Within moments, she cried aloud, convulsing around him as his thumb continued circling her clit.
When her pleasure faded, Tor turned them over, settling them on the blanket without ever sliding out of her. Then he began pumping in and out of her. Leta ran her hands down his back and clutched his muscular ass, pulling him even deeper into her.
As he began to throb inside her, burying himself as far in her as he could, Leta came again, pulsing in time to Tor's own orgasm, until they were wrapped in and around each other, and she was holding him tighter than she had ever held anyone before.
Tighter than I ever wanted to hold anyone else. Ever.
SHE TUCKED HER HEAD under his chin and stretched her body alongside his. Tor reached over her and pulled the quilt up so it folded over her.
"Mmm. I could sleep out here," she murmured.
His laugh rumbled under her cheek and his arms tightened around her. "Let's go home," he said. He sat up, and without bothering to dress, shoved his feet into his boots.
Leta sat up and pulled her knees to her chest as she watched him.
"Hold these," Tor said, piling the wine glasses, bottle, and all their clothes onto her. With a laugh, she wrapped her arms around everything.
Without any other warning, he scooped her up in his arms and strode back toward the bunkhouse.
Leta burst out laughing. "What if someone sees us?" she asked.
Funny how that hadn't occurred to her before.
"Who?"
"Oh, I don't know. Your boss, maybe?"
"I'm not worried."
Chapter 8
By the time she woke up the next morning, Tor had already left for his work day. Once she had a cup of coffee in hand, she moved to one of the rough-hewn rocking chairs on the wraparound porch, gently pushing herself back and forth as she gazed out across the land stretching away from her, golden-tinged in the morning sun.
I should see if he'll take me riding with him during his work day one day before I leave and show me what he really does all day long.
Before she left.
That was something she was going to have to address with him soon. She didn't regret having sex with Tor the night before, even if the logical part of her brain knew it had been a foolish thing to do, especially after everything that happened with Brent.
But at least she was pretty sure Tor wasn't married. She had seen the other ranch hands in the distance over the last several days, going about their daily tasks. If Tor were married, surely he would choose to live in town, like the other hands.
Not that there weren't other issues. After all, Leta's vacation was almost over. Soon enough, she'd have to head back to work—back to her everyday life in Dallas.
And even if her time here hadn't been coming to an end anyway, her ankle was almost well enough for her to drive back to Dallas. It would be ridiculous to stay on someone else's ranch simply because she was tempted by a sexy cowboy who worked there.
No, she told herself. Time to grow up. Go home and deal with the mess you left behind when you ran away from Brent.
But not quite yet.
She would spend one more day here, pretending it was someplace she could stay.
And one more night, too.
A shiver ran up her back at the thought.
Necessity isn't that far from Dallas. Not too far for an occasional weekend trip.
Was she seriously considering a long-distance relationship with a barely verbal ranch-hand from Necessity, Texas?
The memory of his fingertips, hot against her skin in the cool night breeze, seemed to graze along her spine again
Apparently I am.
A secretive smile played around her lips.
She rolled her ankle around from side to side. It was definitely getting better, and even with the wide-open vistas stretching out on every side of her, Leta was beginning to feel more than a little claustrophobic.
Maybe I could explore a little while Tor's working—as long as I stay close to the bunkhouse, it should be okay.
She had asked the other day which of the various outbuildings visible from the porch housed animals. Now, of course, she couldn't remember. He had said, "Storage," and waved to encompass most of the buildings. At least one of them held horses. When he'd pointed at a final one and said, "Goats," Leta had laughed aloud and clapped her hands, and Tor shook his head, his dimple coming out in full force.
"Goats," Leta muttered to herself. Surely that would be relatively unthreatening.
Now if only she could remember which building.
Some of the buildings had clearly been small houses at one time. The goats' house wasn't one of those. It had definitely been one of the barn-looking ones.
After rinsing out her cup and wrapping her ankle securely, she set off toward the most likely looking home for goats.
The closer she got, the less likely it seemed. The building itself was in good shape, but the grass around it had grown up in a way that Leta suspected goats might not be likely to allow.
Still, I can only see the back of it. Maybe the front is all clipped down. Chomped down. Whatever.
It wasn't. But having come this far, Leta felt foolish simply turning around. The large double door wasn't locked, even though it was latched shut.
This is rude, Leta, she told herself, even as she flipped the metal latch back As she pulled the doors open, a shaft of light shot into the barn, reflecting off metal.
She hadn't expected the barn floor to be cement, but the smell of oil wafted out to her as she pushed the doors all the way back to reveal a small, white, four-seater airplane.
"Oh, how pretty," she said aloud.
Tentatively, she touched it, running two fingers lightly along the fiberglass wingtips only long enough to see that it had been well cared for. As she made her way around the back, she caught a glimpse of lettering along the .
"Oh," she murmured. "It has a name." Her voice echoed a little in the otherwise empty space.
As she came up alongside the nose, she had to step back to read the gold lettering clearly—to make sure she'd read it correctly.
Tor's Triumph.
Leta was still staring at it, a frown creasing her forehead, when Tor pulled the barn door—I guess that would be hangar door, Leta thought distractedly—and stopped, breathing heavily, when he found her examining his plane.
"SO. YOU HAVE A PLANE?" Her voice seemed to come to him from a great distance.
He opened his mouth before he had even decided what to say. What popped out was the unvarnished truth.
"Seventeen."
Including the jets.
Surely he didn't have to get quite that specific, did he?
"That's kind of a lot for a ranch-hand, isn't it?" That slow, calm tone terrified him, and he tried to find the right words to explain his deception.
"This is why you never introduced me to your boss, isn't it? You're the boss."
It was as if last night had never happened—instead of the words flowing smoothly from him as they had since then, they clogged in his throat, piling up so fast in their attempt to get out that they left him choking, unable to say even one thing in his defense.
Leta glared at him for a long moment, then huffed and turned her back on him.
She's leaving. I have to stop her!
Tor reached out and grabbed her wrist. She spun away from him, jerking her hand away with a snarl.
"I have money," he blurted out.
She froze and watched him, but her expression didn't change.
"A lot." He managed to force himself to say the words he least wanted to—but they were the ones Leta needed to hear from him if they were ever to move past this strange, idyllic interlude they'd had and take their relationship out into the real world.
"I am ... a billionaire." This time the pause wasn't from his injury, or any psychological trauma. It felt like sheer cowardice.
But he'd done it. He'd said the phrase he knew was most likely to cause her to run screaming int
o the wilderness, as far away from him as she could get.
Outside the barn, crickets began chirping, a sure sign that it wasn't his imagination making the moment draw out—they really had stood quiet for a very long time. Leta stared at him narrowly, her gaze pinning him to the floor, keeping him from pulling her close to him so he could erase
Finally, she asked, "A billionaire? Like that orange guy who ran for office? Or ... something else?"
The snort that escaped him probably wasn't the best response, but he followed it with, "Something else, I hope. Something entirely different from that particular billionaire."
"Because I'm pretty sure he's just a billionaire on paper," she said. "Like, if we added up all his assets, the ones that he actually owns, he wouldn't be worth all that much at all."
She was rambling again.
That was a good sign, he hoped—but not as much as he prayed that his next comment wouldn't destroy the fragile web of words she was building around them.
Still, it had to be said. "No. Not a paper billionaire. I own well over a billion in cash and assets. Some more in land. There's even more in what I guess could be called 'assets on paper,' but ..." His voice trailed off. "But yeah. I'm a billionaire. The real deal."
Not until he had wound down and stood in front of the woman he loved, exposed in the lie he'd told her, without any defense to offer—only at that moment did he suddenly realize that his speech had switched back to an easy, fluid, conversational style.
Apparently it didn't matter what kind of discussion he was having. He could make love to her, fight with her, tease her, or tell her stories. As long as he was talking to Leta, his words flowed.
The sudden panic that clutched the center of his body had almost nothing to do with that, though. Tor wasn't afraid of losing the ability to speak easily if Leta walked away from him.
He was terrified of losing her.
The expression that slid across her face—horror and anger and disgust, all rolled into one—intensified that terror.
"What else have you lied about?" she demanded.
"N-nothing." He stumbled over the word and cursed internally, knowing it made him sound weak and dishonest.
"That's a lie, too." Leta tugged her arm away out of his grip to take a step back from him, and this time he let her. "You told me you were a ranch hand." Her brow furrowed, her eyes flicking back and forth as she reviewed their time together.
"Who are you, really? What's your real name?" she demanded, then took another step backward. "It isn't Tor, is it? No, of course it's not. Is it even Edwards?" Wrapping her arms around her torso and continuing her slow march, she began trying to remember what she might know of him. "Edwards, Edwards, Edwards," she muttered, hugging herself more tightly with every iteration.
Tor knew the moment it struck her. She stopped halfway into a step, frozen with the toe of one foot barely touching the ground behind her, her eyes getting wider than he would have deemed possible. The fingers of one hand snaked up to her lips and hovered there, as if to cover up what she was about to say, to hold the words inside.
"I am such a fucking idiot," she breathed. "Andrew Edwards. You got kicked by a bull. Saving a child who fell into one of your own arenas."
But here in Necessity, I really am Tor, he wanted to cry out.
This time, though, it wasn't physical inability keeping him from speaking.
It was shame.
Why didn't I tell her who I was from the start?
But he knew that—he wanted to see if she would like him without all that money.
"Jesus. You own a baseball team." She turned her outraged gaze on him. "What the hell are you doing out here playing ranch hand?" She flipped her hand out, then let it flutter up to her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment. "No. Of course. The whole ranch is yours, isn't it? You didn't have to ask your boss if I could stay in the bunkhouse because you are the boss."
She continued talking in an almost contemplative tone. "And this plane. It's not some huge splurge. It's just one of your toys." Almost under her breath, she whispered, "Fuck."
As if her expletive had loosened the tide of words inside him, Tor found himself able to speak again. "I could take you flying in it," he offered, his voice tentative. "Or if you hate the plane that much, it would be easy enough to sell it. People always want to buy things that used to belong to a billionaire." His voice trailed off as the joke fell flat.
Leta stared at him, her wide green eyes devoid of any emotion at all.
Figures the only woman who's been interested in me is actually repelled by my money.
Two weeks ago, he would have expected that to be a point in her favor.
Then again, she now thinks I'm a total liar.
"Let me show you the rest of the ranch," he offered.
"The rest of it?" Her voice matched her blank eyes.
"The main house, the rest of the outbuildings, the main stable."
"Main stable?"
Rather than respond to her echo, Tor waited to see what she would say when she came to a point of speaking on her own.
But she didn't speak at all. Instead, she watched him with those cold, empty eyes for a long moment, then turned her back on him and headed toward the barn door.
As she walked away, he tried to say more. "W-w-w-ait...."
For the first time since he'd met her, Leta purposely ignored him as his short-lived ability to speak fled.
Without looking back at him, she marched out.
Tor waited, hoping she would return.
When she didn't, he slumped against the door of the Cessna, wondering if his eyes were as empty as hers.
Chapter 9
His return walk up to the bunkhouse was filled with self-recrimination.
I used to know how to do this—how to seduce women and keep them around.
Then again, I used to be able to rely on my ability to speak.
Some part of him was convinced that if only he could say the right words, he could convince her that he wasn't the horrible liar she believed him to be.
Inside the bunkhouse, a door slammed.
Leta's closet, he realized as he came even with the bedroom door. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her toss her belongings into her suitcase in jerky motions, her hands shaking as she piled half-folded clothes on top of toiletries, then shoved shoes in haphazardly.
When she had forced the zipper closed, she elbowed past him, muttering, "Excuse me," without ever glancing up at him.
He followed her down the hall and out the door, half-hating himself for not offering to carry her bags to her car for her.
Not that he could say much of anything at the moment, given his stammering attempt at "Wait" earlier.
The old Tor—the man he'd been before his accident—would have raced after her, stopped her, kissed her into submission and demanded she stay.
He couldn't do that now.
Not only could he not trust the words to make their way out of his mouth, but he knew with a certainty he could feel through to his marrow that any woman he could convince to stay wouldn't be right for him. Either she would want him for his money and despise his disability, or she wouldn't mind his speech problems but would loathe the moneyed world he had to move through sometimes.
Maybe it wouldn't matter. Now that he knew he had the potential to get his voice back, perhaps he could start some sort of physical therapy and go back to being the man he had been before.
There was only one problem with that: during the two years he'd been without his voice, he had discovered exactly what—and who—mattered to him.
If I went back to my old life, I could have any woman I wanted, as long as I didn't want anything real.
None of his so-called friends in high society had come to visit him in the hospital.
But several people from Necessity had made the hours-long drive up to Parkland Hospital in Dallas.
When he'd stopped attending their high-society functions, his friends in Dallas ha
d ignored him.
But when he stopped showing up at The Chargrill at least once a week, Ava Jordan and her grandmother had dropped by to check on him. And brought a pie, too.
In the last two years, he had learned that the only people worth keeping around were the ones who came back for you, even when you weren't perfect.
The tires of her silver Kia spun on the gravel, sending white caliche dust up into the air. Tor retreated into the bunkhouse, watching the car from behind the screen door for only a second or two before shutting the main door firmly and heading to his own room to pack up his own hastily assembled belongings.
Time to get back to my real life.
Even if merely thinking about it made him choke, as if all his words were piling up at the base of his throat.
No. He wouldn't allow that to happen.
Even if he never saw Leta again, at least one good thing had come out the last two weeks.
He had his voice back.
Despite his determination to move on, though, a single thought kept echoing through his mind: Maybe I can figure out a way to win her over again.
LETA PARKED HER KIA in her usual parking spot, checked her makeup in the visor mirror, and swung her legs out the door. For a brief instant, the motion reminded her of that first day on the Stuart Ranch, when she had twisted her ankle. A jagged shard of pain stabbed through her chest, but with a grimace, she shoved the memory back down, and stepped onto the sidewalk.
Her bright red heels clicked sharply against the concrete, the tone changing, but not the cadence, as she moved to the marble floor inside the building. Normally, she would've worn something more comfortable—but she wasn't about to show up looking less than perfect on her first day back to work.
She was glad of her decision to dress up, too, when she caught sight of Brent leaning against the wall next to the elevator bank, scanning the door as people came through, and her steps faltered briefly
The urge to bolt almost overwhelmed her, but leaving now wouldn't change anything. She would still have to deal with him the next day.
Loving Necessity: The Complete Necessity, Texas Collection Page 18
