Shades of Grey

by Sam Crescent

  Sarah French was not a stupid woman, and if Clark James came sniffing around, she would be putting a hole through a part of him—and it wouldn’t be anywhere near his foot. Any man—except the man she wanted—would be on the end of one of her handguns.

  Fucking losers, all of them.

  She flicked the lock then went round to all the windows in the room, making sure they were locked as well. Nothing like protection. If Clark tried to get in, she’d make sure she was on high alert before he even made it into the house.

  She wouldn’t lie. She liked having Travis with her. She somehow knew Travis would protect her against the other man—even though he was a complete stranger in many ways and she didn’t know why she felt the way she did.

  Sarah was independent and refused to rely on a man, but she wasn’t a fool. For as much as she was prepared and could handle herself, there was no arguing the fact that Clark James was still stronger than her and would be able to overpower her easily. When she gave herself to a man, it would be her decision and no one else would make that decision for her.

  Whom she slept with was the final control she had over her life, and she was determined to keep it that way.

  Turning the light out, she had Travis follow her as she checked every remaining window and door on the way up. She opened the spare bedroom, which she always kept made up. Her dad had always kept a spare room, and it would seem it was something he’d passed on to her. Not that Sarah had expected any late-night visitors. No one but a few really close friends ever visited her on the ranch.

  “I know it’s small but it’s comfortable. I’m just across the hall, so give me a shout if you feel like death is calling,” she told him, checking the windows and looking out at the dark, stormy night. A chill went through her. She massaged her shoulder. Was the storm a sign of terrible things to come?

  Her daddy had always said a storm was a sign of change. The last time there had been a storm this bad, her daddy had been admitted into the hospital and he’d come out in a box. This ferocious storm, what did it mean?

  Sarah cursed her own wayward imagination and the stories she’d read over the years and smiled, wishing Travis a good night before shutting his door and going to her own room.

  She took some time to tidy a little, then went to the window to check the lock. Her breath caught in her throat. She was sure she saw something moving below. She leaned against the pane and looked at the same spot. Was that a wolf? A flash of lightning and the form was gone. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, Sarah closed the curtain and climbed into bed before turning out the light.

  She lay staring into the darkness, bringing the blanket more firmly around her. Sleep evaded her for a little while, and it allowed her mind to wander to the man across the hall. Not able to get comfortable she turned over to face the curtain on the other side of the room and watched the lightning, listening to the thunder that followed. Thunder and lightning was a partnership. You couldn’t have one without the other. One day she wanted a partnership, to be able to rely on someone the way lightning relied on thunder.

  She was way too tired, thinking about relationships with regards to the weather. Sarah rolled over away from the curtain-covered window and gazed at the door. She stared straight ahead, and her thoughts returned to the nude man who’d appeared on her doorstep this evening naked as the day he was born. The quick glimpse she’d got of his cock told her more than his tight jeans how long and thick he was. She allowed herself to wonder what he would feel like pushing his large shaft between her legs. Sarah tried to muffle the sound of her moan in the pillow, closing her eyes as a wave of sexual heat invaded her body. Her pussy grew wet from the image of his cock filling her in the most primal way. He’d be rough and hard. His arms said it all—big and powerful.

  With a hand pressed against her damp mound, she closed her eyes, bringing the fantasy to light. In this, the privacy of her own room, she could embrace her wicked thoughts. She moved her hand past her panties, slipped a finger into her wet heat, and stroked her clit as she thought of Travis and his thick cock. She imagined he would take her to the floor to have his way with her, settling between her legs and, without any preliminaries, thrusting all the way into her. She let another moan escape into the pillow then gasped. With a few strokes along her bud she quietly cried out her climax, the sound muffled only slightly by the pillow.

  She came down from her peak slowly, panting as her pussy pulsed with each sensation.

  Embarrassed by how quickly she’d come, Sarah blushed. Her eyes began to droop, and her last solid thought before the darkness of sleep claimed her was I hope he doesn’t have great hearing.

  Chapter Three

  Travis had barely waited for enough time to pass for Sarah to fall asleep before he crept downstairs. In the kitchen earlier, he could have sworn he’d heard someone outside, even though the thunder raged. Anxious that Clark had returned, he’d been on tenterhooks right up until Sarah had closed her bedroom door. He’d watched her nightly ritual, saw how she checked for security, but a locked door or window couldn’t keep a man out if he had a mission in mind.

  Especially an asshole like Clark.

  He’d found the back door key and, after stripping naked and letting himself out, relocked it so Sarah was safe. Or as safe as she could be while he was prowling the night. He hid the key beneath a heavy rock then shifted, telling himself if she got up and found his pile of clothes he’d say he hadn’t wanted to get them wet while double-checking that the man who’d shot him hadn’t come back. Whether she believed him or not was another matter—she’d definitely think he had a nude fetish or some other damn quirk—but he’d deal with that if and when the time came.

  Determined to find the source of the noises he’d heard, Travis plodded the perimeter of the house, coming full circle when nothing untoward occurred.

  Maybe he’d imagined them. They’d sounded like shuffles, perhaps someone walking on the gravelled path out back. He’d glanced out of the window at the time but had seen no one out there. Not that he would have. The lights in the kitchen had made the glass nearly impenetrable—all he’d seen was a reflection of himself standing behind Sarah, pinning her against the kitchen counter. Had he gone too far by doing that? She’d sure spun on him, eyes flashing, and the shove she’d given him had proved she wasn’t too pleased at having him so close.

  I’ve got no chance with her. No damn chance at all.

  He hadn’t been able to help himself, though. The shuffling sound had had him on his feet and behind her within seconds, his need to protect her fierce, and he’d silently thanked God he’d had the excuse to catch that cup. If he’d tried to explain about his speed and suspicions, she might not have believed him. Claiming he had sensitive hearing—so sensitive he could hear despite thunder—was a lame-assed excuse.

  But telling her I’m a wolf sounds lamer.

  Now, he stared into the night. Rain lashed down, bouncing off the ground then back up again, making it difficult for him to see properly. Damn the weather! He couldn’t scent anything other than the stench of wet earth, grass, and his soaking grey pelt. Clark had sneaked up on him before, and who was to say that bastard wouldn’t do it again?

  Deciding he was better off indoors where he could keep an eye on Sarah, he shifted again—no pain, thank fuck—and retrieved his clothes and the key. He let himself in, careful to secure the door quietly and replace the key where he’d found it. Chilled from the rain on his skin, he grabbed a dishcloth and dried himself as best he could before redressing. He smiled at the thought of Clark outside, looking in to find Travis naked. Would that be enough to warn the son of a bitch off? Him thinking Sarah was Travis’ woman?

  I fucking doubt it, the pig-headed motherfucker.

  Finally warmer, he turned off the lights and moved to the window, standing to the side with his back against the wall. He peered out, squinting to see any discernible movement through the rain. Those trees…they looked hellish freaky from here, what with the clouds having
gained a deeper hue, sitting behind them like hulking monsters. He shuddered. Unusual, because normally nothing fazed him. Was it because Sarah was upstairs? Upstairs and vulnerable?

  He was wasting his time in more ways than one. Clark wasn’t out there, and Sarah didn’t want to know Travis in any way other than an employer/employee relationship. It sucked, but, shit, he’d have to get over it. No way would he force his attentions on a woman, no matter how much he wanted her.

  With his teeth clenched, fists too, he crept upstairs, wincing as a floorboard on the landing squeaked. He’d hate to wake her. She worked so hard—as hard as any of the men. No one could accuse her of not doing her fair share. Unable to resist, he paused outside her door, keen to seek out the sound of her breathing. It was barely audible but there. The thunder had calmed, a rumble that told him the storm was passing and somewhere off to the west.

  Satisfied she was safe, he went into her spare room and sat on the bed. It was a painful reminder of how alone he was. A single bed for a single man. He thought of Sarah in her double, sprawled out on the white sheets, her black hair splayed over the pillows. Shit, he’d give anything to touch it, to draw it across his palm before curling his hand into a fist around it. Something told him she’d be quite the firecracker when aroused, yet at the same time he thought she’d like it soft and gentle, a strong man’s arms around her, holding him to her chest. Yeah, she gave off vibes twenty-four-seven that she was some strong broad who could look after herself, but he sensed it was all a façade. Not that she wasn’t really strong. No, he knew she was that all right, but there was a part of everyone that made a body crave tender affection, wasn’t there?

  Sighing, he flung himself backward and tucked his hands behind his head. Stared at the yellowed ceiling in the light of a low-wattage bulb glowing from the small bedside lamp. Thought about the snippets of conversation he’d heard this past year.

  When her father was alive, the old man had run the ranch and obviously hadn’t had much time or energy for the upkeep of the house. It could do with a lick of paint, and he’d noticed the other day while giving the stud, Sholah, a good workout around the paddock that some roof tiles were on the verge of sliding off. He’d offer to fix the house up for her, but Sarah and her stubborn pride probably wouldn’t allow it. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place here, wanting to be more than just the newest man on the block. If he was only her employee, he’d have no trouble asking if she wanted a hand, but with the feelings he had for her raging inside him… No fucking chance.

  He closed his eyes, remembering the most recent snippet when he’d stood in line at the mini-mart.

  “Tonight. It’s gonna be tonight. Can’t wait for her no longer. That bitch is gonna suck my cock and suck it good.” Clark, that no-good bastard Clark.

  Travis had turned to see where the man was, spotting him with Rodney Dukes, another low-life piece of scum, all long, greasy brown hair and unkempt beard. He was a different kettle of fish from Clark, with his neat, short black crop and a face free of beard growth. What the hell those two had in common Travis didn’t know. They were eyeing the alcohol, Clark fingering a large bottle of scotch then gripping the neck in his fist.

  “I’ll have a few swigs of this shit and go visit her place. If she doesn’t take me up on the offer of giving me pleasure, I’ll just have to take it for myself.”

  Travis had fumed, wanting to beat the crap out of them right there and then, but had decided against it. Better to face Clark on his own.

  And look how that turned out.

  Restless and annoyed with himself for losing focus and having Clark shoot at him, Travis got off the bed and paced. If he got any sleep tonight it would be a miracle. He wanted to stay alert because of Clark, but the scents in this house—the aroma of the sleeping Sarah filtering under that damn door—were driving him insane.

  He wanted her. Wanted to take her hard and fast then make love to her again, slowly, showing her how a real man should treat a lady, tending to her needs before his own. The seemingly impenetrable wall she’d built around herself wouldn’t do her any favours if she was looking for a man. But who said she was? She’d given no indication that she was interested in anyone—anyone at all.

  “Fuck!” he whispered, turning to stare at the door.

  Before he could stop himself, he opened the door and stood on the threshold, his inner voice telling him to go back into his room but his heart making him step on to the landing. He stood, raking a hand through his hair, lifting the other to his mouth, and he silently rebuked himself. What the fuck was he doing standing out here? What good would it do? Sarah was asleep, and if she wasn’t and knew he was out here, she’d more than likely yank the door open and urge him back to bed with the business end of a gun poking him in the chest.

  I just want…

  He followed his instincts, ignoring the screams inside him to take his hand off the door knob and stop turning the fucking thing. To stop pushing the door open and peering inside, seeing her on the bed just as he’d imagined earlier, illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp on her dresser. Hair spread out, her body covered—all except one leg thrown casually over the covers, delicate toes topped with shell-pink polish.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  His cock stirred—the last thing he needed. If she woke and caught him in her doorway with a raging hard-on, he’d be out of her house and a job faster than he could try to explain his intentions. He wasn’t here to spy on her or get his rocks off.

  He just wanted to see if she was all right.

  Then go back to bed. She’s fine.

  But he didn’t want to. Fuck no. He could stand here all night, watching her sleep, taking in the way a light film of moisture sat above her full, bowed top lip. How the hair at her temples was slightly damp. She was hot, then.

  Yeah, she’s hot all right.

  Fuck it!

  He turned, closed the door quietly, and returned to his room. Sat on the bed with his hands dangling between his open legs. Cursed himself a blue streak for falling so hard for a woman he couldn’t have. Was that the attraction? Wanting her because she didn’t want him? Thinking he could win her over by being the opposite of all the other men, treating her right and refraining from giving her lecherous looks? He’d done that and still had got nowhere. Maybe she thought he just wasn’t interested. If she’d have looked a little closer at him after she’d covered him with that blanket in her kitchen, she’d have seen the evidence of how much he wanted her. God, his cock had throbbed…until she’d stuck that needle in his foot and done a bang-up job of closing his wound. All amorous intentions had fled, leaving him with sore gums from gritting his teeth and sweat dribbling down his face.

  He glanced at his bandaged toes, knowing when he pushed that foot into his heavy work boot in the morning it would hurt like a bitch with the temper of a demon. His shift earlier hadn’t healed the damn thing, and he didn’t understand why. Still, work tomorrow he would. No way was he going to give Clark the satisfaction of seeing him limp.

  Travis gave in, getting under the covers and closing his eyes. He resisted the urge to palm his cock and jerk off—he wasn’t having Sarah think he was a pervert for sullying these clothes. Sleep was a long time coming, but come it did. It claimed him almost without his notice.

  * * * *

  A sharp scream had Travis sitting upright, his heart pumping wildly.

  What the fuck?

  It took a second for him to recall where he was and why. Then he was out of the bed and that room, flinging open Sarah’s bedroom door. She wasn’t there, though her bedclothes were ruffled from where she’d slept. A loud sob came from downstairs, and he streaked along the landing, descending the flight in jumps, anger growing hotter with every leap. Adrenaline ploughed through him, and he ran faster, zipping into the kitchen.

  Sarah stood in her nightshirt with a coffee pot in one hand, as though she’d turned from the sink half asleep to find the mess her kitchen had become. Whoever had done this h
ad left the back door open. It swung from the wind blowing in, the net curtains billowing.

  It was a clever bastard to have wreaked such havoc without Travis hearing him. What sort of jerk broke in and trashed a room without a sound?

  Someone with intent to frighten—he’d bet his last, hard-earned cent on it.

  He rushed to Sarah’s side, avoiding smashed eggs on the floor, crushing her to him, ignoring her strangled protests and shoves to be set free. A muscle worked in his jaw, and a tic flickered beneath one eye. If he wasn’t careful, he’d shift. Fuck if he could risk that now. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stroked her hair, hating the fact that he could only be doing so now in circumstances he’d rather not entertain.

  “Stay there,” he said, stalking over to the back door and closing it. He stared out at the grounds, grey in the just-dawn light, and saw nothing that could raise his hackles. Locking up as best he could with broken bolts, he strode out of the kitchen, searching the living room and coming up empty.

  “Follow me,” he called, waiting for her to join him in the hallway. “I need to check upstairs, but I don’t want to leave you down here alone. When we get up there, go in your room and lock the door.”

  She nodded, still holding that damn coffee pot, her eyes wide, great pools of fright before she composed herself, shutting weakness out and replacing it with her usual mettle. Those eyes went blank then, slates of hardness, and his heart went out to her. He wanted to hold her again, let her know everything would be all right—but not until he’d made sure this house was safe.

  He jerked his head towards the stairs, and she followed him up, waiting on the landing while he checked her room. Giving it the all-clear, he allowed her to go inside, and she stepped in, closing the door. He waited for the lock to meet its keeper then inspected the other rooms, finding nothing but furniture shapes in the shadowy gloom.