BrocksHellion

by Nicole Austin

  “I will not leave you out here alone. You don’t even know where the hell you are. Not to mention Tamara and Van would have a hissy fit if I showed up without you.”

  He unceremoniously dropped Tink to her feet and a sharp bolt of pain radiated through both legs. She cried out, crumpled to the ground and cradled her abused feet.

  “What the fuck?” Quicker than a flash, Brock knelt before her, gentle but firm hands grasping her ankles. When her legs straightened and he got a look at the soles of her feet the man cursed a blue streak. Hell, a sailor would have blushed upon hearing the words spilling from his mouth. He must have made a few of them up, because even she had never heard them before and Tink prided herself on knowing all the best curses.

  Placing her heels on his rock-hard thighs, he examined the damage. His hands may be rough with calluses, but his touch was gentle as Brock’s fingers rubbed her arches, soothing away some of the pain. Felt damn good too. She bit back a moan, looked up into his eyes and gasped. Normally the green pools were full of warmth but they’d turned cold and scary. She’d seen him angry before, hell she tried to piss him off on a regular basis to get a reaction, but this was something else altogether. A brief wave of compassion crossed his features, followed by a spark of irritation.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Jesus, Tink.” His voice had softened, sincere concern evident in both his words and expression. Did he actually give a shit about her? Feel concern for her well-being? Maybe he wasn’t a complete and total ass after all.

  Sitting back, he continued to hold and stroke her feet. The change in demeanor was confusing, yet she wasn’t about to push him away. He was looking rather sexy as he concentrated on making her feel better. Letting someone else take care of her, if only for a short time, felt…nice. No wonder Father had forbidden such displays, because it was certainly softening her opinion of the big cowboy.

  She grew drowsy and started asking questions to stay alert, refusing to let down her guard around the man who had her emotions jumbled and confused.

  “Tell me about the ranch. How did you all end up there? How did everyone become so close?”

  Brock enjoyed talking about the ranch and doing so kept his mind from drifting, imagining the hellion submitting to him, her ass heated to a pretty pink from his hand and flogger.

  “Savannah had to get out of the city and wanted a place of her own but she needed help. Jesse, Riley, Zeke and I all responded to her ad for ranch hands, along with a lot of other men looking for work. Van required more than physical strength and skill in the hired hands. She wanted people around her who would not be freaked out by her abilities. It was a pleasure ranch until Van decided to do some real ranching and hired a foreman.”

  “The foreman’s her husband, right?”

  “Yeah.” Brock laughed as he remembered the sparks that had flown between Cord and Savannah. “Cord didn’t fit in too well at first. He and Van had a lot of loud, fiery conflicts. There was this one time she almost got him arrested for stalking her through a store in town. She did it to drive him away but those two were made for each other and eventually got it all worked out.”

  Tink covered her mouth as she yawned and her eyelids drifted a bit lower.

  “Van loves horses and had dreams of starting a breeding program. That’s how Dakota wound up at the ranch. He was a professional athlete but an injury ended those aspirations. The Shooting Star was a great fit for him. And Van’s friend, Tamara—

  “We’ve met. Well, not in person but we talked on the phone. She’s a riot.”

  Brock bit back a groan. He didn’t consider Tamara’s antics particularly funny. “She was wilder than the wind before that Indian got a hold of her. I don’t know how he had the patience to do it, but Dakota took his time and healed many of her old wounds.”

  Inevitable comparisons between the two women rose in his mind. Brock wondered if old scars were the source of Tink’s wild, standoffish ways. He’d seen her be sweet as pie one minute than coil up ready to strike like a vicious rattler the next.

  She muttered something unintelligible as her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep. Brock watched the hellion nap, her face soft and sweet in repose. Without the constant flow of insults streaming from her mouth, he could appreciate her delicate strawberry lips. The woman was a knockout. Not model thin and bony like Tamara, she had curves in all the right places. In fact, if you discounted the streaks of color in her hair, she looked a lot like Van.

  An image filled his mind, forcing out all reason—Tink, stripped bare for his pleasure, kneeling at his feet, wrists bound behind her back, staring up at him from under slumberous eyelids as she sucked his cock.

  He shook his head, dislodging the crazy idea of indulging his long-denied Dominant side. No matter how she tempted him, he had to stay in control for both their sakes. The strong attraction between them ignited an animosity that kept them from crossing a line best avoided. But the more time he spent with her, the harder it became to remember why keeping his distance was in their best interest.

  Her eyes were closed but he didn’t need to see them to know they were a stunning shade of indigo. When calm they were placid blue pools but when her temper flared they deepened to violet and turned stormy. When her anger added a deep red flush to her high cheekbones, framed by her beautiful hair, she became a fierce goddess. Strong and fiery. Breathtaking.

  He groaned and shifted position in an attempt to ease the suddenly tight fit of his jeans. There was no use denying the effect she had on him. When Tink got fired up, turned mean and nasty, his blood heated and made a beeline straight for his dick. And wasn’t that fucked up?

  Picking her up, he moved Tink into his lap, resting her head against his chest. She was going to be mad when she woke up. So be it. The way she snuggled up against his body, hands fisting his shirt, was worth facing her wrath.

  Her hair fell in a silken curtain covering her face. As he brushed the strands back, Brock let them slide through his fingers, enjoying the soft caress.

  “Rest easy, darlin’,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”

  A warm fist closed around his heart and gave a firm tug. It was an odd feeling, stirring his protective instincts. Not that she needed protecting. Next to Van, Tink was the most competent woman he knew.

  The realization of what was happening hit him hard. “Damn if you aren’t worming your way into my heart.” Bad disposition and all.

  He let her sleep for an hour, not wanting to risk stalling any longer. To be caught unprepared out here after dark was too big of a gamble to take with the precious bundle in his arms. He didn’t worry about facing wild predators himself, although having a rifle with him would’ve been nice. Putting Tink in danger was unacceptable.

  “Time to wake up, darlin’.” He feathered kisses across her forehead. A sultry smile crossed her lips and she snuggled closer. “Come on, sleepyhead. We have to get moving.”

  “Mmm…not yet.”

  Her warm breath penetrated his shirt to stroke his nipple, which tightened as hot embers shot into his abdomen. Brock moved fast, setting Tink aside as he struggled to restrain the desires wreaking havoc on his body. Measured deep breaths helped calm him. “You can’t walk and we have to get to shelter before dark.” He turned his back and crouched down before her. “Hop on. You can ride me.”

  He felt the weight of her stare burn into him for several moments and knew she considered the situation before finally giving in and settling herself on his back. He pulled her arms around his shoulders and Tink shrieked, startled by his rapid movement as he rose. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, athletic thighs holding tight and a whole new set of erotic images flashed through his mind.

  “Do you have to be such a brute?” Tink huffed.

  Lord the man was big…everywhere. She struggled to stretch her arms around his broad shoulders, holding on tight. She wasn’t afraid he’d drop her. The move was more of a preventative measure to keep from fondling all that hard male flesh so cl
ose at hand.

  Waking up with her head pillowed on his solid pecs and the warmth of his body seeping into her own had been one thing. Until he’d tossed her aside like yesterday’s trash. Riding him, feeling the flex and play of sinew against her body from shoulder to ankle was an entirely different proposition. If she didn’t know better, she’d think his intention was to torment her, not save her abused feet.

  “You all right back there?” he tossed over his shoulder.

  “I…um. I’m fine, but this is crazy. You can’t carry me the whole way.”

  “Sure I can. You’re light as a feather.”

  She snorted, unable to hold back the breathy sound. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Don’t worry, Tinkerbell, I’m strong enough to carry you.”

  To prove his point, Brock flexed his muscles, drawing a moan from her. She shuddered as her pussy swelled and gushed. There was no hiding her reaction with the way she was plastered against his back.

  The torture only got worse. Each movement brushed her clitoris over his stiff leather belt. The friction was a divine form of agony, the result inevitable. Here she was stranded in no-man’s land with Tex, blistered feet and no option other than riding him to the ranch. If she wasn’t on the verge of orgasm, she’d have a good laugh over the situation.

  Caressed by rippling muscles and the cloth between them, her nipples became tight points. Sharp tingles shot from her breasts to her pelvis. His firm ass cheeks flexed and relaxed with each step, rocking her against the belt, and tension coiled in her lower abdomen. The thin material of her silk thong and cotton pants offered no protection. Her legs were spread wide, her labia parted, the hood of her clit drawn back, exposing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

  Her vaginal walls spasmed, begging to be filled. Oh, shit. He had to stop and put her down. She would’ve tried to slide down his back, run from her own response, but the thick forearms beneath her knees held her firmly in place.

  “Stop!” Curling her hands into fists, she beat on his shoulders. “Let me go. I need to get down.”

  His fingers kneaded her calves, sending her internal temperature soaring. Tink swore the temperature had shot up to around one hundred. Heat radiated off Brock as if he were a furnace, and her body absorbed it all with voracious greed.

  “Relax, darlin’. You’re so tense.”

  Darlin’? Why the fuck was he calling her by a pet name?

  “Put. Me. Down.” He wasn’t listening to her protests and it was too late anyway. Her head fell back between her shoulders. Every muscle tensed. Tink held her breath and let go, thrusting her hips, going with the intense waves of pleasure rolling through her body. So much better than anything she could do with her toys.

  “You okay?”

  She mumbled, “Fine.”

  Tink soaked it in, rejoicing in the ecstasy of the moment. It was possible she called out his name, but she couldn’t be certain and it didn’t matter. Maybe later it would, but not now.

  The waves receded to tiny aftershocks bursting through her still-pulsing clit. She melted into his back, relying on his strength as she floated in post-orgasmic bliss.

  “You two need a ride?” Tink was startled by the amused voice close by—she hadn’t heard a vehicle approach.

  Her head snapped around and her breath caught in her throat. Dark and handsome wasn’t adequate to describe the man watching them from the pickup truck. A devilish smile showed off a mouth full of straight white teeth set in an angular jaw. Jet-black hair hung down over a sexy blue gaze that made her mouth water.

  “’Bout damn time you showed up,” Brock grumbled.

  Tink had nothing to complain about. A powerful orgasm and two hot cowboys at her disposal. She’d died and woken up in heaven.

  “Woulda been here sooner if I’d known you were taking a pretty gal for a ride.”

  His sexy grin had her clit tingling once again. Damn, maybe Kate had the right idea falling for a cowboy.

  Brock held the door and bit back a complaint as Tink slid across the bench seat and sat close to Riley. Too close. Climbing in after her, Brock eased the truck door closed instead of slamming it as his temper demanded.

  “Since stick-in-the-mud is too busy brooding to show any manners, I’ll do the honors. Riley Jasper at your service, honey.”

  Riley gave Tink a saucy wink, and Brock wasn’t sure if he should roll his eyes or deck the idiot. Both options held appeal, especially when a sweet come-fuck-me smile crossed Tink’s lips. His hands clenched into tight fists and he ground his teeth, something he did often when in her presence.

  “Thanks for being my knight-in-shining-pickup, Riley. My name’s Tink.” She held up a hand to forestall any wiseass comment and flashed the bitchy glare Brock knew well. “Stop. Don’t even go there. It’s not Tinkerbell, or any of the million and one other crazy names you can think up.” She scowled over at Brock and he bristled. “It’s just Tink.”

  He knew Riley would be quiet about her name for the time being, but the wheels were already spinning. Not knowing her real name, or why she refused to state it, would drive the prankster nuts.

  “So how’d you get saddled with Grumpy over there?”

  “Hey, I’m not Grumpy.” The irritation in his voice contradicted his words.

  “Moods swing often, Grumpy?” Riley shot back.

  “I’m only Grumpy because you’re Dopey,” he quipped.

  Tink groaned. “Come on, guys. Drop the Disneyland crap before I barf.”

  “Fine,” Riley conceded, still managing to get in another childish crack. “But he started it.”

  “Christ. Why don’t you just whip ’em out and I’ll measure them so we can get this pissing contest over with?”

  Now there was the bitch in her full, blazing glory. But Brock thought she seemed way too interested in having them do just that.

  “Anytime you want my cock, it’s yours, honey.” Riley laughed. Obviously, he was charmed by her warped sense of humor. “Hey, you’re all right.” He stretched his right arm behind Tink’s shoulders, wrapping his hand around her arm, fingers way too close to her breast for Brock’s comfort. He saw red when Riley hugged her tight, sliding Tink the few remaining inches until she was flush against his side.

  “I hope you’re gonna hang out at the ranch with us for a while. You’ve got to meet Tamara. The two of you will be a riot.”

  “Fuck,” Brock grumbled. He had no trouble picturing how the two women would feed each other’s inner bitch. The fact that idea made his cock jerk to attention confirmed he was one sick bastard.

  Tink actually giggled. He couldn’t believe it. She treated him with the cantankerous attitude of a horse with a burr under its saddle but made nice with Riley. What the hell? She probably did it just to irritate him.

  Well, it sure as hell was working.

  By the time they reached the ranch, he had a fierce headache from the constant playful bantering. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d also gotten a cavity from the sugary-sweet way Tink responded to Riley. It was disgusting.

  Without a word to anyone, he stomped into the main house and snatched up the phone. He called a local mechanic and made arrangements for Tink’s car to be taken care of. The sooner he got her out of his hair the better. His next priority was to get her tucked away in one of the guest rooms. Brock had to keep her away from Van and Tamara. The three of them joining forces to torment him was a truly frightening thought.

  Hysterical cackling assaulted his ears as he stepped onto the porch. Too late. The women were louder than the hens clucking incessantly in the nearby coop. Not only had Van and Tamara found her, but Steph and Sandy also surrounded Tink.

  He didn’t even pause as he changed direction and headed straight for the bunkhouse—the only all-male haven on the ranch.

  The women who lived on the ranch gathered around her and instantly put Tink at ease, making her feel welcome.

  “Ooh, this is priceless.” Tamara laughed as she watched Brock retreat, taking evident delig
ht in his torment. “You’ve got him running scared. It’s about damn time someone gave Mister Cool-Calm-’n-Always-in-Control a run for his money.”

  Did Brock’s friends really believe he was running scared from her? Ha! Tink didn’t buy that for a second. How long had they known him and not looked deeper to see the real man? The one she saw hidden behind solid, impenetrable walls that shielded his heart and disguised his soul.

  From almost the first moment they’d met she’d sensed the darkness lurking beneath the placid surface—chained and held under rigid control. Perhaps his friends didn’t want to see the truth, because there was so much more to Brock than met the eye. That was one of the many reasons she found her reluctant attraction to the solemn cowboy so disconcerting.

  Her reservations notwithstanding, Tink yearned to penetrate his shell and touch that dark core. Brock’s innate sexuality called to something primitive and untamed within her.

  And how crazy was it that she wanted to unleash all that restrained, fearsome power? There was no doubt she got to him, but could she handle his more primal side? And if she managed to set the savage creature free, would she survive the aftermath?

  Sure would be fun to find out.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wound so…” Savannah’s body tensed and her words trailed off. Her face went blank and she appeared to turn inward.

  “What the—”

  Steph’s hard glance silenced Tink and she watched as the women banded around the enigmatic ranch owner, forming a protective guard until she came back to herself several long minutes later.

  “What is it, Van?” Tamara’s voice was a breathless whisper full of both trepidation and excitement.

  “I’m not sure, but something’s not right. If I didn’t know Wyatt was tucked safely away in prison, I’d swear the sick bastard was nearby. I can almost feel him watching me.”

  A cold shiver of dread crawled up Tink’s spine but didn’t stop her from asking, “Who’s Wyatt? Why’s he in prison?”