The hot water cascades over my breasts, down my stomach, and tickles the small patch of hair between my thighs. I spread my legs wider, enjoying the warmth of it and imagining how his tongue would feel following the same path.
I run a hand down my side and to my pulsing . . .
Sarah hesitated and sought the right word. Slit? Vagina? Lips? I can’t write pussy. Can I?
She avoided the decision and wrote: (insert right word later).
I slip a finger between my lower lips and imagine that it’s his tongue. There is no need to rush when something feels this good. I softly run my finger back and forth, feeling my (clit?) grow beneath my touch.
I use two fingers to spread my lips wider, and a stream of water rushes in and warms me as I imagine his breath would. I raise a leg so I can open myself more fully to the spray, to my fingers, to him.
I slide my middle finger inside myself and clench involuntarily. I’m soft, wet, and so ready. I delve deeper, pumping in and out with a rhythm as old as time itself.
I’m fucking myself and it’s good.
Oh, so good.
I circle my clit with my thumb, still pumping as I rub. One finger isn’t enough now. I insert another and lean back against the coolness of the shower wall as I picture his (penis? staff? cock?) thrusting inside me. The steam of the spray is his hot kiss on every inch of my skin.
I come on my hand, shuddering and gasping for air. Unwilling to end the pleasure, I bring my wet fingers to my mouth and suckle my juices as if they were his. I lick my fingers lovingly, imagining they are his cock. I take them deep within me, deeper than I ever thought I could, and I love how he fills me.
My mouth is his for the taking, and his pleasure is my pleasure.
I clutch one wet breast while I imagine him pushing his hands into my hair so he can hold my head there, ensuring his release is welcomed deeply.
I come again, this time claiming his orgasm as my own.
An orgasm he would have had.
Had he been fucking home.
Sarah slammed her notebook shut, feeling pleased with how her writing was changing—and also about the jab she’d written for Tony at the end.
She cocked her head to the side mischievously as an idea came to her that instantly began an inner debate.
I couldn’t.
That would take serious balls, and I’m . . .
See, that’s the problem. If I do what I’ve always done, how can I expect things to be any different than they’ve always been?
With a fortifying deep breath, Sarah stood, opened the door to Tony’s house, and headed upstairs. Instead of going to her room, she went to his and placed her notebook on his pillow.
He’d read her notebook earlier when he should have respected her privacy.
It would serve him right to read this.
Back in the hallway, Sarah leaned against Tony’s closed door. She had no idea how he’d react to her latest entry.
But a woman can hope.
She pushed away from the door and decided she’d have to find something to distract herself with while she waited for Tony to come home or she’d lose her mind.
Maybe it’s time to call my brother. He’s not going to be happy when he finds out that I’m not at Lucy’s house, but I’ll tell him I needed to stay for research purposes.
Sarah chuckled to herself as she descended the stairs. I’m not a sex-crazed woman chasing a fantasy night with a cowboy. I’m an author researching my first novel.
She stopped at the mirror at the bottom of the stairs and blushed at the burning desire evident in her eyes. I should try to look cool and unattainable, but all I can think is . . .
Bring on the research.
Sarah squared her shoulders and headed into the living room to call Charlie. She picked up the phone and dialed quickly. I’m an adult. He’s my brother, not my keeper. He’ll understand.
“Charles Dery, please.”
“I’ll put you right through,” his secretary said, so cheerfully Sarah wanted to smack her.
“Hello?” The male voice was crisp and impatient.
This trip was all about finding her voice—in her writing and in her life. She cleared her throat and said, “Charlie, it’s Sarah.”
“It’s about time you called.” His voice boomed through the line. “Mom and Dad are worried sick. You were supposed to call when you got there. What happened yesterday? We called Lucy and she said you’re not staying with her.”
“It turned out that I couldn’t stay there.”
“She said you’re at someone else’s ranch? I didn’t know you knew anyone else down there.”
“You don’t know everything about me,” Sarah said defiantly. Thank God. She covered her mouth with a shaky hand. A nervous laugh escaped. I can barely justify this to myself; Charlie would never understand.
The hiss of his angrily indrawn breath was more evidence that she was correct to keep some aspects of this trip to herself.
“Who the hell is Anthony Carlton?” he demanded.
“Who?” Sarah asked lamely. How does he know about Tony?
“You must know him since you’re calling from his phone.”
Shit. Why didn’t I block caller ID?
“I’m fine, Charlie. You can tell Mom and Dad to relax. This trip is the best thing I’ve done in a long time. I’m actually writing again.”
He made some noncommittal sound that spoke volumes about his disapproval. “Where is this ranch?”
Please, please do not come here. Sarah reluctantly gave him the information. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to let her hang up without it.
She wanted to tell him more about what she was doing there and how everything about Texas was healing her, but talking about that would mean mentioning the past—and that had always been taboo.
Does he still blame me? Is that why he doesn’t believe I’m capable of making the simplest decisions on my own?
Maybe I don’t deserve this second chance, but I’m going for it, anyway. In Texas, I don’t have to be who I’ve always been. I don’t have to apologize for what I failed to be. Here, I’m simply me. Just a woman on a journey.
How do I make my brother see that?
“Charlie, I need this. I know you don’t understand it, but can you give me time?”
If you do, I may even find the courage to tell you the truth.
“I should fly down there . . .”
Sarah held her breath.
“But I won’t.”
“Thank you.”
A flash of movement behind Sarah made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” Charlie said.
Me, too, Sarah thought as she hung up and looked around. The living room and foyer were empty. For a moment there she’d been convinced that someone had been watching her.
First sex-starved, now paranoid.
Just remember, Texas, I’m writing a romance novel, not a thriller.
I’ll be fine with just a few weeks of memorable sex.
No need to scare the shit out of me.
This was a mistake.
When he’d chosen Fort Mavis, he’d done so for the acreage of the ranch he’d found and not much else. He’d considered the small population of Fort Mavis, even in the town’s center, a perk. The fewer people around, the less there are to avoid. In his years of traveling to train horses all over the world, he’d forgotten the problem with small communities: Everyone knows everything. Instantly.
Bad enough that the afternoon’s madness had been witnessed, but the amused looks from ranch hands who normally feared him were enough to set his temper boiling. David had ordered some parts for one of the tractors from the local mechanic. Tony’d hoped that going into town would give him a chance to
clear his head. But he could tell by the way people watched him park his truck that the story had already spread to town.
He wasn’t two steps out of his vehicle when a group of three young men, all appearing to be in their late teens, approached him.
Shit.
One of them leaned against his truck while the other two flanked him.
There’s a reason I hate people.
“What kind of trainer loses horses?” one of the boys sneered.
Without turning to look at the boy, Tony growled, “Get off my truck.”
One of the boy’s sidekicks scowled and said, “You think we’re afraid of you. We aren’t.”
He recognized two of the boys as the sons of Russell White, a man he’d fired the season before when he’d heard that he’d sold photos taken from Tony’s barn to the tabloids. The man hadn’t left without a fuss. What was it about successfully silencing one man with a punch that made others want to test if you could silence them, too?
“I won’t warn you again.” When none of the boys moved, Tony half turned and grabbed the one who was leaning on his truck by the neck, pinning him to the vehicle and lifting the boy onto his toes. He looked the other two squarely in the eyes and both took a step back.
“Let Keith go, Tony,” Dean said from a few feet away.
Tony let the kid slide down the side of the truck and released him.
Gasping for air, Keith said, “Did you see that, Sheriff? He tried to kill me.”
Another of the boys jeered, “He won’t do nothing about it. They’re brothers.”
Pointing at Tony, Keith said, “When I tell my father that you tried to strangle me, he’ll kill you.”
Tony shrugged.
Dean said, “We’ll have no talk of killing in my town, Keith. The only thing you’ll get from your dad if you tell him this story is a butt whupping. Funny thing about trouble is that if you go looking for it, you’ll always find it. Shouldn’t you and your friends be painting Mary Karen’s house? I heard that’s what you told your father you needed time off the farm to get done.”
Despite the scowl the tallest boy gave Dean, he said, “Yes, sir.”
“Then y’all get along now.”
Shooting a final glare at Tony, Keith said, “Come on, guys, he’s not worth the trouble.”
Tony let out a sigh as his adrenaline ebbed. He shook his head and started walking away as if nothing had happened.
Dean fell into step beside him. “That temper of yours will get you killed one day.”
Without looking at his brother, Tony said, “You warning or hoping?”
“If I wanted you dead, why would I keep saving your hide?”
Tony narrowed his eyes at Dean. “No one asked you to.”
“You are the hardest son of a bitch to like, do you know that?”
“Then stay the hell away from me.”
Dean put a hand on Tony’s shoulder to stop him. “When are you going to look around and realize that everyone is not against you? Your worst enemy is yourself. This is a nice town. You’d see that if you let yourself.”
Tony brushed his brother’s hand away and kept walking. “Yeah, they prove how nice they are every time I visit. That right there was a fucking lovefest.”
Dean stopped and called after him, “You can’t be an asshole every day of the week and expect people to open their arms to you. Those boys have been working odd jobs ever since you fired their dad. Russell’s wife is sick. No one agreed with him selling photos of your place, but he’s struggling financially what with trying to pay for his wife’s doctor bills.”
Tony stopped midstep and turned to face his brother. He said quietly, “I didn’t know that.”
“You wouldn’t because you don’t talk to anyone.”
Uncomfortable with the information he’d just received, Tony grated, “Are we done now?”
Dean folded his arms across his chest. “Almost. You know that girl you have out at your place?”
Tony gave a curt nod.
“The whole town knows what you’re doing with her up there. She doesn’t appear to be the kind of woman who would welcome that reputation.”
A wave of anger swept through Tony. “What happens on my ranch is no one’s business.”
Dean shook his head. “In a town like this, it’s everyone’s business. It just seems to me like she’s the type of woman you might want to treat with a bit more respect.”
“She’s nothing to me.”
Dean lowered his arms, stepped back, tipped his hat, and smiled a bit sarcastically. “My mistake. Then I guess it doesn’t matter to you what people think of her.”
Tony strode off toward the garage, hating the way his brother’s words echoed in his head as he went.
Chapter Nine
Time is extremely subjective.
A day of lovemaking and excitement flies by too quickly, but waiting for a man to return is sweet torture that the slow tick of the clock on the wall does nothing to alleviate.
I’d write that down if I had my notebook, but where it is promises that I’ll have much more to write about tomorrow.
Afternoon turned to evening. Sarah moved from the front porch swing to attempt nonchalant pose on the couch in the living room. She dug a book out of her luggage and tried to escape into another world but failed. As night darkened the windows, she returned to swing on the porch.
With their previous excursions in mind, Sarah had changed into a mint-green sundress with thin straps, made from a material thick enough to conceal that for the first time in her life she’d gone commando. Her flimsy sandals were easy enough to slip off if the right situation presented itself. There was a lot she didn’t know about men, but she was fairly certain that after the day she and Tony had shared, he’d quickly forget whatever had taken him to town and come for her.
Figuratively and then, hopefully, literally.
She stood when Tony’s truck pulled into the driveway. She was at the top of the steps waiting for him. A perfect moment, marred only by the harsh lines of his guarded expression as he approached the house. Still, he walked up the steps toward her and came to a stop within inches of her. Her body vibrated with a welcoming shudder.
There was a hunger in him that ignited a heat that spread within her. They stood, eyes locked, neither moving nor reaching for the other, barely breathing.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said gruffly.
Hopefully, about what has been on my mind all day.
“Yes?” Sarah replied, just above a whisper.
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. “It’s been a long day, but tomorrow we need to talk.”
“Okay.” Seriously? Talk? Isn’t that supposed to be the woman’s line?
“I have to speak to David, then I’m calling it an early night.”
Alone.
He didn’t have to say the word—it was stated loud and clear in his tone.
Fine.
Some of her irritation must have shown in her face, because he asked, “Did you need anything?”
Salt to the wound, Texas? Between tight lips she said, “Not a thing.”
He stepped back and tipped his hat to her. “Then good night.”
She watched him turn, walk down the steps, and head for the barn. She wanted to throw one of her sandals at his head as he departed. She fought against the temptation to stomp her feet in frustration.
Tony Carlton, you are the most irritating man I’ve ever met. I should take my notebook back while I can. Now, before more happens and I toss my pride aside and just tackle you.
In the light of the barn doorway, he turned and looked back at her. Despite the distance, she felt their connection slam through her. She put a hand on the railing beside her to steady her suddenly weak knees.
He’ll change his mind when he re
ads my notebook.
Sarah straightened as a thought occurred to her. What am I going to wear? This isn’t just any night—this is the one I’ll base all my future naughty fantasies on. Our first time.
Sarah sprinted upstairs and stripped. She paced back and forth, buck naked, in front of all her open luggage. Lingerie? Too eager. A T-shirt? Too casual. The virginal cotton nightgown my parents bought me for this trip? She buried it beneath some shirts. Naked?
Definitely a time-saver. She closed the luggage and moved it all back to the floor, pushing the pieces beneath the twin-size bed. She perched on the nervously on the edge of the bed, then lay back against the coolness of the quilt.
Too scary.
She stood, then slid beneath the covers and pulled them up to her neck.
Too clichéd.
In the quiet of the house, she heard the front door open and close. She tensed with each footstep on the stairs.
He hasn’t read it yet.
I forgot about my hair.
I probably should have showered.
I want to look beautiful, but not too eager.
Then maybe I shouldn’t be naked.
In a panic, she slid out from under the covers, grabbed her luggage, and rummaged quickly for a long nightshirt with a plunging neckline. While eyeing herself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, she heard Tony open the door to his bedroom.
This is it.
She heard the thuds as each of his boots hit the floor and grabbed her makeup bag. A dash of concealer and quickly applied eyeliner and mascara, and Sarah felt a bit more confident. She ran a hand through her hair and touched up her lip gloss.
He can’t catch me waiting for him by the door like I’m desperate.
Sarah sat on the edge of her bed again and cursed Tony for not having even a television in the guest room to distract her. The quiet did, however, allow her to hear him open and close the drawers of his bureau.
Maybe hunting for condoms?
Sarah smoothed the hem of her nightshirt. Who am I kidding? If he read my entry, he knows I want to be with him. Why hide in a tent of a nightgown? This trip is about finding myself. Being bold.
Taken, Not Spurred (Lone Star Burn) Page 9
