He was murmuring her name, and she was breathing his back, when his right hand reached for the hem of her dress. With entirely reasonable haste, he drew it up, his fingers tracing the silk of her stocking up to…to where it ended. To where there was, as he’d imagined, nothing but soft, bare skin. Further, to where he had to push through the resistance of thighs that hadn’t really opened for him, to nudge aside the little swath of panty, to find her hot and wet.
He knew she was wet, because his fingers were…pushing inside her.
“No.”
Blind and deaf with lust, nearly prostrate with it, Keegan knew it wasn’t the first time she’d said it when he finally heard.
But she’d been kissing him and breathing his name with obvious need and…her fingers had been in his hair, gripping him.
“No.”
“Liberty.”
“Take your fingers out of me.”
“I will. I will. Just…” He needed a moment. Because his brain wasn’t in charge here. Or maybe just some primitive part of it, the part that might think it didn’t have to listen when a female said no. When she was saying no but she clearly wanted it anyway. “Wait.”
He knew that was the wrong part. He knew it, but…
“Keegan.”
“I will. Just…you’re wet. You know that, right?” He was panting. He had his head pressed into the door over her shoulder and a fair bit of his weight still leaning into her.
“I’m saying no.”
“I hear you.”
He guessed he still had a hand on her tit, too. He saw that as he pushed back, enough so he could look at her, so he could confirm with his gathering senses that she really was breathing roughly, that her eyes were full of heat. That her lips were…saying no.
Finally, the better, more civilized part of his brain engaged, and he drew his fingers out, an action so contrary to his need that it was nearly painful. She let out a little shudder that only might have been relief.
He took his two fingers, wet with her desire, and touched them to her lips.
“You’re wet,” he said.
“I know.” She barely opened her mouth to speak, clearly not on board with the flash his primitive brain had, one that featured her opening her lips, taking his fingers in, and sucking the moisture from them.
He slid his hand away, as filled with regret as he’d ever been in his life. He put it on her shoulder, so both hands held her there now, one on either side. After a long moment, a good handful of calming breaths, he moved his gaze to hers.
“I want you…” he tried, then tried again. “I need you to tell me the last thing Tag said to you.”
* * * *
Liberty had used every bit of her willpower, every bit of her control, to try to suppress the shudder that shimmered through her when Keegan finally took his fingers out of her. It hadn’t quite been enough.
She’d said, “No,” more than once. She’d meant it. At least, part of her had. Most of her.
“It doesn’t matter what he said. I can’t do this. I won’t.”
“You want to.”
“That doesn’t matter, either. I’m in love with Tag. I’ve told him so. I’m not going to be with anyone else.” She wasn’t.
Despite the fact that she was, indeed, wet. That she’d been on a slow simmer throughout the evening, thoroughly enjoying Keegan’s company—his sweet, indulgent attention. The mellowing effect of great wine and food. The lovely setting at dinner, the—okay, she could say it—romance of a limo ride into the forest canyon. The excitement of a fantastic show shared with a fellow enthusiast. One who was attractive and…hot. One who touched her and smiled at her and made obvious his interest. In the dinner and show and…her.
Despite the fact that she was making her protests now around more kisses. His fingers weren’t inside her anymore, and not at her lips, either, demonstrating the obviousness of her desire.
They were gentler, these kisses. Not so much an I-need-you-let-me-have-you demand as a look-what-we-could-have reminder.
They were extremely effective. Because, if there was one thing the Harper men appeared to know besides bison, it was how to kiss a woman.
Maybe, how to seduce a woman.
The dancing had done it. After those hours of enjoying Keegan’s company while remembering that she was with Tag, committed to him, she’d lost her spine when Keegan had held her close, singing quietly in her ear, channeling Tony Bennett better than the performer on stage was doing.
Held her close enough that her breasts pressed into his chest. His hand at her back pulsed against her, letting her know how aware he was of the contact. Close enough that she felt him, too, the way his cock filled and nestled into her lower belly.
Like it was doing now.
With significant effort, Liberty turned her face away from his lips. Undeterred, he kissed her neck and nibbled at her ear. Finally, she put a hand up, stopping his mouth with her fingers.
He lifted up so they could see each other’s eyes, and put a hand on her wrist.
“Liberty, what did Tag say to you? What was the last thing he told you?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me.”
When she didn’t answer, he bit her fingers.
Liberty looked up at him in shock. His gray eyes blazed, and he leaned in to kiss her again. Roughly again, taking. But speaking at the same time.
“He told you he loved you no matter what, didn’t he?” His hands were on her again, his body pressing into hers. “He said he wanted you to be happy.” He’d found her nipple with his thumb again and squeezed it until she moaned. “To have whatever you wanted.”
His breath was hot, harsh along her neck, his teeth grazing. “Didn’t he?”
Liberty tried to shake her head, but she could only moan. Because his mouth was there now, taking hers. Because…his fingers…
He was touching her again, under her skirt, pushing aside the little swath of her panties. His fingers urgent at her clit.
“Tell me.”
No, no. That was what she meant to say, but it wasn’t the word her mouth formed. He tugged at her nipple and rubbed her clit and she was saying, “Yes. Yes!”
And then she was coming, jerking against his hard body, held there by him, the solid mass of him keeping her on her feet. She’d have collapsed without him there, totally giving in to the rush of the orgasm, the wreckage caused by acknowledging, by admitting, what Tag had said.
A meaning that Keegan had understood and accepted, obviously.
A meaning she couldn’t understand or accept. She couldn’t fathom.
Liberty closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the door behind her. She struggled to catch her breath, to grasp at the strands of her sanity, of her…sense.
Distantly, she felt Keegan’s hands on her shoulders. Her feet obeyed mindlessly as he nudged her a couple steps to the side.
“We’ll leave at eight,” he said.
She stayed there, propped against the wall, eyes still closed, just barely hearing. Hearing as he opened the door, walked through it, closed it again, and left her alone.
Chapter Nine
Saturday sucked, and Keegan blamed it all on Tag.
Their girl was unhappy. He’d stopped by her room at eight as promised, and he’d had some anxious moments when he learned she wasn’t there. He found her in the lobby, though, her bag already packed and not a smile anywhere to be seen.
He came to a stop a decent distance in front of her.
“I thought you might’ve found your own way back,” he said. “Maybe even all the way to Denver.” He figured there wasn’t any point in pretending what had happened hadn’t happened.
Plus, maybe, he was already a little cranky. He hadn’t slept much. It turned out lying in a strange bed, looking at the ceiling while his boner tented up the bedsheets, wasn’t a deal all that conducive to sleep.
To phrase it most conservatively, most rationally, he really liked Liberty. Though there was an
other word that seemed perfectly reasonable to use instead. At least, to him, it totally felt applicable.
He didn’t think he’d misunderstood what Tag had said to him, and he was confident in his guess about what Tag had said to Libby, whether she’d admit it or not.
Though it didn’t make sense. Sure, from the first moment Tag had introduced them, Keegan had seen what a good fit the two of them were—Liberty and Keegan, that was, not Liberty and Tag. He’d said it that very day—she’d have more fun with him. He liked her a lot, they’d had a great time together, and he was pretty sure she liked him, too. Because, he knew the woman she was—he was sure loyalty and faithfulness counted with her—and what happened up against the door in her room wouldn’t have happened unless she’d had an awful lot of interest, too.
Even if it was unwilling interest.
He’d seen Tag with his eyes on the girl, with need and, yes, love shining in them. And, yeah, the guy might love his brothers and feel some responsibility for their happiness.
But he wasn’t going to hand over a girl who’d clearly stolen his heart, just because, because…
Keegan was maybe a better fit for her?
Tag just wasn’t that guy. Probably no guy was.
Keegan couldn’t figure it out.
Unless, handing over the girl wasn’t his intent. Unless his intent was to…
He shook his head to focus on Liberty when she spoke. Her pretty eyes had stayed on his reluctantly, it was clear. Maybe she’d rather pretend. “Truthfully, I thought about it. But…my car’s at the Bluff. And, I really need to see Tag. I need to…”
To tell him she’d sorta kinda been unfaithful. Not all the way. Just a little bit unfaithful.
With his little brother.
Normally, he wouldn’t see that going over well with a man like Tag. Or, again, probably with any man.
But she’d tell him, because that was the woman she was.
He wanted to curse in frustration. “You know it was a lame excuse, right? Putting you and me together on this trip? I don’t think anything happened that he didn’t mean to happen. In fact, I think he meant for more to happen.”
“How could he have meant that?”
Fucking good question.
She sighed and looked away, and he remembered how many times she’d said, “No.” About the same number of times she’d said, “Yes.” Maybe one fewer.
She felt bad, and that was on him. He reached out a hand for her but dropped it when she stepped back. “My fault, Lib,” he said. “I’m sorry. I should have stopped when…well, I shouldn’t have started.”
But the woman was who she was, so she looked up at him. “It’s not your fault. We both…”
Misbehaved.
At least, if what they cared about was Tag. Or being…honorable.
Even if they’d been given some kind of green light.
“Yeah, well,” she said quietly. “We can’t undo it. I’d like to just go…”
Home.
She almost said it, Keegan thought, and he suffered some more for it. Maybe she’d spent the week coming to think of the Bluff as home, imagining that it would be, could be.
Now—maybe not so much.
He sighed and took her bag and led her out to the truck. He drove in silence, since she wasn’t speaking or even looking at him. He found the rancher out by Heber City and bit his tongue about a hundred times because the guy was completely disorganized. Keegan got little glimpses that suggested there was maybe an issue with dementia and tried to be as a patient as possible.
But everything that should have just happened as a matter of course was difficult. The old man had to search through his desk three times before he found the mare’s and colt’s health papers. Keegan wanted to fill a couple hay nets with the same feed the pair had been on, and a tank with the same water, because that helped horses adapt to travel and their new surroundings. Everyone knew that, except, apparently, the old rancher.
Keegan had to work out the logistics and secure the two horses all by himself while the man dithered.
They were much later getting on the road out of Heber than he’d expected. He took a break halfway home, giving the horses a chance to rest their legs, a necessary measure when they had to hold themselves steady against the sway of the trailer even with the most careful driving.
Liberty was quiet through that, as well, taking a walk along the side of the rest area while Keegan watered the horses and waited with them, parked in the shade.
They stopped once more for a late lunch/early dinner. When Liberty sat silently across the table from him for the whole deal, he wished he’d just gotten burgers at a drive-through.
Through the day, he’d ignored several texts from Tag asking how things were going and what their ETA was. He saw that Liberty wasn’t answering her texts either, at least not while she was at the table with him. Finally, before they got back on the road, he sent his brother their ETA.
Which was just about past dark.
Tag was on the terrace when they pulled in, every bit as though he’d been waiting for them. He came through the fence and opened Libby’s door. With just the briefest glance across the seat, he said, “Ry’s in the barn. I asked him to help you unload, if you don’t mind.”
Well, he did fucking mind, because he’d had a day. A night and then a day. But that appeared to be of no consequence, because Tag’s attention was all on the girl now.
“Hey, baby,” he said, even as he was reaching across her to unfasten her belt. He took her into his arms, lifted her down, wrapped her up, and kissed the hell out of her.
WTF. Really, Keegan thought. WTF?
He guessed what he thought was no matter, though, because Lib was in Tag’s arms and being carried off into the house.
* * * *
“Tag.”
“I missed you, sweetheart,” he said around kisses that he didn’t break from even as he carried her into the house and through it to his bedroom.
He set her down on her feet, using his arms and hands to hold her tightly against him, everywhere. “I missed you.”
“Tag,” she said, again, and put her hand on his cheek.
But she didn’t say more, because he was kissing her again, sweet, needy kisses. His palms slid down to her ass and he cupped her, pulling her close so she felt the hard length of his cock. “Baby.”
She tried again. “We have to talk—”
“No, we don’t,” he said. He moved one hand to her tit now, while the one on her ass delved deep, pressing between her legs, stroking.
“Tag. I have to tell—”
“No, you don’t.”
But she did. “Tag.”
He lifted his head, letting go of her mouth with his. But his hands were still on her, still stroking, still holding. “I love you, Liberty. Do you remember what I told you? I’ll love you no matter what. We don’t need to talk. You don’t need to tell me.”
But… “We do. I do.”
Finally, Tag seemed to hear her. He removed his hands from her and took a step back. He looked at her, and a certain flare in his eyes made her want to shudder. “Are you telling me you’ve been a bad girl?”
“I…” No, that wasn’t what she’d meant. Not something that made him look at her like that.
But that look…did make her shudder.
“Take off your clothes.”
Her breath caught and her body tightened. Moistened.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “All of them. Right now, baby.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to play.”
“Oh, we’re not playing, baby. Off. Now.”
Liberty’s hands trembled, and, still, she couldn’t keep them from going to the buttons of her blouse. Slowly, she opened each one. Her breath quickened as the heat in his eyes seemed to physically touch every bit of her skin as it was revealed. She got to the last button, her fingers grasping each side of the fabric.
“Take it off.” His voice was hot. Rough.
<
br /> Compelled, she slid the blouse over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
“That’s good, baby. My bad girl.” He reached one hand behind his head, grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt, and brought it off. Then he toed out of his loafers. He stood in front of her in only his jeans—tight-fitting, low-slung, outlining the bulge of his hard cock. He put his hand over it, rearranging for more room. Keeping it there, he stroked himself.
He was so beautiful—bronzed skin, slabs of muscle, the vee of his torso, and the dark line of hair arrowing down its center. The obvious desire he had for her. Liberty’s body stirred, needing and wanting him. All she had to do was look at him.
“Lose the bra.”
“Tag.”
One brow went up imperially. “Did you not hear me, baby?”
Unable to resist, Liberty unfastened her bra and slipped out of it.
“That’s good, Lib,” Tag said. “I love your tits.”
It appeared he did. His gaze lingered for a long moment, and she could feel her breasts rise, her nipples tighten, as he savored the sight of her. Then, surprising her, he turned away. He went to the built-in drawers, opened one, took something from it, and, whatever it was, shoved it into a back pocket before he returned to her.
He came close to her this time, standing a little to the side. While she watched him do it, he lifted his hand, held it beside her left nipple, and flicked it.
A hard snap, his middle finger caught with his thumb until it released, a rough scrape of his nail.
“Ah.”
He looked into her eyes and did it again. And again. Then there was a pause, and, when he brought his hand back, it was dangling something in front of her.
“I did some shopping in Cheyenne,” he told her. “It occurred to me you might need a little punishment when you got back.”
He held…a nipple clamp. Well, two of them, strung together with a length of chain. They were…a sort of alligator clip, with rubber tips covering what surely were metal teeth and a screw that must be used for…tension control. He held them right in front of her eyes. With his fingers, he peeled back one rubber tip and let her see the teeth. “I guess this deal is removable, for more…bite. What do you think? On or off? Just how much punishment do you deserve?”
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