Her arch nemesis won, and she stumbled out of bed to go to the bathroom. The house was cloaked in shadows since the sun had just started to chase the night away. She used the bathroom and splashed water on her face. As she left the bathroom, she heard a noise from Boyd’s room.
Claire needed to ignore it and go get ready. Yes, he was a nice person, but she wasn’t interested in a man right now. No matter how spectacular his body was. Then the noise came again.
She closed her eyes and tried again to resist. The door to his room was open about three inches, and from where she stood, if she turned her head, she would see in.
Another noise, this one was definitely a groan. A pleasure groan. A sexual groan. Her body flushed with heat, unexpected and unwanted.
Walk away, Claire.
She stood there, frozen with indecision. Boyd’s breath hissed, and he moaned. A tingling began in her lower belly. She’d forgotten how raw arousal tasted. The last six months with Richard had been too filled with stress and arguments. When they were intimate, it had been angry sex, which scratched an itch but little else.
Claire turned and peered into the open door. Boyd was naked on top of what appeared to be twisted covers. The cool blue light of dawn from the window bathed his beautiful form as he held his engorged cock.
His erection was as beautiful as the rest of him. He squeezed and tugged, and her body swayed toward him with each movement. Her panties grew wet and her nipples hardened to aching peaks. Jesus please us, she’d never seen a man masturbate before.
It was the most erotic moment of her life.
There was no sound except for her heartbeat pounding through her ears and Boyd’s delicious sounds. She wished she could see his face, but given the small window of view, she could only see his pelvis and part of his torso. An important part to see.
Walk away, Claire.
She couldn’t. Instead her hand crept down into her panties and she pressed her palm against her throbbing clit. She was wetter than she’d ever been, and this from watching a man. It was insane, but she couldn’t look away from him.
He thrust up, as though he was fucking the air. She felt the push of it in her pussy and somehow her fingers made it true. Her thumb landed on her clit while she fucked herself in tune with Boyd. She wanted to walk in there and climb on him, filling her empty body with his cock. Claire wasn’t someone who engaged in casual sex, but she was no longer who she thought she was.
Now she was a woman who played herself while peeping at a masturbating man. Ye gods, he was amazing.
The orgasm built somewhere near her feet and swept through her so fast, she didn’t have time to step back, to control her reaction. She groaned and stumbled backward.
“Claire?” Boyd called out.
She returned to the bathroom and shut the door with shaking hands. Her body thrummed from the powerful release. She washed her hands and used a washcloth to clean her heated pussy. What must he think of her? Did he know she was watching him?
Her cheeks burned as she left the bathroom and made a beeline to her bedroom. It had been only one day at the Peach Bellini and she’d already fallen down the hole of the unknown. She needed to find control, or she’d never come back to life again.
Chapter Three
‡
The bright sunshine and clear blue skies of a gorgeous summer day greeted Claire as she stepped out of the back door of the Peach Bellini. The heat of the day was a promise as the dew was only burning off the green grass of the yard.
She headed toward the horse barn with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. It wasn’t the horses’ fault, she simply wasn’t sure how to talk to Boyd. Somehow, she’d opened up to him last night, and it made her uncomfortable. Then there was the fact she’d watched him in a very private moment. She was nervous. He was a stranger, a man she barely knew. And didn’t want to know, or at least she didn’t think she did. The bed and breakfast was a temporary stepping-stone, and she had to stay on the surface.
Claire couldn’t get too deep or she might go under.
Today, she’d worn a pair of rubber boots Pearl had insisted she take. Grateful, Claire had donned them, surprised to find they had nearly the same shoe size. She’d put her hair up in a ponytail, ready for some hard work. It had been a while since she’d done honest labor like mucking stalls. She had popped some ibuprofen in anticipation of sore muscles.
She stepped into the barn and was surrounded by familiar scents. For just a moment, she felt like she was home and not like an interloper crashing on a friend’s couch. The nickering of a nearby horse brought a genuine smile to her face. There was something about the majestic creatures that gave her a measure of peace.
“Good morning.” Boyd appeared from the back of the barn, carrying a pitchfork. His smile was one of warmth and welcome, and unbelievably, it dispelled much of her lingering anxiety. Perhaps he didn’t know she’d watched him, which was a relief.
“Reporting for duty.” She ran her damp palms down her jean capris. “I even wore Pearl’s ridiculous ladybug boots.”
“Fetching ensemble.” He leaned the pitchfork against the nearest wall. “We’ll bring the horses out one at a time so you can meet them. While they’re in the pasture, I usually clean their stalls and put down fresh hay.”
“They get enough roughage in the pasture?” She remembered long, hot summers where she had to make sure to feed her horses extra hay because the grass had been brown and scorched.
“Plenty. That grass is jungle thick.” He opened the first stall and led a gorgeous quarter horse out. She had a white blaze down the center of her horse like an arrow, wider at her nostrils. “This is Penny. She’s our oldest at fourteen, and sweet as honey.”
Claire smiled so widely, her cheeks hurt. Penny was wonderful, and she immediately welcomed some affectionate pats, scratches, and nuzzling. “She’s amazing.”
Boyd patted Penny’s neck. “That she is. Let me get her sister, and we can take them out together.”
He retrieved another quarter horse. This one had somber brown eyes and a white spot between her eyes. “This is Jasmine. She’s a bit shyer, but she’s a gentle ride.”
Claire spent another couple minutes letting Jasmine get her scent before the mare pushed her head into Claire’s side. “She’s lovely.” The smell of horse and the coarse hair beneath her hands was a balm to her soul.
They led the two mares out to the rich pasture, and the horses ambled away, chomping at the sweet breakfast, the sun sliding over their beautiful, muscled forms.
“Let’s go meet Mocha and Cinnamon.”
Claire followed Boyd back into the barn, where he brought out another mare. “This is Mocha. She’s the most spirited mount. She’s never hurt anyone, but only someone with experience should ride her.”
Mocha was a deep color, almost a wine, with a sable mane. She danced a little sideways when she spotted Claire.
“Hello, girl.” She stood to the side and let the horse look at her for a minute, while she postured a bit for the strange woman in her barn. “Are you going to let me give you a treat?”
She pulled out the handful of baby carrots she’d tucked in her pocket. Mocha sniffed at her and then gobbled up the carrots from Claire’s hand.
“Bribery works.” Boyd grinned and turned to the last stall. The fourth horse was the color of cinnamon, thus the moniker. She was a pretty horse with a lively step and an eager disposition. “Cinnamon is our youngest at twelve, and is by far our happiest horse.”
All four horses meandered the pasture together, and Claire watched them for a few minutes. The sight of horses wasn’t something she expected to find in Atlanta. Once again, the Peach Bellini had brought her exactly what she needed, whether she knew what that was or not.
“As much as I know you’re enjoying watching them, there’s work to be done.” Boyd handed her the pitchfork. “Time to shovel the shit.”
Claire hadn’t been a pampered girl in her life. She’d done her fair share of chore
s on the ranch, including mucking stalls. However, since she’d started working as a marketing copy editor, she had spent a good deal of time behind a desk and on a laptop. For more than three years.
Now she remembered every second of how little work she’d done. Oh, she’d gone to the gym and used the treadmill, but nothing more than that. After five minutes of mucking, sweat rolled down her back to puddle at her waist. The gloves she wore were too large and chafed her hands, which she was certain would leave marvelous blisters for her to endure for days.
After fifteen minutes, she wondered if she would ever be able to straighten her back. Boyd hadn’t come back to check on her and she didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved. He’d been nothing but kind, but he made all her instincts stand at attention, ready to flee. Except, of course, for her attraction to the man lingered after this morning’s incident.
After thirty minutes, her arms grew numb, and she decided she wasn’t going to able to raise them tomorrow. A hot bath wouldn’t even scratch the surface of the amount of pain she would be in. Her muscles stopped weeping and whimpered instead.
Somehow she managed to take out four wheelbarrows of horse shit and then spread fresh hay for each of the mares. She glanced at her watch, shocked to see it was ten o’clock. Only two hours had passed? Claire was certain an entire twelve hours had passed since she took the pitchfork from Boyd’s hand.
Her hands trembled as she hung the pitchfork on the wall and returned the wheelbarrow to its designated spot. What she craved was a shower and a nap, but she needed to check on the horses and, later on, return them to their stalls. Before that, she had to head to the kitchen to help Pearl with lunch.
As she walked out to the pasture, she spotted a green note taped to the door.
Claire,
There’s a well pump to the right of the barn. The cool water comes from way down deep so it’s usually cold, which helps with sore hands. I also left some ointment on the counter in the kitchen in the cottage, which helps, too.
B
She closed her eyes against the sting. He’d been so kind to her and for nothing in return, as had Pearl and Manny. Claire didn’t know how much she needed these kind of people until they appeared in her life. She’d spent the last three years around cutthroat marketing and advertising people who would sell their mother for a big account.
She wondered what other mistakes she’d made that landed her where she was. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the well pump. There was no time to wallow in self-pity.
*
Boyd slipped off his boots and left them on the mat beside the back door before entering the cottage. The red clay on the edge of the property had gotten wet from yet another sprinkler disaster, and his boots were caked with it. He knew first hand they would stain everything they touched. Better to let them dry and knock it off in the morning.
He closed the door and sent a silent thank you to the man who invented air conditioning. The cool air poured from the vents, welcoming him home out of the thick, humid Atlanta afternoon. He was blessed that Pearl and Manny had installed central air a few years ago.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The curses streamed from the living room. The dulcet tones of his unusual roommate were rife with what he thought was pain and annoyance.
He didn’t want to startle her, especially considering the amount of cussing going on. “Hi, Claire!” he called and stomped a bit as he walked down the hallway.
Silence for a moment. “Hi, Boyd.”
It was four in the afternoon, and she was no doubt about to head to the kitchen to work on supper. He’d checked on the horses and found she’d done fine work, including filling their water trough within the last half hour.
“I came to get a shower in since I had so much mud on me.” He walked into the living room and found her on the couch, a semi-circle of first-aid supplies around her shapely form. “Are you okay?”
“Blisters.” She scowled at her hands.
“Let me help.” He noted the ointment he’d left for her in the tin, unopened. He pointed at it. “This stuff is like magic. It’s made by an elderly man down the road using herbs and plants from his garden.”
Boyd opened the tin and the scent of the concoction wafted up. She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, that’s why I didn’t use it. Even unopened, it smells like old dirt.”
“I know it doesn’t smell good, but it will help. I promise.” When he took her hand, he was shocked by the softness of her skin. Softer than the petals of a rose, but streaked with angry blisters and marks. “You’re a badass. I never would have expected it.”
She eyed him. “Why not?”
“You seem like a city girl, and I thought for sure you’d give up after fifteen minutes of shoveling shit.” He grinned at her. “But you hung in there and did a damn good job. Badass.”
She gave him a small smile. “It was about five minutes in when I wanted to quit.”
He laughed. “But you didn’t. Nice job, city girl.” He spread the ointment on the blisters. They’d all broken open, which was good.
She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Shit, that hurts.”
“Give it a few minutes.” He blew on the angry skin and waited for her to remember he was holding her hand. She appeared too caught up in the discomfort to notice.
“I’m not a city girl,” she blurted. “I grew up on a ranch. I told you I rode a horse before I could walk. My calluses have worn off since I left to be in marketing and sit behind a desk.”
“You have no Texas twang,” he observed. “Did you shed that like you shed your calluses?”
She sighed. “Apparently so.” This time when she looked at him, he saw shadows lurking in her beautiful eyes. “Sometimes you get caught up in a wave and you can only keep swimming or drown.”
He had the ridiculous urge to hug her, although if he had a feeling she would kick him in the balls if he tried. “That’s how I felt when I left the firm I was working for. Like no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t keep my head above water.”
Her gaze settled somewhere behind him, to a place only she knew. He finished the first aid by wrapping her hands in a light gaze.
“Take ibuprofen. Wear a pair of neoprene gloves when you cook tonight. Try to keep the blisters dry, and we’ll put on more ointment tonight before you go to bed.” He closed the tin and cleaned up the rest of the first aid supplies. Claire sat there staring at her bandaged hands. “I’m, uh, gonna go take a shower.”
Boyd rose and started to leave the room when she spoke.
“Thank you.” Her voice was husky. “I grew up around kindness and genuine people. I think I forgot what it was like to have someone help you for no other reason than to be a good person.”
“I’m happy to break your streak then.” He stood, unsure of whether he should stay or go.
“I was supposed to make my mark in the world and be a success without the name Blackwood lifting me up. I followed the plan, and it was a damn good plan. Every detail was laid out. I forgot nothing.” She held up both hands. “There was nothing I hadn’t thought of.”
Boyd had no idea what she was talking about but he knew it was important to listen. “Except?”
She groaned. “Except I didn’t plan on my fiancé leaving me at the altar.”
Whatever he expected her to say, this wasn’t it. “What an idiot.”
“I already know I was.”
He sat back down beside her and looked into her beautiful brown eyes. “Not you, your ex-fiancé is an idiot.”
She barked a laugh. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“You’re pretty, smart, hard-working, and you’re good people. That idiot lost a treasure.” He didn’t know what was going to come out of his mouth sometimes. This surprised even him. It wasn’t as though he was courting her.
At least maybe he wasn’t.
“You know I think you mean that.” She got to her feet and groaned. “I need more ibuprofen, and maybe a cheesecake.”
&nbs
p; He wanted to know more about this fiancé and more about her story. Claire had started to open up to him. Boyd had always been drawn to women who were hurting or needed help. In this case, she was a prickly, stubborn woman who seemed to only tolerate his presence.
Perhaps he could change her mind, even if he wasn’t sure why he wanted to.
*
The next week at the Peach Bellini passed quickly. After a few days of pain and soreness, Claire’s muscles had adjusted to the extra work, and her blisters had healed. She’d kept her distance from Boyd, especially peeping into his bedroom. He was friendly and helpful, and she was distant and secretive.
Claire closed the door on Cinnamon’s stall after brushing her down. It was her last chore for the day. In the waning daylight, shadows had thickened, creating shapes in the corners. The sconces on the wall shed yellow light across the hay littered floor. The gentle sounds of the horses filled the air. She put Cinnamon in her stall and then sat on a bale of hay.
She was exhausted and should have gone to bed. Yet she was restless and couldn’t relax. Perhaps it was because she’d let some of her sob story out to Boyd a week earlier and it bothered her that he knew she was broken. He’d caught her at a low moment, when she was in pain, and his gentle touch had called to her. Made her weak and blabby.
Claire prided herself on self-control and organization. She’d shown neither of those things for two weeks. Not since Richard had decided he didn’t want to marry her. The pain that had stolen her breath had lessened to an ache. She pressed her fist to her chest and wandered toward Penny’s stall.
Controlling each aspect of her life was how Claire had survived. Without that level of control, she floundered and fought against circumstances. The last two weeks since the failed wedding had crippled her internal compass. She had no purpose, no to-do list, no anchor to hold her in place lest she blow away.
The mare greeted her with a nicker and accepted some scratches with a sweet nudge of her head. This simple interaction with a genuine creature like Penny was exactly what Claire needed. The world was full of complications, which fed her thirst for control. There was no need for that when she was alone with a horse who only wanted affection.
Hurricane Bride Page 3
