by Liora Blake
Full disclosure: I also thought about tossing her over my shoulder, dragging her out to my truck, and taking her home with me, where we could kiss without an audience and fuck without thinking about tomorrow. Because I’m not noble enough to keep those thoughts at bay, and the depraved areas of my mind are obsessed with her. Here’s hoping that Amber can’t see the growing evidence of that depravity right now, inspired by her bare belly and an imagined tequila shot in my hand.
“I’m glad I caught you here. I wanted say thank you properly before I head out. I tried to catch up with you at the grocery store, but I didn’t want to interrupt while you were talking to that girl. Then the next thing I know, you’re gone.”
She stumbles distastefully over the word “girl,” and a flicker of interrogation crosses her expression.
When she and Teagan strolled into the local grocery store earlier today, I was minding my own business, trying to find a damn avocado to purchase that wasn’t already rotten, while reminding myself, yet again, to stop thinking about Amber because she was likely already gone from town. Then midrant, there she was. Waving, smiling, and looking at me like she knew exactly how to get my blood boiling without breaking a sweat. I was also attempting to hold a civil conversation with Garrett’s girlfriend, Cara, about how he’s an enormous pussy who believes he’s knocking at death’s door with his case of the sniffles. In short, the whole situation made my fucking head feel like it was about to explode.
“I had places to be,” I mumble.
Like my truck. Followed by my house, where I punished my body with a long workout in the makeshift gym I have set up in a shed out back. It helped. Until now.
Amber widens her eyes to near saucers, raises her brows to match, goading me for the info she really wants. I count to five, making her wait. Because I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the only one in the room feeling frustrated, even if I know I’ll eventually grant her anything she asks for—all she’d have to do is flash one more centimeter of bare belly and I’d cave to whatever. Hell, if she put a lemon wedge in one hand and a saltshaker in the other, I’d probably commit a felony if she asked me to.
“I was talking to Garrett’s girlfriend. She just got back into town and was unaware that her crybaby boyfriend had contracted what he thinks is some version of the Black Death. So I was attempting to be sociable while allaying her concerns and reminding her that giving a shit about any of it falls under the heading of ‘girlfriend.’ ”
Amber gives up a relieved laugh. “How is he? Still alive?” She tips up one side of her mouth. “And don’t stand there and say you don’t know, or don’t care. We both know neither is true.”
“He’s alive and still a pain in the ass. I dropped off a jar of my sauerkraut earlier, which should help.”
Her entire face squishes up. “You took him sauerkraut? Who the hell wants sauerkraut when they’re sick?”
“My sauerkraut kicks ass. So Garrett, and anyone with taste, would want to eat it every day. And it’s full of good bacteria. The kind that help kick your immune system into gear.”
“Of course,” she mutters, craning her head to gawk down the hallway. “Is that your office?”
She heads in that direction without waiting for an answer, disappearing inside before I’m able to claim it’s not my office but a top secret, no-Ambers-allowed safe room—or something equally as pathetic and unbelievable. I follow her anyway, cussing under my breath as I do. I don’t need this in my life; I’m far too on edge as it is. What I do need is for my mountain sprite to flit her way back to Texas and leave me be, with nothing but her goddam Instagram and my memories to slobber over.
When I round the corner into my office, I find her where I least expect: sitting on top of my desk.
Christ, now what am I supposed to do with her? A hundred filthy answers come to mind, swimming forward in a rush. Most of which involve her staying put while I take advantage of her position, plopped right atop my desk calendar with her legs spread just so.
She glances around the office, taking in the fact it probably looks like it’s my first day here. No mementos, no pictures on the wall. No potted plants or coat trees. Nothing on the desk but the computer, the printer, my water bottle—and that desk calendar she’s currently impressing her fine ass upon. In her defense, along with the lack of other decor in here, there aren’t any chairs for visitors, either.
“Cozy setup you have here.” She takes a gander at the computer screen and taps a few keys. “Is this a herd ratio report? Can I have a copy?”
I’m around the desk in a flash, bumping into her legs with mine and grabbing her hand, hoping she hasn’t managed to screw up or delete the last three hours of my work life.
“That is proprietary information belonging to the state of Colorado. So no, you cannot have a copy. And stop poking buttons—this fucking computer is touchy.”
Amber, noting the limited space, spreads her knees to make room for me. Right between her legs—the place I’ve spent far too much time thinking about. Her hand is still in mine, and when I give a little tug to release my grip, she twists our fingers together and sets them on her thigh.
“You are touchy.” She urges her knees inward until they meet my legs. Amber ticks her gaze up to mine and worries her bottom lip. “Why so tense, Braden?”
The already-small room seems to shrink in half, and my chest starts to work roughly over each breath I take, seizing every bit of oxygen I can. All because I’m fighting the instinct to tell her exactly why I’m so tense.
Because I’ve expended a tremendous amount of effort and willpower over the last few days resisting the urge to jerk off, that’s why. Knowing if I give in, Amber will fuel every moment of that experience—the feel of her, the scent of her, the way her mind works, the way her voice sounds when she says something that should irritate me but doesn’t. All of it, every single element of what makes her frustrating and sexy, fascinating and demanding.
But I won’t go there. Not this way, not when it feels like that would reduce me to one of the countless assholes who get off thinking about her, or imagine fucking her every way they can just to get their rocks off. If she and I could somehow be more to each other, things might be different. But they aren’t. So yes, I am touchy.
I grind my jaw together and try to remove my hand from hers again. Amber tightens her grip.
“I think I know why.” A sly smirk from her. “And I’m right there with you. I can’t even do anything about it, either, staying in an RV with two other people. Maybe if we’d stayed in a hotel, I’d have a room to myself, and then I could—”
A pained sound leaves my mouth, and I jerk my free hand up between us, palm out in warning. I close my eyes.
“I swear to God, Amber, if you say one more word that nears you talking about getting yourself off, I will lose my mind.” I let my eyes open, fixing a steady gaze on her. “Either that, or you will find yourself laid out on this desk.”
We stare each other down for what feels like minutes. Then her eyes light with challenge and she leans closer. She drops her voice to a near whisper.
“It wouldn’t take much. I’m so keyed up, all I’d have to do is slip my hand down and—”
I sink my hands into her hair, pulling her close, and crash my mouth to hers. Amber’s lips part and our tongues tangle in the hottest way I’ve ever experienced, breaking our kiss only to breathe because we have to. I pull my hands from her hair, set them to her ass, and yank her forward as Amber fists my shirt in her hands, grinding her pussy to the fly of my pants. Urging her body backward, she slithers one of her legs up around my hip. I immediately latch one hand behind her knee, sliding my grip up her thigh and across her hip, pausing only when my hand meets the waist of her yoga pants and the bare skin of her belly is under my touch.
Amber sighs into our continuing kiss, and I take the sound as her permission, her demand, for more. Slipping my hand higher, the thin silk of her bra meets my fingertips, her soft flesh beneath, a hard-tipped p
eak under my palm. One quick yank and her full, bare breast is in my hand. I moan into her mouth. Loudly. Embarrassingly. Amber mutters a soft curse.
We pause only long enough to catch up with this moment, how good it feels, and then we’re back at it. Nipping and kissing, teasing and tasting, fueled on by the way she’s arching her back into my grip and the way I’m grinding my body to hers as best I can without crushing her.
Amber gives up a long moan when I slip her nipple between my thumb and two fingers, hard enough to be sure she feels it, but not so much that she gets everything she truly needs. I could give her more—I could give her everything. So much she wouldn’t fucking know what to do with it all. I could. If she wants me to.
I work my mouth across her neck and over her jawline, pausing near her ear, taking a moment to inhale her strawberry scent.
“Do you want more?” I rasp.
Amber stills, and I do the same, frozen in place with my hand up her shirt, still copping a feel like a horny teenager. Suddenly, I’m just a stupid sixteen-year-old again, one who just got caught in his girlfriend’s bedroom doing exactly what he thought he would never get to.
Finally, Amber lets out a trembling exhale, one that ends in a breathy laugh.
“More? Are you proposing we have sex on your desk? Right here next to the proprietary information on your computer?”
Holy shit. Am I? Is that what I think should happen here? What I want to happen?
I fumble over the debate in my head, still trying to catch my breath while I do. Amber weaves her arms around my waist, drawing her nails gently across the back of my T-shirt as if she knows my mind is working overtime, and I relax into her hold. I give up my own unsteady exhale.
“I have no idea. Maybe. My fucking brain is scrambled.”
I’m rewarded with her lips pressed against my neck, followed by a teasing nip of her teeth to the same spot, then another kiss to ease the sting. Every hair on my body stands on end.
I grant myself the last few seconds of whatever the hell this is, soaking up the satisfaction that comes with, before rising up to brace my outstretched arms on either side of her. Amber stays put, looking pleased with herself. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright, and her lips are reddened and plumped, enough to send a new pulse of need straight south. She grins, coy but knowing.
“Did that help or make it worse? Your eyes look all drunk and relaxed, but I can see the bones in your jaw flexing. It looks uncomfortable. Loosen that thing up, Braden. Smile, maybe.”
I can’t hold back a grin, snorting when she wiggles her brows playfully. I drop my head wearily and sigh when Amber threads her fingers into my hair, scratching lightly along my scalp.
“Right now, it’s helping. But now I know how hot you kiss, how good you taste, and how fucking amazing you feel. So later, when you’re long gone, that’s gonna suck.”
Amber blushes, a sweet bloom across her cheeks that’s the last thing I expect to see. She feels the heat and throws one arm over her face, flopping the other out and across my desk. Her hand whacks into my water bottle and it nearly topples, but I grab it just in time. She yanks her arm away and flips her eyes open.
“Got it.” I hold up the bottle. “Don’t want you getting wet.”
She raises her brows and drawls, “Too. Late.”
I drop my eyes shut, my jaw flexing tight again. She laughs and whispers a teasing apology.
“Sorry. I like it when you do that. Get all frustrated.”
My eyes drift open when she tugs on my shirt, using it and my weight as leverage so she can sit up. Automatically, I slip one arm around her back to help, knowing she doesn’t need it but wanting to anyway. Once she’s upright, she fiddles with her hair a little and somehow manages to make the messy bun look even cuter than it did before. I step back, giving her room to slip off my desk. She makes her way to the doorway, and just when I’m positive she’s about to leave without another word, she pauses and turns to glance over her shoulder.
“I don’t know about you, but that was even better than I imagined. I needed this.” Amber tilts her head and sends a sated smile my way. “Thank you, Braden. For everything.”
She disappears down the hallway. I stay rooted in place until I hear the front door shut, then I flop into my desk chair and stare at the empty doorway.
There is one upside here, no matter how depressing it might be. My first taste of Amber Regan also happens to be my last. We both know that my unit isn’t where she’ll end up for her hunt in a few months—not if she wants footage that’s worthy of TV time—which is a saving grace to my sanity. Wanting more, obsessing over her, or craving her: all of it is pointless. And I don’t waste my time on shit that’s pointless.
I cast my eyes down to the desk pad I never much noticed before. Now I’ll never be able to look at it without thinking of what just happened.
Maybe it’s time for a new one, imprinted with something banal and stupid, like palm trees, or an ugly floral pattern, the kind best left on Grandma’s curtains. Maybe some little playful, frisky kittens.
Nope. Not kittens. Especially not frisky ones. Because a mere hop, skip, and a jump will put my mind where it doesn’t belong: on pussycats.
Screw it. I’ll toss this one out and leave it at that.
She’s leaving.
Thank fuck for small favors.
Ten days and one new desk pad later, I’m in the office again for public hours. We’re between hunting seasons, so I expect a quiet morning. I’ll keep myself busy by restocking hunting brochures and preparing for what is sure to be a lively afternoon. One that involves me giving a presentation at a local Girl Scout troop meeting.
Fifteen giggling little girls vs. one grumpy game warden. I don’t stand a chance. I’ll be outnumbered and potentially outwitted. Even so, I’d take this over dealing with a poacher or a bear wreaking havoc in town any day.
I grab an empty box from under the reception station and start to fill it with a stack of Parks and Wildlife coloring books, crayon sets, and the Bear Aware educational DVD I’ll need for my presentation. My phone rings just as I spot a long-forgotten bag of Jolly Ranchers. I toss the bag of candy in the box. Kids like sugary crap, and a couple of these won’t stunt their growth too much. As an added benefit, if they’re sucking on Jolly Ranchers, that may keep the squealing and giggling to a minimum.
I dig my phone out of my pocket, glancing at the display to see Tobias’s name as I answer.
Tobias offers a snort first, followed by a long exhale. “Brace yourself, Montgomery. I have no idea what you did, but you somehow managed to convince Amber Regan that a unit managed for elk hunting opportunity over trophy bulls would be the perfect place to film her hunt. Must have been your friendly and agreeable nature.”
My body seizes up, prompting exactly what Tobias first cautioned: to brace myself. I grip the edge of the flimsy shelf where I found the Jolly Ranchers, trying to keep from breaking it in two.
This can’t be happening. Amber chose one of my units? Can’t be.
Maybe she said unit 201—one of the trophy units in Colorado—but the line was garbled. She was in a tunnel, a car wash, something, and they thought she said 421, one of my units. We have elk, sure. But we do not have big elk. We have a unit that’s managed for those hunters who want to fill the freezer far more than find rack worthy of mounting on the wall.
“Are you sure? This has to be a mistake. Maybe you misheard her.”
Tobias scoffs. “My hearing is just fine. I heard her tell me all about how excited she is for her hunt, how the Hotchkiss community was so welcoming. How you were especially helpful.” He pauses. “Is that true? Were you helpful, Montgomery? Because if that statement has a subtext, let me advise you what a bad idea that is.”
I swallow hard. “Just a bad idea? Or a direct violation of something in my five-hundred-page employee manual?”
Tobias curses under his breath. “No direct violation that I can think of. But let me say it again. Bad idea.”
Relief ripples through me. I might be dangerously close to losing my mind over Amber, but at least my job is safe. Tobias doesn’t let me enjoy the feeling for long.
“That being said, prepare yourself, regardless. Since she’s going solo for this hunt, she’s determined to show up prepared, and she has all your contact info. I suspect she plans to wear out your cell with any questions she might have. Good luck continuing to be so … helpful.”
When Tobias hangs up, I take stock of the time I have left. It’s nearly April, and archery elk season doesn’t open until August. I have months. Months to tether up my lust and bury it deep inside.
Months. No problem. That’s more than enough time.
(Braden)
“The best laid schemes of mice and men Go often askew, And leave us nothing but grief and pain …”
—ROBERT BURNS, “TO A MOUSE”
Tobias, oracle and sage that he is, was right. His claim that Amber might wear out my cell phone was not only correct, but an understatement. Her texts are constant, her emails are incessant, and her phone messages are long-winded. She’s apparently short on an attention span and entirely lacking in impulse control, at least when it comes to contacting me, which is fucking my strategy all up.
Best laid plans and all that shit.
What’s worse is I’ve become Pavlovian in my response, salivating at the sound of my phone alerts. Her messages are equally funny, frustrating, and interesting—which means I look forward to every one of them. I’ve taken to turning my phone off before I go to bed because she’s up at all hours, it seems, and I can easily wake up to a stream of texts, just as I did this morning:
(1:30 a.m. Amber Regan text)
Muzzleloader season starts when?
(1:52 a.m. Amber Regan text)
