The glow from other homes nearby filtered through the window shades, stippling her skin in shadow and light. A cold wind picked up, at times creating both a light whisper and a menacing growl outside.
Her light breathing trailed like nails skimming over his soul. The tiny noises she made in her sleep airmailed inappropriate ideas to his groin. Damn it, he needed to think about something else. Anything else.
Then, with all this time on his hands, he did the singular worst thing possible.
He took stock of his life.
The grand plan to swoop into Copper River, bail his family out of their troubles, and then blast back out of town, never to be seen again? That simple strategy was crumbling under his feet.
What about the training for his upcoming bout in two—he squinted at the glowing clock digits; make that one—day? The hollowness in his gut ached. He had no idea how close he was to making weight this evening. He might lose this fight before it started.
What about his life in New York? He had the beginnings of a plum job picking stocks, and he had every intention of riding that gravy train as far as it would go. But the job would only wait so long for him.
Man, he had everything he wanted back there. Money, MMA training, fight opportunities, and freedom. No one judged him for his black past. He didn't have to deal with family responsibilities in New York. And best of all, no freakin' monster or whatever the hell that thing was.
What about his so-called noble gesture to provide comfort and security to Mariah after the visit to the Brands unearthed all her demons? He focused on the breaths of the woman on the bed next to him, and a new hunger grew inside of him. Inappropriate. Way beyond "just friends," too. How noble was he now?
Judging by a hard-on that could hammer nails, yeah, he had failed to keep his intentions chaste. He shifted in a feeble attempt to relieve pressure. When she sighed again in her sleep, his balls tightened even more, ready for action.
He ran a finger over the silk of her hair, spread out over the pillow, exactly as he'd imagined.
He was screwed.
That was the problem, wasn't it? For a guy with the ability to dodge danger, he sure kept walking into emotional minefields. Good intentions followed by bad decisions, and in the end, he still hurt everyone.
Vaughn Taggart. Like the Great Wall of China, he was such a big fuckup that he was probably visible from outer space.
He had gotten way too close to Mariah, a woman who deserved more than he could ever provide. Not with his past and not with his plans.
A future with her had not gonna happen written all over that idea.
He let his head roll back against the backboard. Studying the ceiling didn't help. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her terrified face and feel her slight weight nestled perfectly against his chest as they sat in the truck. Shit.
He stroked her arm. It wasn't enough to watch her; he needed the physical connection as a tether for his own sanity.
How had this happened? They had met—if you could call it that—only six days ago when she saved Shelby and Eric's lives.
His own personal interest included a tangible need to lay her out naked on a bed and work her over until every part of her body glistened with sweat and desire and every inch of her skin quivered at his touch. Of course that sounded swell. But his desire went way past the physical. He didn't want purely sexual. He wanted to surround and protect her both physically and with his power.
Did he care to explore that complex set of emotions further?
Fuck, no.
She made a tiny whimper, and he cursed to himself, loosening the grip that had tightened on her arm. Rolling halfway from him, she grabbed his big hand in her smaller ones and tugged his arm over her chest.
He moved with her, not willing to wake her up, scooting down the bed until her body tucked in to his—butt to groin, back to chest. With the blankets between them, of course. The two small hands now locked around his wrist felt like the best shackles in the universe.
Only because it was convenient and more comfortable, he bent his head forward, burying his nose and mouth in her hair. He inhaled mint and a vibrant feminine scent uniquely Mariah and relaxed. Being near her calmed him as if he were some pacing lion and she the tamer.
He fought the urge, but after a few minutes, he drifted into a blessed, dreamless sleep.
* * *
A large, heavy mass prevented her from moving.
For a split second, panic darted through her, fast and sharp. Trapped. She couldn't breathe. Where was Kevin?
After a deep draw of air, she evaluated the situation.
The solid mass of Vaughn behind her provided warmth, as did the large arm clamped around her chest. To be fair, she did some clamping herself. She loosened the death grip she had on him, frowning at the imprints her fingertips had made on his thick wrist, visible even in the early morning light.
She startled as he cleared his throat next to her ear, then she rolled over, rotating within the cradle of his arm over her chest and another arm resting on the pillow above her head. His morning stubble and half-lidded expression made her heart rhythm flip into brief v-tach.
"Morning." He smiled.
That sounded like a morning-after morning.
Oh no. Had she slept with him, like slept-slept? Because she remembered nothing, and damn, if they had made love, at least she should have remembered it. She looked around the room. Was she any good? Was he any good? Hell, look at him. Of course he was good. Why couldn't she remember anything more than drifting off to sleep in his embrace?
She moved her legs under the sheets. Fully clothed.
Same with a jeans-clad Vaughn. And he lay on top of the blankets.
"You're funny when you get tense." The low rumble of his voice relaxed muscles deep in her pelvis.
"We didn't...?"
"No. Not that I didn't think about it a million times last night."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh is right." His grin was feral and focused. The direct stare made her shiver. "You want to change that situation?"
Of course she did.
They were two consenting adults. He was rugged, strong, and cared about his family. And dollars to donuts, he would be fabulous as they engaged in luscious, muscle-bound, hot rancher sex. If the current pre-coital happiness in his arms reflected even a fraction of the during-sex awesomeness, being with Vaughn would shoot off proverbial fireworks.
So, basically, there was nothing not to like about this scenario.
Except for a future. And, okay, her own lack of self-trust.
Her wild fantasies screeched to a halt.
Mariah needed stability in a relationship. She needed security and assurances in her own decisions where a partner was concerned. Vaughn had a life elsewhere. He was only in town for a short time.
She didn't do flings. She didn't do risk of failure.
So, did she do Vaughn?
Not today. Maybe not ever.
"Well. Um," she said, not meeting his gaze.
That sensual mouth locked into a hard slash, and in the early morning light, his irises turned coal cold. "Never mind. I got it." He slid his arms out from under her, stood, and cracked his back and neck.
"But—"
"I can tell when a woman isn't interested."
"Of course I was interested. It's just—"
The scratch of his short nails on his stubble sent her vagina into a fit of ecstasy, and she pressed her legs together.
"What do you want, Mariah?" The sexual weight of his words was unmistakable.
Sitting up, she rested her arms on the blanket covering her legs. "I want more. Something long term. Something solid."
"You don't think I'm solid?"
Well of course she did, given the hard muscles in the arm that had held her safely all night long. "That came out wrong."
"You bet it did," he snapped.
"Why are you being so mean this morning?" Blinking hard, she forced herself to focus on the
situation. No way would he get to see her cry. She grimaced. Again.
"Shit, I'm sorry. I'm all over the place. And it's not your fault." He rolled his lips. "My fucked up life and everything..."
"You keep mentioning that."
"Because it's true. But it's also not fair that the roller coaster gets taken out on you. However, that's the reality of my messy situation right now." His eyes were dark, piercing, shuttered. His arms crossed in front of his chest. "And when the Brands pointed guns at you... when Linc was right behind you... Damn it all, but that triggered something inside of me that wanted to keep you safe. I don't know what to do with that feeling."
"I should say thank you, but it feels weird in this situation."
"Mostly because we were sleeping together."
Her face burned. "Not exactly."
"You didn't come onto me? Pulling me closer?"
"You can't be serious."
"Think about how amazing we would be together." Damn his forearms with those pushed-up sleeves. She licked her lips. Cords of muscle on display like that should be illegal.
"That's not what I was–"
"Your nipples say otherwise."
"My nipples aren't talking to you." She pulled the blanket up to cover her tight, aching breasts. And since he'd drawn attention, she did want to know what his mouth would feel like on the hard tips. Damn it.
A crazy past, the weird present, and a dash of her relationship history created a toxic, sour brew. No, thank you.
Time to fake some confidence. "Why? You want more?" she countered.
"Hell yeah I do." He bit the tip of his thumb. "You want some details about what I'd like to do to you?" His voice dropped to one note above pure gravel. "Guarantee you'll enjoy it."
She reared back. That level of honesty made her hotter than a 105-degree fever and also made her shake in her boots. She didn't play games, but neither did Vaughn. When he turned into an open book, it wasn't by degrees.
"Well? What's it going to be? No strings attached. Give me an hour, and I can make you scream in the best possible way." Even though she had the blanket in front of her, the way his eyes raked over her made her feel utterly naked.
"I'm not doing this teasing thing."
"Won't or can't?"
Enough. This journey had no good destination. "Both." Sniffing, she raised her chin. "At the risk of sounding rude, thank you for the help on my house call and standing up to those jerks. And thank you for helping with... the rest of it last night." Too honest. Too much. She couldn't be this open. Not without trusting herself more. Not without trusting that there was a future. She was too raw right now. "But I need to get ready for work, so..." She made a point of staring at the bathroom door. "We should stay friends, Vaughn."
His expression could have formed ice crystals. "Got the message, loud and clear. Have a good day at work, then." Picking up his boots, he retreated out of the bedroom. A minute later, she cringed as he slammed her front door.
That sexual relationship with him would be fabulous but short-lived. She wanted the chance for a long-term relationship, and Vaughn Taggart wasn't it. She needed to trust herself to make a good decision.
So she got exactly what she wanted.
Absolutely nothing.
Chapter 19
Vaughn could turn five hours of ranch chores into a last-ditch weight-cutting effort. Sure. No problem.
Maybe at the same time, he could sweat out the memories of a certain woman who woke up in his arms a few hours ago.
While he was at it, maybe he could go backward in time to the point before he had flipped a switch this morning and turned into an ass. For all the help his power gave him in detecting danger, it had a massive blind spot when Vaughn was personally about to create an epic disaster.
Like how he covered for his insecurities by insulting a nice woman. Real smooth move, there. Some days, his life truly emulated a slow-moving train wreck.
He cursed as he slung more bales of hay. His mouth had gone dry, but no way could he drink anything. Not yet.
The electronic scale in the house was a tough taskmaster.
If he hadn't slept at Mariah's house, he could have started earlier on his final weight cut. But he couldn't leave her all alone last night. Hell, if he hadn't stayed in the house, he would have sat outside in his truck all night, so insistent was his ability to protect her.
He stood and wiped his sweaty forehead with his forearm.
Now he was distracted right before his bout.
Actually, seeing his competitor at the Brand family ranch had distracted him already. Linc was a nasty bastard. That guy hit hard and fought dirty. It would take all of Vaughn's skills, both physical and mental, to beat the guy tomorrow. He needed all of his focus if he had any chance to not just win but also survive the fight. He spun in a slow circle in the barn, breathing hard.
At least Vaughn's family had given him some space.
Kerr hadn't questioned the request to move Mariah's car to her house. He must have done it way late last night, because sure enough, when Vaughn exited her house at 6:00 a.m., the keys hung from the ignition of her car parked in her driveway. Moving the car was a two-person job, so another friend or family member must have participated. Vaughn needed to thank them later.
But he'd be damned if he would explain to anyone what he was doing at Mariah's house last night. Or not doing.
How exactly would he label last night's spoon-fest disaster?
That moment when she woke up and gazed at him with that vulnerable expression would stay etched in his mind forever.
After all these years, he had experienced the perfect night with a woman, and they had both remained clothed. Hell, he had volunteered to freeze his ass off by remaining on top of the covers.
At what prior point in his life, ever, had he resisted a beautiful woman?
Maybe he had finally learned something from that fuckup with Garrison's ex-wife and after being used by that social climber back in New York.
"Want to take a break?" Garrison's even voice startled him.
Vaughn tugged the hoodie tighter around his head and kept on heaving seventy pound bales of hay from one location to another. "Can't. Two more pounds to go."
"Yeah, thought you'd gotten pudgy."
He snorted. "As if."
Garrison jutted out his chin, begging Vaughn to take a swing at it. "Trying to impress someone?"
"Yep. The fight official at the weigh-in tonight."
"Right." His brother didn't say anything for a solid minute. "Why do you keep fighting?"
Wiping sweat, Vaughn said, "One. I'm good at it. Two. I like the sport itself. Three. I like the discipline of staying in shape and improving my sorry self. Four. It keeps me sober."
"Don't you think there's an unfair advantage?"
"With my power? Maybe. It's got me out of a lot of bad situations over the years, but not all of them." Obviously. "There's something satisfying about beating the crap out of someone who very much wants to beat the crap out of me. What's even better is turning the fight into art. Using the fancy techniques to put someone on their ass or submit them. If I can get an ankle bar submission, that's cooler than a plain KO. The submission takes more planning, more strategy and leverage. More subtle proficiency."
"Okay, okay, I get it, Mr. Artiste. You're the Rembrandt of MMA. But you and I both know you're perfectly happy knocking someone out cold with bare knuckles."
"Well, sure."
Garrison shook his head. "I still say you're dragging your demons out into the ring and beating them up in the name of tortured redemption, but that's one man's opinion." He leaned against a beam. "What would you do if your power cut out while you were in a fight?"
"Not sure why that would happen, but if it did, I'd keep fighting."
"Wouldn't you be kind of... blind?"
"Maybe. But if my training is solid, it shouldn't matter. I don't use my danger-detecting ability in every fight, you know."
"Interesting."
>
"Are you out here to talk MMA? Or something else? Because I have to keep moving."
"No. I'm worried about what we're up against. What's going on here at home." Garrison paused. "Where your skills are most needed."
Ah, the real agenda. "Don't lay that guilt trip on me."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Yeah, right." He walked to the punching bag and started pounding the hell out of it. Anything to keep the sweat going. He paused. "You got new ideas about that creature since we last encountered it? Because that thing is scary as hell. Any connection as to how it relates to the Brands?"
"Nothing about the Brands makes sense. But, no, I can't figure out a connection."
"Their place is weird."
"Kerr said you went to the Brands' place." Garrison rubbed his jaw.
"Long story. Took Dr. West on a house call. The Brands really rolled out the red carpet, loaded guns, insults, and nasty behavior. Even cousin Linc was there to help."
"Linc?"
"Lincoln McDowell. The bastard I'm fighting tomorrow. Man, he's a big fucker."
"That's oddly convenient to have him hanging around, isn't it?"
Bambambambam. "That's what I thought. But, apparently, he's somehow related to those nut jobs over there. Anyway, the visit was downright terrifying, what with the creepy people and veiled threats."
"What did you do?"
"Got her the hell out of there as soon as humanly possible and took her to file a police report." And no, Vaughn wasn't about to share his part in the sappy episode where she poured out her deepest, most horrible secret and he comforted her in the truck. Or the not-sex later that night.
His brother snorted. "Good luck with the police helping."
"We had to do something."
"I agree." He stared up at the rafters. "You're at least in good company. Kerr and I got a similar warm weapon reception when the Brands kicked us off National Forest land near their property three weeks back."
Legacy of Danger Page 14
