Lustful Intentions [Climax, Montana 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “Have a seat,” said Tom. “Coffee’s ready.”

  He began pouring, adding cream and sugar without asking. She was so short she had to put her foot on the rail to sit on the red leather barstool. When she bit her lip and frowned, Sam was reminded of his three-year-old niece. If someone went after Emily, even when she’d grown, the guy better make sure Sam never found him. There was a lot of empty land in Montana and four-legged predators eager to dispose of a carcass, no matter the species.

  Why did he want anything to do with this infuriating, far-too-arousing stranger? He shifted his feet to make room in his Wranglers, but it did no good. She hesitantly sipped at the coffee, more cream than anything, and then drank it all down. She wiped off a milky moustache with the back of her hand. Tom refilled her cup.

  “When did you last have a decent meal?” asked Tom.

  She blinked at him for a few seconds, biting her lip—her pink, plump, kissable lip. He’d much rather be the one nibbling on it. Damn! If he wasn’t so hungry, he’d be long gone.

  “What day is this?”

  “Sam’s here, which means it’s Friday,” said Tom dryly as he glanced over, taking his usual opportunity to get a dig in.

  “There’s nothing wrong with having a schedule and keeping to it,” Sam replied, more forcefully than he’d planned.

  Tom’s eyes crinkled, though he didn’t smile. The damn man had been trained by the US Army to notice everything, and he’d gotten better over the years. Or worse, as far as Sam was concerned. At least Tom kept everything to himself. Sam didn’t want this morning’s lapse in judgment to get all over town. This was the worst time for him to lose control.

  The woman frowned, as if thinking was difficult. “Um, Wednesday?”

  “Figured something like that,” said Tom. “Bacon and eggs, over easy?”

  She pressed her lips together tightly for a second, then exhaled, shuddering. There was a shine in her eyes when she looked up. Her lower lip trembled. It was a ploy women used to get what they wanted, but he got the impression she was doing everything she could to stop it.

  “Thank you, that would be wonderful,” she whispered. She cleared her throat and gave a tremulous smile. “Where may I wash up?”

  Tom pointed behind her. She hurried toward the room marked “Cowgirls.” Her cute little ass moved in those tight, thin jeans like nobody’s business. He winced in pain. He’d gone without sex for so long he’d forgotten what lust felt like. He set his ass on his usual stool, though more carefully than normal, and dropped his hat on the seat to his left. Since Tom was on the far side of the counter he took a moment to adjust himself. It didn’t help so he’d just have to put up with it. No different from the rest of his life.

  He had a sudden thought. Was this what it felt like to be aroused by pain? It hurt, but felt good at the same time. He was a naturally dominant man, just like most Climax males, but he’d never had a partner to share that kind of fun. She was so small his hand would overflow one of her ass cheeks. He could lift her onto his cock and—

  A sharp jolt of pain had him lifting himself from the barstool. He gritted his teeth while trying to hide his reaction. He wasn’t a teenager, for God’s sake. He was a responsible, hard-working rancher with a schedule to keep. She might have a nice ass and a good rack, but she also had a temper. Worse, she took dangerous risks. She was a stranger, a grown woman, and not his problem.

  He would not get involved, even though his hand would fit perfectly over one of her ass cheeks. He could easily lift her with both hands, then slide her onto his cock and—no! He had far more important things to think about than one tiny woman with a pit-bull complex. The upcoming haying, for instance. He was the first hay boss of his generation, something he’d worked for years to achieve. It was his calm control which had put him at the top of the list for consideration. He would not allow her to destroy that control.

  He checked his sore nose again then winced. She had a good wallop, but not enough to break anything. At maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, even with her full weight behind a punch she couldn’t do much damage. She was just a pipsqueak, and he’d been brawling with his brothers and cousins all his life. He wouldn’t fight with her, but he bet they’d have a hell of a good time wrestling each other’s clothes off.

  Another jolt of pain had him hissing. So much for his control. If she ever found out what he was thinking she’d do more than punch his nose. That didn’t stop him wanting her.

  He lifted his right hand to check his watch. His wrists were so big the usual band wouldn’t fit, so he’d had one made of wide leather. The watch face was protected with a snap-off cover. Thanks to the troublemaker, he was already twenty minutes behind schedule. He wasn’t going to head off without breakfast, though.

  “I’ll pay for whatever she eats,” he said to Tom.

  “Got a bit of guilt going?” asked Tom. He idly rubbed at a non-existent stain on the counter. It didn’t fool Sam.

  “Just being neighborly.”

  “I doubt she’ll accept charity.”

  Sam didn’t like the humor in Tom’s eyes. “Then I’ll give her a big tip. I figure you’ll hire her as your waitress for the day, so you can take it easy after your trip to London. You must be tired out from all that sightseeing.”

  “I kept Dorothy off her feet as much as possible,” replied Tom, adding a wink. “Second honeymoons are—”

  “Whoa!” Sam held up both hands. “Not before breakfast, please. Or after. I’ve had enough of that from my aunts and uncles.”

  The senior Frost and Adams triads had recently returned from a month in Europe, researching items found in dungeons, bondage furniture, and the like. As they’d never taken honeymoons, they let it be known they’d done a lot of the other kind of research as well. Aunt Aggie and Nikki glowed and their husbands watched them with an even greater air of possession than usual. There was a downside to all of this elderly action. Few of Sam’s generation were married. It was bad enough when the Adams cousins kissed Jane, or Lila Frost’s fiancés started in on her. That left fourteen other guys his age without women, not counting those who lived out of town. Watching your older relatives cooing like teenagers when you were in a years-long drought just wasn’t right!

  The thought of his cousins kissing the petite redhead hit him like a bucket of ice water. If any of them spotted her they’d be all over her like flies on a cowpat. The thought of her giving one of them a fat lip felt pretty good. Since all nine were over six feet tall she might have to stand on a chair, but he bet she’d go after them like a cranky Chihuahua.

  “You having the usual?” asked Tom, breaking into his thoughts. “Or will you go wild and demand cherry instead of strawberry jam on your wheat toast?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having a routine.” Sam found himself growling the words. Did no one understand the importance of control? “I like to keep things steady and safe. No surprises means reduced danger. That’s why I was chosen as hay boss. There’ll be no injuries on my watch.”

  Tom snorted, making it a strong insult. Sam was getting pretty tired of all the digs. He’d lost both fathers to carelessness and pride. He was not going to lose anyone else. Tom headed into the kitchen to give his wife the food orders. Sam looked toward the door marked “Cowgirls.” Had she taken her shirt and bra off to wash?

  He hissed at the sudden pain of arousal.

  Chapter 2

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Katie set her dirty palms on the edge of the bathroom counter and slumped. She’d just punched a man in the face. No, not just a man, a cowboy, a tall, handsome cowboy with enough muscle to wrestle bulls rather than ride them. She wasn’t sure if rodeos had bull-wrestling contests, but if they did, this man would do it. He was so big he could easily pick her up and do anything he wanted with her. If everything was in proportion that would mean…

  She crossed her legs, willing the ache to go away. He both horrified and fascinated her. Horrified because she didn’t want to be so at
tracted to a man who looked at her that way. Fascinated because he held his hat to hide what must be a generous erection.

  Neither of them could stand each other, yet they made each other horny. Lord, what a juvenile word. She was hot, wet, aroused, and erotically drawn to the humungous cowboy. All he had to do was stand there and her pussy purred. After the last twelve hours she should be anything but turned on. If she hadn’t reacted so quickly last night she could have been raped, held captive, and even killed. Psychologically, the primitive cavewoman in her responded to a terrifying experience by wanting to hump like a bunny in order to reproduce. Not that she’d had a lot of personal experience. She had, however, taken psych classes. She also owned a few well-thumbed books hidden in the top of her closet in a box marked ‘textbooks’. Of course she would choose the best provider and protector, one whose genes would create strong children, as in the muscular cowboy she’d punched. However, she did not live in a cave, and sex was for more than procreation.

  She was Katherine Hildegard Winterbourne, an intelligent, well-educated woman determined to climb the ladder of success. She was going all the way to the top, which meant children were not part of her agenda. Not because she didn’t want them. She did, desperately, but if she married she’d be expected to work long hours, like her own mother and grandmother. She’d survived that type of childhood and had the hang-ups to prove it. She did not want to cause the same issues for her own child.

  Yet children had nothing to do with having hot sex with an arousing male. Once she got home to the family fishbowl there’d be no time, opportunity, or ability to enjoy herself. She’d wanted to indulge in wild and crazy monkey sex but never found the person, the place, or the time. If she was ever to indulge, now was the time. Not with the cranky cowboy, of course. But maybe she’d meet someone while working today, someone who could also turn her on. Sex was way down her list of needs. Food and shelter were far more important.

  She’d had five hundred dollars in that backpack, money she’d counted on to get cleaned up before arriving home. Bad enough she’d chopped off her hair and let it return to its natural color and riot of curls. Proper business attire was a necessity. The thought of putting pantyhose on made her itch. The cowboy made her want to scratch that itch, in person. He was a stranger, which was good. He’d have no idea who she was, so would never find her after.

  After what? Are you seriously contemplating sex?

  It wasn’t as if he liked her. There probably weren’t too many unmarried women around. Or if there were, he’d known them all his life or was related to them. Give it up, you’re a scrawny redhead with big boobs, a big mouth to match your vocabulary, and a brain to top it all off. All a man would want is your body.

  She stood straight, inhaled, and looked up. The sight made her groan. She scrubbed the dirt off her face and hands with paper towels and the bar of soap. When she splashed cool water on her face some of it landed in her hair. She scrubbed at it with her fingers, making it stand up. She sniffed at an armpit, screwing up her face at the odor. She pulled off her T-shirt and bra and cleaned her skin as best she could. Even though she used warm water, her nipples puckered.

  “I don’t like him, and it’s mutual,” she declared to the waif in the mirror.

  Her nipples hardened further, proving the lie. The cowboy would be good for a few fantasies once she was back home, but that was it. Yes, he was sexually attractive and had the look of a man who knew what to do with his equipment. But she didn’t even know if he was single, not that it mattered for fantasies.

  “He must be single. He’s got a stick so far up his ass no woman would put up with him.”

  The smell of bacon percolated into the room. Her stomach rumbled. She gripped the counter, holding on as a wave of dizziness hit. She was a long way from home, broke, possessing nothing but the clothes she stood in. She wrestled with panic, subduing it once more. She could do this. Only a week or two, and she’d be back to normal. Or as normal as was possible with her dysfunctional family. She had no choice but to put her dirty bra back on, topping it with the smelly T-shirt. She looked marginally better. At least her face and hands were clean. She stared at the face in the mirror.

  “I have my brain, my body, and the determination to succeed no matter what.”

  She repeated it until she could say it with confidence. This assignment had taught her many things, the most important being she did not need her family to survive.

  And thank God for that.

  * * * *

  Sam’s cock had subsided somewhat and Tom had returned from the kitchen before the tiger kitten emerged. She was slender, except for curves that could knock him out if she got anywhere near. That was not going to happen. Her comb must’ve been in her backpack as her hair stood up in spikes. All those curls of red and orange looked like a fiery torch. It lit his fuse, making his cock rise again, but he had responsibilities. This was no time to chase a snarling female.

  Tom gave her a wide smile of greeting. She returned it, proving she was wealthy enough to have had good dental care. Or maybe she had excellent DNA. Her hair, face, and nails hadn’t seen a salon in months. Surely no rich bitch would tolerate such a thing.

  “I’m Tom, and my wife, Dorothy, is in the kitchen. If you’ll help during the morning rush, that’ll cover your breakfast,” said Tom. “You’ll keep any tips, of course.”

  Her smile lit up the room even more than her hair.

  “Deal!” She held her right hand over the counter. “Call me Katie.”

  Sam noted how she phrased her statement. Tom would put even more into it. He watched as Tom shook her hand then turned it to check for calluses, nodding his approval. He tilted his head at Sam while watching Katie.

  “The guy you slugged is Sam. He and his brother are ranchers, like a lot of folks around here.”

  She turned her cool gaze on him. The kid was gone. This confident woman could walk into a meeting room and easily take over as chair. Whatever had happened, she’d put it behind her. He admired that.

  “Sam,” she said, as if it was an insult. She turned back to Tom with another smile.

  Tom pointed at the blackboard on the far wall. “That’s the special of the day. Shepherd’s pie.”

  “Because yesterday was roast beef?”

  Tom’s chuckle at Katie’s observation bugged Sam for some reason. Or maybe it was the way she grinned at the older man and snarled at him. She took a menu and walked around, nodding absently to herself. She slipped between the tables easily. Friday and Saturday nights things got a little more jammed as they were pushed close to make a dance floor. Some nights a local band played. She’d be gone by then, thank God.

  He watched her straighten chairs, set salt and pepper shakers together with the toothpick holders, hot sauce, and ketchup bottles, and check place settings. Every time she bent over with her butt cheek facing him he got another flash of white. If this kept up he’d have the worst case of blue balls since he was fourteen. Not that he could look away.

  “I might keep her for a few days,” said Tom quietly. “Sebastian did a good job on the food while we were gone but his cleaning wasn’t up to Dorothy’s standards. We could do it ourselves but since Katie’s here and needs a job, we’ll hire her.”

  “Where’ll she sleep?”

  Tom’s eyes lit up. Sam should have known not to ask. Any interest was suspect.

  “TJ’s room is empty. Sebastian can keep her company. He heads back to school on Sunday.”

  The thought of the feisty redhead sleeping down the hall from Tom’s son didn’t sit well with Sam. If she really was twenty-four she’d be a year older than Sebastian. Sam took a sip of his coffee and glanced at her again. She bent to pick up a fallen spoon. He choked. Tom chuckled.

  “Not one word,” Sam said in a quiet snarl to the very amused older man.

  The batwing doors from the kitchen opened and Tom’s older, taller wife came through with two loaded plates.

  “Morning, Sam. You being here mus
t mean it’s Friday.” Dorothy put the loaded plate in front of him and the smaller one to his right.

  “Dorothy, this is Katie,” said Tom.

  Dorothy raised an eyebrow and checked Katie out. “You need some food on those bones,” she announced. She peered closer. “You look like you haven’t had enough sleep in too long.”

  “We all do what we have to, ma’am.” Katie softly replied.

  “That’s the truth. Eat up.” Dorothy switched her attention to Sam, shooting a glare at him. “And don’t you say or do anything to ruin her appetite.”

  “Me? What would I do?”

  Dorothy fixed her stare until he looked away. He didn’t like giving in but knew to choose his battles. One problem with small towns was that everyone knew, and remembered, all the stupid things you did when you were a kid. He’d stopped being a kid at twelve but Dorothy never forgot.

  “Be nice, or no pie for a month,” she warned.

  “A month!” He shut his mouth at her warning look.

  How could a woman who’d known him since before his birth threaten him just because a vagrant had a hissy fit? He jammed a forkful of eggs into his mouth to stop himself from talking back. When there was only one restaurant in town you didn’t piss off the owners, especially the cook. Plus, Dorothy had a nasty pinch when she caught your ear. She didn’t let someone’s age or size stop her from bringing them to heel.

  Katie daintily dipped a corner of her toast into her egg. “I really appreciate the opportunity, ma’am.”

  “We’ve been away for a week and my son was in charge,” said Dorothy. She looked around with a frown. “Place needs a thorough cleaning.”

  Sam hadn’t seen any difference from any other time he’d been in. Of course, being a restaurant it was a lot cleaner than his place. He figured women had different standards, making them even more difficult to understand.