by Jess Bentley
One Bride for Four Ranchers
Jess Bentley
Copyright © 2018 by Jess Bentley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
EXCERPT FROM ONE BRIDE FOR FIVE BROTHERS
Chapter 1
About the Author
Also by Jess Bentley
Prologue
Jessa
I ignore the eyes on me at first. I’m not at this environmental conference to mingle, after all. I’m here to write an article. Of course, that would be easier to do if the damn story I am trying to write didn’t have me half asleep.
The hotel bar is almost empty this time of day, with everyone still attending the conference functions. And since it’s still relatively quiet, it’s a nice place to work. With the polished wood bar and exposed brick, it has an old world charm that fuels my creativity.
For a while, I push through. I make it through yet another chunk of the article, showing ways companies can go green with incremental steps. I tell myself the eyes on me probably belong to a super nerd who can’t talk to women.
I couldn’t be more wrong.
Still, I pretend I don’t feel the pinpricks on my neck that tell me I’m being watched. I’m in a bar, sure, but it’s early. And it’s a hotel bar, and one of the only places in this hotel that still had plenty of seating when I left the conference proper at noon. When the conference fully lets out it will be crazy busy, but that won’t happen for a couple hours yet.
I sip my coffee and work.
By the halfway point in my article, curiosity overwhelms me. I look to my right to see a stranger, in fact, watching me. Hah. Knew it. I’d have patted myself on the back if I could have. But the man’s gaze catches me, will not let me go.
Piercing blue eyes, muscular arms. Dark hair just tousled enough to look rugged, not like he just rolled out of bed. Tall and broad-chested, he looks like a wet dream made real.
He doesn’t fit in here—not at this conference and not in New York City. I’ll eat my computer if he is a scientist of any kind. He’s dressed casually for one—most of the environmental scientists dress up for these conferences. Jeans, but a nice shirt. He’s tall and sexy as sin, but that isn’t what gives him away.
It’s the boots.
A moment after I make eye contact, he gets up and heads toward my table. Not too eager, I like that. The man saunters. Confidence coats his every movement, and a small grin touches his face.
“You’re far too beautiful to be here alone,” he says, his deep voice going right through me to my core. “Buy you a drink?”
He’s tall, over six feet. Handsome enough to make any woman googly-eyed. Luckily, I’m not easily impressed. Okay, he’s pretty darn impressive, even to me. But that doesn’t mean I have to show it.
“Does that line ever work?” I’m genuinely curious because, mortifyingly, it’s already working on me. I shut my laptop lid. The article will have to wait until tomorrow because I’ve found something far more interesting to pay attention to now.
Taking my reply—or maybe my disconnection from my laptop—as an invitation, he pulls the chair out across from me and sits down. “Sometimes.”
His crooked smile is infectious. I want to grin back at him like an idiot. The strong desire to do so is enough to keep my expression firmly neutral. “You’re not from around here.”
“No, ma’am. What gave me away?”
“Your boots.”
He raises an eyebrow, then glances at his own feet. “Aren’t boots in style?”
I honestly have no idea. As an environmental journalist, I don’t really stay that current on the latest trends. But mostly, I just don’t care too much about fashion. I make sure my outfits match well-enough to keep me from standing out in a look-at-that-freak sort of way, but that’s about as far as I go with it. “Even if they are, yours look like they’ve been worked in. Like…real work. Not ride-the-subway-to-your-office work.”
“You’re observant.” He tips an invisible hat at me, looking strangely happy at my guess. “And you’re right, I’m not from around here.”
When he offers no further information about himself, I lean forward and extend my hand. “Jessa.”
His grin widens into a real smile, revealing straight, white teeth. “I’m...Xander,” he says as he takes my hand in his.
And I immediately forget the hesitation before his name.
I was right about the connection I felt with him. The touch of our hands—so not sexual—nevertheless sends a spark of heat through me. His hands are callused, but not unpleasantly so. And the sudden image of him touching my body with those rough hands makes me blush and pull back.
“Nice to meet you, Xander,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t notice my embarrassment.
“The pleasure is all mine.” He slows on the word pleasure as if tasting it.
I can’t help it, I groan. “You’re losing points for originality here. And adding a heavy dose of cheese.”
“Your beauty has overwhelmed my ability to think of original lines,” he says, laying the charm on so heavily that I laugh. He joins me.
And I find myself agreeing to let him buy me a drink.
One drink turns to two. We talk about nothing important. Almost as though we have an unvoiced agreement not to. But damn, the man can flirt. And I could stare at his blue eyes for days.
“So, are you a scientist?” Xander asks, his first real question.
I spin my wine glass gently, holding the stem between two fingers and my thumb. “I’m a writer—mostly environmental journalism.”
“Ah, here to do a story?”
I nod. I don’t tell him that there wasn’t much new at this conference to keep things interesting. Not his business. “Are you here for the seminar, too? Let me guess, scientist hiding in boots?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “But I’m no scientist. Closest I got was a minor in college.”
I snap my fingers. “Business owner then. Unless you’re one of the few writers who wander the world without a laptop attached to his hip. I’ve heard word of these writers, but never seen one firsthand.”
That sexy baritone laugh rumbles out of his lips again, making my belly tighten. How could a laugh be so damn erotic?
“You’re smart,” he says. “I like that.”
Heat crawls up my neck to settle in my cheeks. There’s no way he doesn’t notice my blush now. Who knew? A man seeing my intelligence somehow turned me on more than being called beautiful. I am such a weirdo.
“Do you know how to two-step?”
The music has been getting louder the last few minutes, and it’s gotten tougher to flirt with him over that and the low hum of
people talking. How long since he sat down? I’m not sure. But long enough that the hotel bar has filled. This would normally be the time I’d pack up and head to my room to try to finish my article in peace. I write better in public spaces. For whatever reason, I can concentrate more easily when there’s activity humming along around me. But not this much action.
“No,” I reply honestly. My dancing skills are limited to swaying to slow music and flailing around to faster music. But I don’t admit that.
He holds out a steady, callused hand to me. “As good a time to learn as any.”
“I can’t leave my laptop,” I say, but I’m not happy about it. I really would like to dance.
“I’ll take care of it.”
What am I thinking? I have a schedule to keep. But right now, I want to let this man teach me to dance. I don’t even like country music all that much, but the crinkle around Xander’s eyes when he smiles at me goes a long way toward making me reconsider.
I take his extended hand.
With his free hand, he picks up my laptop and carries it to the bar. After passing a couple of bills and the laptop to the bartender, he leads me to the dance floor.
“Step, step, back,” he says, lips pressed against my ear. Granted, that’s the only way I’d be able to hear him—the bar has been steadily filling up—but I’m choosing to believe he just wants to get closer to me.
God, he smells good. Clean and spicy with only a touch of whiskey on his lips. Butterflies flutter in my lower belly. I lean in and take a deep breath. How can he smell so delicious?
Everything around me fades away. There’s only him. I’m not sure how much time passes around us while I revel in the feeling of his body moving with mine.
I take another step—a stomp, really. Right onto his foot. I hop back, mortified.
“Are you okay?” I say, loudly enough to catch the attention of another couple near us. The woman gives me a side-eye. What is she looking at? As far as I can tell, she’s just swaying with her dance partner. At least I’m attempting the steps.
He pulls me back, wrapping me into the warmth of his arms. “I’m just fine.”
My breath catches in my throat, and we sway to the music. He rests his hand on the small of my back, guiding me. By the end of the second song, I’m moving with him. It helps that he keeps the steps small and I’m no longer thinking about the movement. My body follows his, moving with him. Like we’re in bed instead of dancing.
It hits me. I’m going to sleep with this man if he asks. One-night stands aren’t my style. Sleeping with strangers is so far out of my comfort zone that I’d normally never even consider it. But damn, Xander, so different from anyone I’ve ever met, tempts me like no other.
The music shifts, changing to something far more line-dancing style than the two-step. My hand still in his, Xander leads us through the growing crowd of conference attendees and other guests back to our table. It’s been taken, of course.
“I’d probably better turn in anyway,” I tell him, voice pitched loudly enough to be heard over the din.
He nods, still not releasing my hand. We weave through the crowd to the bar, and the bartender passes my laptop back to Xander. Instead of giving the computer to me like I expect, he looks down at me for a moment, as if considering something important.
“Can I walk you to your room?” he asks, finally.
I swallow hard and nod.
Far too quickly, we reach my hotel room door, and I have to admit it: I’m not ready to say good night.
He stays close—but not too close. Making his interest clear, but giving me the space I need to decide. I slide the hotel card key into the lock, and it gives way the first try. I open the door a couple of inches, and then I turn back to look at him.
With desire in his eyes, he is truly a sight to behold. I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone like this before. In the back of my brain, the practical me protests that this is not like me. I don’t sleep with men I don’t know. I don’t take chances like that. I control my life with an iron fist. And yet…
“Will you come in?” My voice is low, my eyes searching his.
He hesitates—just for a moment. And then he nods, a quick jerk of his head. “Fuck, yeah.”
His enthusiasm almost makes me giggle, but I tamp it down and push the door open the rest of the way. He follows me in, and the door clicks shut behind us.
I swallow down the inane chatter that threatens to choke me. I’m a twenty-six, dammit. I shouldn’t be this nervous. I look back at him, and something in his gaze steadies me.
Despite the slight hesitation at the door, he looks confident and settled. Desire sparkles in his mesmerizing blue eyes.
But something in my expression must have given him pause. “Are you sure—”
I close the distance between us before he can finish his sentence. Because the truth is, I’m not sure. But I want to be. I go up to my tiptoes to kiss him, and he’s already meeting me halfway. He claims my mouth with his own, desire removing the last bit of hesitation from both of us.
Damn, the man can kiss. A woman could lose her soul to a kiss like this. One of his arms wraps around me, while his other hand caresses the side of my face gently. The contrast of his gentle touch and forceful lips against my mouth, makes me tighten with need. I feel my body already begging for release.
He steps back and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a muscular chest. The sight takes my breath away. He’s not built like a bodybuilder, his muscles are longer and leaner than that. But he looks every bit as strong.
He kisses me again, this time softly. Then he murmurs in my ear, “Like what you see?”
His teasing draws a laugh out of me, and the last of my worries disappear.
“Heck, yeah,” I answer softly. This is a hotel room, and the walls aren’t paper-thin. But this feels intimate, and part of me fears talking too loud will break that spell.
He steps back again, this time taking my shirt with him. So smoothly, I barely register that the garment of clothing is gone until I feel air on my skin. He walks forward and kisses my lips quickly, before sliding his mouth down my neck to nibble my collarbone.
I moan and slide my hands over his hard chest to wrap my arms around his neck. His stiff length presses into my belly, and I lose the ability to think.
Skillfully, he removes the rest of my clothes. Then he steps back, still wearing his low jeans. His eyes rake over my body, and I shiver beneath his gaze. The intensity of his expression unnerves me, and I almost cross my arms over my breasts.
“Don’t,” he whispers. “Let me look at you.”
How can I refuse him? His expression is so reverent. So for a long moment, I let him look. I’m not uncomfortable with my body. I’ve long ago accepted that I’m short and maybe carry just a little more weight than I’d like. I’ve long resigned myself to not looking like a Victoria’s Secret model. Men appreciate confidence in a woman, so I try to look even more confident than I feel.
His gaze is dark, hungry. I feel myself grow wetter under his scrutiny.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he says, and then there isn’t an inch between us. Maybe it’s something he’s said to girls before. Perhaps it doesn’t mean anything. But damn, if I don’t suddenly feel like the most beautiful woman in the world in that moment.
With one hand, he grips my ass and pulls me against his hard length. His other hand slides up my side to cup my breast. While overwhelming me with his skillful tongue, his talented fingers tease my nipple, sending a sharp spark of need directly between my legs.
I moan against his lips and find myself trying to climb him.
A low chuckle escapes him—pleased, not mocking. “Easy now,” he says against my lips. Then he picks me up and lays me down on the bed. I scoot back a foot to give him room, and then I watch, riveted, as he pulls off his jeans. His underwear follows, and his cock springs free.
I’d been able to feel he was well endowed but seeing t
he fullness of his desire, seeing the evidence of how much this sexy man wants me, I want to spring from the bed and pounce on him like a cat in heat. I swear to God if he plans on making me wait…
But he doesn’t. He seems to want me as urgently as I want him. After pulling a condom from his wallet, he tosses it back on his pants. Then he settles between my legs, his large body covering my much smaller one making me feel almost delicate. His lips brush mine and he reaches between us to tease my clit.
At the first touch, I buck beneath him. Already so sensitized, I knew he was going to make me come unbearably, embarrassingly quickly. But instead of giving me just a few more seconds with those long, skillful fingers, his hand leaves my mound to caress my breasts again. Then he kisses his way down my neck to nibble at my right breast. He takes my nipple into his mouth, and a long moan escapes me.
Need rushes to my belly. I have to come, now. I writhe against him, but he is all about slow, teasing exploration. He leaves my breast and nibbles his way down my stomach before biting my hip bone hard enough to make me gasp.
I probably should be returning the favor. Should be kissing and nipping my way down that hard chest. Taking that long, thick, perfect fucking cock in my mouth. But fighting the need inside of me, the desire he fuels with every touch, is impossible.
Then he nuzzles my mound, and finally, I still. My legs tighten around him, almost of their own will.
“Easy, honey. You’re safe with me. Let me love you.”
I don’t respond well to orders. I just don’t. Yet his gentle, sensual, command had my legs relaxing. Opening for him.
“Good girl,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
