by Sabrina York
Her jaw dropped. Literally. She stared at Ford like a guilty owl. “I . . . he . . . we . . . Um. We’re in a rush.”
Ford marched out into the drive and leaned on the roof of the car to talk to Brandon. Porsche shot a look at Crystal—who smiled—then she followed him, stepping carefully on the gravel. It didn’t look as though Ford was warning him off or ready to pound him into a bloody pulp, which—all things considered—was good. In fact, the two men chatted and laughed like longtime buddies.
How surreal was that?
She popped the trunk, dropped the suitcase inside, and waited for her brother to end his conversation so she could say good-bye.
And waited.
And waited.
She poked her head in to the driver’s window and cleared her throat. “Don’t we need to go?”
Brandon made a face. “Do we have to?”
She tapped her watch, though she wasn’t wearing one. “You have a thing.”
“A thing?” Ford asked with a smirk.
“A welcome party,” Brandon wailed. “And get this. Tomorrow night they want me to serve drinks shirtless, with a dickey and a bow tie.”
Ford hooted a laugh. “Should have read that contract.”
“No kidding.”
The two men looked as though they could continue this banter for a while, so Porsche took matters into her own hands. She got in the car, started the engine, and put the car in reverse, warbling, “Bye.”
Ford leaped back in time to keep his foot from being squashed, but only just.
She set her teeth as she pulled onto the main road. When she glanced at Brandon, his lip was in a pout.
“Why’d you do that? I was enjoying talking to him.”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“He asks questions.”
“We were just talking—”
“Trust me. I’ve known him forever. He’s really good at putting you at ease and then, when you least expect it, he sneaks in with the one question you don’t want to answer. If you talked to him for long, he would ferret out what we’re up to.”
“Oh?” The question rang in the silence it left. “And what is it we’re up to, exactly?”
She frowned at him. “Didn’t I tell you not to talk about that when I’m driving?”
“You brought it up.”
Men! Sometimes they were totally unreasonable.
“Porsche?”
“Mmm?”
“What is it we’re up to?”
She waved at the windshield. “Driving.”
“Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
“Don’t you know?” Couldn’t he figure it out?
“I know what I’m thinking, but I sure as shit don’t know what you’re thinking. And unless we have this conversation, we’re going to be bumping into each other in the dark here.”
“That sounds fun.” Okay, probably not the time to joke, but the thought of being serious scared her to death.
He sighed. “Can you pull over?”
“There’s no shoulder.” But when they reached the turn-in for the Silver ranch, she pulled off on the dirt road leading to the old gatekeeper’s cabin and brought the car to a stop. She stared forward, long after she’d turned the engine off. He had to take her by the shoulders and turn her to him.
“Look at me.” She did. He tipped up her chin to get a better perspective. “What are you thinking Porsche?”
A couple glib rejoinders scampered through her mind, but she decided that in a moment like this, with a man like this, glib would not suffice. She swallowed and met his eyes. “I think I’m scared.”
He huffed a gentle laugh. “Are you? Good.”
Her head came up so fast she bit her tongue. “What?”
“Good. I’m scared too.”
“What on earth do you have to be afraid of?” she squawked, though she knew.
He lifted a broad shoulder. “This is new for me.”
“Me too.”
He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to be scared,” he said.
“Neither do I.”
“But the only other option is for us to stop now.” He illustrated the meaning of his words with a slash of his hand.
Stop now?
Oh God. A flare of panic burned through her, sizzling on her nerves. Pain lanced her heart. “Is that . . . what you want?” A whisper.
His response was a resounding roar. “Hell no.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and sucked in a breath. “But we can’t let awkwardness or fear come between us. We need to communicate. Let’s be honest with each other. Let’s be realistic. Let’s be . . . brave.”
“All right,” she said. That was an excellent idea. “You first.”
A laugh spurted from his lips and he shook his head. “Okay. All right. Here it is. Porsche McCoy, I’ve never met a woman quite like you.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure if that is good or not.”
“It is. It is. I love spending time with you, like we did today. I enjoy our conversations. I really liked last night.”
Her smile was a little . . . cocky.
“And I want to continue this with you. I want to see where it might go.”
Excellent. “I feel the same.”
He tipped his head to the side and waited expectantly for her to say more.
“That’s it.” She shrugged. “I feel the same.”
“I’m overwhelmed,” he said dryly.
She couldn’t hold back her laugh. “See. That’s it. Your sense of humor just tickles me.”
“Really?” He arched a brow. “Do you like being tickled?”
“And that . . .”
“What?”
“That sexy tone. It, I dunno, sends shivers through me.”
“Shivers are good, but I wasn’t trying to be sexy. I was merely asking if you like to be tickled, because that can be arranged.”
She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on.”
“Oh no, I’m serious. The thought of you tied to the bed squirming as I tickle you incessantly?” He waggled his brows.
“Be serious.”
“Oh, I am.”
“We’re supposed to be having an important conversation, remember?”
“Ah yes.” Disappointment raked her as he leaned away. His expression became somber. “There is something between us we need to discuss.”
Unease danced in her belly. Was this it? Was this where he told her? She stiffened her spine and forced what she hoped was a supportive smile. “There is? What?”
A heartbeat passed before he answered. “Cody.”
Shock rocked her. She gaped at him. Was that what he thought? Apparently, last night she hadn’t been as clear as she thought. “Oh pish. Cody is not between us.”
He looked grim. “A couple days ago you were in love with him.”
“That wasn’t love.”
“I’ve always been in love with him. As long as I can remember,” he warbled in a really annoying falsetto. “He gave me his ice-cream cone!”
“There’s no need to bat your lashes.”
“I’m doing an impression of you.”
“I do not bat my lashes.”
“Really? Do you have seizures? Because it looks like that sometimes.”
“Stop it.”
“Okay. But you did say those words. It’s not exactly a state secret that you’ve always had a thing for him. How do I know if I commit to you, you’re serious about the same? How do I know, if he crooks his finger in your direction, you won’t drop me like a hot potato and go running into his arms?”
“Because.”
His brow rumpled. “Porsche—”
“It’s not going to happen,
Brandon. It’s not. I realized what I felt for Cody was just a childish crush.”
“In a handful of days?”
“No.”
He stared at her.
“In an instant. I looked at him, and I just knew.”
His gaze intensified. “Knew what?”
She swallowed. This was it. This was the hard part. This was what scared her more than anything. She sucked in a deep breath and just blurted it. “I knew what I felt for you was so much more.” She hoped he believed her, because it was true. It honestly was.
Her heart counted out the seconds in dull thuds as she waited for his response.
When it came, it came in a wild rush, a tsunami of passion, released frustration and relief.
He took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her savagely, a feral celebration, an exultation that stole her breath and made her head spin.
Her body softened, her blood raged, her pulse pounded in a sharp rhythmic pattern.
Tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap.
It took more than a moment for her to realize it wasn’t her pulse at all. It was Claire, knocking on the steamed-up window of the car with the tip of her walking cane. A group of middle-aged women stood behind her dressed in hiking kit with cameras and pith helmets, excitedly snapping photos of the flora and fauna.
She and Brandon, of course, were the fauna.
“Halloo there,” Claire warbled. “Doctor Livingston, I presume?”
With jerky motions, Porsche rolled down her window and glared at her friend. “Go. Away,” she mouthed.
“Love to dearie,” she said. Where she got that execrable British accent was anyone’s guess. Definitely not Downton Abbey. “But we’re on safari this afternoon. Man-safari.” She leered at Brandon. “Be advised. You’re on display.”
One of the older ladies peered over Claire’s shoulder and trilled, “Oh, do kiss her again.”
And Brandon, who was above all things very cooperative, did.
But somehow it just wasn’t the same. The mood had been dashed with a freezing cold bucket of Claire.
Chapter Sixteen
When they arrived at the ranch house, Cade appropriated Brandon for a last-minute rehearsal, so there was no opportunity to continue their conversation, although Porsche was unsure if anything else needed to be said. They’d both confirmed they were committed to exploring whatever this was.
And even though he’d made it clear he was committed to said exploration, it didn’t ease her anxiety. The truth of the matter was, even though she’d been “in love” with Cody most of her life, she’d never felt like this before.
This was terrifying.
And exciting.
And dizzying.
He’d become necessary to her, and so quickly.
How did such a thing happen?
She needed time to process so, after Cade herded Brandon into the party room, she carried her suitcase up to the room they’d reserved for her on the third floor of the large house. When Ransom Silver had built the homestead back in the 1920s, he’d had it in his mind that his children, and their families, would always live here, so there were far more rooms and suites than a normal house. When she thought about it, a B&B with large parties had probably been the best use of the property, unless the three Silver grandchildren intended to reproduce in litters.
Her room was near Claire’s. It was the one she usually had when she stayed, so stepping through the door was like coming home. She dropped her suitcase on the stand by the window and lifted the gingham check curtain to look out the window. From this vantage point, she could see Brandon’s camper, and her heart did a flippy thing in her chest.
She leaned against the window frame and stared at nothing as she replayed their conversation and tried to corral her emotions.
It was a good idea to be logical, but logic had never been her forte. She decided to focus on the facts.
Fact one. She really liked Brandon. Really, really, really liked him.
Fact two. Fact one scared her.
Fact three. He was scared too. That meant he really liked her as well.
Fact four. They both wanted to take this relationship to the next level.
Fact five. The next level meant sex.
Fact six. Sex required some element of privacy, and they hadn’t had much luck in that department.
Fact seven. His camper was too cramped for her taste.
Fact eight. Her room at the Silvers’ was too close to Claire’s, and Claire had an unfortunate tendency to barge in at all hours without knocking.
Fact nine. The barn smelled.
Fact ten. She wasn’t an outdoorsy kind of girl.
That left limited options. Well, not limited, per se. The house was enormous and had all kinds of nooks and crannies and closets and showers that might work well for a passionate tryst, but with any one of them, there was always a chance of someone happening by. Also, there was the comfort element.
The last thing she wanted was for him to be uncomfortable. She had no idea if there was pain related to his leg, or how vigorous he could be without it falling off, and since she wasn’t supposed to know, she could hardly ask.
She assumed that if they did indeed become intimate, he would, at some point, have to tell her. It only stood to reason. But for now, she had to scout out private and comfortable locations in which to seduce him.
Fortunately, she’d had the foresight to prepare. She opened her suitcase and snagged the condoms she’d stolen from Ford and slipped two in the back pocket of her jeans. And then, after a moment of thought, added a couple more. Just in case.
Because tonight was the night. She was going to seduce him.
Somewhere.
Enthused about her mission, she went in search of him, taking the back stairs, which led to the kitchen. She snagged a crudité from the platter on the counter, waiting to be carried into the welcome party, and headed for the ballroom.
To her annoyance, no one was there and the room was dark.
Blast. She’d missed the rehearsal.
As she entered the main hall, she caught sight of a flash of red hair and a familiar face, and she squealed. She didn’t mean to squeal, but she couldn’t contain her delight.
Hanna whipped around, which was only natural upon hearing such an intemperate shriek. Her concerned expression melted into delight. “Porsche!”
It had been a while since Porsche had seen her friend, who’d moved to Dallas because of a job and, of course, because of a man. “How are you?”
“Awesome.” Hanna’s smile was proof of that. She glowed.
“And how is Logan?”
Logan and Hanna had met during one of the infamous Stud Ranch parties—it had been Hanna’s engagement party, but that hadn’t stopped Logan from sweeping her away in his arms. Come to think of it, a lot of people met at this ranch. Maybe it had some magical powers. She could only hope that was the case.
“Logan’s fine. He’s bringing in the bags.”
Porsche gaped. “You brought Logan to a Stud Ranch party?”
“He wanted to come.”
“Yeah,” Hanna’s sister, Sidney, said in a snarky tone. “He didn’t want her around all these hotties without him.”
“Oh, pooh! He probably just wanted to hang out with Cody,” Hanna said as Porsche hugged Sidney.
“Cody’s been hankering after another poker game with Logan,” Claire said, joining the clinches.
Hanna snorted a laugh. “That ain’t gonna happen. You tell your brother if he comes near Logan with a deck of cards, I’ll make him eat them.”
“It didn’t turn out so bad last time, did it?” Sidney said with a wicked grin.
“Hush. Diane doesn’t want to know about that,” Hanna said, pulling an older woman forward. “Porsche, have you met Diane, Logan’s mom?”<
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“What don’t I want to know about?” Diane said with wide eyes, but it was clear from her expression she could only imagine. But hopefully she couldn’t. From what Porsche had heard—and she hadn’t heard everything—it had been steamy indeed.
Hanna didn’t answer, other than to flash a huge smile and say, “It’s her birthday we’re celebrating.”
“Happy birthday, Diane!”
“We need to get you a special lap dance,” Claire said. She was generous like that.
Diane flushed and shook her head. “Well, I don’t know about that.”
“It’s okay,” Sidney said. “Sam’s in Dallas. He’ll never know.”
“But my son will. Oh, how mortifying would that be?”
“Hanna can keep Logan occupied. Don’t worry.” Claire patted her arm. “Just tell me which of the fellas you like and I’ll set it up.” She waved toward the large front room where the men were mingling with the guests, drinks in hand.
Diane’s gaze raked the room. Porsche nearly laughed at the zeal in her eyes but when the birthday girl’s gaze stalled on the tall guy with the duster coat and she pointed and said in a determined voice, “him,” Porsche’s humor faded.
Claire’s grin was evil. “Oooh. Brandon. Good choice.”
No! her soul wailed. Not a good choice. Brandon was hers.
And honestly, Diane was old enough to be his mother.
What was she thinking?
Before Porsche could protest, Claire hooked arms with Diane and drew her into the sitting room toward Brandon, and all Porsche could do was watch from a distance as the older woman practically drooled all over him.
Hanna thought it was funny though and she laughed. Her eyes brightened. “Oh and here’s my friend Amy. You remember her.”
Amy waddled through the door with a bulky suitcase and waved at the crowd in the foyer. “Hey all!” she chirped.
Porsche hugged her too. She did remember Amy, who’d come with Hanna on that fateful weekend. She’d really liked the gallery owner . . . and there was a high likelihood that there was tequila in that suitcase.
She might need some by the time this evening was over.
