by Zoe Dawson
I pushed through the half open door and walked into a foyer to discover Brax had done extensive indoor renovations. The floors were glossy, polished wood, the walls a neutral, pleasant shade of green. The foyer opened up into a great room with a cozy sitting area and TV/music station with his instrument propped on a stand. The kitchen was beautiful, large, gleaming, and gourmet. Although I would have expected nothing less of Brax the Cooking God.
I heard noises coming from the back of the house. Rather than give Brax a chance to throw me out, I headed toward the hall and the smacking, shuffling sounds.
The hall opened up into four bedrooms. I glimpsed what I was positive was Brax’s room. The décor was red and black with black and white boxing art on the walls. It opened up to a private deck and hot tub. Looked like Boone had performed his magic here, too. I wanted to snoop around in there so bad. Touch his stuff, look at his artwork. But resisted. He would be pissed enough when he saw I was here.
Farther down the hall I discovered one of the rooms was an office and the other…I paused…had a crib in it. So he babysat his nephew overnight. Another layer of Braxton Outlaw to savor. The last room on the hall was filled with gym equipment, punching bags, and a small set of weights. As I breached the doorjamb, I came face to face with tempered steel honed to a razor’s edge. I simply stopped moving, as if I’d come up against an immovable, invisible barrier.
His power reached out and grabbed me by the throat.
He was magnificent.
His broad back flexed and rippled with every powerful swing, his stance all male, his feet planted, his thighs and calves bulging with his precise, balanced moves. He twisted often from his lean waist, and I wondered—thanks to the tales I’d heard about Boone and Booker’s jockstraps—what kind of jockstrap he wore under those shorts. A thrill sizzled through me.
His dark hair was wet against the back of his neck, and sweat trickled and ran over thick muscles I wanted to touch. Braxton was a sensual ache I had been struggling with for a long time. Even while I was away from Suttontowne, Brax was the measuring stick. Others fell far short. He wasn’t the one who got away. He was the one I could never seem to get. And, all ego aside, I’d never had trouble getting any other man I wanted.
He continued his lightning-quick moves, dancing and weaving before raining more powerful blows on the bag in an almost desperate way. It was like seeing someone expel demons, and it hurt my chest to watch him.
He looked tough, intense, and dangerous.
Another thrill surged through me.
I could see why he’d so easily sidestepped my brother. He could have done some damage to Jake if he’d wanted to. Brax was a honed, lean, mean fighting machine.
That clinched what I’d always known. In high school they were badass because they had to be. To keep the bullying at bay, they fought only to make sure everyone understood they were not worth the bother. They wouldn’t be victims or targets.
I’d admired them for it in high school. I also admired what Brax and his two brothers had done with their lives so far. Outlaws, Braxton’s restaurant and bar, was making a name for itself, and Boone’s landscape business was doing extremely well. And Booker had recently hit the New York Times best seller list with his latest book.
I wished I could be as proud of my achievements as they should be of theirs.
He stopped and leaned his head against the bag, his broad chest heaving, his taped hands splayed, looking like a tortured hero struggling with a deep, personal, internal conflict. And Aubree’s words penetrated. He had pushed my buttons. He had worked hard to make me angry, so I would be the one to walk away.
That barbeque kiss had turned the tables. Because, like I said before. I knew he wanted me.
“Braxton?” my voice rasped out, breathy and tentative. So not like me. But he moved me with his tortured magnificence. He moved me beyond self-preservation.
I knew he was a heartbreaker. I knew he didn’t know the meaning of the word commitment. I knew he had a lot of women. And, I also knew instinctually it was mostly sex with them.
I didn’t know how I knew these things. I didn’t know what made me think I could be the woman to tame the untamable, emotionally unavailable Outlaw, but I knew I wanted to try. Even knowing every other woman in his life probably believed the same thing.
For a moment he let the bag support him, his shoulders stiffening. Very slowly he turned his head to look at me. My breath caught, then my heart started to pound. Like a rabbit meeting the hungry, feral eyes of a wolf, I had the uncharacteristic and totally prey-like urge to flee.
“Fuck,” he said, very softly, very deliberately, under his breath. “Don’t you have any boundaries, or do you believe you’re entitled to walk into my house unannounced and uninvited?”
I stiffened, immediately angry about his snotty tone. Then I remembered I wasn’t going to let him manipulate me anymore.
“I am the Princess of Suttontowne, after all,” I managed to make it sound nonchalant.
He frowned. Yes! It hadn’t been the response he expected. He pushed away from the bag. Subtle warning broadcast from every line. He faced me, and I had to swallow. He had a sculpted chest. I’d been prepared for that. I’d caught glimpses of it beneath his half-open shirt, but his abs…and those hip indentations, his powerful shoulders and thick pecs, all put together and out there for me to look at, was too much gorgeousness to absorb all at once.
I had to remind myself again. I’ve actually been in the presence of some of the most beautiful men on the planet. Movie star gorgeous. But they all paled when compared with this one man. This disagreeable, drop-dead…Outlaw.
He smirked. “Sugar, you liking what you see?”
And, okay, now I’d made Braxton even more aggressive. Oops?
I was confident enough to know I was his match. If only the butterflies in my stomach would settle down. Butterflies were another thing I suffered around him.
“I see you’ve still got the chip on your shoulder.”
He stood there, his stance loose but intimidating in a way that made my heart thump hard. He flexed his fists in the sexy crimson wrapping around his hands, like he’d rather be hitting the bag, or be anywhere but here facing me. It made me falter a bit, made me reassess how far I wanted to take this with him.
I decided if I didn’t…if I backed down and ran, or let him get the upper hand in any way, if I let him chase me off, I would regret it. Down to the deepest part of me. If I chickened out now, I would always remember this moment, and that I hadn’t taken the risk. Somehow I knew the risk would be worth it. The uncertainty. The confrontation. The heartache. It would all be worth it.
His chest muscles rippled as he moved, his skin glowing moist from his exertions. “This chip and I are old pals, and, after all the trouble folks went through to put it there? I’d hate to disappoint them,” he growled.
He crouched and snagged a towel, scrubbing it over his dark hair, ruffling it into an even more enticing tease around his handsome face, wiping his neck and chest.
I one-hundred-percent liked what I saw, but I would bite my tongue before I said it.
He chucked the towel behind him and pinned me with a look warning me he was sliding closer to the edge. He straightened with a powerful push of his butt and thighs, revealing those indentations at his hips that unerringly held my undivided attention.
I took a heated breath of the scorching air while the tension in the room ramped up a notch. There was enough friction in here to ignite the air we breathed. I walked up to him, slow and easy, my hips undulating. I didn’t want to leave any of his buttons unpushed. After all, what goes around comes around.
And this Princess knew ways to move guaranteed to rivet a man’s attention. I was a natural, and knew I could be pure sex in motion when I decided to be. He thought he was in control, like I would melt at his feet. I stopped close and thrust my face into his. “You like what you see, Brax.” I whispered. “I can see it in your eyes,” I added when he didn’
t answer. “You want to kiss me.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I ran my tongue across my plump bottom lip. He was mesmerized, his eyes glazing, his breathing deeper. His eyes travelled over my face in a sensual, heart-melting, heart-stopping slide as the tension drew out to a fine, lethal edge. His blue, blue eyes were hot and deeply engaged, his lashes full and thick. His approach was immeasurably slow, excruciatingly commanding, and I yielded, drawing him to me until my back hit the wall.
I settled my hand against his hard-packed muscle and hot, damp skin, right over his heart. His chest expanded, and my stomach jerked when I felt the rapid beating of his heart beneath my palm, sending tingles everywhere, lighting up every cell and pore in my body.
He dropped his head, his mouth very, very close…yet still too far away.
“I dare you, Brax.”
His eyes widened slightly, his nostrils flaring. His face tightened with desire, open and stark. Tension poured off him and challenge exploded in that ocean of blue. It was such a rush to affect him like this when usually it was almost impossible to get a rise out of him. This freaking bastard was in my blood.
“Don’t dare me, River, sugar. I’m a fighter.” The promise in his voice made my mouth tingle, then throb.
His arms were on either side of me, hands flat against the wall. All the times I’d interacted with Braxton till now, he’d always kept his distance. The only time he’d actually put his hands on me was to keep me from falling in the country club kitchen, yet I felt thoroughly touched by him.
I’d touched him only twice. Now, and when I’d planted the kiss on him a couple of weeks ago, but it had been an annoyed, frustrated kiss, with a healthy dollop of unfulfilled passion. I wanted more with him. I wanted him to participate fully. Goading him into reckless behavior was a risk I was willing to take if it was the only way to break him down and find out what made him tick.
“I double-dog-dare you,” I replied.
His grin was unabashed as ever. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
“I’m sure you know the answer, Braxton. You’re smart enough.” I slid my hand over his skin, and his nearly-inaudible gasp made my sex tighten. He didn’t stop me, simply stood there as if in thrall. I boldly trailed my palm up his thickly-muscled pectorals to the smooth skin of his neck and on to that hard jaw. I felt the muscles there clench. Why did he fight so hard against this attraction we had? My fingertips rasped over the delicious stubble, dark and texturing his face in a dangerously sexy way.
He moved a little, until we were both breathing a bit more heavily. “Why don’t you lay it out for me? I can be as dumb as a brick.”
“I’m sure you can pretend to be that addled.”
“I believe they call it obtuse.”
“Look at you with your fancy words. You would know.”
“Would I? I’m just one of them Outlaw boys gettin’ me some attention from the Princess of Suttontowne. Excuse me while I squeal like a little girl.”
“There isn’t anything girly or little about you.”
I felt Brax’s jaw tighten under my palm. His eyes narrowed. It was a little bit scary. “Don’t expect me to bow.”
I intended to take this thing with Brax as far as I could and, even though he was trying to intimidate me with his eyes, I wasn’t about to back down. I couldn’t. I might be a Princess, but every one of the Princesses I knew fought and won. That was the kind of grit ingrained in me through competition. Yeah, believe it. Beauty queen competition was fiercer than a wrestling match. When I set my mind to winning, I’d learned not to let a little fear stand in the way. I’d thrown the gauntlet down in front of him, and I was going to push until he picked it up.
“Oh, I don’t,” I replied. “I expect to drop you to your knees myself.”
He made a sound in his throat and for a second, only a split second, he pressed his face into my hand as if I was his only lifeline.
“Brax…” I whispered, but he stiffened and jerked his face out of my hold and backed three steps away from me.
“Get the fuck outta my house.”
“Why? Do I make you nervous?”
“I’m just not interested.”
“You are a liar.”
“What do you want?”
This was going nowhere right now, and I had to concede he was a formidable opponent. His control made me envious. It only made me more determined to make him lose it. But I did need his help, and it was time to ask for it before I made him too mad to listen. If I hadn’t already done so.
I moved closer while he ran his hand through his hair and eyed me like a MMA fighter watching for weaknesses and sudden moves.
“I happened across some old journals from my ancestor and they piqued my interest. One of them is missing, the last one. I have more questions than answers.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“A lot. I’m writing a speech for Founder’s Day. Those journals belonged to the Colonel. I want to write about him and…Duel Outlaw.”
He jerked in shock, his jaw dropped, and he stared at me, looking more caught off guard than I’d ever seen him.
Before I could even take another breath he strode back to me, grabbed my upper arms, and got right into my face. “You have taken leave of your senses if you think anyone wants to hear about Duel Outlaw. Go home, River Pearl.”
“Is that it?” I taunted, settling my hands on his heavy biceps. “Are you afraid of little ol’ me?”
He propelled me back to the wall and something snapped in his blue eyes.
Finally, loss of control!
He was breathing hard, his face twisted with what looked like both anger and frustration and…my breath caught hard…agony.
And for me the floodgates of seven years of knowing how he felt about me spilled out of an overfull container and mixed with the torture, need and want I thought I saw in his face. I felt desire knife through me in an echo of his agony, that felt both so damn good and so damn frustrating.
This was what I craved. His genuine reaction. I needed to see what he was really feeling, not the smart-mouthed, bad-boy, I-don’t-give-a-shit crap he was always feeding me.
I wanted Braxton Outlaw raw.
“Come on, admit it. Give me a chance…”
He bent his head, hiding his face, his lungs pumping. “Fuck, no.” He inhaled raggedly, the words spoken as if he was trying to convince himself. “Not gonna happen.”
He stared down into my face. He sighed.
“Kiss me the way you want to. Kiss me, Brax.”
I almost didn’t hear the agonized groan in the back of his throat. I couldn’t keep myself from pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the tangy skin of his neck, touching my tongue to his salty sweat, breathing in the aroused maleness of him, a scent quintessentially Braxton Outlaw. “Please…just be…honest.”
With a growl, he pushed away from me and set his hands on his hips, agitation vibrating in every muscle. His rejection hurt me…again. I was sick of this nonsense, and I lost my temper, forgetting Aubree’s advice in the rush of heat whooshing over me. “Did you forget how to kiss a woman? I heard you were good at it in high school. Hell, you had enough practice,” I muttered.
His eyes flicked up to mine and a strange detachment came over them. Well, hell. The tables had turned. I’d thrown him a bone and he grabbed hold of it with a ferocious look. Damn my tongue and my jealousy.
“Why don’t you do a poll, honey pie?” he drawled. “I’m sure the whole fucking town full of females will be happy to sing my praises.” His heavy eyelids lowered over those blue eyes, turning bedroom and sultry, his face going vacant and mean.
I knew all about mean and how to cut deep. I had never been rejected by a man in my life except for this one man I wanted. It made me wild and jealous and crazy angry.
“Would they say you are a master kisser, Brax honey? Is that what all the girls would say?”
He smirked and shifted back, cocking his hip, the sultry look intensif
ying. He licked his bottom lip, drawing my fury there.
Just standing there, he made me want him. “They don’t say anything. They’re too busy groaning and panting while I fuck them. Is that what you want, River Pearl? You want me to fuck you?”
I knew he was baiting me, but to my utter mortification I felt a sudden burn behind my eyelids and squeezed them shut immediately, tightly shut to ward off any ridiculous tears that might think to make an appearance. There was no way in hell I would cry in front of him.
What a hopeless case I was. Brax was out of reach. Completely. He put up barriers everywhere I turned. What was I thinking, anyway, imagining our lives could entwine? Him with his family’s hundred and fifty years of scandalous behavior sitting on him like a mantle, me with my golden girl status. This sparring was all we had, and it wasn’t enough…and it was too much.
Very well. If he couldn’t be everything, then he had to be nothing.
I pushed off the wall and stared at him, dry-eyed, jaw set, hands smoothing over any wrinkles in my skirt, knowing what I had to do. It was the only thing I could do. To save myself, save us both.
And that was to leave. I had to leave and go back to New York. Forget the speech, forget Suttontowne, and immerse myself in a world as dissatisfying as my attempts to get Braxton to do something, make some kind of move toward me.
Feeling hollowed-out and insubstantial, I turned on my heel and, for the first time in my life, I ran. I simply broke and ran. He yelled my name, but I couldn’t stop.
Too much emotion ripped at me, the unrequited feelings I had for him…hurt!
I slammed through his door and tripped on the stairs, falling down three of them, hitting the ground hard, skinning my elbow, my face smacking the dirt, cracking my nose. I covered my nose to ease the pain, and it came away red, followed by a gush of blood. A sob escaped me and hot tears streaked down my cheeks as I pushed myself up. Tasting blood and salty tears.
