One to Take (Stuart & Mariska): Sexy Cowboy (One to Hold Book 8)

by Tia Louise

  “Mariska—”

  “No!” I push him, but he doesn’t move. The man is a wall of granite. “Before you knew, before I told you, when I was already twelve weeks pregnant, if I left you in the bed alone one morning… One! You were pissed!”

  He’s fighting the urge to grin, but I won’t have it. I push against his arms and grab the front of his shirt, shoving it up his lined torso.

  “What are you doing?” He tries to catch my hands, but I push his away.

  “You’re going to fuck me right here and now in this stall.”

  “What the…” He steps forward, past me to the door of the stall and looks out into the barn. “Where’s Amy?”

  “She’s in the house having breakfast with your mom. I don’t know where Bill is.”

  “He went into town,” Stuart says quietly before turning to face me.

  “Then we’re alone.” My hands are on his waist, but I only get the top button of his jeans open before he catches them.

  “Take it easy. We’re not doing this here.”

  The tightness in my chest almost makes me scream. I’m breathing fast, and my whole body is on fire with fury and hormones and lust. “Stuart William! You’re the only man I’ve ever slept with!”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he says, that sexy smile returning.

  “You taught me how to make love—fierce and rough and demanding. I want you to love me like that now.”

  I unfasten the buttons on my dress, allowing the front to fall apart, revealing my bare breasts heaving beneath. His expression darkens, and I see a glimmer of the old Stuart in his eyes.

  He reaches out and catches my waist, pulling me hard against his chest. A flash of need spikes in my veins. “Yes,” I whisper. “Like that.”

  The muscle in his jaw moves, and he looks away. “I can’t get off thinking I might hurt you.”

  “You’ve never hurt me before.” Sliding my hands up his arms, I grip his biceps. “You’re hurting me by holding back.”

  Reaching for his hand, I guide it down, pulling my skirt up so he can feel I’m not wearing panties, so he can feel how wet I am. “I want you. The real you.”

  “Mariska,” he growls as his fingers curl against my sex.

  Putting both hands on his face, I pull him to me and kiss him hard, parting his lips and pushing my tongue inside. At the same time, his fingers plunge into me, and a low moan scrapes from my throat.

  I rise on my toes, chasing his lips, and he’s kissing me back with just as much passion, plundering my mouth. When I pull back, I nip his bottom lip with my teeth, and our eyes meet, burning with the fire I’ve been missing so long.

  He takes my arm and turns me around, pushing me against the wooden side of the corral.

  “Yes,” I gasp, clutching the wooden slats, arching my back as I brace against the wall. Cool air sweeps along my thighs and ass as he sweeps the flowing skirt away.

  He studies my body as I hear his zipper lower. One large hand grips my hip, kneading my skin. “So beautiful.” His voice is rough and hungry.

  “Please,” I whisper. I’m on fire, and I ache deeply for his rough touch.

  At once I feel a stinging SLAP! against the soft skin of my behind followed by another kneading grip. The biting pain only spikes my desire.

  “Oh god, yes,” I sigh. My legs tremble. Sparks of pleasure fizz in my veins, and waiting for him is almost painful. I moan as he slides his erection up and down my slick folds until finally, in one hard thrust, we both groan as he plunges inside.

  I buck against him, and he catches my braid, pulling my head to his shoulder and kissing then biting the side of my neck.

  “This is what you want?” His voice breaks as he rocks into me, and I can barely speak. My eyes flutter shut as my orgasm starts to rise.

  “Yes… Please…” I moan, trailing off as his fingers work my clit so hard and fast. All of this is hard and fast and exactly what I’ve been craving.

  “Fuck,” he shouts, and a strong arm goes around my waist. His hips move faster, and I’m wailing as I begin to come, burning and clenching. I’m on tiptoes, sparks fluttering in the arches of my feet, as I work to draw it out.

  Another low swear, and I feel him start to come. Our hips collide again and again before he holds me, hips flush against my backside, pulsing deep inside my body.

  “Shit,” he gasps, rocking again, slowly, riding out those final pulses of pleasure.

  My cheek rests on the back of my hand against the wall, and my eyes are still closed. My bones are liquid, and a smile curls my lips.

  Large hands push my dress higher, and he leans down to press a kiss against my back, spilling warmth through my veins.

  Both arms surround me in a strong embrace. My arms wrap over his, and I’m not sure I can move. But I feel so satisfied.

  Our breathing begins to slow. He slides out, and I pull my skirt down as I hear him straightening his clothes, fastening his jeans. I roll against the wall so my back is against it, holding me up while I blink at him. Stepping forward, he places both hands on the wall beside my face and kisses me long and gentle, sweeping his tongue inside for a brief taste. I lift weak arms to hold the front of his shirt.

  When he leans up, a grin is on his handsome face. “Good morning.”

  My strength is slowly returning, and I run my thumb down that line in his chin before pushing off the wall. He steps back, and I walk to the stall door.

  “Thanks, I’m heading in to breakfast.”

  My tone is teasing, but before I can make it to the door he catches my arm and pulls me to his chest. “Don’t get any ideas, Miss Heron. You’re not in charge here.”

  His proximity and that intensity I love makes my heart beat a little faster. I press my lips into a grin, gazing at the fullness of his mouth. “Oh, I have lots of ideas, Mr. Knight.”

  With that, I meet him in the middle and kiss him hard. Just as fast, I duck out of his arms and skip through the door, laughing.

  “You’d better run,” he says, shaking his head, which of course, makes me slow down and do a little hip swish.

  A lunge in my direction causes me to squeal and take off running again, the sound of his laughter chasing me to the house.

  Amy is still at the table when I enter, a satisfied smile on my face. She’s holding a cup of coffee, and Sylvia is standing by the bar.

  “Mare! I want you to read my coffee grounds,” she calls, but I do a little wave.

  “Give me a minute, I need to change.” … and shower and put on underwear.

  She rolls her eyes as if she can read my mind and resumes talking to her mother. I dash down the hall to complete all the tasks I just rattled off, and when I return, only Amy is in the room, scrolling on her phone, cold coffee cup in front of her.

  “So,” she puts the phone down and scoots around in her chair. “Since you’re my gypsy future sister-in-law, I want to know all about my aura and my coffee grounds and all that fun stuff!”

  It doesn’t bother me. I actually have Kenny over all the time to drink Turkish coffee and eat Turkish delight and do readings.

  “I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” I say, giving her a little frown. “We don’t have the right equipment, and even if we did, it’s so subjective. Half the time we don’t even know what any of it means.”

  “That’s okay!” She hops out of her chair and joins me in the kitchen. “What kind of equipment do we need?”

  Looking around, I spot a coffee press in the corner. “This could work if we take the plunger out.”

  “Will you have coffee too?” I press my lips together and look to the side. “Maybe half a cup.”

  Amy’s eyes are round. “What’s wrong with coffee?”

  “They say it can increase your chances of having a miscarriage.” Just saying the words makes my stomach sick. “Maybe I won’t have any.”

  “Does it make a difference if it’s decaf?”

  My brow lines, and I think about it. “Maybe? I think the caffe
ine is the problem.”

  “Problem solved!” She pulls down a green bag of decaf, and I start the kettle boiling.

  “Isn’t it weird how they put decaf in green bags and caffeinated in red?” I tilt my head to the side as I open the bag.

  She leans on the bar beside me. “I never thought about it, but now that you say it, yes! Green is for go.”

  “Right?” I nod as the kettle starts to whistle. I put six scoops of grounds into the glass carafe, and once the kettle is boiling vigorously, I pour the hot water on top of the grounds and set the plunger while it steeps.

  Amy watches the whole process. “How is Turkish coffee different?”

  “Oh, it’s a total process.” Going to the cabinet I take out small espresso cups to pour the coffee into.

  “You have a special pot for starters, and the coffee is ground superfine, like dust. Then you add the coffee straight to the water and slowly bring it all to a boil on the stovetop. Well, almost a boil.”

  Removing the plunger, I pour the steaming, grounds-laden beverage into the two demitasse, and we watch as the bubbles rise to the surface along with the grounds.

  “You repeat the process several times before it’s ready. Then when you pour it into the cup, you have to wait a few minutes for the grounds to settle to the bottom.”

  “It sounds really strong.” Amy’s watching as I put a scoop of sugar in the thick liquid in the two small cups.

  “It’s delicious.” I give her a wink, and put the carafe aside. “Now, let’s see how terrible this is.”

  She lifts her cup and stares into it. “Do I drink the grounds?”

  “Give it a few minutes,” I say, watching. “They should settle to the bottom.”

  “Is this what you did with Patrick?” She’s watching now, and I glance up at her.

  “He told you about that?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s a believer.”

  “It was totally bogus.”

  “You saw a camel fighting with him, and the next week he was almost run off the road by a Michigan Transport truck.”

  I can’t help it. I start giggling. “It was so random.”

  “Still…” She places her hands around the small cup. “Is it time to drink it?”

  “Yeah,” I say, picking up the tiny cup and taking a cautious sip. The warmth of the coffee flavor sends a little shiver across my shoulders. “Mm… I didn’t realize how much I missed that.”

  “It’s not bad at all! A little debris…” She picks a ground off her tongue, and we both laugh.

  In a few sips, the bulk of the liquid is gone. “Don’t drain the cup!” I hold out a hand, and she stops. “You wouldn’t drain the cup with real Turkish coffee either.”

  “Okay.” She puts it down, and I do the same.

  Going to the cabinet, I take out two regular-sized saucers and motion for her to follow me to the table. “This is the fun part.”

  She follows me to the table, and I put the saucer over the top of her demitasse then flip it upside down. For a moment or two I hold my hands around the small cup and move it back and forth. I wave my fingers over it like a Svengali, and her eyes widen.

  “Is that part of the process?” she whispers.

  “No,” I whisper back. “I’m only teasing you.”

  Then she starts to giggle, and I pick up her cup, looking at the blob of grounds sitting in a silly little pile. I study it and wait. My imagination usually comes up with something cryptic that I say out loud. It’s always unique for each person, and I’m convinced their belief in the process is what gives it power.

  Finally, I’ve got something, and I sit back. “The only thing stopping you from flying is you.”

  Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. She falls back in the chair staring at me like I just told her she was really the Queen of England.

  “What?” I start to laugh. “Does that mean something to you?”

  “Marcus asked me to marry him,” she whispers, leaning forward and grasping my hands tight. “It’s why I came here without him this weekend.”

  Now my eyes widen, and my jaw drops. “But you love Marcus,” I whisper.

  “I know,” she whispers back. “I want to say yes, but it scares the shit out of me.”

  A huge smile splits my face. “That’s fantastic!” But just as fast I frown. “Still… how does what I said have anything to do with that?”

  “It’s this thing we have… it’s like a game. If you could have one super power would you want to be able to fly or to be invisible?”

  “Fly,” I answer without hesitation.

  “Exactly. Marcus and I said the same thing. Only he knows how I feel about relationships and commitment, and god help us marriage.”

  Shaking my head, I hold her hand. “Not good?”

  “Horrible.”

  “I don’t think it’s so bad.” And I have no idea why we’re still whispering.

  “It’s because I’m completely fucked up in the head.”

  “No you’re not!” My voice returns to normal volume, and we both look around the room.

  We’re alone, and Amy proceeds in a regular tone of voice as well. “I kind of am. I always get this irresistible urge to run whenever things get too serious. You probably can’t understand that at all.”

  I shake my head no. “I’ve only ever dreamed of finding my soul mate, getting married, and having a family.” Looking at my hands in my lap, I suddenly feel very simple and unsophisticated. “I guess that makes me sound stupid.”

  “It does not. It means you’re wonderful, and my big brother’s incredibly lucky to have found you.”

  I smile and reach for her hand. “Marcus is lucky, too. You love him. You can do this!”

  Her eyes drop and she rubs her stomach. “I just wish I didn’t feel so panicky. Sometimes I can’t breathe thinking about it…”

  My mind drifts to Stuart and all the words he’s left unspoken between us. All the things I know he’s not saying. “You should tell him that. Even if you have to tell him you need more time, you should tell him why. He’ll love you for it.”

  She smiles as if I’ve told her something she couldn’t figure out on her own. Then she points to my cup. “Aren’t you going to do yours?”

  Shrugging, I touch the rim of my cup. “I hardly ever do my own.”

  “Do it! Maybe it’ll tell you if you’re going to have a boy or a girl!”

  I give her a little grin and take the other saucer, placing it on top of my cup. Then I flip it over and cup my hands around the upside down demitasse giving it a few rubs before lifting it.

  What do you have for me universe? I clear my head and look at the mess of grounds a few moments. As I expected, nothing comes. We wait a few moments, and Amy watches me.

  “See? It doesn’t work on me.” I wrinkle my nose and look away.

  “Well, it worked for me.” She stands and takes her cup and saucer to the sink along with the coffee press. I stay at the table, listening to her clean the items, and my eyes go back to the grainy heap on my saucer.

  In a flash, I see the blinding whiteness. The cold metal is all around me, and I can’t move. I’m restrained on a bed, and the bizarre rhymes echo in the background. The voices have stilled. They’ve gone quiet, but figures in white gowns move like zombies. They walk all around, but I can’t move. I can’t get up. I can’t breathe as panic starts to rise, as I start to scream. A bright silver tray appears, coming closer, coming over me. I blink, and I see a face…

  “Oh, god!” I gasp, pushing against the table and jumping out of my seat.

  “Mariska!” Amy races to me, clutching my hand and trying to hug me. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  I can’t stop looking at the grounds. My insides are jumping and panicky, and I’m afraid I might vomit. My whole body cramps, and I bend forward, holding my stomach. “Get them away,” I say frantically, pushing at the saucer. “Wash them away!”

  “What?” Amy looks around, and her eyes land on the saucer. In one
quick move, she takes it off the table and to the sink, washing it hard and scrubbing it with the dish brush.

  I’m holding the table so tightly my knuckles are white. My brain spins with the nightmares, the course of events, and the increasing frequency. I don’t have my dream journal. I didn’t write them down, and now I can’t remember all the details. I have to remember them. I have to know why.

  Holding my stomach, I stagger into the living room and lie down on the couch. All I can see over and over is the face reflected in the silver tray—the ratted hair and sunken features, the expressionless eyes. It was my face.

  13

  Fly Away

  Stuart

  When I enter the house, I can tell at once something bad happened. Amy’s in the kitchen looking worried, and Mariska’s nowhere to be seen.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, half-heartedly waiting for a response.

  I’m headed to the hall leading to our room before my sister even has a chance to answer me. Pushing open the door to our room, I find Mariska’s lying on the bed, her back to the door. She appears to be sleeping.

  I call her name softly, and I notice her shoulders stiffen. Going to her, I pull her arm back, forcing her to look at me. She’s not crying, but her eyes are haunted. My stomach tightens, and I feel my body preparing for a fight.

  “Are you okay?” I reach for her hand, holding my voice steady. “Did something happen?”

  She sits up and lunges forward into my arms, wrapping hers around my neck. “It was the nightmare again.”

  We’re quiet for several long moments. I’m waiting for her to say something more, but she never does. I don’t know how to question her on this, since I’ve never really understood how it all works.

  “You weren’t asleep.” I’m trying to think. “You had the nightmare when you were awake?”

  “Amy wanted me to read her coffee grounds.” Her voice is small, and she’s still holding back, only giving me the barest of information in answer to my questions.

  “You saw the nightmare in Amy’s grounds?”

  Her head slowly moves back and forth. “I saw it in mine.”