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

by Reece Butler

  Why would a man who flipped her sexual switch also make her want to slam her fist into those rock-hard abs? Slam her fist, or run her fingers over him?

  Both!

  Once she arrived back in Oregon her life would again be defined by others. She’d work toward their goals during the day and come home late to a cold, empty bed. A lifetime of empty nights and bleak days stretched before her like a line of foam cups waiting to be filled with lousy coffee, powdered white stuff, and a couple packets of sweetener. To keep with her coffee metaphor, she’d discovered she craved a high-octane brew where she could say what she wanted, as she’d just done with Samuel Elliott.

  The man she’d have to live with, day and night…

  “Since you obviously know nothing of ranch reality,” he frostily informed her, “shirts are tight so they don’t get caught on things that will haul you in and kill you, such as machinery or long-horned cattle. They have snaps so if you do get caught, they’ll pop open so you can haul the shirt off and leave it behind, rather than a body part. These are work jeans, and they fit me fine.”

  Oh, they fit him fine, all right. She held back the smirk, though her cheek twitched.

  “And for your information, little girl, I earned this belt buckle. I was state champion for calf roping in my senior year.”

  “That where the guy falls off his horse, grabs the cow by the horns, flips her over, and ties three of her feet before throwing his hands in the air like a prize fighter? Or where he grabs the cow’s horns, tries to twist them off, and makes her fall on her side?”

  His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. She got the impression he would rather it be her neck. He took three slow, deep breaths. She waited for the explosion, but he took three more. His fingers now tapped on the steering wheel.

  “We do not fall off, Miss Winterbourne, we do a controlled dismount. And we don’t wrestle cows, we use steers. That’s why it’s called steer wrestling,” He shot her a glare.

  “I know what a steer is.” She looked pointedly at his lap. “I’ve imagined conducting that operation many times.” She looked him in the eye, daring him to comment as she made scissoring motions with her fingers. “Snip, snip!”

  * * * *

  Sam managed to keep from squirming at the thought of scissors anywhere near that part of his anatomy. He’d love to take her attitude down a few pegs. He’d also like to take her jeans down, flip her over his lap, and show her the error of her ways with the flat of his hand. He, however, had self-control.

  Or he had until the woman beside him had staggered into town!

  He held tight to the steering wheel to keep from reaching for her. He didn’t know if he wanted to throttle or arouse her first. He could see doing both at once. He’d put his hand around the back of her neck and squeeze, just enough so she knew he was the one in control. He’d use that strong grip to bring her sweet body toward him and…

  His cock jerked. So did his feet, which made the truck lurch. Luckily, no one was near. A quick check to the side confirmed she hadn’t noticed.

  Katie was a danger to his calm, controlled life. Tiny, except in the places where she was all woman. It was a good thing she had a great rack and ass since they balanced her out, front and back. Her mouth wasn’t small, in size or volume. She had more attitude than Old Yeller, the twenty-five pound Maine coon cat that liked to stomp down the middle of Main Street, daring dogs to make his day.

  She’d had a lot happen to her in the last twenty-four hours. Yet there she sat, calmly looking out the window as if she was the rodeo queen of Montana. He took his eyes off the road for a moment, just enough for a look. Her nonchalance was a ruse. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. He got the impression she did that a lot. Stress, or something else?

  Her size, femininity, and obvious tension made him want to protect her. He was the one who took care of others, who made sure things were safe and secure. She was a stranger come upon bad times, and his temporary employee. He should treat her kindly and distantly. How could he do that when she cracked his temper damn near every time she looked at him?

  Did she really think he wore these clothes to show off? He was not going to even think of her comment about what rose behind his belt buckle. As for her steer wrestling comments, was she that ignorant about rodeos, or was she purposefully needling him?

  Sam took three slow, deep breaths. And then he took three more. His fingers relaxed but would not stay still. He tapped them on the steering wheel until he could answer calmly. He realized he needed to set her at ease before they got home. After all, he was the host and he took his responsibilities seriously. Having gotten the last word, she seemed calmer. He cleared his throat and attempted to make polite conversation. That meant offering an olive branch.

  “I expect you’ve run into a few rough situations while working in diners and bars. It must be tough, being so small.”

  The silence stretched, though it wasn’t as strained this time.

  “Sometimes that’s an advantage, because they don’t expect you to fight,” she said quietly.

  The reminder had him touching his nose. It was still tender. “You fight.”

  “Damn right I do.”

  She went back to looking out the side window again, ignoring him. He shouldn’t care about her. She was just a temporary employee, a means to an end. Yet she was also a female in trouble, one whose laser green eyes had already melted the ice he’d locked around his libido.

  “So,” she said after a few minutes. “Will I have to cook on one of those big black woodstoves?”

  “Why? Can you cook?” He must have hit a sore spot as she pressed her lips together. “I heard most city women don’t know how to use anything but a microwave and maybe one of those ridiculously expensive coffee machines.”

  Her jaw stuck out. She set her fists underneath her hips and pressed her shoulders back. Was she trying to seem taller, or stopping herself from punching him again?

  “I can cook. We haven’t discussed duties.”

  He knew she needed money, badly. She also wouldn’t take charity. He approved of that. Her stiff posture gave him the impression she wasn’t used to fighting back. He’d expect rambunctiousness would’ve come naturally with red hair.

  “I’m in charge of the haying for the whole valley, which will start soon.” He slowed to cross a cattle grid. The whole truck vibrated. “If you do other stuff, we’ll add a bonus to your pay.”

  “Other stuff?”

  “You know, female stuff.”

  Her eyes narrowed, reminding him of an ornery goat that used to chase them from the apple orchard.

  “And that means?” she asked, too quietly.

  “It would be a load off my mind, and would save me and Troy time, if you’d cook and do laundry as well as clean the place. All the chores women do.”

  Her tension flowed away with his explanation. He suddenly realized why. Fury blasted through him.

  “Jesus, Katie! Did you think I was going to force myself into your bed?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought they owned me,” she replied crisply. “I left a live-in job because the husband thought my services included caring for his needs as well as those of his children.”

  Shit! He exhaled, blasting the air from between his lips. “That explains why you punched me when I went to wake you.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  She didn’t sound sorry at all. Smug, would be more like it. His lip tried to twitch. She was feisty, and proud of it when she let herself.

  “You have every right to protect yourself, but you shouldn’t have to.”

  She blinked rapidly, teeth clenched tight. Fighting tears? He hated that an attractive young woman had to be on the lookout, twenty-four-seven, in case of attack. After six months of that, no wonder she was cranky as hell. Or had it been even longer?

  “Katie,” he explained, keeping his voice as quiet as if he was talking to his three-year-old niece, “you don’t have to be a
fraid of me, Trey, or any of our family and friends. Anyone who even thinks of abusing an animal or a person, unless the son-of-a-gun deserves it, isn’t left standing for long. Once we find out about it,” he added, thinking about Louise Jefferson’s brutal son, Tank.

  “Thank you. I hope you can understand why I can’t believe you.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Fair enough.”

  This woman was going to be sleeping in his home, just down the hall. He wasn’t usually drawn to petite women with fast mouths, but something about Katie had him all stirred up. The rational side of him didn’t like it at all. She was a stranger, though whatever she’d told Tom had satisfied the man. He shouldn’t have to worry about her stealing the family’s collection of gold nuggets. He wouldn’t mind frisking her to make sure she hadn’t stashed any in her pockets. Not that she had any room for them in those jeans…

  His cock stirred again, reminding him how long he’d been flying solo. Keep your pecker in your pants, he reminded himself. Her job was to cook and clean and his job was to get everything ready for the haying. Even if he wanted to kiss her, he had too much work to waste time on that.

  Waste time?

  Again his mind had supplied words seemingly out of nowhere. Why did he think kissing a beautiful woman and having her respond was a waste of his precious time? He was in charge of his own schedule, and could change it if he wanted to. He could damn well make time to kiss an intriguing woman.

  And he did want to kiss her, and more. Lots more.

  He had a sudden vision of walking out of the cold night into a clean and tidy home, supper hot on the stove, and a loving woman waiting for him with open arms. He shook his head, dislodging the possibility. That was out of the question. He’d have a wife, of course, but not the loving woman. Love had killed his dad. Of course Sam had quit college immediately to take over running the ranch. He’d been working day and night since. It got worse when Mom moved to town. She hadn’t returned once since, unable to face the memories.

  Mom could’ve died today. And where would that leave him and Trey? Or Ben and Amy and the kids? Alone, that’s where. No, Ben and Amy would have each other, and their children. He’d still have them, plus aunts, uncles, and cousins, and his younger brother, of course. What he wouldn’t have, was someone to hold in the night.

  Admit it, you’re lonely.

  He pushed away the thought. Needing someone led to emotions overshadowing carefully thought out decisions. That led to risk-taking, accidents, and death. He would not fall into that trap. Practicality and good sense ruled his life. He didn’t need love. He had his work and his books and, when he wanted, more relatives than he could fit in his kitchen.

  Whatever woman he and Trey married would have to accept getting all her comfort from Trey. Sam wanted someone to turn the house into a home, the way Amy did for Ben, but that was all. There’d been a lot of laughter at the Rocking E before Dad died. Unless James and Emily were visiting, there’d been little since, or even smiles. What had they to smile about?

  Katie didn’t smile sweetly at him, she glared. From the moment he’d seen her in Tom’s doorway, she’d gotten on his nerves. He wanted to throttle her, and at the same time kiss her senseless. She made his heart pound and his cock rise just by being in the same room. Having her in his truck, their thighs almost touching, was torture.

  A quick glance to his right showed she had her fingers tightly clasped again. Was that to stop herself from fidgeting, or from slapping him upside the head? He didn’t think she’d hesitate to hit him. Though perhaps now she’d be on good behavior because she needed the job.

  But do you really want her to be good? Wouldn’t it be a lot more fun if she was naughty?

  Naughty could be good. Very good. But work came first, always.

  He and Trey needed a wife. Wives were female, which meant they were difficult to understand. It had been years since he’d been around a woman he wasn’t related to. He needed practice with someone who would be willing to have fun but would not hang around after. Once he got up his nerve he’d suggest to Katie that he was interested, leaving it up to her to follow through.

  He pulled in beside the front porch, flipped off his seatbelt, and killed the engine. He cleared his throat, gathered his manly courage and turned. Her hair shone like red gold. It was a glorious mess of curls. He wanted to tighten his fingers into the mass at the back of her head, draw her close, and devour her.

  “Katie?”

  She didn’t move. The damn woman had fallen asleep! He thought a moment then got out of the truck. Slamming his door didn’t wake her so he tromped around the front of the truck to her side. He carefully opened the door. The seatbelt held her in place, though her head rolled toward him.

  “Katie? We’re home.”

  Nothing. He leaned over to undo her seatbelt. His hand brushed against her breast. He froze. A wave of heat blew over him as he watched her nipple rise. He swallowed, hard. Carefully undoing the seatbelt, he set it hanging. She slumped, so he lifted her out of the seat before she fell.

  He’d carry her to the porch. By then she should be awake. He straightened, shifting her to hold her snug. She sighed and curled into him. It pressed her breast against his chest. She felt good in his arms. Way too good.

  He gritted his teeth as he stomped across the gravel. Though he slammed his feet down on each step she still didn’t wake. He set her in the old rocker by the front door then backed away. She looked good sitting there, eyes closed and nipples popped. How to wake her?

  He shook her arm. “Katie!”

  “Hmmm?” she murmured. A tiny tongue flicked between her lips. His groin tightened. He clenched his jaw to keep back a moan.

  “Katie, wake up!” He stepped back and stomped his foot. Her eyes jerked open, her hands coming up in fists. She recognized him, then yawned and relaxed.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “You fell asleep in the truck. Look, I’ve got to get caught up in the barn.”

  She stretched. “Great. If you’ll show me around—”

  “No need. The door’s open, so just go in and start. We’ve got nothing to hide. Put the kitchen however you like, do whatever you need to. I had a good breakfast, so I’ll work through lunch.”

  “I didn’t think ranches had an hourly schedule,” she said, arching her brow.

  “This one does.”

  “Fine!”

  Her clipped reply felt like a lash. Most of his family had stopped making pointed comments about his need for order. There was no reason why her reaction irritated him so much. She had her jaw stuck out, lips pressed together. She was blinking fast, and it wasn’t into the sun. Was she holding back tears? He didn’t think she was the crying kind, but after what she’d just gone through, he didn’t blame her.

  “You’re safe here,” he said gently, hoping it made up for his previous bark. “Our road ends at the Bitterroot Ranch just west of here. Nobody goes up this road except family. We’ve been taking care of the Bitterroot since our aunt and uncle died a few years back. I heard my cousin Ashley might be moving back, but I’ll believe it when I see it. We’ve got a motion sensor on the cattle grid which rings a bell at the house and the barn so you’ll know if someone is driving in. We take care of our own here, and right now that includes you.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled herself to her feet. “I’m good. Go get back to your schedule.”

  She stretched her arms, which also stretched her T-shirt tight against her breasts and nipples. He fought it, but his cock hardened. She noticed and glared in challenge. She looked nothing like the woman who’d curled into his chest in total trust. He liked both women, the trusting and the feral. He liked her too damn much. But it was up to her to do something about it if the feeling was mutual.

  “I’ll say this once and back off.”

  “What?” Her eyes narrowed as if expecting a reprimand.

  “If you’re interested, so am I.”

  * * * *<
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  An hour later Katie wrung out the stained drying cloth she’d had to use since there was no floor mop. She wished it was Sam’s neck. The man was hot and cold, first coming on to her, then pushing her away. And then he’d thrown what amounted to a dare at her before heading to the barn. He didn’t say what he was interested in, but she had a few ideas. Ideas that had more to do with the fantasies that slipped through her dreams than the reality that was Sam Elliott.

  “He’d better not come stomping in here in dirty boots,” she muttered as she pulled off her rubber gloves. They were huge and the right one had a hole, but they were better than nothing.

  She’d washed the kitchen and was not ready to tackle anything else. She left the pail of filthy water where it was. The sunroom beckoned. Her clothes were too dirty to sit on the couch, but she could put down some dish towels and lie on the rug in the sun. A quick glance showed the room could be lovely if the battered couches were replaced and the windows washed. She hit the two-pieced washroom first. It was clean by bachelor standards. So was the thick rug. She put down the towels and then stretched out, groaning. Tonight she would have a real bed, all to herself!

  Sam’ implied that situation could change quickly if she wanted it to. Did she?

  Sam and Trey were good looking cowboys with broad shoulders, long legs, lean hips, and muscles. Lots of muscles. They intrigued her, in different ways. They also turned her on. She wanted to make Sam lose his precious control. To roar, grab her, and take her like a wild stallion would a mare. She also wanted Trey to slowly seduce her, touching her everywhere until she demanded release.

  Dorothy said Sam’s growls and complaints showed more emotion than she’d seen in ten years. She’d added it would help Sam if Katie pushed him to accept he was human. Then Dorothy had suggested there were two ways to do that. One was to make him lose his temper. The other was to seduce him.

  Katie didn’t need much encouragement to make Sam furious. She’d been unable to fight back when her family attacked her with cold, contemptuous arrogance. With Sam, she had nothing to lose. The huge man’s false calm urged her to provoke a reaction. When he looked down his nose at her she wanted to poke him in the belly to break a hole in his ego and let out all that pompous hot air.