by Jenna Jacob
Draining the last of her tea, she rinsed the cup and tucked it into the dishwasher. Sensing his bedtime, Ozzie trudged to his doggie mattress once again and stretched out. Bidding the mischievous mutt a good night, Brea extinguished the lights in the kitchen, grabbed the steamy novel from the coffee table, and headed upstairs.
After completing her nightly beauty regimen, she crawled beneath the covers and opened the book. Only a few pages into the steamy story, she had to flip back the covers to cool off her scorching hormones. The nasty things hero Ramón was doing to Natasha had Brea’s pulse racing and her body throbbing. Rolling out of bed, she retrieved her vibe before easing onto the mattress again. She peeled her shirt off over her head and dragged down her thong before settling back on her pillows once again, and started reading.
The story was raw and wicked. But Brea’s mind was no longer filled with images of a swarthy Spaniard and a blonde aristocratic heiress. She envisioned the sexy, crimson-haired cowboy next door. Growing wetter by the second, Brea cupped her breasts. She rubbed and toyed with her nipples…pinching and plucking the taut, sensitive tips. She pretended Sawyer’s fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue were the ones driving her demand.
As she aroused herself, heat enveloped her body. Her pulse quickened, and her empty tunnel hungrily clutched at nothing but air. She fantasized of Sawyer’s hard shaft stretching and filling her slippery core…driving inside her with deep, steady strokes. Back and forth, dragging the crest over her inflamed and throbbing nerve endings.
Panting, she rocked her hips in slow, restless motions and closed her eyes, the story now long forgotten as Brea’s own imagination and creativity took over. Sawyer’s hands and lips were touching, licking, and sucking every inch of her flesh. His scent—that intoxicating mix of leather, sweet grass, and springtime—filled her senses. Dizzy with need, her mind unfurled a passion so real…so hot, feral, and raw, Brea whimpered and moaned. Turning on the vibe, she danced it over her swollen clit. Thunder rolled across her body. Lightning exploded behind her eyes. Her limbs tingled. An animalistic roar of ecstasy tore from her throat. Her body jerked and muscles tensed. Spasms quaked her pussy, and Brea was rolled beneath a wave of ecstasy as the intense orgasm consumed her. Riding the rippling aftershocks, the sounds of her soft mewls, panted breaths, and clamoring heartbeat echoed in her ears. And as she slowly floated back to earth, she lay quivering and covered in a light sheen of sweat.
CHAPTER FIVE
Returning to his house alone was hands-down the single hardest thing Sawyer had ever done. The sexually tormented cells inside his body snarled to turn around and push his way inside Brea’s bedroom and her silky, soft body.
And that’s what’s known in a court of law as rape!
While he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison, the rock-hard part of his anatomy was willing to accept incarceration for a night of unbridled fun with Brea.
“Down, boy,” he ordered his impulsive appendage. “She’s not ready for that yet. She’s skittish and fearful…of what? I have no idea. But I aim to find out, and soon.”
Sawyer had studied the emotional gambit that played across Brea’s face. She’d gone from embarrassment to lust, desire, and need. Then she’d slammed up a wall around her as fear, anxiety, and anger appeared.
She was torn, that much was clear. Her behavior only reinforced Sawyer’s suspicions—she’d been hurt, but he now knew the wounds were still fresh and raw.
After climbing the stairs to his room, Sawyer looked at his empty bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Sleep would be hard-won knowing Brea was next door. She was probably naked and in bed.
“Why the fuck did I have to go there?” he groaned.
Why the hell has she got you tied in knots?
That was the million-dollar question. He didn’t understand the insistent, searing, and all-consuming attraction she stirred inside him. No stranger to bedroom games, he’d slaked his lust with women in ways most men dreamed about. But Brea stirred something deeper. He didn’t want to just fuck her—though it might get the insatiable attraction out of his system—Sawyer wanted to make love to her until he’d turned her inside out.
“Stop right there!” he halted his own thoughts with a warning.
Sawyer wasn’t the making love kind of guy. Not anymore. Besides, he didn’t know a thing about Brea. They’d only talked twice.
Like that matters? You’ve fucked women only to find out their name when you were through.
“That only happened one time,” Sawyer corrected the derisive voice in his head.
Brea was far different from any other woman he’d known. She intrigued him. Turned him on like a light bulb, but he had no idea why.
Last night at Toot’s, Brea had been introverted, polite, and almost shy. But earlier in the backyard, she’d cursed like a sailor and unleashed a shocking defiance that took him by surprise. He could still see her cheeks, stained the color of merlot, with embarrassment. What was she hiding beneath that tough-girl exterior? Sawyer sensed a fragile, sensitive woman…a woman he wanted to explore. Or was he just imagining it?
Maybe he was crazy.
Maybe she was as well.
She’d shown him two totally opposite sides so far. Maybe Brea Lacking Dignity—whatever her last name was—suffered multiple personality disorder. She might be the most complicated woman Sawyer had ever met.
“Complicated? She’s more like a goddamn Rubik’s Cube. I suck at solving that stupid puzzle.”
But unlike the toy, Sawyer didn’t plan to give up trying to align the beautiful colors of Brea’s soul. The drive to see what other parts of herself she’d reveal was far too dazzling.
Stripping off his clothes, Sawyer’s cock, having accepted the fact that a happy ending wasn’t in its future, hung toward the floor in mourning. He climbed into bed and laid his head on the pillow, then closed his eyes. But all he could see behind his lids was Brea, wedged in the window’s opening. Like a wicked enchantress, her tempting, ivory butt cheeks lured him. He wanted to stroke, knead, and claim her supple flesh…slide his teeth, and scrape his tongue over every glorious inch on display.
His cock jerked to life, eager and ready.
“Go back to sleep, dammit.”
Forcing himself to focus his attention on the kids at the ranch, Sawyer was able to block Brea from his mind…for half a minute, at least. Every word they’d exchanged in Barbara’s backyard rolled through his memory banks. Her comedic retort of “Here’s your sign” had him fighting like mad not to laugh in her face. Being bested by a woman in a banter battle might emasculate some men, but Sawyer enjoyed her quick and sassy quips. It felt natural. Hell, he and his brothers had grown up—even to this day—slinging one-liners at each other.
Don’t go getting your hopes up, fool. After you embarrassed the bejesus out of her tonight, she’ll probably never speak to you again. Best find a way to rid yourself of this ridiculous attraction now. She’s only going to be here a month.
Yeah, but there was a lot Sawyer could do with her…to her in that month.
Like a bloodhound on the scent of an escaped convict, his cock jerked to life. The only way to assuage his relentless ache was a one-man show. With a frustrated sigh, Sawyer whipped off the bed sheets and gripped his swollen erection. In a steady, even tempo, he stroked with his fist, from stem to tip. Suddenly a wave of self-loathing tore through him. Releasing his leaking member, he sat up with a growl.
“What the fuck am I doing? I haven’t had to jack off since eighth grade. I’m sure as fuck not doing it now.”
After vaulting off the bed, he grabbed his jeans and jerked them on. Sawyer snagged his shirt off the dresser, buttoned it, then slid on his boots and clutched his keys. He was dressed and gunning the engine of his quarter-ton duely—leaving a trail of rubber on the pavement—in minutes. Heading toward the Hangover, he figured he might find slim pickin’s, but he’d find a willing woman to ease his aching dick. She wasn’t going to be the one he wanted, but
at least he could take off the edge.
When he walked into the bar, Gina flashed him an overly enthusiastic smile. “Two nights in a row? You trying to turn into a regular here?”
“No. I just felt like a nightcap before bed,” he lied.
Skimming an assessing gaze over the crowd, he spied a familiar trio at one of the tables. Sylvia, a divorced mother of three, Gretchen, the single dental assistant, and Annette, who worked as a secretary at the high school, were laughing and tossing back shots.
Bingo!
The open-minded women had made him lose a fair amount of sleep, discovering ways to satiate all kinds of sexual curiosities. Of course, he’d gone to great lengths to keep his three-on-one secret private. The small town gossip guild would have a heyday if they got wind of the debauchery they’d played out in his bed.
But the longer he stared at the twisted, titillating trio, the more the desire to relieve the pent-up pressure in his jeans evaporated. He didn’t want the women. He only wanted Brea.
The realization told him he was in way over his head already.
“Hey, Sawyer,” Annette called out, her southern drawl slurring a bit. “Wanna join us for a little fun?”
“Sorry, sugar. Not tonight. You all go ahead and knock yourselves out.” He nodded to the three, whose hopeful expressions dimmed.
Taking a seat at the bar, he noticed Gina’s hand tremble as she set a mug of beer down in front of him.
“Everything all right?” His brows furrowed. “LaCroix hasn’t been back bothering you, has he?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen him since yesterday.”
“Good.” Sawyer took a gulp of the cold brew before glancing toward the back of the bar. “I’m surprised the twins aren’t here playing pool.”
“Oh…um, they were in earlier.” From the corner of her eye, Gina peeked toward the staircase leading up to her apartment, then clutched a cloth in her hand.
Sawyer caught a glimpse of something—embarrassment or maybe guilt—sliding over her face before she dropped her chin and began polishing the already spotless bar. He took another swallow of brew and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Gina was as nervous as a moth in a bug zapper.
“They didn’t cause you any trouble while they were here, did they?”
“No. Of course not,” she assured. Gliding the rag over the same spot for the third time, she diverted her eyes from his. “None of you Graysons ever cause any trouble.”
Placing his hand over hers, stilling all movement, he whispered so only Gina could hear, “Is something or someone bothering you?”
She jerked her head up and her hand away. Guilt was written all over her face. Clearly, the woman was spooked, and it instantly put Sawyer on edge.
“No. Why do you ask?” Gina’s voice wobbled.
“Just checking.” Sawyer shrugged. Tipping back his glass, he emptied the contents in another long swallow.
“Want another?”
“Nah. I’m good. Thanks, Gina. If you need anything, call me. Got it?”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Sawyer. Have a great night.”
Sitting behind the wheel in his truck, he gazed at the neon beer sign in the window. Lightly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he knew something wasn’t right. Gina was totally out of sorts and ruffled in a way he’d never seen before. Sawyer decided to check the rear of the bar and see if anything was amiss. Pulling down the alley behind the buildings on Main Street, he slammed his foot on the brakes. The familiar red pickup with vanity plates: MELODY4 – his brother Nate’s truck, told Sawyer everything he needed to know. Except for some very pertinent questions—where was his virtuous brother, and was he still in possession of his virginity? If Nate was inside the bar, why hadn’t Sawyer seen him? Suddenly he remembered the nervous glance Gina had darted at the stairs toward her…bedroom.
“Nate, you stupid son of a bitch! Guess you’re not saving your cherry for marriage any longer, but Gina? Really?”
Sawyer’s subtle pride at his little brother’s leap into manhood was short-lived when a wave of worry coasted through him. Surely his idealistic brother didn’t actually think he and Gina would be exchanging I do’s now, did he?
“Oh, fuck. This has all the markings of epic heartbreak written all over it,” he groaned.
He wanted to take Nate aside and find out if his brother’s head—the one with a brain—was lost somewhere in the clouds or if his feet were, hopefully, still planted on the ground. Unfortunately, Sawyer wasn’t about to go waltzing back into the bar in case the family bullheaded gene came out in all its glory and caused an ugly scene. People loved to talk, and he’d do whatever it’d take to keep their focus off the Grayson family.
Staring at his brother’s truck, Sawyer had an idea that would force Nate to reach out to him. With a covert eye on the back door of the bar, Sawyer plucked a pair of pliers from his toolbox before popping the hood open on Nate’s truck. After disconnecting the battery, Sawyer closed the heavy lid in place and hoisted the abducted battery into the bed of his own truck. Leaving Nate stranded at the Hangover, Sawyer drove home to wait for his brother’s call. He’d demand ransom to be paid with a heart-to-heart conversation. But as the minutes turned into hours, he drifted off to sleep while his cell phone remained silent on the nightstand.
The morning sun bathed Brea’s room in a hue of golden corn silk. Her covers were everywhere, even wrapped around her legs. A low groan reverberated from the back of her throat. Even after taking the edge off, she’d still had a screaming good time with Sawyer last night…at least in her dreams. The man had invaded her every waking thought and cloyed his way into her sleeping subconscious. She was in a world of trouble.
Closing her eyes, she focused on clearing her mind and appreciating the fact that she’d awakened to blissful silence. It was a welcome reprieve to Weed’s constant barrage of head-banging metal music. She didn’t miss that, or him, one bit.
“If only life came with a do-over button, I’d be hitting that sucker like a slot machine,” she murmured aloud. “Starting with last night. Ugh!”
In an excruciating slide show, humiliating images of last night flashed through her brain. No matter how badly she wanted to, she couldn’t scrub her shame away. All Brea could do was avoid the hunk next door and chalk up her window escapade as another train wreck in her tragedy called life.
She glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand and groaned. It was only six forty-five in the morning. While she normally woke at the same ungodly hour for work, her internal clock hadn’t gotten the memo about her leave of absence. After rolling out of bed and tossing on her clothes, Brea met Ozzie at the bottom of the stairs. He danced around for a couple of seconds before racing to the back door. Sending him a look of warning, she waggled her finger at his muzzle. “No more chasing bunnies. Are we clear?”
Ozzie barked and wagged his nubby tail. Brea opened the door and let him out. Not only did she disengage the auto-locking mechanism this time but she also propped the sucker open with a heavy cast-iron stopper before stepping out and onto the deck.
“Wanna join me for breakfast?” Sawyer called out to her.
Blanching, Brea turned to see the sexy stud seated at a modern, glass-and-wrought-iron patio table. A massive plate of food lay out before him.
“No thanks,” she replied.
“Aw, come on,” he continued. “You’re not still angry about last night, are you?”
“Why would I be angry? You unlocked the door and kept me from climbing in the window like a cat burglar.”
“True.” Sawyer nodded. “I thought maybe I’d embarrassed you or something.”
“I embarrassed myself.”
Rising from his chair, Sawyer strode toward the chain-link fence. Brea swallowed tightly as the long, thick muscles of his thighs bunched and flexed beneath his faded jeans. Ozzie let out a welcoming bark and raced toward the man, who reached over the fence and rubbed the dog’s head.
Wearing a cocky smile, Sawyer wi
nked. “No need to be embarrassed, darlin’. I’m not a monk. I’ve seen—”
“I’m sure you’ve seen and done all sorts of things. But I’d rather you spare me the lurid details.”
A look of challenge twinkled in Sawyer’s eyes. “Oh, I wasn’t going to do that. I’m not the kind of man to kiss and tell.”
“I’m sure your bounty of bed bunnies appreciates your chivalry.”
Sawyer’s golden brows slashed and he pursed his lips. “Is it just me, or are you this grouchy with everyone?”
Grouchy? You haven’t seen grouchy yet, mister.
“No. Just you.”
“Good to know.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I can focus on ways to sweeten you up.”
Brea rolled her eyes. “I don’t need sweetening up. I don’t need you pestering me.”
“Pestering you? Now when have I ever done that?” His smooth voice melted over her flesh like soft butter on hot pancakes.
Humor skipped in his eyes.
“Look, Neville.”
“Ah, ah, ah. Call me Sawyer, remember?”
Brea bit her lips together. The man unnerved her to the point that she wanted to call him a host of things…rude and insulting things. Instead, she nodded curtly, dragging her eyes to the snug-fitting T-shirt clinging to his wide chest.
“I appreciate your help last night, Sawyer, but I’d rather be left alone.”
Liar.
“Oh, that’s right. You’re on a man ban. I’m assuming some prick hurt you badly. Why else would you go and shove all men into the doghouse?”
Though her expression remained blank, Brea was irked at how he so effortlessly he could read her.
“I guess what I’m asking is, since I helped you out last night, do I get a pass or does the fact that I have a penis include me, too?”
