by Zoe Dawson
I got off the bed and grabbed his forearm. “What did you do? Did you hit him?”
“He deserved it. Fucking wiseass. Dropped like a pussy.”
“He didn’t fight back, Jake? How bad?” I went hot all over, then cold.
“Just one punch to his smart mouth and a kick to his ribs.” His mouth tightened and he looked away.
I hit my fist hard in the center of his chest. “How could you do such a thing? I’m a grown woman. I make my own choices. If you ever strike him again, I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive you. Do you understand what I’m saying, Jake?”
“River, you’re not thinking straight. Daddy won’t tolerate this, and it won’t be you he’ll punish.”
“Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing. Mind you own business. If you have a problem with Braxton, don’t use me as an excuse.”
“What? What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying. He told me all about you.”
“It was a long time ago. A different lifetime.”
“I don’t care. You were a bully in high school. You tortured him! Why? Because you were jealous? Because he wouldn’t fight back? Because you couldn’t stand it that I was as attracted to him as he was to me? Why, Jake? He was your friend! I was so ashamed of you, then,” I said with disgust. “I’m ashamed of you now.”
His lips tightened and his expression turned hard and closed.
“Do you even know?” I demanded. “Do you honestly believe it’s how we have to act? Everyone in this damn town acts the same way. Why, Jake? Why!?” I shouted.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but my chest was tight and my stomach was churning and I was so angry I couldn’t breathe. “You better figure it out.” I shoved him and snatched up the letters to carefully set them back in the box along with the ledgers. Walking into my closet, I snatched a bag and shoved some things into it along with the Colonel’s journals. When I came out he was still there. When he saw the bag, he shook his head and tried to bar my way.
I picked up the boxes, glaring at him until he moved, daring him to say anything.
He grabbed my shoulder, but I shrugged out of his grasp.
“River.”
“Go to hell, Jake.”
As I left my room, I saw my cousin Earl standing at the head of the stairs and of course he’d been eavesdropping. He was such a creepy bastard. My skin crawled. God, I hated the way he was always sneaking around, and I especially hated the way he looked at me.
“Hello, River,” he said. “You’re letting an Outlaw create a rift between you and Jake? What’s going on?”
“None of your business.” I tried to go past him, but he barred the way at the last minute.
“You’re researching Duel Outlaw? What for?” his eyes were hard, more intense than usual, as if he somehow had a stake in it.
“My speech. And I just found out he might not have committed the crime he was hanged for.” It felt wonderful to be turning everything we knew about Duel on its ear.
“You have? How fascinating. Why don’t we go to lunch and discuss it some more?”
He reached out and stroked the backs of his fingers from my bare shoulder to the crook of my elbow. I stepped back, my skin crawling.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I said.
“Come on, River. I’ve always been interested in you. You know that.”
I gaped at him. “I am very sure I have never given you any indication I might be interested in pursuing a damn thing with you. Get out of my way.”
He stepped aside, leaving me very little room to get through. I brushed past him, having to make contact with much too much of his body. Revolted, I stomped out to the garage and my car. All the way over to Brax’s, I fumed. How dare Jake hurt him because of me? The last thing on this earth I wanted was for Braxton Outlaw to have to deal with this kind of shit from my brother.
When I got to Brax’s, I parked and grabbed my bag and the boxes. Getting out of the car, I came up short. Booker and Boone were coming out of his house. They looked pissed.
“River,” Booker said, giving Boone a holy shit look.
“Hi, guys. I’m here…”
“Yeah, we know. Good luck,” Boone said, and they went to their respective vehicles. Since the door was open, I walked in, worried now because of the look on their faces. Did they also have a fight with Brax?
When I found him, he was pummeling the bag almost frantically. A horrible feeling crept over me, a feeling that made what Jake had done pale in comparison, and left me emotionally suspended.
Brax was breathing heavily, his hair soaked, sweat pouring off him. There was a grim set to his profile as he whaled on the bag without the finesse I’d observed the first time. His jaw was clenched, too. I could see the muscles flexing there. A horrible sense of foreboding washed through me as I stared at him.
With an awful sinking sensation, I remembered he’d ignored my text and knew he’d somehow changed his mind. No. Oh, God, no. I couldn’t bear it.
I dropped the boxes and the bag on the floor and rushed over to him. I reached him in time to slip my hand over his arm as he coiled to swing. He made a brief sound in his throat at my touch and turned toward me.
Then I saw his face, the place where my brother had hit him. His lip was cut, but worse was the terrible swelling and the black and blue bruise extending from his gorgeous bottom lip across his jaw and halfway up his cheek.
I stopped dead when I saw the bruise on his ribs. I cursed Jake and vowed I would give him a piece of my mind when I got home. He had no right to do this, and I couldn’t understand why Brax hadn’t fought back.
The images flashed in my head, so many. Braxton facing down taunts; Braxton showing up for class with bruises on his face; Braxton tolerating Jake’s snide comments poolside, all the while looking at me; Braxton looking at me. Always looking at me with longing in his eyes. Always turning away. Every encounter we’d ever had overcharged with our attraction.
I cupped his jaw very gently and stepped closer. His rib cage expanded and contracted. A taut silence hung between us, and when he finally spoke, his voice raw and strained. “River, don’t.” It was quietly spoken, without any of the usual challenge. But I didn’t stop. I leaned in while tears burned the backs of my eyelids. He’d been so hurt for so many years. So hurt. All of them had endured so much.
And unlike his brothers, he’d buried it deep and pretended it didn’t matter. It wasn’t that Braxton didn’t feel as deeply as anyone, it was that he’d made himself emotionally unavailable to protect himself. And, painfully, I realized his need to protect himself extended to me.
And, unreasonably, whether I could or not, I wanted to save him. I wanted to be the one to save him and show him what it truly meant to not only trust, but to let the feelings he locked up be okay.
I pressed my lips against his cut lip and his chest heaved. I ran my hand down his sweat-soaked arm and pulled off the boxing glove, dropping it on the floor. He tilted his head, his hand coming up to push me away, but I trailed my hands across his abdomen. He made a pained sound in the back of his throat and his hand landed on my shoulder. Instead of pushing me away, he gripped me. “You don’t play fair.”
“I’m not playing.” I held his gaze, holding back nothing. “It’s okay, sugar. You can trust me. I won’t let you down.”
Some of the bleakness left his face and he brushed the backs of his fingers against my cheek. “Don’t do that. Don’t call me sugar.”
“Why?” I asked, kissing his bruised jaw gently. He closed those deep blue eyes and pressed his face into my mouth. “I can’t think straight when you call me sweetie-pie names with that sassy mouth.”
“You’re giving me ammunition, handsome.” I kissed all the way to the end of the bruise on his cheek.
I tugged off his other glove and took his hand in both of mine, caressing those long fingers that cooked like a dream and played the fiddle like a master, then his wide palm covered with wrap. I re
ached for the Velcro and pulled it away, unwinding the tape. Dropping it on the floor, I brought his palm to my lips and kissed the center of it, running my tongue up to his wrist. He tasted salty and male.
I reached for his other hand and unraveled that wrap too. Slipping my hands around his waist, I brought him against me. I could feel his resistance melting under my assault. I refused to lose this time with Braxton, not because of my brother and not because of Brax’s chivalrous notions. I could take care of myself.
Besides, his chivalry only softened my heart more.
I ran my hands over his back, keeping the strokes soothing and gentle. He tucked his face into the hollow between my neck and shoulder, his arms slipping around me, tightening.
“You feel so good. Smell so good.”
I was a jumble of emotions as we stood and held each other. I felt sure no other woman had done this, comforted him. He wouldn’t have allowed it.
But I wasn’t just anyone.
I wanted to comfort him even if he wouldn’t open to me yet. I would be patient. Besides, he was practically a stranger, even though I had been nursing a crush on him for forever, from the moment I’d seen him, actually. He was so strong and confident. Any woman who got close to Braxton wanted him in a sexual way. True, I also wanted him that way, but I also wanted his heart. Wanted him to trust me and open up to me.
I kneaded the muscles up to his neck, then sent my fingers into his wet hair. He tightened his grip, crushing me to him. Raising his head, he met my eyes and held my gaze for a moment, then kissed me. There was something dark and troubling in him. Careful of his cut lip, I kissed him back.
He broke the kiss and sighed. I caressed his back, my movements slow, languid, soothing, and he pressed me closer.
“River, maybe we should just accept this has disaster written all over it and agree—”
“Why? Because my brother doesn’t approve?”
“No, not just because of Jake.”
“Talk to me, Braxton. Tell me why.”
“I don’t fit in your world and you don’t fit in mine.”
“I thought this was supposed to be temporary.”
“It is,” he said quickly, but my heart went pitter-patter and filled with hope.
“Then let’s stop over-thinking it.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that. We owe it to ourselves to follow this to the end. Don’t we?”
His mouth came down on mine and he made a pained sound when his lip opened up again. I tasted his blood and vowed I would live in the moment with him.
I leaned back and touched the injury with my thumb. “Careful.”
“I’m tired of being careful.” His voice was a little gruff. “Fucking tired of it.”
I looked down the length of his body and tugged on the waistband of his shorts. “I heard the Outlaw brothers wear some pretty sexy support under their workout clothes.”
His features relaxed and his eyes changed from their haunted, fractured look to a beautiful sparkle. “You have? I’m sure I exhibit the support most bodaciously.”
“Let me be the judge.” I pulled out the waistband of his shorts. “Ooh, red…mesh.”
“It’s cooler.”
“Um, no. It’s making me hotter.” I already knew he had those sexy hip indentations. I saw them last night and again in the shower. I trailed my hand along his waist as I moved behind him, and he inhaled sharply when I settled my breasts against his back. Slipping my hands into the waistband of his shorts, I pushed them down off his hips and they dropped to his ankles. “Oh, my God,” I breathed. The jock was more like a brief, but although it cupped him in the front, it was cut out in the back to show off his more than fine ass.
I ran my hands over mesh and smooth skin and Brax dropped his head back and groaned, his damp, silky hair brushing against my cheek.
I trailed my hands around to the front of him, running them over him while he hardened against my palms. Cupping his growing hard-on, I drew my hand up slow and easy till he thrust into my strokes. “Take them off,” he whispered in my ear, sending tingles over my skin. I pulled them down. He turned then, and the world tilted as he picked me up, his arm a hard band across my back and under my knees.
He carried me to his room, set me on his bed. He smiled, his eyes locking with mine as he unsnapped my shorts and dragged them off me along with my panties. With a smile he leaned over and pulled loose the ties to my halter, dragging it off me with a groan.
He ran a finger down my cheek, his touch tender and lingering; then he hooked his knuckles under my chin and lifted my face. His breath feathered across my lips for an instant; then his mouth touched mine with infinite gentleness. It was as though I was insulated from every other sensation, and I closed my eyes, letting the kiss be everything that existed, letting go of every conscious thought. His warmth and strength surrounded me, his touch like silk against silk, yet for all the softness, there was strength, a depth of feeling.
“For the record, River, I’ve never brought anyone here. Ever. You’re the only woman who’s even been in my house, on my bed.”
His words were like light amidst darkness. Gentleness amidst strength. A fierce ache locked my throat, but I tried to will it away, reminding myself this was only temporary.
My awareness of him was branded on me like a golden glow. Sliding my hand across his naked chest, I drew him back, and he caught my head, holding my mouth against his while he yielded to the light pressure. He drew me with him as he rolled onto his back, and with his arms encasing me, I straddled his hips.
His breath caught, voice so gruff it was barely audible as he whispered against my mouth. “Wanna go for a ride, sugar?”
“So bad,” I murmured, “So very bad.”
“Then saddle up, because I’m bad, so very bad.” I slid along his hard-on, his full, hot and thick hard-on. He moaned and rolled his hips, increasing the exquisite pressure on my core. I tilted my pelvis, and when I slid back, took him into me, slow inch by slow inch.
His reaction was as arousing as the sounds of his breathing and pleasure. I settled my weight on him, and, on a ragged intake of air, he tightened his arms around me, molding me tightly against him. Aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every movement he made, I began to slowly work him over, wanting to immerse him in a pleasure so intense it would swamp his senses. I wanted the full measure of his desire.
Bracketing his face with my hands, I held his head immobile while I moved against him, my mouth brushing against his with provoking lightness, to tease him and to keep the pressure off his sore lip. His breathing harsh, he whispered my name, locking my hips against his as he tried to twist his head free, but I held him still, my kiss becoming more insistent on the undamaged part of his mouth as I wordlessly implored him to yield to me.
Hauling in another ragged breath, he dragged his hands up my back, releasing his hold on my hips, and I launched an assault on his senses while I settled deeper on him. A tremor coursed through him and I felt him struggle against the need I was creating; then, finally, he surrendered. I experienced a rush of emotion so overwhelming it left me unsteady, but I forced my body to continue, moving against him, pushing him deeper and deeper into the sensations, leaving me as much at his mercy as he was at mine.
His thrusts were fast and deep, sending wave after wave of sparkling pleasure through me. He cupped my breasts, rubbing hard over my nipples, then his abdomen hardened as he rose and took my nipple in his mouth and sucked hard, making me cry out.
He reached an inner spot that sent sparks shooting all over again, and I arched my back, trying to keep him right there, on the spot. And then his thumb was on my core, creating exquisite pleasure so intense my hips bucked while he reached a place even deeper inside me. A sweet ache detonated and I came hard around his erection, against his thumb, throbbing pleasure that made me bite his thick, velvety lip.
Wanting to give him all I had to give, I yielded my mouth fully, and he shuddered again and twi
sted beneath me, his words barely coherent as he ground out, “River—fuck—”
I rose, pulling him with me, and he went rigid, suspended at the very edge of release. Overwhelmed by my feelings for him, I leaned back, giving him the full depth of me as he arched up, tremors coursing through him while he climaxed hard and long.
I clung to him when it was over, and he clung as tightly to me, clutching me to him, even as I struggled to breathe, my face buried in the crook of his neck.
Our breaths came in heavy pants. I half expected him to throw out some witty remark to lessen the intensity of our joining.
I couldn’t explain the well of emotion or the burning sensation gathering behind my tightly-squeezed eyelids. Nor my reluctance to let him go, to look him in the eye and once again force myself to put this—whatever this was with him—into some perspective. Get a hold of myself and give myself a dose of reality.
But no pithy comment came out of his mouth. He was simply holding me, his face buried in my hair, as if he wasn’t ready to let go, either.
He had fulfilled every hot and bothered fantasy I ever had about him, had blown my idea of him out of the water.
I tried to move, to ease off his hips, but as I leaned to press my knee into the mattress, his arm tightened around me, his fingertips dug more deeply into my hair. The burning behind my eyelids intensified, and I had to concentrate to keep from letting tears well and slip out.
When I pressed a gentle kiss to his bruised jaw again, he said, in a hushed murmur, “My beautiful River.”
He kissed my eyelids, then he found my lips. We kissed, reverently. Every moment of it filled the deep well of longing I had for him with a fullness born of contentment.
I moved then, but he captured my face between his palms before I could slide completely off his lap. His expression was as serious as I’d ever seen it, his gaze locked on to mine completely. It was intense, as if his presence settled against my heart.
I saw the power and essence of our stunned silence reflected in his gaze.
I had no idea how our relationship had changed, what conclusions he was drawing, or what actions it might motivate him to take. The breadth and depth of both alarmed and thrilled me.
