When Things Got Hot in Texas

by Lori Wilde

  Even after she wrapped a towel around her body, he struggled to keep his breath even and his desire from raging out of control. Maybe it was the long, toned legs that would perfectly encase a man’s waist, or the soft, pale shoulders that begged for his kisses, or the lush, pink lips that opened in startled surprise when she finally turned and saw him.

  “What are you doing?” She pointed a finger at the door. “Get out. Now!”

  The snappish order brought back the anger that he’d been fighting since leaving his house, and mixed with the desire that pooled in his loins, he did something he never did. He moved to dominate her without any agreement between them. He backed her against the wall and clamped one hand on her trim waist. The other he fisted in her wet hair, yanking until her head snapped back and her eyes locked with his.

  “There are a few things we need to get straight, Rebecca.”

  “For not being interested, Lance couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her. Valentine finally left her wash and sashayed over to the rock he sat on. She took the fishing pole from him. ‘If you want to catch a fish, you’re going about it all wrong.’”

  Chapter 6

  Becky wanted to yell at Mason for walking into her bathroom uninvited, but there was something about the way he took possession of her body that made her brain short circuit and her stomach drop. She felt like she did when she jumped a ditch on her motocross bike. She hung in midair, not knowing if she was going to land successfully or crash and burn. This time, she thought she might crash. Her body already felt like it was burning. The grip of his hand on her waist and the slightly painful tangle of his fingers in her hair kindled a fire deep down inside.

  “I don’t like being talked down to,” he said in a low growl that brushed her forehead in chocolate-scented heat. “You want me to do something for you, you need to use the right words.”

  She stared into his dark eyes, trying to figure out what he was talking about. But her mind was completely numbed by all the sensations that raced through her body. “Huh?”

  “When you ask me for something, I want to hear please. When I do it for you, I want to hear thank you. Do you understand?”

  Most of the fogginess left her to be replaced by annoyance at Mason’s arrogance. “Sorry, but I have trouble with those words,” she said. “Just ask my brother and daddy.”

  His eyes darkened further, which she wouldn’t have thought possible. They went from a deep mahogany color to a dark walnut. “I’m not your brother or your daddy.”

  He kissed her.

  It was not the kind of kiss she was used to. She’d thought of a kiss as a soft, sweet mating of lips. But there was nothing soft or sweet about Mason’s kiss. He held her hostage while his lips conquered and his tongue lay claim to her mouth. It was hot and dangerous and savage. And Becky liked it. She liked it a lot.

  She put her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. The press of his hard, warm chest caused her to moan. He answered with a low, deep growl that vibrated through her body to the quivery spot between her legs. She stood on her tiptoes, pushing the aching spot against the hard fly of his jeans. But before she could get the right amount of friction, he ended the kiss. He would’ve pulled away if she hadn’t held him tight.

  “More,” she breathed against his lips. “I want more.”

  His eyelids lowered to half-mast as he studied her mouth. “If you want something, Rebecca, you need to ask nicely.”

  Even with desire scrambling her brains, she knew exactly what he wanted from her. She also knew exactly what she wanted from him. “Please, give me more, Mason.”

  He stared at her for what felt like an eternity before his hands slid under the towel to her butt cheeks. He lifted her completely off her feet and shoved her back against the wall. Their lips met in a hard crush of moist heat. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, scraping his teeth along the sensitive inside before he delved deeper with a thrust of his tongue. She sucked it hard, and he moaned and squeezed her bottom, rubbing her against his erection. Then as quickly as the kiss had started, it stopped and he lowered her to the floor.

  She tried to pull him back. “More please.”

  He peeled her hands away from his back. “No more, Rebecca. Now thank me so I can go.”

  With some space between her and his hot body, she could finally think. And the first thing that popped into her head was What the heck have I done? Followed quickly by What an arrogant jackass.

  She glared at him and grabbed the towel that was starting to slip. “And just what would I be thanking you for? Should I thank you for barging into my bathroom without an invitation? For shoving me against the wall and pulling my hair? Or were you talking about the mediocre kiss?”

  He laughed. “I think we both know there was nothing mediocre about those kisses.” His gaze lowered to the arm she was using to hold the towel, and his smile dropped. “Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?”

  Becky looked down. The gash she’d gotten while trying to free the calf had started bleeding again and blood dripped onto the towel. “It’s just a scratch. I had the bleeding stopped until you started manhandling me.”

  “And I’m going to manhandle you some more.” He flipped down the lid of the toilet and pulled her over to it. “Sit.”

  She refused. “I’m not a dog.” She smiled smugly. “If you want me to do something, then you need to ask nicely.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Very cute. Now sit down.” When she shook her head, he released an exasperated sigh and spoke through his teeth. “Please sit down, Rebecca, so I can clean your cut.”

  She lifted her chin. “First you need to get me my robe. I don’t want you ogling my body.”

  He lowered his eyes, and under his gaze her nipples tightened against the towel. “It is indeed ogle worthy.” The compliment went a long way toward dissolving her annoyance with him. She had to admit that he was pretty ogle worthy himself.

  His jeans were snug enough to show off his package, and cut to ride low on his trim hips. A line of dark hair trailed up from the waistband, dividing the six-pack of his stomach muscles before spreading out between his hard pecs.

  He hadn’t shaved that morning. Sexy scruff covered his strong jaw and chin. She could see the dimple in his chin—or was it called a cleft? Whatever it was called she liked it. She also liked his wide, firm mouth and his dark, thickly lashed eyes.

  If he wasn’t such a jackass, she might consider making Mason her Honey Bee. Her flower was certainly drawn to his stinger, and she had little doubt that sex with him would be amazing. It just wouldn’t be worth dealing with his arrogance.

  He cocked a dark brow as if he knew what she was thinking. “ Where is your robe?”

  “On the back of the door.”

  He closed the door and took her robe off the hook and held it up. There was a major contrast between the forceful man who’d kissed her senseless and the courteous gentleman who held her robe as if they were getting ready to leave on a date.

  “Would you hurry up before you bleed to death?” he snapped.

  Or maybe not that much of a contrast. She slipped her arms into the robe and tied it, then let the towel drop before she sat down on the toilet. “I’m not going to bleed to death. It’s just a scratch from the barbed wire.”

  “A scratch that could easily become infected if not cleaned properly.” He wet a washcloth, then knelt next to her and took her arm. He was so gentle it was almost humorous. “Have you had a tetanus shot?”

  “Yes, but not my cootie one.”

  He glanced up. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of a cootie shot. A cootie shot is a pinch you get from your girlfriends so boys don’t give you their cooties. Didn’t you learn that in elementary school?”

  He got a squirt of hand soap from the dispenser on the counter and bent closer as he rubbed it into her cut. His dark hair was mussed, and she suddenly had the strong desire to run her fingers through it and muss it even more.
“I didn’t go to a public elementary school with girls,” he said. “I went to a private boys’ school. Therefore I didn’t have to worry about getting . . . cooties. Where’s your antiseptic ointment?”

  “Second drawer. Well, that explains why you don’t know how to deal with women.”

  He stopped unscrewing the ointment and the look he sent her was suggestive and hot. “I’ve never had any complaints about the way I deal with women.”

  She tried to ignore the spot between her legs that still tingled. “You’re way too bossy for one thing.” He rubbed ointment into the cut, and the callus on his thumb made the tingling grow stronger.

  “And you’re not? You ordered me around with that calf like I was your whipping boy.”

  “I don’t whip my boys. I only tie them up and spank them.” She was teasing, but he didn’t seem to get the joke. His gaze snapped up, and the heat in his eyes made her feel a little lightheaded. She swallowed hard. “I was kidding.” He continued to stare at her until she looked away. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  He reached for the box of Band-Aids in the drawer. “I was coming to tell you to call off your minions.”

  “My minions?” She sent him an innocent look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play dumb, Rebecca. It doesn’t become you. I have little doubt that Zane told you I wanted the ranch to escape the stress of my job. You figure if you disrupt my peace and quiet, I’ll sell out and leave Bliss for good.”

  Since the jig was up, she dropped the pretense. “Which is exactly what you should do. Believe me, Bliss really isn’t all that peaceful. There are much more peaceful towns. In fact, I’ll even be happy to help you find one.”

  “I don’t want to live in another town.” He placed the Band-Aid on her arm and rubbed the tabs to make sure they stuck. The man had to have the hottest skin in Texas. She felt scorched.

  “Why? What’s so special about Bliss? Is it because Zane lives here?”

  He got to his feet. “I like Zane, but it has nothing to do with him.”

  “Then what does it have to do with?”

  “It has to do with the history.”

  “Of Bliss?”

  He stared down at her for a moment before he spoke. “No, Tender Heart.”

  She couldn’t have been more shocked. “You’ve read the books?”

  He closed the box of Band-Aids and put them back in the drawer. “My mother was a devoted fan. She used to read the stories to me when I was a kid.”

  There went her theory of Mason not knowing a thing about the Tender Heart series. “Was? She’s no longer a fan?”

  He looked down, his eyes completely expressionless. “My mother died three months ago.”

  Well, hell. It was hard to stay mad at a man who had just lost his mama.

  “Lance hadn’t thought it was possible to enjoy fishing with a woman. But not only was Valentine good company . . . she also knew how to bait a hook.”

  Chapter 7

  Mason sipped his morning coffee and stared at the urn on the windowsill. It was expensive and tasteful just like his mom, which made sense given since she had picked it out. She’d planned her entire funeral long before the cancer had spread through her body. All Mason had to do was show up in Houston and half listen as a never-ending line of his stepfathers stepped up to the pulpit and talked about the woman they’d all loved. It was sad that their love had never been reciprocated.

  Men had been disposable to Victoria Granger. If one husband didn’t work out, it was easy to get rid of him and find another. As a child, Mason had found this behavior terrifying. He had worked hard to make sure his mother never got tired of him. He catered to her every whim, praised her beauty, and entertained her with stories and jokes.

  In college, he reenacted the same needy behavior with the women he dated. But he soon learned that being needy didn’t keep women from leaving him. In fact, it only hastened the process. After being hurt more than a few times, he had embraced a dominant nature and embarked on a series of no-strings relationships, with the limits and rules negotiated in advance.

  The only woman he couldn’t remain detached from was his mother. He thought he’d moved on with his life and put his past insecurities behind him. But now that she was gone, he realized that wasn’t true. Her death hurt more than he thought possible, and he was struggling to move on. His work no longer satisfied him. Nor did his sexual partners. He felt adrift, like an empty bottle with no shore to wash onto.

  When he’d gone to clean out her house, he’d stumbled upon the worn Tender Heart novels she used to read to him. Something about the novels had struck a chord. Maybe because the only time he had ever felt secure in her love was when he’d been cuddled against her while she read. As a kid, he’d believed in the stories of heroes who didn’t shirk their responsibilities. Of heroines who were loving and loyal. And in love that lasted longer than the time it took the ink to dry on a marriage certificate.

  Maybe that’s why he’d come to Bliss. He was looking for Tender Heart. Not just for his mother, but for himself. He needed to know that somewhere there existed people like the characters in the books. People who loved for a lifetime.

  An image of Becky popped into his mind, and he didn’t know why. Judging by what he’d read in her diary, she certainly wasn’t loyal. He shouldn’t have lost his temper and played his dominance game with her, but she’d certainly had no business submitting when she was in love with another man. And she had submitted. There was little doubt that he could’ve taken her right there against the bathroom wall if he’d wanted to. And he had wanted to. Badly. Honey Bee kept him from it. He didn’t play with women who were involved in other relationships—even if they had hungry lips that could drive a man insane.

  Pushing the thought away, he got up and took his coffee cup to the sink. Once it was rinsed out, he splashed some cold water on his face. It was still hotter than hell in the house. He’d asked the clerk at the grocery store for names of repair shops, but she’d informed him that there weren’t any in Bliss. And the one he’d called in Austin couldn’t fit him into their schedule for weeks due to the heat wave. He couldn’t take weeks of the heat. The days were bearable, but trying to sleep in a sweltering hot room was impossible. He should head back to Austin and the refrigerated air of his apartment, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet.

  He dried his face with a paper towel, then retrieved the diary from under his pillow and headed out to the front porch. After last night’s kisses, he should probably put the diary back in the floor and forget about it. The steamy sex scenes were probably responsible for what happened in Becky’s bathroom. There was no other explanation. He didn’t lose control with women. That was his number one rule. Yet he’d lost it with Becky. And if she had given him one more “please,” he had little doubt that he would’ve given her what she asked for.

  He stepped out on the porch and stumbled over the gray cat. In his attempt to not step on the mangy animal, he dropped the diary. It slid across the porch and bounced down the steps, landing at a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. Mason looked up from the boots into a smiling face.

  “Hey, there.” The man picked up the diary, then climbed the steps and held out his hand. “Dirk Hadley. I heard you were having trouble with your air conditioning and I thought I’d stop by and see if I could help.”

  Mason ignored the hand. “Let me guess. Becky sent you. And not to fix my air conditioner, but to make sure it never works again.”

  Dirk chuckled. “Obviously you know Becky pretty well.” He shook his head. “She’s quite the pistol, that one.”

  “Pistol isn’t the word I would use,” Mason said dryly. “And thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll wait for someone who isn’t friends with Becky.” He held out his hand. “Book?”

  Dirk hesitated before he handed back the diary. “Just for the record, Becky didn’t send me. My part in her plan was to make sure you got the worst food in Texas when you came into the diner.
I can see burning a man’s burger, but I can’t see letting him die of this heat. And when Susie at the grocery store told me about your broken air conditioner, I figured I’d come out and offer a hand.” He took off his hat and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “Damn, it’s hot. You think I could get a glass of water? I hitched a ride with Daryl Freeman to the turnoff, but I walked the rest of the way.” He nodded to the cat, who had yet to move. “I bet your pussycat could use some water too.”

  “He’s not mine. He’s a stray.” Still, he headed inside to get water for both Dirk and the furball. He was in the process of filling a bowl when Dirk walked into the kitchen followed by the cat. “What the hell?” Mason said. “Don’t bring that mangy animal in here.”

  “I didn’t bring him. He came on his own.”

  He thought about booting the cat out. But since it was already there, he set the bowl of water on the floor. The feline immediately started drinking, which made him feel guilty as hell, and he went to the refrigerator to get some deli turkey. When he turned, he found Dirk staring at the urn on the windowsill.

  “Close relative?”

  “My mom.”

  Dirk nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off the urn. “My mama was buried. I was only eight at the time and cried like a baby when I saw her in her casket. My granny hugged me close and told me that she’d be with me forever. As I got older, I realized she was talking spiritually. But back then, I couldn’t figure out how I’d fit that big casket into my small bedroom in granny’s house.”

  Shit. It looked like Mason now had two pathetic strays to deal with. He tossed Furball the turkey before he turned to Dirk. “You want a beer?”