"Jesus Christ, woman!" he roared, but she merely smiled innocently, reaching under his kilt to squeeze his buttocks, which made him thrust into her again, hard, as he spilled himself within her.
They had spent the night making love – sometimes passionately, sometimes with excruciating tenderness, calling for room service in the wee hours, drinking champagne and eating decadent hot fudge sundaes in bed then making love again. In the morning, they took a bath together and ate their room service breakfast in the nude, she on his lap, being fed fresh strawberries and delicate pastries from his own hand.
They succumbed to their desires again, one last time before leaving, and she slept in his arms most of the flight home.
But when they arrived home, just as they pulled down the long driveway to the ranch, she turned to him, took his hands in hers and said, too calmly, too quietly for something that sliced his heart to ribbons in so few words, "I love you, Bruce McCullough. And because I do, I'm not going to see you anymore."
She stepped out of the car, almost before it stopped, and headed up to her room. The ranch would have to survive without her for a day, because she was going to spend what remained of it crying into her pillow.
He appeared in the doorway to her office looking apologetic. "I'm sorry I'm late. Luke had some things he wanted to show me and it took a wee bit longer than I'd allotted."
He had to sit right next to her, behind the desk, because there was no way for him to really see what she was doing any other way, but she forgot how crowded she felt around him, sometimes, just because he was so damned big.
And warm. The man generated heat like a furnace.
And damned if he didn't smell amazing, as always, even though she knew he'd been working with horses and cattle all day and had definitely been sweating.
"I just wanted to show you the financial software we use – it's not something you really need to know, but it'll just give you an overview – kind of round out your education."
She had to admit, he was very well behaved. Much more so than he had been the day they'd come home, and she'd shut herself up in her room.
He'd essentially camped out in the hallway just outside her room, knocking on her door every once in a while, sometimes cajoling, sometimes threatening to try to get her to open the blasted door.
Sam had been appalled by all of it – especially that his sister's face had been appearing all over the web and social media. He'd actually had to field some calls from reporters who wanted to interview her because she'd been seen with 'The Bruce,' and who wanted to know how she'd gotten her scars. He'd never thought that the phrase 'no comment' would become a regular part of his vocabulary, but it was rapidly getting to be.
Bruce stood when Sam approached him. He was sleeping with the man's sister, and Bruce guessed that entitled him to throw a punch at him if he really wanted to. But Sam didn't look angry – he looked sad. "Bad time?"
Bruce shrugged. "I just want you to know that my intentions towards your sister are entirely honorable. I love her, and I've told her so, and that I'm sorry for any kind of mess I've caused."
"How does she feel about you, if I might ask?"
"She loves me, too."
Sam's looked surprised. "Oh, well, then it makes perfect sense that she's in there, crying and you're out here, hurting, doesn't it?"
"You're sister's a stubborn lass."
"You have no idea."
"Well, I'm just learning. She thinks I should be with…I don't know…Heidi Klum or someone like that, instead of damaged goods – her words, not mine. I'm not in love with Heidi Klum – to be honest, she kind of scares me. I love Taren, and I'm determined to have her, one way or the other."
Sam sighed. "Well, if there's anyone that deserves to be happy, it's my sister, so you have an ally."
Bruce clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Thank you, man."
"Just…"
"Just what?"
Sam looked a bit embarrassed, but he said his peace anyway. "You've actually done a lot of good for her, although I don't know if you'd recognize it or not. She hasn't allowed anyone to take a picture of her since before. Just don't hurt her, or I'll have to hurt you."
Bruce nodded solemnly, glad to hear that he'd done something positive for her. "Understood."
They shook hands and hugged, and Sam left Bruce there.
He practically slept in the hallway.
Taren had thought that he might be there when she got up in the morning, but he wasn't.
He wasn't in the kitchen, either, for an early morning snog.
He'd left her alone for the past ten days or so, and that was exactly what she'd wanted.
Wasn't it?
Chapter Nine
By the time she was done with him, he had a pretty thorough knowledge of the background precepts and the software that they used, anyway, to keep track of monies – as well as the cattle themselves, which he had been surprised about the detail of.
Taren couldn't stand the awkward silence that had descended between them and asked the question that had been on her mind since he'd arrived, and she'd never remembered to ask him, by way of small talk. "I don't think I ever asked you, but someone's making a Western? Isn't that kind of a risk? I can't think that the movie going public likes to see anything that isn't chock full of special effects anymore."
"The director is a friend of mine, and the script is good, it's kind of a…" He shrugged. "Almost a John Wayne kind of love story, sort of."
She did not look impressed at his description, in fact, she looked as if she was going to burst out laughing, but she managed not to – barely.
He tried to look serious. "It reads better than I described it."
"I hope so, for your sake."
She turned and made as if to get up, but they were wedged pretty close in together, and she couldn't really get out until he decided to move, a tactical error on her part if there ever was one.
"I wanted to ask you something. I've already asked Sam, and he said it was okay with him, but since you're his partner I wanted to get your okay, too."
Taren looked a little wary, but nodded.
"The studio wants to stir up a bit of publicity about the movie before I start to film it, and they want to send a reporter here to interview me about the movie and what I'm doing here. Are you okay with that? Can they stay here?"
"They? How many people?"
Those massive shoulders shrugged. "Probably two, a reporter and a photographer. It could be a good publicity for the ranch – help you get another leg up in becoming the go-to-place for actors and actresses who want to immerse themselves in their roles, like I do."
"Well, we have more than enough room, so that's fine with me."
When Taren got up, Bruce did, too, but he didn't move. He stood there looking at her, longing plain in his face, so much so that Taren had to stare at the floor rather than into his eyes. She knew she was the cause of his sadness, and it hurt, even though she knew she was doing the right thing.
"Would you move, please, Bruce? I have things I need to do."
"And if I said no, wee one?" he asked, drawing himself up to his full height and doing that thing no other man had ever been able to do for her – make her feel small. "What would you do then?"
A small, sad smile melted across her lips. "I still have that card you gave me…"
He smiled, too, sighing as he got out of her way, taking up a position like a sentry at the end of her desk.
And just when she thought she was going to get away unscathed, he caught her arm as she passed him, using her momentum to turn her around so that she crashed up against him. His hand completely wrecking what had been a neatly arranged bun at the back of her head, the other landing mid back to keep her there, pressed obscenely against him, feeling him rising to poke into her belly as his lips devoured hers.
But he only kissed her the once, parting from her just about as slowly as one human could from another and pressing his forehead to hers at the
end to whisper, "I miss you."
Then he turned her loose, all at once, and left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving her standing there, bereft of his warmth and passion, aching for him, literally standing there shaking in his wake.
How the hell was she supposed to get over that?
***
The reporter and photographer invaded at the beginning of his last week there, arriving in a huge cloud of dust in a big SUV crammed full of equipment.
Sam was there and Bruce as well, of course, but Taren remained stubbornly in her office, trying not to be spotted peering out her window at them all gathered in the front yard.
And she didn't like what she saw n the least.
The reporter was a woman – and a cute one at that, and Bruce seemed to be all too familiar and handsy with her – it was the first time in her life she'd ever felt jealous, and she didn't like it, not one bit.
She didn't like the feeling itself or the fact that she was having it over a man she had no claim to.
And yet there it was, stabbing into her chest, making it hard to breathe every time he touched her, which seemed to be every God damned second. He hugged and kissed her hello, then he kept his arm slung loosely around her waist, or his hands on her shoulders, as if he was going to give her a massage.
She heard a strange noise in the room and wondered if she'd left the radio on, but then she realized that she was growling as she looked out the window and forced herself to go back to work.
Her self-imposed exile didn't last very long, though, because less than a half hour later, there was a knock at her door.
"Come."
Taren rose as people filled her usually quiet office, not the least of which was Bruce, who, again – still – yet – had his hands all over that woman.
It was Bruce who spoke, his arm around her waist in such a casually affectionate manner, that she wanted to rip it from its socket and beat him to death with it.
"Taren Cavanaugh, this is Audra LaValley. She's a TV reporter in Texas, near where I'm going to be filming, and this is her husband, Greg Terkleson."
Had she heard right? He was her husband?
"Audy and I have known each other for entirely too long."
The pretty brunette put her hand on Bruce's arm. "He's like a big brother. A very big brother, and when I heard he was in my neck of the woods – sort of – preparing for another big role, I had to come see him – in an officially unofficial capacity, of course." She put her hand out and shook Taren's, staring her right in the face the way a lot of people wouldn't, and saying, almost absently, "He was so right – you are stunning."
She saw Bruce nudging the other woman urgently from behind with his elbow, and she knew something fishy was up, but she couldn't put her finger on it quite yet.
Still, it wasn't often she was called stunning, and Taren didn't know quite what to say to that, except to say that Audra was just as stunning right back.
Bruce was smiling entirely too warmly at her, and it was Sam that politely herded everyone out so that she could get back to work – as if she could think of anything other than all of those odd things that had just transpired. So much so, that she found she couldn't get anything else done, so she gave up and went out into the big open den where everyone seemed to have gathered.
It was one of those rare evenings, one of those unusual mixes of very diverse people that worked just perfectly – it was as if they had all been long time friends. Laughter and teasing prevailed amongst several groups over dinner, which bled over quickly and easily into others, and when drinks were introduced, every bit of it became quite hilarious to all participants.
Audra and Taren hung around after everyone else had made their way to their beds, Audra helping Taren clean up.
"So, did Bruce tell you anything about why I'm here?" she asked as they gathered in the kitchen.
"Just that you were a reporter who was going to do a piece on him."
"Well, that part's true, at least."
That had Taren, who was already on somewhat of an alert – tequila not withstanding – on even more of one. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.
Audra giggled. "You sound like you're worried we're going to try to talk you into a cult or swinging or some such other distasteful pursuit. I promise you it's nothing sinister in the least." Her tone became serious. "You do know that man in your guest house loves you, don't you?"
Taren looked away to answer quietly, "Yes, I do."
"Well, he know how sensitive you are about your scars, and I think he understands just about as much about how you feel about them as any man alive could. Bruce…isn't your typical guy. He's very empathetic, and he really does feel your pain."
She rose and took a piece of paper towel, ran it under the tap then wiped it over her right cheek, turning her face so that Taren could see it.
Beneath the makeup she had been wearing, which looked no more or less heavy than any other woman's makeup, Audra had a port wine stain on her cheek. "It's quite impressively large – there's a medical term for it but I won't bore you. I've had it all my life, of course, and all of the associated social trauma that comes with it. But did you even suspect that was there?" she asked bravely.
Taren answered truthfully. "No, I did not."
"Well, dear, Bruce had an underlying reason for having me come – he wants me to show you how to put on some of the amazing makeup I've found and used for years that may at least lessen – and perhaps even completely cover – your scars. But I don't like secrecy. So I wanted to tell you about it. If you like, we'll go to my room or your room tomorrow and spend some time futzing with what I have. I brought all of my extras – and we'll see what we can accomplish. But it's entirely up to you."
"How expensive is it, though?" She'd known about some of the really amazing stuff that was out there, but it was prohibitively expensive.
"This is high, but not unreasonably so. Besides, Bruce told me to get you whatever you need, on him."
"No way. If I like it, I'll buy it myself. I refuse to let him buy it for me."
Audra put her hand over Taren's. "Honey, don't be like that, really. Not with Bruce. He's a good man, and he's a generous man. He's not looking for, you should excuse the expression, 'tit for tat.' He just wants to help you feel better, to help you feel as beautiful as he sees you are. And Lord knows, that man won't notice the money in the least. He's filthy rich, and he's very generous to his friends."
She looked at the younger woman for moment.
"And I have a feeling that you're a lot more than a friend."
Taren blushed.
"Ooh, did I just strike a nerve or what?" She pulled her chair closer. "Care to dish?"
Taren gave her a sidelong glance. "To a reporter?"
"Hell no. I'm not a reporter until I talk to him tomorrow, and you know that I love him and that he'd tan my hide if he thought I'd falsely represented myself to you."
Taren opened her mouth, then changed her mind and said, "If you don't mind, I don't really want to talk about it."
"Of course not, honey. I just want you to be happy, like he does, preferably with him, but even without him, I feel like I've found a new friend. So if you two end up going your separate ways, then we get custody of you."
Taren had to laugh at the way she put it. "What about him being your brother?"
"Oh, he'll always be my adopted brother. But he flits all over the place doing movies, and he lives in Edinburgh, for fuck's sake! You're much closer. If we have to, we'll do a custody arrangement and make sure you two aren't on our doorstep at the same time."
The next morning, while Bruce was out giving Sam a hand, she and Audra went into her room and sat down at the antique vanity she'd had since she was a child – that was her grandmother's – and Audra went to work on Taren.
The results were phenomenal, if Audra did say so herself.
If you knew where to look, you could see the ridges and bumps, but the discoloration of her skin was all bu
t gone.
It was the first time in her adult life that Taren had seen herself without the scars, and she wept.
Then her head shot up. "Is it water proof?"
Audra was crying and laughing at the same time. "Yes – ask Greg. I cry all the time while I'm wearing it."
They took it all off again and decided to do a dramatic reveal at dinner tonight.
Since she wanted to be the last person in the dining room that evening, Taren drafted Lynette to help with dinner, which was generally served around six. So about four or so, she and Audra closeted themselves in Taren's room, and when they were both satisfied with her look, Audra left for dinner first, then texted Taren when would be a good time to come in – making sure that everyone was there and surprised she wasn't.
When Taren arrived in the room, silence reigned for a very long moment. Then Bruce rose – and all the other men followed – but he was the only one that came to her, his eyes bright with tears. He tipped her chin up with one finger, but he wasn't looking at her face – he was looking into her eyes, his own full of what was in his heart for her. He bent his head and brushed her lips delicately with his, then escorted her formally to her seat, which, out of habit from the past weeks, was right next to his and across from Audra's.
"Jesus Christ, Taren, you're gorgeous! Not – not that you weren't before."
Taren blushed. "I know. Thank you, Sam."
"I have to second that, Taren," Greg agreed, and Luke, Cahill and Lynette chiming in, too.
Once he'd seated her, Bruce rose with his wine glass in his hand. "To the gracious mistress of this house, whose ethereal beauty has never been in doubt to those who love her."
To Taren's great embarrassment, everyone stood and toasted her.
"Please, God, how much can I pay you guys to sit down before my heart bursts or I faint or throw up or something?" she asked, and everyone laughed.
Dinner that night was at least as much fun as sitting around talking had been the night before, which was what they ended up doing anyway after they'd eaten, and everyone lamented that Audra and Greg were leaving the next day – and Bruce only a day or so afterwards.
Beauty's Beast Page 10
