At least, he didn’t want to think so. But anything might have happened because, when he hopped out of the shower, the bloody clothes he’d dropped on the floor were gone. Even his one boot—the other had been sacrificed in the emergency room—was missing. The only other two things he had with him—his wallet and the bottle of Percocet tablets he’d gotten from the hospital pharmacy in Cheyenne—were sitting on the vanity.
Well, that was what it was. It wasn’t like she didn’t know how he’d spent his day.
He used her brand-new toothbrush, then slung a dry towel around his waist. Outside, the bedroom on the left was obviously the master—hers. But it was clearly what she’d meant, because the light was on there, the king-sized bed was turned down, and a big plate of scrambled eggs doctored up with cheese and diced green chiles sat on the bedside table. There were two forks on the plate.
He liked the room. French doors on the far side were open to the same screened-in porch he’d spotted through the kitchen. A window at another wall was open, too, and so the room felt airy and light. More houseplants added to that feeling, and he was amused by the whimsical touch of a potted tree-sized plant in one corner that was lit with fairy lights.
Setting the crutches on the floor, he sat on the bed. He’d started in on the eggs when Liberty came back and sat next to him. He lifted the plate toward her, not entirely feigning regret. “I guess we’re sharing?”
She smiled. “I used six eggs.”
“And your point is?”
Her look was more direct now. “And half a block of cheese.”
He lifted the plate again in a kind of shrug. “If you must.”
Then she limited herself to just a few bites, and he felt bad. “I was just kidding. Keep going.”
She put her hand on his forearm, moving the plate back. “You weren’t entirely. And, I’m good. Finish up.”
When he had, she took the plate out of the room. When she came back, she had a glass of water and the bottle of pills. Without asking, she poured three of them into her hand, which wasn’t at all what the prescription said, but he liked the way she thought. Still, he lifted a brow.
“You’ll sleep better, and that will help.”
He couldn’t argue. He took pills from her, swallowed them, and downed the water. “Thanks. Thanks for everything, Libby.”
She nodded silently.
“I like your house,” he told her. “I like your room. This is yours, right? You should be in here.”
“Yes,” she said. “You can use the other room if you like. I’ve got twin bunks in there. My niece and nephew sometimes use them. They’re six and eight.”
He loved her tease. “I really like your bed.”
“I thought you would.”
She smiled but didn’t meet his eyes. Reaching for the glass, she turned to go. He took her hand to stop her. “Will you stay with me tonight?” She looked back at him, but the smile was gone. “I’ve had a bad day.”
Liberty nodded slowly. “I’ll come back,” she said in a moment. “I want a shower, too. And I’ll put your clothes in the dryer, so you’ll have something for tomorrow.”
When she was gone, Keegan lay back flat on the bed. He scooted over a bit so there’d be room for her when she came back, but not too far. He meant to close his eyes and rest until she got there, but he found if his eyes closed, his mind filled with visions of Orion’s blood and pale, torn flesh. So he looked at her ceiling, studied the patterns of the fan there, and listened to her move through the house. To the basement, where she turned over the laundry. To the shower—which was short, and he wondered if it was cold. To the bedside.
He couldn’t help, then, taking a peek.
She wore a pale gray cami that had to put in extra time to cover her magnificent breasts, so it was a bit short where it fell to her waist, not quite meeting the darker boy-shorts she wore beneath. He could see her belly button, and he wasn’t surprised that the look of her made his cock rise. It had gotten half a start while she was in the shower and his imagination had run a bit wild.
Even in the state he was in, his cock was going to stand up and take notice.
She turned off the lights and did a dimmer thing with the fairy tree, leaving a nice, soft glow from the corner. Just enough that he’d know where he was if he woke up during the night.
After that, maybe, she was just procrastinating. So he used his right hand to stuff a pillow under his head and kept his arm up there because, well, if that showed off his biceps, who was he to complain? Then, settling his gaze on hers—and he was right, it had wandered to his flexed muscle—he put out his left arm for her.
With just the smallest hesitation, she crawled in. Inside the reach of his arm, so she was tucked up against his side. She put her head on his chest, and, even aside from what his cock was interested in, it was the best feeling ever. He tucked the sheet and light blanket up around her and used both arms to keep her close.
Over the course of a few minutes, though, things changed. He turned, and she did, and his head was burrowed into the soft comfort of her breasts, and her arms were holding him tight.
And her cami was wet because…there were tears.
“A dozen times, I thought he was dead,” he said. His voice wasn’t steady, and yet he kept going. “Tag had to leave us to get help coming. I was alone with him, and he kept leaking blood, no matter how many times I tried binding him up. I used all our shirts—his and Tag’s and mine. Still there was blood. I made him swallow water, sometimes when I couldn’t even tell if he was still breathing, I still put water in his mouth.”
Libby had one hand in his hair, gripping it hard. “You saved him,” she said. “You did everything right. You must have heard Tag say so—he said it to me. You saved him.”
He breathed in from the valley between her breasts, and the scent of her soothed as much as the way she held him, as her words. “I was…terrified. It was…horrible.”
He could feel the movement as she nodded her head.
“I had to look out for the bear, too. I had to help Ry but I had to watch for the bear, too.”
“You did it all,” she murmured. “You kept him safe.”
“I bet you Tag’s going to kill that bear. Probably before he leaves the ranch tomorrow. I bet you. He won’t let that stand.”
Now he felt a little chuckle from her and almost shuddered from the pleasure as she circled her palm softly between his shoulder blades.
“Maybe you think she was just trying to feed her cubs, but no one tries to eat a Harper and gets away with it.”
“I hear you.”
There was definite humor there now, and that made him feel better, too.
He could close his eyes now without seeing the nightmare of his day. “Thanks, Lib,” he said. “I think I’m going to sleep now.”
If she answered, he missed it, because he was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Liberty knew Keegan had been hard when she’d climbed into bed with him the night before. He was when she woke in the morning, too, even though he was still asleep.
He’d fallen off fast and had slept hard. His weight had been heavy on her, and, so, after a while, she’d nudged him over so she could breathe. They’d changed positions a few times during the night, but, always, they held each other.
She was on her side when morning came, and he was tucked up behind her, which made his erection obvious.
Carefully lifting his arm, she slipped away from him and went to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth while she was there and spent a couple minutes on her cell. Orion had been stable overnight, she learned, making small improvements in his vitals. The nurse said they’d been able to wean down the meds used to support his blood pressure.
Liberty knew without a doubt what would happen if she returned to the bed. Still, that was what she did.
His eyes were open, watching her carefully, when she went back. She carried a glass of water, and, up on one elbow, he took that but shook his head at the pa
in pills she offered. When she set the empty glass down, he put out his hand. She put hers in it, and he tumbled her into the bed with him.
They kissed then, softly, sweetly, and it was just exactly right. Because she loved his brother, but she loved him, too, and she wasn’t going to resist anymore. She wore the ring that Tag had commissioned for her, and she knew what it meant. She knew what he wanted, and, even if it was crazy, that was what she wanted, too. She’d spent three weeks denying it, but she couldn’t do it any longer.
She would accept. She knew Keegan needed what was about to happen, and she wanted it, too.
Sweet as he was, Keegan was every bit as commanding a lover as Tag.
As he kissed her, he came over her, one hand holding her shoulder while the other tangled in her hair. He pressed his knee—cast and all—between her thighs. His breathing turned harsher, his kiss more aggressive, and his hand moved to her breast. Over the knit fabric of her cami, he brushed with his thumb until her nipple stood out hard. Then he had it between his thumb and his forefinger knuckle, squeezing, tugging, rolling.
His weight was on her, his mouth, but it seemed all of her attention was focused on what he did to her there. At the exquisite, wildfire, nerve-wracking sensation of his touch at her nipple.
She moaned, and he appeared to appreciate her response. Her responsiveness. He continued what he was doing, seeming to put his full attention on it, lifting up so he could watch what his fingers did to her. So he could watch her.
Liberty opened her eyes to the pleasure of this strong, handsome man over her. To his intent gaze. To his knowing, skillful, erotic work at her nipple. To the shuddering bliss of it as he bent his knee, lifting it up enough that it pressed against her clit.
“Keegan.”
Now it was there, both those places, what he did to her nipple, the way he used his knee to massage her. There and so enticing. So hot. “Liberty.”
“That feels so…so good.”
“I’m going to fuck you hard. I’m going to make you scream.”
“Yes,” she said, shuddering again, flexing her pelvis so his knee came harder just where she needed it. “Please.”
“I love you, Lib.”
“I know, Keeg. I love you, too.”
His gaze had been on hers as he’d spoken, as she’d spoken, and it flared now. He pinched once, especially hard, on her nipple, then bent his head. He put his mouth on her, that same, tortured nipple, and drew her in roughly. He sucked hard and brushed his tongue over her, wetting the fabric, causing it to chafe at her inflamed tissue. He sucked rhythmically, like he was already fucking her.
With a growl he broke away and looked with satisfaction at the damage he’d done. Her shirt was wet over her now, clinging. Likely, the fabric was nearly transparent. Clearly, he liked what he saw.
And then he saw more, because he grabbed her cami, one side and then the other, and tugged it down to bare her breasts. The fabric bunched beneath, holding her tits up. Or maybe they did that on their own, inviting whatever use he wanted to make of them next.
He didn’t take long to decide. Breathing roughly, he looked at her tits. “Fucking gorgeous,” he huffed out, just a second before he took her. He used his mouth, hot and wet, his tongue, and his teeth. Sucking at her, tonguing her, pulling and nipping. Scraping. One side then the other, his free hand, too—more pinching, tugging, squeezing.
“Oh, God.”
She said it, but she thought he did, too. He drove them both to a frenzy, groaning and murmuring, until he moved his hands between her thighs. He pushed aside the fabric that was already wet and shoved his fingers into her.
Liberty arched, lifting her torso up off the bed, offering herself to him. Her tits, so he could ransack them with his mouth, and her cunt, so he could finger-fuck her hard, like she wanted. Like she needed.
Shivering, shaking, she let him have her, felt him plunge deeply into her, until he moved his thumb to her clit and sent her over. She cried out then, almost a scream, rocking and shuddering as she came. He kept her at the peak through several breaths, higher and higher, driving her hard, making her flail and toss her head, leaving her splintered.
* * * *
Hot. And wet. Tight. So fucking tight.
Keegan tore her shorts aside—literally tore them—and shoved his cock into her even as she was still wailing out the last of that wild orgasm.
And it was that—hot, wet, tight—those things and mind-blowingly like…home.
Mercy, he thought. And then he spoke it.
“Mercy. Jesus. Lib.”
She might have been coming back. He was pretty sure that climax had shattered her. Just maybe, by now, by that third or fourth mercy, Liberty was aware that he was inside her. That, without a by-your-leave he’d shoved his cock balls-deep into her.
Bare.
That probably wasn’t all the way good. Well, it felt all the way good, every last fucking inch of it, but—
With an effort she’d probably never appreciate, he held himself back from giving her the trouncing of a fuck his body was urging him to deliver.
“Lib,” he said again.
But she still had her eyes closed, and her head was still wagging back and forth, and, really, a guy couldn’t be held accountable for what happened next, if it was that trouncing deal, could he?
He, for one, didn’t think so. Still, he tried once more. “Lib.”
“What?” she asked, and she sounded a bit irritated. At least, distracted. “What?”
He couldn’t help it. He fucked her once and shuddered with the pleasure of it. No excuse, though, so— “I’m inside you.”
“I can…tell, Keeg.”
He almost laughed. Well, the truth was more that he almost just let go and fucked the hell out of her. But— “No condom.”
“I don’t care.” She rocked under him a little bit, and that was just asking for it.
Who knew what that, “I don’t care,” meant, though?
“Baby, are you on birth control?”
“Yes!” she said, not entirely politely, rocking again.
He nodded and fucked her, because, well, he had to. “I’m clean,” he fit in there, though, somewhere mid-fuck. Kind of, he was, more slamming into her. Hard. Once. And then again. “I haven’t been with any—”
“Me either,” she said in obvious impatience. “Except—”
He kissed her then, because he didn’t really need to hear the name that was about to come out of her mouth. That would certainly be a bit of a buzzkill, no matter what his brother thought they were going to get worked out.
For the moment, Liberty Clark was his woman, and he was about to fuck his woman’s brains out. And, very likely, his own.
So he lifted up to haul in a breath and slammed into her again. He took her hands, twining his fingers with hers, holding her hard. He felt the ring on her left hand, those three diamonds in a field of green. No mystery what Tag had meant by that design. He pressed hard so it bit into his fingers and maybe hers, too.
He held her hands and tucked his head down beside hers, and slammed. Into her. Hard. Again and again. Then fast, and faster. Pumping hard, still slamming.
She cried out, but he couldn’t stop.
He didn’t stop until she screamed. She screamed and her cunt spasmed around him because she was coming. And he came, too, slamming and pumping and coming, coming.
Hard.
* * * *
Keegan moved off of her, more powerful and agile than a man with a cast on one leg ought to have been.
He kept her hand in his. Her left hand.
Liberty had been aware of what he was doing when he’d taken her hands, when he’d been fucking her so hard. Like he’d needed it so much, been driven so urgently. Like she’d never been fucked before.
He’d taken her hands, and his fingers had found that ring on her left and had crushed down over it. He was…confirming the statement Tag had made with the ring. That she belonged to Tag and his brothers. That Tag w
asn’t alone in believing it, in placing the claim.
Keegan was there, too.
He held her hand, the ring biting into her, and made his possession of her as plain as day.
He wasn’t letting go, either, with the hand that had gone to the top of her head, holding her in place against the force of his thrusts that had driven her up the bed. That hand was still there, too, tangled in her hair now, fingers still grasping as though they hadn’t gotten the signal that the storm was over.
Liberty turned her head to face him, and he looked back at her intently, his breath—and hers—just barely settling. Those gray eyes watched her, and she read a challenge in them. Not an apology. Not asking if she was okay, if he’d been too rough.
Sweet Keegan. Youngest brother. Writer. Part-dreamer. Storm lover.
He didn’t speak, didn’t gentle his hands on her. Liberty understood her only option was to accept. If she wanted him, these were the terms. He might have a gentle soul, a gentle heart. But his body would love her hard. Like a warrior.
She took stock, identifying the spots that still felt the sting of his use. Her scalp, where he’d taken such harsh hold of her. Her tits, where he’d worked her so hard. Her pussy, where he’d thrashed into her with near bruising force.
Her heart.
Liberty wouldn’t lie to herself, or to him, either. She’d tumbled into love with him during their night in Salt Lake, when he’d been sweet and romantic and taken so much pleasure in their shared interests.
However unexpected his powerful lovemaking had been, it hadn’t led to just a little more of that tumble. It had been—
Utter collapse.
Like a landslide. An earthquake. A tsunami.
She looked back at him and felt the rough brush of his fingers on her scalp, the bite of the ring pressed into her finger.
She looked back at him and accepted.
* * * *
Keegan watched her pick up the gauntlet he’d thrown down. He’d been pretty sure she’d do it, though he’d probably have been holding his breath while she’d worked it through, if he could have.
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