by Dana Marton
“This is not wrong,” he said when they came up for air.
His body grew hard. He didn’t want to scare her, so he tried to move back a little. Instead, he somehow ended up pushing her against the counter.
* * *
SHE HAD ABOUT as much brain as a weather vane. She’d done this before, allowed herself to become a rich man’s plaything. It had ended badly. “Yes, it is.” And yet she couldn’t make herself push Mo away when he leaned in for another kiss.
The first words out of his mouth when he’d come through the door downstairs had been to ask after her son. He always did that. And each time he did, it melted a little bit of her heart.
He was probably faking interest in her and her son just to get into her pants. Other men had done that before. She was such a terrible judge of men, just really bad at making big decisions altogether.
If she were smart, she would run right now.
Instead, she let him lift her up onto the counter.
Instead of protesting, she opened her knees so he could get closer. His hardness pressed against her, and she reveled in his thorough kiss, in his obvious need for her.
Heaven knew she wanted him. He woke up every one of her dormant desires.
Stop. You can still stop. Stop now, a small voice of sanity said in her head.
He ran his fingers up her arms, his touch on her naked skin sending delicious shivers through her. Heat grew inside and flooded her body. Need pulsed in her blood.
“Beautiful,” he whispered as he trailed kisses down her neck.
She felt safe with him. She really, really liked him—the way he was nice to Logan, that he cared about her safety and her animals, down to the last scrawny chicken.
The temptation to fall headfirst into something here was overpowering. But as her eyes fluttered half-open, her gaze caught on the granite countertop and the ten-thousand-dollar stove.
And she couldn’t ignore the stark truth, that she didn’t belong in this place, with this man.
She pulled back. “I shouldn’t be doing this. None of this is real.”
“Why?”
“Because life is unfair. Why couldn’t you be a plain cowboy? Why do you have to be a millionaire playboy G.I. Joe or whatever you are?” She held up a hand. “Please don’t protest. You and your team are definitely not some desk-jockey administrators.”
A smile hovered over his sexy lips. “Millionaire playboy G.I. Joe?”
“Seriously, how many of those are running around in the average Texas small town? And I have to hook up with one? I don’t have to do this just because I like it so much. I like chocolate, too, and I don’t eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner”
“So you like it?”
“More than chocolate,” she said on a sigh.
He grinned and brushed his lips over hers again, and she lost all ability to protest.
Her luck was nothing if not rotten.
Even if right now, this part seemed okay. Better than okay. Pretty good. Great.
He cupped the back of her neck with one hand and her breast with the other as he deepened the kiss. Pleasure shot through her, straight to her toes. She’d gone without passion for so long. What was wrong with taking a little of this? Just once?
After an eternity, he pulled back, banked fires burning in his gaze. “I didn’t plan this.”
“I know. It’s okay.” She closed the distance between their lips. She needed just one more kiss.
She expected nothing from him, was fully aware that this could go no further. She would be his temporary entertainment. As long as she kept that fixed firmly in her head, she would be okay.
She was no starry-eyed schoolgirl. She no longer believed in happily ever after. When Mo walked away, she wouldn’t be heartbroken like before. And she wouldn’t be left pregnant. He had to have a maxi-pack of condoms somewhere in this apartment. He was rich and sexy. He probably had women in his life who were classy and sophisticated.
And they probably had lots of fabulous, even scandalous, sex, things she didn’t even know how to do. Self-doubt tore into her suddenly. Because she was just a country bumpkin pretty much. She had to face it.
And that was as far as she got with thinking.
His thumb flicked over her nipple and it drew into a tight bud. Moisture gathered between her legs.
She gave up trying to form coherent thoughts and gave herself over to the pleasure of being seduced by Moses Mann. If he thought she was hopelessly unsophisticated and inexperienced, let that be his problem.
He reached for the top button on her shirt. Fumbled.
Ha!
She found it incredibly flattering that he was as affected as she. That he wanted her so badly his fingers trembled.
Her knees were so week, if she was standing, she would have probably folded.
The top button yielded at last.
Then the next.
His warm, seeking lips moved down her neck, leaving a tingling trail of desire.
She shrugged out of the shirt before he was half-done with the buttons. He gave an appreciative sound in the back of his throat as he took in her simple cotton bra.
Then he looked pained. “I don’t know what to say.”
Who wanted to talk? She reached to the back to unclasp the bra. Heat flared in his eyes. He put his hands on her and drew the flimsy material away inch by inch, revealing her breasts with agonizing slowness.
“I want—” he started, but then just dipped his head and drew a nipple between his lips.
As pleasure spiraled through her, for a second she thought she was going to go over the edge right then and there.
Modest country girl, mother and all that.
Having sex in a fancy hotel, on the kitchen counter!
She was wicked, wicked, wicked.
He took her other nipple, drew on it gently, and her body shivered in delight. A strangled sound escaped her throat, halfway between a sob and a moan.
He pulled back. “Did I hurt you?”
She couldn’t answer. She just shook her head.
“I want you.” He held her gaze. “I wish I knew some romantic way to say that.”
He looked concerned, as if he was afraid that what he did say wouldn’t be enough.
She felt a smile stretch her lips. “I like plain and honest. I’m not exactly a big-time player.”
“I want to pick you up and carry you back to the bedroom.”
She slid an inch forward.
His lips tightened. “I don’t have protection. I don’t suppose you’re...”
She stared at him. The millionaire playboy G.I. Joe didn’t have protection?
She could have cried as she shook her head. Her entire body ached to finish what they had started. A few long seconds passed before the haze cleared from her mind.
And then she drew her shirt closed and took a deep breath.
Maybe tomorrow she’d be happy that nothing happened between them, but right now, she was awash in disappointment. She tried to remind herself that they weren’t in the same league. That he was just playing here.
“Probably for the best,” she forced herself to say. She avoided his gaze as she slid off the counter. “My animals are waiting. I usually feed them pretty early.”
He let her go. “I need to grab something from the bedroom.” His voice sounded a little rough as he said the words.
She straightened her clothing as he walked away. Then, needing something to do, she went back to her notebook and stuffed it into her purse.
Mo was coming back already. “What’s that?”
She glanced at the notebook that stuck out of her bag. “I’m making a list of the people I’ll need to contact to get Dylan’s name cleared. I want something publicly said. In the
paper.”
“Molly—”
“No.” She held up a hand. She didn’t want him to say anything bad about her brother right now. She couldn’t handle it, not after what they’d just shared, what they had almost done.
Something they shouldn’t have done, really. It wasn’t as if they were a couple or anything, or as if he even believed her about Dylan.
“Can we—” She glanced toward the counter. “Could we please just forget that this happened?”
His answer was a long time coming. But then he said, “Sure.”
She didn’t dare look up into his face.
The elevator ride down was awkward, the car ride to the ranch spent in silence. She ran from him the second she slipped out of the car, keeping away from him as she did her chores, pretty much the way she had the night before.
He knew what needed to be done at this stage, so he helped without asking anything, without following her, for which she was grateful. She needed time to recover.
When they were done, she went inside to clean up and water her plants. He was waiting for her in his car when she came out.
She slid into the passenger seat. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“We’re doing everything we can to figure out what’s going on so you can return home,” he said, back in his official persona, his tone impersonal.
He drove down the driveway and turned right instead of turning left, toward Hullett. Maybe he wanted to drive around her land. She wasn’t about to complain. It wasn’t as if she needed to be anywhere in a hurry.
She leaned back in her seat, more than a little sleepy. She’d had a restless night. As luxurious as her room was, she wasn’t used to sleeping in a strange bed.
She was up half the night, walking around. And once she stopped being blinded by all that opulence, she realized how sterile it all seemed. Just a hotel suite, really.
Not one personal item graced the living room, nothing that said warmth or family. No pictures, no memories, no favorite mug with #1 Uncle on it or anything like that. Everything was decorated in just the standard white the hotel provided. All the luxuries didn’t make the place a home. In some sense, she had so much more out at the ranch than he had in his big fancy hotel.
She was so lost in her thoughts she wasn’t paying any attention to where he was driving, so she was surprised when they pulled over in front of an old cabin. “Where are we?”
But he was already getting out.
She followed him to the cabin and then inside. “What’s this?”
“We’re on the Cordero ranch. This is the cabin where Dylan shot and killed four of his accomplices.”
Denial sprung to her lips, but died there as she spotted the rust-colored stains on the floor—blood that had seeped into the floorboards. Her stomach rolled. One by one, she noticed the holes where bullets had been pried out of the logs, probably by Mo’s team.
“It can’t—” Her voice broke.
“It happened. You need to somehow be able to accept that.”
“You don’t know—”
“I was here. I helped clean up the bodies.”
“You were only here after,” she whispered. “You don’t know what happened.”
“Grace Cordero was here during the shooting. Are you saying she’s an unreliable witness?”
Grace.
The truth came crashing down on her so hard she couldn’t breathe. The carnage here...the bloodbath...and Grace had been in the middle of it. She could have been killed.
Molly turned and ran outside, ran behind Mo’s car then fell to her knees and gave back her breakfast.
She heard his car door open and close, then he was there, gently helping her up, handing her a bottle of water.
“Just because Dylan did something bad here, it doesn’t reflect on you or Logan,” he said.
She couldn’t talk. She rinsed her mouth, then walked to the passenger side and got in. She felt as if she’d just eaten poison.
He took his seat, too, and watched her with concern. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
“No.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest, couldn’t bear looking at the cabin. “The truth is always good, even if it hurts.”
He started the car and drove away.
Minutes passed before she could open her eyes. She still couldn’t look at him. She was so hurt and so ashamed.
Oh, Dylan, what have you done?
How had she not known that her brother had gotten involved in smuggling? If they’d talked more, if she’d asked more questions...
“I can’t tell Logan,” she said at last, horror filling her at the thought. Logan would be devastated.
“Then don’t.”
“I don’t want to lie to him, either. At some point he will have to face the truth, too.” That was the right way to go, not her denial. Mo had been right to take her to the cabin, even if it was ripping her apart right now.
“He’ll have to accept this, yes, but it doesn’t have to happen when he’s eight years old. You can give him some of the truth. I don’t think details would be necessary at this stage.”
She nodded, feeling numb. “What will he think? I don’t want him to feel bad about himself because of this.”
“Just keep telling him you love him.” He paused. Cleared his throat. “When I first found out about being dumped by my parents...” He shook his head. “They tried to drown their own kid. What the hell kind of person does that? And those are my genes. I think I went into the armed forces right out of high school because I wanted to be under close supervision, in case somehow the ‘evil’ broke out.”
She turned to stare at him. “There’s nothing evil about you. You’re not your parents.”
He held on to the wheel with one hand and took her hand with the other, gave a gentle squeeze. “And you’re not your brother. And neither is Logan.”
She looked away. “I can’t talk to you about this.”
* * *
TEARS BRIMMED IN HER EYES, the first one spilling over, rolling down her face. He felt like a jerk. She needed comfort, but he had no idea how to give it to her, not when she didn’t want anything to do with him at the moment.
Mo couldn’t blame her. He’d brought her here. He’d brought her this pain. And yet, being pushed away both frustrated and hurt him.
His phone rang. He glanced at it. Jamie. He had to take the call.
“There’s movement on the border. The rest of the team is there. I’m heading out right now. Multiple breaches at multiple points.” He gave GPS coordinates.
“I’ll be right there.”
“Try to avoid Ryder. The Chinese guy you got the other night, Yo Tee, he’s the real deal. Big-money business guy. Lawyers filed a complaint and everything. Ryder isn’t happy. Way to go not bringing attention to the op.”
“He looked suspicious.”
“Everyone who comes within a mile of Molly Rogers seems suspicious to you these days.”
Maybe Jamie was right. Maybe he was losing his objectivity. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about it. Molly was becoming more and more important to him. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, then ended the call, not feeling like making explanations to Jamie.
“Just take me back to the ranch.” Molly still wouldn’t look at him.
“You’re not going to hang out at your place alone.” He turned the car and sped down the dirt road that led to the Cordero ranch.
He might not have been able to help Molly right now, but he knew who could. And he would make sure she was in good hands before he left her. He hoped Grace Cordero was home.
Chapter Nine
Tension tightened Molly’s shoulders as Mo pulled up in front of Grace’s place.
“I think you should talk to her,” he said. “But it’s your choice.” He waited.
Then Skipper came running, and for a moment she forgot about everything else and jumped from the car, caught the dog up into her arms. The unconditional love and support felt incredibly good.
She scratched behind the dog’s ear before giving her another big hug and a kiss.
The front door of the house creaked open.
“Hey.” Grace stepped outside. “I was just about to call you. She can go home whenever you’re ready.”
“I have to go,” Mo told them from behind the wheel. “Can you take Molly back to the hotel when she’s ready?”
As soon as Grace nodded, he drove away, with one last look at Molly, conflicting emotions darkening his face.
Grace tilted her head. “What’s going on? What hotel is he talking about?”
Molly stood, but kept her hand on the dog’s head. “I’m...Logan and I are not at the ranch right now. We’re in Hullett.”
“Everything okay?”
She hesitated. She had so much to say. And she didn’t know where to start.
“Why don’t we go inside?” Grace suggested. “How about a cold drink?”
She was being nice, a good hostess, but there was a wariness in her tone. Molly couldn’t blame her.
She followed Grace inside and sat at the kitchen table, hugged Skipper. The dog stuck to her like glue.
Twinkie, a stray cat Grace had rescued a few weeks back, sauntered in from the direction of the laundry room.
“I hope Skipper was okay with Twinkie and the kittens.” Grace had adopted a boxful of barn kittens, too, from a nearby ranch when their mother had disappeared.
“Very gentle.” Grace poured two glasses of lemonade then set the pitcher between them.
And then they were out of neutral topics of conversation.
Molly drew a deep breath. “We need to talk about Dylan.”
Grace’s face grew somber as she pulled back a little. She probably expected an argument.
Molly folded her hands on her lap, not sure how to start. “I’m sorry.” She was, and it had to be said.
