing, she regarded the snug surroundings. Space enough for two. With three, it was crowded as hell, everyone practically on top of each other. The air too thick and charged. At least for Dutch. Mercy had pulled in her arms to avoid anything grimy, which plumped her breasts and deepened her cleavage.
Dutch’s legs went unsteady.
“Let me change and get my cleaning stuff,” she said. “I’ll have this place sparkling in no time.”
Travis didn’t step out of her way. “About what you’re wearing.”
“It’s really cute,” Dutch said, the words falling out of his mouth.
Mercy perked up. Travis frowned. “You can’t wear that around here.”
Surprise then confusion flickered across her face. “You mean while I cook.”
“I mean anywhere on the property.”
A flash of offense crowded out her first response. “Why?” She regarded her outfit. “What’s wrong with it?”
Nothing as far as Dutch was concerned.
Travis sighed. “When guys start drinking, they stop using their heads.”
Her slender eyebrows shot up. “They’re going to be drinking in my cabin? In the woods surrounding it? In my car?”
Dutch snickered.
Travis shot him a look then turned to her. “Of course not. But I don’t want you traipsing around here dressed like that.”
“Traipsing? Like I have all the time in the world, not two jobs?”
“Look, it’s my place,” he said. “And those are the rules.”
She spoke to Dutch. “What did Greg wear when he cooked?”
Dutch tried to recall. “Ah, jeans and an undershirt.”
“Want me to wear that?” she asked Travis. “Or would a burka be better?”
Dutch laughed.
Travis frowned. “I don’t want anyone attacking you.”
“Because I’m your employee?” she asked. “Or because they might find me attractive?”
Travis screwed up his mouth as though he’d tasted something shitty. “Because you’ll get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Until you can’t,” he countered.
“What if I want to attack them?” She looked from him to Dutch and back. “Is that allowed?”
“You mean because you’re only looking for a good time?” Dutch asked. “Nothing permanent? No strings?”
“Sure. Isn’t that what makes the world go ’round?”
Not according to Travis, at least when it came to her. Dutch looked at his friend, his expression saying, ‘Hey fool, you were wrong.’
Or at least misguided. There was still that hint of worship about Mercy. However, she was proving to be as practical as they were. Looking for fun. Happy to settle for that.
Until she wasn’t.
Fuck. Travis’s warning still echoed in Dutch’s mind.
Travis mumbled, “Dress appropriately. That’s all I ask. And stay out of trouble. I’ve got enough shit to handle without having to rescue you.”
Her sass evaporated. She looked so hurt Dutch had to stop himself from hugging her, and risk all hell breaking loose.
“Don’t worry, you won’t,” she murmured. “Let me get my stuff so I can clean this place.”
Travis finally stepped out of her way. Mercy stopped, then turned back to him. “Thanks for letting me stay.” On her tiptoes, she cupped his face and brushed her lips over his.
Dutch gaped.
She hushed to Travis. “I really appreciate it.”
Before he could say anything or start breathing again, she moved into Dutch, cupping his face. His cock shot to attention at her feathery touch, his lids sliding down. Her lips weren’t cold as he’d imagined, but soft and achingly warm. She smelled of something flowery and feminine. Alluring as hell.
“Thanks for helping me move my stuff in,” she whispered to him, then left the kitchen and saloon, heading to her cabin.
Chapter Three
Travis rolled over in bed and groaned at the burst of pain between his shoulders. He’d strained too many muscles scouring the saloon’s kitchen. Making it spotless enough for Mr. Clean’s mother.
He’d insisted upon it, so had Dutch, neither of them allowing Mercy to lift a finger.
They’d worked out their sexual frustration on the counters, stove, walls, and floor, slamming things and swearing until screwing was the furthest thing from their minds.
She’d startled Travis with her kiss, which had seemed strangely natural, as though they should always part that way. Her comment about wanting nothing except a good time was also a surprise. Not that Travis believed her. He couldn’t. Even if Mercy was willing to keep their relationship purely fun, he wasn’t so certain he could stop at that.
She’d done something to him in the last hours. Forcing him to notice her finally. Recognize the promise in her eyes and touch. Turning him inside out.
Making him want too much.
On the way back to his cabin he’d passed hers, just to be certain everything was all right. A heavenly aroma had stopped Travis. Something chocolaty and rich that reminded him of Christmas as a kid. His parents’ staff making enough to feed several families.
He’d remembered then about the cupcakes Mercy had to bake to fill a morning order. She’d shown him and Dutch the website she’d designed to sell her stuff.
It might as well have been her first-born, she was that proud.
A wave of tenderness had hit Travis so hard, he’d wanted to sling his arm around her shoulders and give her a huge hug.
He’d stopped himself from
knocking on her front door, asking to come inside.
He’d watched her through the window, smiling when she bit her lip in deep concentration. Before she caught him spying, Travis had dragged himself here and had fallen into bed. All night he’d dreamt of her body smeared with chocolate and caramel sauce. Pieces of toffee decorated her nipples, navel, and the curls between her legs.
He’d gorged on the confections, his true intent to get to the real treat…her skin. Dewy and soft. Its allure enhanced by her natural musk.
Travis groaned. He smelled her now, the fragrance imbedded in his brain, robbing him of sleep. He dragged his hand down his face and stopped.
What was that?
Listening hard, he heard a hissing or whooshing noise. Water running? On a pained grunt, Travis pushed to one elbow and glanced around the murky space.
A car whizzed past on the road.
On a rough sigh, he sank back to bed, then turned and stared at his closed bathroom door. A sliver of light at the bottom that shouldn’t be there.
What the fuck?
Acting on raw impulse and a surge of adrenaline, Travis rolled off the mattress, grabbed his baseball bat, and pushed open the door.
Mercy flinched. Wet hair clung to her forehead, cheeks, neck. She smelled of soap and shampoo. A large towel hid her nudity except for her bare arms and legs. She gaped at his weapon, then his cock.
Travis had forgotten he was naked. Didn’t change the heaviness that settled in his groin, telling him he was getting hard. Too stunned to cover himself, too aroused to move, he choked out his words. “What in the hell are you doing in here?”
She drew her shoulders in, which managed to plump her breasts.
More blood pooled in his shaft, thickening it.
Mercy moved toward him rather than away. “There’s no hot water in my cabin. It was no big deal last night when I was rinsing my bowls, but for a shower…”
She trailed off then started again, speaking more quickly. “I knocked. You didn’t answer. The door wasn’t locked. I didn’t think I’d wake you. I have my cupcake delivery then I have to go to Fast Fill. Jill will be here in a few minutes. She’s bringing my car over. Sorry.”
He’d already leaned against the doorjamb and continued to breathe hard, remembering something he’d forgotten. When Greg left, Travis had turned the man’s hot water heater off to save a few bucks. Austerity he’d learned from his parents, who had more money than God but far less compassion.
“Did I scare you?” Mercy regarded his bat.
He’d thought she was a biker, hoping to find cash or drugs. “No. Yeah. It’s all right.” He backed away from her, his rigid rod bouncing with each step.
She followed, watching it dance in front of his tightened balls.
The backs of Travis’s legs hit his mattress. He sank to it, wondering if she’d keep coming. If he wanted that.
Okay, so he did, which was stupid. “I’ll fix your water heater before you get back.” He cleared the rasp from his voice. “And anything else that doesn’t work. Leave me a list.”
“Thanks.” She ran her fingertips over her chest. Pearls of water clung to it and her hair, glittering in the faint bathroom light. Her clean, flowery fragrance wafted toward him.
Travis couldn’t breathe. Think.
Their silence grew, electrifying the moment, filling it with all sorts of wicked promise. He squeezed his fingers around the bat, fighting for restraint. Mercy studied him as though she were trying to read his soul.
Travis tensed, not wanting that. He didn’t know how to care or love. No one had ever taught him. She couldn’t. He’d fail and would hurt her. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She nodded slowly, as though coming out of a trance. “I’ll be here as soon as I’m off work. I’ll get the stuff cooked for your crowd. And don’t worry, I’ll wear something appropriate.”
Travis should have answered. He dropped his bat and stretched out on his belly instead. Proving their conversation was over. Nothing personal would start between them.
Jill gave the lone customer his change, waved him on his way then turned back to Mercy. “You need to give them time.”
Mercy folded her arms on the store’s front counter and rested her forehead on them. “I only have two months. I’ve been there less than a day and already Dutch doesn’t know how to act. He’s friendly one minute, distant the next. Travis totally hates me.”
“That’s not true. You startled him. He was half asleep.”
Bull. He’d been so fully awake, his cock had jutted away from his body, ready to poke the first thing it came into contact with. As long as it wasn’t her. He’d turned away as though she didn’t exist. God, how that had hurt. She hadn’t planned to attack him. Well, not until he made the first move.
He’d been so close to that, his expression intent and impassioned, then bam, nothing. “What do you wanna bet he was dreaming of another woman when I woke him?”
“Couldn’t say. But look at the bright side. You’ve already seen Travis nude. You lucky dog.”
Mercy sighed at how freaking beautiful he was. His hairy calves and thighs powerfully built, his shaft a gift from heaven. Long and meaty, the root nestled in his thick pubic hair, prominent veins snaking up the shaft, the crown a luscious mouthful. His balls pendulous.
The thought of suckling them made her moan.
“It’s not as bad as you think,” Jill said, misunderstanding. “I saw how they looked at you yesterday.”
Mercy lifted her head. “How?”
Jill smiled wistfully. “Like they wanted to devour you. Especially Dutch. He was more obvious, but Travis wasn’t immune. You just have to give them time.”
“Like how long? I’ve already told them sex made the world go ’round. That I was in this for fun.”
“You actually told them you wanted to sleep with—”
“No. When Travis lectured me about dressing appropriately so the bikers wouldn’t attack—like that’s gonna happen—I asked if it was all right if I jumped them. One thing led to another and I told him and Dutch that I was all for having a good time. No commitments.”
“Wow. What did they say?”
“Not what I’d hoped for.”
“Oh hey, sweetie. You don’t want to settle for nothing except sex. You deserve more than that.”
Of course she did. But if bed play was the sum total of what Travis and Dutch could give her, Mercy was going to grab it, and them, with both hands. Life didn’t always give a person what she wanted. She’d have to be happy for the little she could get.
By ten p.m. Smooth Rider was alive, heavy metal pumping from its sound system, bikers hugging the bar or slouched at the tables. Some gambled at cards and the pool game going on. A few danced with their ladies. Most laughed, having a great time.
Finishing a sip of his beer, Dutch placed his bottle next to Travis’s on the bar’s back counter. Mercy was across the smoky room, smiling at a man with a long gray beard and a huge gut. The old turd had to be seventy, at least, yet he was still riding the road and trying to make it with the babes.
Mercy waited as he ate the cupcake she’d offered. A mini version of what she usually made, calling it an inducement. No kidding. In the three weeks she’d been here, she’d made her stuff the most popular thing on the menu, initially charging a buck-and-a-half for each of the regular-sized treats. Travis had changed that the first night, upping it to two-fifty, refusing to take a cut.
None of the patrons had complained about the price hike or her being here. They fucking loved her. Several of the regulars shouted ‘Hey!’ as she passed. Others blew her a kiss. Her cheeks colored in embarrassment or arousal. Dutch figured the latter. Despite the stuffy heat, her nipples were rock hard.
True to her word, she kept dressing appropriately…for this place…in addition to making up her face and curling her hair. Tonight, her jeans were snug, her green tee cut low to show off her rack. Sparkles decorated the neckline, sending a rainbow of color to the ge
ntle swell of her breasts and fabulous cleavage.
She stopped at the bar, her pad filled with orders for her cupcakes. Before she could speak to him and Travis, a biker close to her age shouted across the room. “Hey, Mercy, bring me one of them molten chocolate things.”
“You got it,” she called back.
He grinned, revealing perfect teeth. His thick blond hair and deep tan gave him the look of a surfer. His body resembled one. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. His rigid rod straining to get past his fly and into her. “Hey,” he hollered again, “you doing anything later?”
“She’s busy,” Dutch shouted.
“Very,” Travis added.
Mercy’s mouth closed around whatever she’d intended to say. Her chest and forehead got as pink as her cheeks. Head tilted to one side, she regarded them. “You guys doing okay?”
Hell no. Dutch wanted those damn cupcakes for himself, along with so much more. He was fucking tired of being a good boy, and all because of the crap Travis has spewed. “Yeah,” he lied.
Travis nodded slowly, his full attention on her. At some point last week, he’d given up trying to hide what he really wanted.
It had nothing to do with being a saint.
About time.
The moment Mercy ducked into the kitchen, Dutch leaned toward Travis and whispered, “I’m going to have some fun tonight. How about you?”
Travis brought his beer to his lips and took a long swallow. Lowering the bottle, he said, “Only if she understands the rules.”
“She’s already told us she does. The first damn day she was here. So are you in or out?”
“Just watch me.”
By closing time, Travis was ready to jump out of his skin. He stopped in the kitchen’s doorway. Trays were stacked to the right. Pots to the left. Sensing him, Mercy turned, her face rosy and moist from the heat.
He wanted to devour her. Joining her at the sink, Travis turned off the water.
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Leave it,” he said, his order softer than a sigh.
She studied him for a long moment. “You’re sure?”
Nope. But he couldn’t wait any longer. “Yeah.” He went to the kitchen’s entrance and shut off the lights.
