Un-Hitched: A Camden Ranch Novel

by Jillian Neal

  Suddenly the air between them lost a little of its heat. His eyes tracked her fingertips as they rubbed over the delicate column of her neck. When the collar of the t-shirt shifted under her caress, he saw the red burn from her seatbelt and the bruise that was forming around it. Regret filled him.

  “You hurting, sweetheart? I can find you some aspirin or something. It might help.”

  She stared up at him. Several slow blinks of her long eyelashes revealed what appeared to be confusion.

  “Do you call everyone sweetheart and peaches and all that?” Heat bloomed across her features. It slowly edged down her neck, painting the burn mark with her embarrassment. Another swallow worked her throat. He longed to brush his lips right there, flood her body with heat that had nothing to do with the wreck or her being embarrassed.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Oh.” She managed a half nod of understanding. “Um, I think I’ll just go on to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that she whisked from the room.

  It took Grant a full minute to realize that she was about to cry and had been trying to escape. He debated going after her, but it was him she was clearly trying to get away from. Damn, he really was a dumbass. She’d been through hell that day, had the battle scars to prove it, and every single time they were alone he came onto her. Dumbass.

  Chapter Six

  “What is wrong with me?” Kaitlyn asked the ether in the room around her, wishing for a response she knew wasn’t coming.

  She’d been having fun at dinner. She’d even flirted. For a moment, she’d felt like the girl she’d been so many years ago. Why was she crying now?

  Scrubbing her hands over her face, she tried to summon the courage she’d had back in the living room, but it had abandoned her. She’d been the new version of herself for so long. It apparently wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Every cell in her body ached. Muscles she didn’t even know existed radiated with pain. Her head felt like someone had put it in a vice. Even her teeth ached, and she could barely turn her neck without wincing. The fury and adrenaline from Seth and the wreck had clearly worn off. Now she got to deal with the aftermath.

  Staring at her blank cell phone, she willed the signal to come back on so she could call her sister just to find out what had happened after she’d left. The phone was no more cooperative than her courage.

  It couldn’t have been much past eight, but the darkness was oppressive. The candles Granddaddy Camden had lit for her when he’d shown her the guest bedroom pierced the blackness but they were losing the fight against the night.

  Going back into the living room and facing Grant wasn’t an option. He made her feel things she had no business feeling. Just the tone of his voice stirred some kind of delicious bliss inside of her.

  Timing was everything, and theirs just sucked. He was clearly interested, but he deserved someone whose life wasn’t currently a circus sideshow.

  The room felt foreign and they were too far away from the city lights she was accustomed to seeing outside her bedroom window to ground her. Every single thing in her life felt variable. Like standing on a sandy shoreline while the tides washed away her footing.

  Creating a new Kaitlyn after Keith’s death had almost been easy. The task had numbed the pain better than any drug in existence. She’d put herself in a kind of coma. Focusing only on how to repair her parents made her able to ignore her own feelings. The only things that mattered were doing what Keith would have done. Keith had been the perfect son. Straight A’s, captain of the football team. He’d climbed the ranks in the Army faster than most. Her parents never even tried to conceal that Keith was their favorite child. Kaitlyn and her sister Sophie hadn’t even minded. Keith had been their hero, too.

  Kaitlyn had gone as far as reading books on football and golf so she could watch them with her father and understand what was going on. Every Sunday afternoon she was able to succumb herself in the safety of the way things used to be. Football was on the television and her father wasn’t yelling at her. It was something.

  She’d traded her soul for normalcy and had sought redemption by sacrificing herself for moments of almost-happiness from her parents. Almost-happiness. Was there any sadder phrase?

  Shedding the t-shirt and yoga pants she’d donned, she dug through her suitcase until she located the most conservative nightie she’d been given at her lingerie shower. It was still entirely too revealing to be sleeping in a stranger’s guest bedroom. Pulling on the matching robe at least gave her slightly more coverage.

  Before she crawled into bed, she gathered the ruffled lump of wet silk that had been her gown and heaved it into the bathtub. She didn’t want it to ruin the carpeting, and she couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. Tomorrow, she would either ask Grant if there was a large trash bag anywhere in the house or she’d throw the damn thing in the fire.

  Easing under the covers, the pills on the old sheets agitated the burn on her neck from the seatbelt. Her heart tripped over the next few erratic beats inside the hollow ache of her chest. Her breaths hurt far more than they should’ve. Maybe she had a broken rib or two from the airbag, or perhaps her heart had been so anxious to escape the traps she’d forced it in, it had shattered the cage on its own.

  Hot tears tracked out the side of her eyes. She wiped them away before they reached her hairline, but a moment later there were too many to contend with. Turning into the pillows, she sobbed; not for all she’d lost that day, but for all she’d willingly given up three years before.

  “Shouldn’t we do some’um?” Granddaddy Camden demanded of Grant yet again.

  “Pops, I barely know her. As much as it tears me up to hear her in there crying I got no idea what to say to her to make her fiancé cheating on her not hurt. I’d go clobber the fuck-whistle if I knew where to find him, but that ain’t really my right either.” He continued pacing in front of the fire. “I’ve already made an ass of myself with her anyway.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I came on too strong. I gotta let her be.”

  “Camden men don’t back down when they know something’s right.”

  “Yeah, well, that ain’t exactly the way the world works.”

  “I’d bet my left boot on the two of you. I seen the way you keep looking at her, and she up and told me she don’t mind you none at’all. Maybe you ought to stop thinking of reasons to leave her be and go in there and see if you can’t make her stop crying.”

  “You are more stubborn than a mule with a purpose.” Grant had no idea what to say to Kaitlyn that wouldn’t make this worse. Surely, she didn’t want witnesses to her misery. The woman deserved whatever parts of her dignity she was managing to cling to. She’d been through enough. She deserves someone who will cherish her and worship her. His mind took up his Granddaddy’s banner, but that didn’t mean he had any idea what to do with a crying woman.

  Keeping his eyes on the flickering fire, he willed the universe to give him something to say that would either shut his granddaddy up or help Kaitlyn. Coming up empty, he sank back down on the couch, calling himself a coward.

  Completely unable to sit and listen to her cry any longer, he sprang back up just as quickly and marched to the guest bedroom. He raised his fist to knock but couldn’t seem to force a connection with the door.

  Leaning in, he listened instead. Her sobs had lessened in volume. Maybe he was right and he should leave her be. Maybe she’d finally found a little peace. No amount of his granddaddy thinking she was meant to be his made that so. Yet for some unfathomable reason, she affected him. Watching her cry would be his undoing. His entire body responded to her on a cellular level he didn’t even understand. He knew men couldn’t and weren’t supposed to fix everything, but dammit he wanted to make her feel better. He had no clue how to go about doing that, however.

  Shaking his head, he stomped back down to the living room. Kaitlyn was in the only guest bedroom in the house. He was more than happy to sleep on the couch,
assuming he slept at all.

  Chapter Seven

  Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes wasn’t helping. Grant’s head pounded. Assuming he’d tensed up when his truck was hit, he cursed himself for being weak. He was a fucking rancher. Pain was part of the job. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He poured another glass of his granddaddy’s Crown and willed the whiskey to take away the dull ache in his muscles and the heavy weight in his head so he could sleep. It had to be two in the morning. He reveled in the burn as it centered in his chest, slightly easing the strain as he took another sip.

  Slinking down on the sofa, he’d just pulled his hat over his eyes when he heard someone stumble in the hallway. Bolting upright, he barely had time to register Kaitlyn gently easing along the wall before his muscles protested his quick movement.

  “Jesus,” escaped his mouth in a hiss. His body tensed in approval and his mouth went drier than the Sahara. His cock leapt to attention despite the pain radiating throughout him.

  Her hair had dried in a soft halo of red curls framing her delicate features, but his eyes zeroed in on the softness of her abundant cleavage on display in a short, crystal-blue, satin nightie that barely covered the plump globes of her ass.

  Delicate lace slightly obscured her nipples. She had on a matching robe but it did nothing to cover her. Blinking rapidly, Grant wondered if he was dreaming. He couldn’t recall any other wet dream he’d ever had that had included lingerie. His dreams were far kinkier than the sweet little nightie she was wearing. Maybe if she was bound to his bed in the nightie he would’ve believed this wasn’t reality.

  “Grant!” leapt from her mouth in a shocked gasp. “Uh …” she wrapped the damned robe tighter, only managing to draw a deep V at the collar, creating a map for his eyes straight to the swells of her tits. “What are you doing in here?”

  Far too much blood was on a southbound trip to his cock for him to have responded intelligently. He willed a few of his brain cells to sort through what she’d just said. His heart timed his silence only serving to irritate him. “Sleepin’. No, scratch that. Drinkin’. Definitely drinkin’.”

  She couldn’t manage to keep the top of the robe closed without the bottom giving away more information than she was clearly comfortable sharing … yet. His eyes drank her in like a parched man offered a long cool drink of water.

  “You … uh … you okay there?” There, that was marginally polite.

  “Kind of. My whole body hurts. I just thought I might come in here and see if I could find some aspirin like you said earlier.”

  Managing to stand without leaping over the coffee table between them, dragging her into his arms and drugging her with his kisses instead of painkillers, he cleared his throat, hoping his mind would clear as well. No such luck.

  His hands longed to climb under that sweet little gown and see just how innocent she was. He wanted to track kisses up and down the injuries on her neck and chest, leave a few markings of his own. He wanted to make her forget she was in any pain at all.

  Her beautiful mouth twisted in consideration before she glanced down at the gown and rolled her eyes. Like waving a white flag of surrender she dropped both of her arms and let the lingerie flow free. “You’ve already seen most of it anyway. Might as well go ahead and flash you,” she sighed.

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not gonna try to stop you if that’s what you’ve got a mind to do.” He winked at her, feeling himself steady slightly.

  “Such a gentleman,” she teased.

  “Never a gentleman, darlin’. Always a cattle rancher, though. I’ll give you a little time to figure the difference. You do know you’re driving me outta my mind in that, right?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “But I am sorry. I only have the stupid things I packed for my stupid honeymoon. This covers more than anything else in my stupid suitcase.”

  “Trust me, ain’t nothing about what you’re wearing that’s stupid.” He willed his mind to stop conjuring what else might be in her bags. “Uh, I’ll get you the painkillers. Think they expired about two decades ago. Pops ain’t much on ever throwing anything out.”

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure that would work better than aspirin anyway.” She pointed to the whiskey. “I mean, if anyone has a right to get drunk after everything that happened today it seems like it’s me.”

  “Agreed,” Grant chuckled. “But you ain’t getting drunk on my watch so you can get that thought right on out of your pretty head.” Retrieving another tumbler from the kitchen he poured her a half shot.

  She accepted the glass and considered it before drinking. “You always so bossy, cowboy? Is that what makes you not a gentleman?”

  “Sure as hell part of it.”

  Drawing another hesitant sip, she puckered up a little but then seemed to settle in to the Crown. “I’ve never had this without Coke, and I guess you’re right, being sick on top of being sore wouldn’t be much fun. Part of me wants to get drunk just because it would be so unlike me. I did once when I was in New York. Unfortunately, the memories linger.” She shuddered.

  And if you do it again I’ll paddle your sweet little ass. Grant slung the last of the liquid in his own glass down his throat letting the whiskey burn away that particular thought. “That back when you think you were brave?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seth the reason you don’t think you were brave lately?”

  “No.”

  “You ever plan on giving me more than a one-word answer?”

  “Maybe,” she smirked and giggled through another sip.

  Arching his left eyebrow, Grant shook his head. “It’s a good thing you ain’t mine.”

  “Why is that?” Mischief played in those cool blue eyes and the slip and slide of the satin gown as she seated herself beside him made him ache in frustration for all it revealed and all it kept covered.

  “’Cause I’d find some way to make you talk. I’d get all them secrets you’re keepin’ outta your head.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to hear my sad, ridiculous story topped with how pathetic it is that my fiancé cheated on me with the kind of girl my parents would much prefer I actually was.”

  The thunder of his pulse in his veins made it difficult to hear her excuses. The firelight surrounding that sky blue nightie painted her in a thousand shades of a sunset. Every shade from burnt orange to dark crimson played in her hair. Her alabaster skin was dotted with hundreds of tiny freckles and merciful Christ if he didn’t want to drag his lips and his tongue over every last one of them.

  She’d said something about Seth, and Grant wanted nothing more than to wipe his existence from her memory.

  “Darlin’, he’s an asshole of the highest caliber, and if your parents really think like that it don’t sound like they’re much better.”

  “I keyed the hell out of his car before I drove into yours.”

  Unable to halt his chuckle, Grant had never been more pleased. “I figured there was a hefty dose of hellcat in there somewhere. Bastard deserved it.”

  “He loved that car,” she sighed in what Grant sincerely prayed was not regret.

  “He should’a loved you. I bet he didn’t even know how kiss a woman like you.” No turning back now. He had no hope of retreat anyway. The whiskey drowned any inhibitions he’d been clinging to. The entire world seemed distant, erased in the blackness of the night as it enveloped them. Nothing could touch them. No one outside of his family even knew where they were. And he wanted to know the taste of those pale pink lips more than he wanted to draw his next breath.

  Awareness shadowed her eyes. So she knew she was being baited. He could almost tell the moment she decided to go on and swallow the hook. “And how should a woman like me be kissed, cowboy?” Line … and sinker.

  Leaning closer, dominating her space, he stared into those deep blue eyes. Hunger swam in their crystal depths. That intoxicating scent of strawberries and woman
filled his lungs. She licked her lips, taunting him. His eyes focused there.

  “There are rules for how a country boy kisses a lady,” he explained.

  “Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed by a country boy. Tell me these rules.” Her voiced was perforated with breathy lust. The crackling fire was nothing compared to the current running between them.

  “Kiss oughta make a woman crave. Make her hungry, damn near needy for more. Oughta prove to the woman that she belongs to you and make her damned happy about that fact. Like a hot brand, needs to let her know she’s yours. Needs to make her want more. Needs to show her that you’re gonna take good care of each and every single thing she requires. And most importantly …” he studied her. Her chest rose and fell in anxious pants. Her eyes were at half-mast in preparation for him to get on with it. Grant paused amplifying her desire.

  “What’s most important?” she finally pouted in frustration.

  “Every damned kiss needs to make your panties so wet you ache. Make you so nice and hot and creamy a man can sink himself balls-deep in your heat because he’s undone you so thoroughly.”

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed the words over his lips as he traced his thumb along her cheek.

  Another heartbeat. The anticipation between them took on its own pulse.

  His left hand wound through that mass of red curls, drawing her closer. His right toyed with the lacey edge of the nightie positioned at the top of her thigh as he staked his claim. He sank into the soft sugar of her mouth. Too impatient to stop himself, he licked the seam of her lips. She parted for him and his growl of approval stirred the very air around them.

  A quick gasp of breath. Dammit, what was he doing? Taking advantage of her made him almost as much of an ass as her ex. He forced himself to talk. “Tell me to stop, Kaitlyn.” If she didn’t want this, she needed to speak up now.

  “No.”

  “I’m about to take exactly what I want, baby, tell me to stop.”