by Ginny Glass
“Tell me you want me.”
“I want you, Sam.” She couldn’t let herself think about tomorrow, couldn’t let herself hope for more than tonight. She had this—Sam wanting her, and she wouldn’t question it. Tonight would be a new memory, something to carry her through the next fifteen years if need be, and she was going to relish every second of it.
She wanted him. She wanted him in deep, darkly delicious ways. She wanted him over her, under her, inside her. He stripped off his T-shirt and she ran her hands over his chest. Samuel wasn’t the boy she had fallen so hard for all those years ago—he was a grown man, with the things that had attracted her amplified, multiplied, glorified beneath her hands. She gripped his shoulders, shuddering and weak as he raked his teeth down the swell of her stomach.
His mouth was hot and aggressive, skilled and sure in a way she’d never felt.
“I was wrong,” he said, and his breath trembled against her skin. She found the wavering exhale as arousing as any touch. Arousing, and possibly telling. Was he nervous? She’d closed her eyes, too overwhelmed at the sight of him sliding down her body to bear looking anymore.
“Mer.” His voice was deliciously low and reverent as he slid his lips along her inner thigh. “I was wrong to think that I could slip in and sneak out, no collateral damage.”
Breathing became a thing she wasn’t overly concerned with. She couldn’t open her eyes. Just couldn’t. It would be too much to see him so close, the mouth that she’d fantasized about, and those eyes locking on hers.
“Merrit, open your eyes.”
She felt his hands sliding up the outsides of her thighs.
“Sam.”
“You got nowhere to be but here. We’re not kids anymore. No one expects us back. You’re mine. All night.”
She pressed her knuckles over her eyes. Sam reached up and caught her wrists.
He drew her hands down and guided them to the base of his neck. The hair there was soft, sheared short as if he’d just taken a set of clippers to his nape. She couldn’t resist—she uncurled her hands and swept her fingertips upward, combing them through the longer hair at his crown, then back down.
And then he was kissing her—there was no preamble, no warning, just the warm shock of his mouth on her wet, sensitive flesh. If her resolve had been crumbling before, well, now it imploded. She was narrowed to whatever incoherent sound she made as he divided her with his tongue. He slid his hands under her, cupping her ass, tilting her up to gain better access.
He didn’t keep his mouth there long. He pulled away, making her huff in protest. Laughing, he kissed her thighs teasingly, scraping the ticklish skin there with his teeth, until she let her legs fall slack, tilted her hips up in silent plea.
“Patience is a virtue, Mer.”
“You took care of mine long ago, Sam.”
Her eyes locked with his. He smiled, his gaze intense as he lowered his mouth and did more wild and wicked things between her legs. He didn’t break eye contact even as he drew her clit into his mouth and sucked, long and slow.
Dear God.
Merrit’s hands tightened reflexively at the back of his head. It had been too long. “Sam, slow down.”
He shook his head, intensified the deep suction that was drawing her too rapidly toward orgasm.
“Oh, please, I—” The first wave of climax came unexpectedly, Merrit had never in her life come so fast or so shamelessly. She locked her legs over his shoulders and dug her nails into his scalp. He was humming in pleasure, drinking in the spasms of her body, his fingers digging into her ass.
She convulsed and Sam coaxed the next wave out with broad strokes of his erotically clever tongue. She arched and bucked and held him way too tight, her hands fists in the softness of his hair.
She was panting when it was over, and she felt the hot blush of embarrassment as it swept over her neck and up into her cheeks.
“Nope, none of that.” Sam knelt up beside her, unsnapped his jeans and shucked them off, followed by his boxers. “Tonight, no shame and no guilt and no regrets. I’ve been gone too long, and we have a lot of catching up to do.”
His devilish smile was one that she had to taste. She held out her arms to him and he came down to her. The kiss was a heady mixture of Sam and of herself on his lips.
They had all night, but she wanted him now—and it was evident in the straining hardness of his cock against her stomach, he wanted her just as fiercely.
“Tell me you bought condoms.”
His laugh was wry. “I bought a lot of condoms.”
“Good. I hope you’re faster with them now than you were when we were eighteen.” She was kissing his neck, his chest, letting her mouth play around his nipples, teasing him as he had her earlier. He groaned.
“Faster with them, but I promise slower with…other things.”
It was mere moments before he was sheathed and sliding into her. There was none of the adolescent awkwardness, none of the hesitation or anxiety of all those years ago. There was only the sense that he was finally coming home to her, and she embraced the feeling, even if it wasn’t going to last past morning.
Every movement, every retreat, every calculated return of his body to hers ratcheted her desire higher. He watched her the entire time, as if her reactions were as important as the way their union was affecting him.
She let her eyes lock on his, pushing away any self-consciousness, needing to soak in as many memories as she could. His face was tight with restraint. She ran her hands down the long dip of his back, urging him on. “Faster.”
The whispered word was all he seemed to need. His hips slammed into hers, he pushed her knees back and opened her wider to him. His moans soon matched their new pace. “Merrit, oh, honey, I don’t ever want to leave here.”
She rocked against him, looked straight into his eyes. “Don’t.”
He let go of her legs to brace his hands on either side of her head, and he ground into her, hard, bruising, wickedly unrestrained. “Oh, God.”
“I love you, Sam.” She wrapped her arms around him. He sat up, unexpectedly, drawing a squeal from her as he resettled them, her astride. He gathered her hair in one hand, flexed his hips up under her.
“I know you do, Mer, now, show me.”
And she did. With long, slow rocks of her hips at first, and then, as he shuddered under her, those eyes going seriously faraway, with wildly abandoned movements that sent her climbing again toward climax.
“Don’t stop.” His face was strained, his eyes half-lidded, his focus on her face as she rode him.
“I don’t plan to. Ever.” Merrit wasn’t talking about their coupling, but that was a detail to be sorted out after she made Sam Thrasher lose his ever-lovin’ mind. She sped up. He moaned and grabbed her hips with bruising force.
Her eyes rolled. She let him take the lead, linking her arms around his neck. Her body coiled, tensed, ratcheted up until she was holding her breath, waiting for him.
“Merrit. Christ.”
She watched his face as he came, her hands falling to his shoulders. Pleasure made the taut muscles under her fingers flex and release.
His climax triggered hers, a longer, slower, less intense orgasm that still left her light-headed and floating. Their labored breathing was only broken by the sound of a barn owl hooting somewhere in the dark beyond the hayloft.
When they had regained their breath, she leaned away from him. His drowsy eyes and equally sated smile gave her a thrill of pride.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?”
She hesitated. She wouldn’t ask him to stay, despite how she felt. He was so adamant about hating this place, she could never ask him to relive all his bad memories for her.
“Maybe I could—I mean, if you want, if it would be okay, maybe I could come see you in Sacramento?”
He shook his head, stretched his legs out so that her knees sank to the rough wood of the loft floor.
“No, Merrit. That’d be hard. For both of us
.”
Stupid. What happened to just enjoying the night? Her stomach twisted, and she started to get up. She was a grown woman—this time there would be no dramatic flight into the woods. She’d just get her clothes and try to leave with some dignity.
Sam reached out and caught her wrist, drawing her back down onto his chest. “I mean, we can visit Sacramento, if you want. There’s just no sense in you going alone, since I’ll be here.”
The moment froze. Merrit did sit up, staring down into his face with a definite sense of once-bitten wariness. “Here?”
“Be a shame to waste another fifteen years, don’t you think? And I think the Bow could use a vet on-site.”
“Sam…don’t play games with me.”
“Who’s playing? We don’t play around these parts, we’re all about work. Hard work. So you—” he regained possession of her wrist and playfully yanked her down, falling on his back in the hay, “—get down here and get to work.”
The grin that widened her lips couldn’t possibly express the joy that bloomed in her heart. “You’re not the boss of me, Samuel Thrasher.”
“That’s Doctor Thrasher, and we’ve got all night to sort out who’s in charge.”
Merrit let the grin bubble into a laugh, and in the glow of the tea lights, she kissed him again, deep and heartfelt.
“Welcome home, Sam.”
“Thanks, Merrit, it’s good to be home.”
*
X Is for XXX Ranch
Maggie Wells
and
Emily Cale
Gravel hissed and spit from under the tires of the rental car, but the nondescript sedan slid another six feet before rocking to a stop a few yards from a horse. Not just any horse, but the biggest, blackest, most imperturbable horse Jane had ever laid eyes on. Not that she was acquainted with many. The shoebox apartment she rented in San Francisco didn’t come with a place to park a car, much less a horse.
Clutching the steering wheel, she peered through the windshield, blinking a few times just for good measure. The majestic Sierras provided a disconcertingly dramatic backdrop for the scruffy blandness of the family homestead. Brown rubble, sandy tan soil and drying grass swirled together in a symphony of beige. And there, in the center of it all, a stately old Victorian-style home painted a blinding—if not disingenuous—white. Jane blinked, half hoping there might have been something in that coffee Mr. Haskins’s secretary served. She might feel a little better about the events of the day if she discovered she’d been tripping. But the kaleidoscope of dun-colored soil and scrub didn’t shift.
Her imperturbable equine trespasser favored her with a bland stare.
Taken aback by the animal’s chutzpah, she raised both eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be here and you’re not.”
The massive beast simply presented Jane with his impressive profile and snorted. Amused, she chuckled as her fingers closed around the ignition key and she killed the engine. Silence wrapped around her like a wet wool blanket. Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead to stave off the headache that had been looming all morning, she closed her eyes on a sigh.
“You’re right. I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
Her arrival in Sparks had caused a stir. The curious glances that had greeted her at the law offices of Haskins and Associates had made her a little uncomfortable but she chalked them up to novelty. After all, it wasn’t every day a woman inherited a piece of prime Nevada real estate from a total stranger.
Then again, not everyone could count their own mother as a total stranger.
The attorney’s letter had somehow gotten shuffled into a stack of fliers and magazines her roommate collected while Jane was shepherding a group of backcountry skiers down Mount Shasta. The fact that she’d been put up for adoption just before her third birthday was no secret. She’d spent her childhood bouncing from foster home to foster home. The discovery that Delores Keegle had known who and where she was for the past twenty-two years had been a real stunner.
It took a few weeks and a couple of days of hard climbing to work past the anger and resentment she felt toward the woman. It was hard to ignore what Delores’s legacy might mean to her future. By the time she’d cooled down enough to open Mr. Haskins’s subsequent missives, she’d had four separate offers on the land. Two extremely lucrative bids from Reno area developers, one modest handwritten offer from the rancher who owned the adjoining land, and a signed petition from the local morality police promising five thousand dollars if she were to burn the house to the ground and give up the land to the Lord. That one had been quite the puzzler, but now she understood.
Shifting her attention beyond her equine welcoming committee, Jane eyed the structure in question. The information she’d gleaned in her brief meeting with Mr. Haskins made the offer seem a little more rational than she’d originally thought. Apparently, the XXX Ranch was rather well-known in these parts. Narrowing her eyes, she searched the structure for hints of what allegedly went on inside. The red shutters were the biggest clue, but their saucy color was muted by a handful of long-neglected flower baskets swaying from the eaves.
The horse nickered and pawed the pea-gravel drive, but Jane paid him no mind. She was too busy trying to look past this nightmare of a trip to see the dreams this sale would make come true. From what she’d seen on the short drive from the airport, the Tahoe-Reno Industrial Center was expanding exponentially. Any number of anxious developers would have bulldozers standing by on the day the papers were signed. Even if she decided not to sell, the local Bible thumpers needn’t worry about her trying to revive the Keegle family business.
A sharp whistle jolted her from her woolgathering. The horse tossed his glossy mane and stirred to action. Jane stared in rapt fascination as her greeter trotted off toward the house. Intrigued and a little miffed by the easy abandonment, she grabbed the door handle and yanked.
“Hey!” She clambered from the driver’s seat, shielding her eyes from the bright noonday sun just in time to see the horse disappear around the side of the house. “Hello?” Following her four-legged friend’s lead, she crossed the graveled parking area to the scrubby growth that was Nevada’s excuse for a lawn. “Is someone here?” She didn’t really want to deal with the type of visitors who might be hanging around the house, waiting for someone to show up and reinstate a previous business arrangement.
At the corner of the house, a tall man with a tan cowboy hat pulled down low across his eyes stepped out of the shadows. “Ma’am.”
“Oh!” Jane pressed her hand to her throat, her heart pounding like a jackhammer despite the fact that she knew logically that someone was nearby. The horse that trailed behind her mystery visitor certainly hadn’t been turned out to wander. “You scared me.”
“My apologies.” He glanced back over one broad shoulder and gestured to a shed that stood just beyond the house. “I was checking to be sure nothing was amiss.”
Jane cocked her head, startled by both the man’s familiarity with her property and her body’s visceral response to him. She’d never thought herself susceptible to the Marlboro Man. “Are you the caretaker or something?”
This time it was his turn to frown. “No, Miss. I’m Clive Boland.”
He stopped there, giving no further explanation than his name and a bland stare. Jane fixed him with a pointed look. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Boland.” The nicety came out with a hint of a question at the end, but the man didn’t seem to cotton to hints. His mount apparently agreed with her, because the horse nickered then gave her gentleman caller’s shoulder a nudge. “Is there a reason why you felt compelled to check on my property?”
“I’ve always kept an eye on things for Miss Dolly.”
His easy use of her birth mother’s ridiculous pseudonym stirred her dander. “Yes, well, I’m sure Delores appreciated that.” She emphasized the woman’s real name, hoping they could both forget the reason her mother used a fake one in the first place.
He caught the
drift in her snide tone, she could see it click with a sour tick of his mouth. And what a mouth it was. Wide and nicely sculpted with full lips a shade of pink just red enough to be disarmingly masculine. Tanned skin stretched taut over high cheekbones. His hair was hidden by a battered brown cowboy hat that was far more utilitarian than fashionable, but judging by his thick brows she’d wager it fell somewhere between light brown and burnished gold.
“Miss Dolly was a nice lady.”
His simple statement shook her up even more than overhearing Trent Haskins’s secretary telling someone on the phone that Jane Richardson looked “just like her daddy.” Pursing her lips, she turned toward the house, hoping he couldn’t see the turbulent emotions crashing like waves on rocks inside her. Each new revelation wore her down. Every secret she uncovered ate away at her resolution to take what her birth mother had left her and run for the hills. Literally.
The property could provide the kind of permanence she’d never known. She could stay here, put down roots and try to make something of her own. Or she could take the money and run. Between her savings and the proceeds from sale, she could put a decent chunk down on the dilapidated little mountain resort she’d stumbled across on one of her treks through the Cascades. Either way, her life now had possibilities. Still the fact that she could thank the mother who gave her up to the system for making her dreams come true didn’t settle well.
Crossing her arms, she turned back to Clive, the fire of indignation sizzling in her belly. “Knew her pretty well, did you?”
The sharp edge in her tone earned a raised eyebrow, but other than that, the man didn’t budge. “All my life.”
Jane curled her lip and took a step closer, refusing to let the fact that he outstripped her by a good ten inches intimidate her. She’d conquered much more intimidating mountains before. “I bet you were real close.”
“Not as close as some,” he returned evenly.
“Wouldn’t that be most?”
Releasing the horse, he folded his arms over his impressive chest, mimicking her belligerent stance. “As far as I’ve ever heard, it was one.”
