by Niki Green
Brent pulled himself from Peyton’s body, removed the handkerchief from his pocket his mother had given him before the wedding in case of tears and proceeded to clean himself up. He watched Peyton as he wiped away the proof of their passion.
She stood with her head in her hands, back against the wall, legs slightly quivering beneath her.
When Brent had cleaned himself up the best he could, he hitched his pants back onto his hips, replaced his boxer briefs to their righted position and then zipped and buttoned the tuxedo pants.
He moved toward Peyton, but she heard his steps and eased away before he could touch her.
“Don’t,” she said with a low, shaky voice.
“Don’t what? I was just trying to…” He never got to finish. She pushed the tack-room door open and walked through it. He started to go after her, but she put up a hand to stop him.
“We don’t need to be seen together. Just stay away.” Brent followed her as she moved from the opening of the door and saw her fixing her appearance before leaving the interior of the barn. He called after her just before she exited.
“Peyton—”
“Don’t. Stay away. Just stay away.”
“Like hell. We need to talk about what just happened.”
“No, we don’t. Just leave it alone. It won’t ever happen again.”
“The hell it won’t.” His voice had gruffness attached to it.
“It can’t. Just leave it alone. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Forget it and stay away. You know how to do that, right? You’ve gotten pretty good at it the last few years. I’m sure it will come back to you in no time.”
With that, she was gone. Brent stood in the barn for a long enough period of time for no one to notice that they had been in there together. When he finally rejoined the rest of the wedding guests, he realized that he had almost missed Willa tossing her bouquet and her and Chase’s departure.
Standing at the back of the crowd, he searched and searched until he found Peyton. She was in the front of the group of woman, standing next to Jocelyn as they waited to catch the bouquet clutched in Willa’s hands.
He saw her face had recovered from its blush and he also noticed how her hair had a slightly tussled appearance. He felt a large swell of caveman pride overcome the inside of him. He had done that. He had made her come undone in his arms and the proof was written all over her body.
From the corner of his eye, he saw his new sister-in-law toss her bouquet, but he didn’t realize where it was heading until it landed in a pair of outstretched hands.
Peyton’s outstretched hands.
She had caught the bouquet.
According to tradition, she would be the next female in attendance to be married. But to who? Would it be Carter Nash who could never seem to stay in one place long enough to take care of what was supposed to be his? Or would today change everything?
Did he want today to change everything? The thought gave him pause. There she stood not two feet away but miles beyond his reach. He had done that. He had pushed her away.
He wanted her, the proof was still semi-hard and hidden by the damned tuxedo jacket, but he was far past the age of fighting over a woman. Wasn’t he? It was kind of hard to fight for a woman who didn’t want to be fought over.
Too many questions ran the course of his brain. Peyton was the first thing in his entire life, certainly the first woman, he couldn’t have at the drop of a hat. But he could change that.
He wanted Peyton. He wanted what he’d had to begin with, but had lost. He wanted her for however long he could get her.
The grin that crossed Brent’s face was the first genuine one that he’d had in a long time. Standing watching her as she took the congratulations from all the jealous females around her, Peyton seemed shy and a bit embarrassed. She had never liked being the center of attention even for all her rip-roaring and wild-haired times. She did things because she wanted to do them. Not because she wanted others to see or know what she was doing. She was a lot like him in that sense.
That was one of the things that had drawn him to her to begin with—Peyton was Peyton no matter who she was around. She didn’t conform. She didn’t mold herself to fit—she was just Peyton—his Peyton.
Brent watched as she smiled and spoke to his new sister-in-law and then to his brother. Chase spoke as well, but only a few words, before he whisked his bride away. Then she stood in the middle of a crowd, but all alone.
Her attention was taken from the crowd and centered on the bouquet in her hands. The wildflower bundle was a collage of color upon color. She titled her head, closed her eyes and breathed in the aroma of one of the flowers. The look on her face, that single blissful moment, made Brent smile. He held on to that smile—until she looked his way.
Their eyes locked for more than a moment and Brent felt his heart plummet and his knees get weak. The look she gave him was the first in a long time without any pain, without any contempt, without anything at all.
The bouquet dropped from her face down to her side and she turned on her heel and walked away without faltering. Brent knew from experience that walking away wasn’t as easy as it seemed. Each step was painful and awkward. You never knew whether to walk left or walk right. Whether to look back or to keep forward. He knew what he had done. He hadn’t looked back—until now.
Chapter Nine
Of all the rotten-ass luck. Peyton glanced down at the beautiful bouquet sitting in her passenger seat and rolled her eyes. Catching the bouquet at Willa Tate, now Kiel’s, wedding had been the cherry on top of her entire day.
After she had caught it she’d turned to receive Jocelyn’s over-enthusiastic hug and came face to face with Brent. He was standing just at Chase’s side and staring at her. She wished she could get the look on his face out of her head. It was different from his usual sullen, brooding facade. He actually looked amused with a bit of mischief mixed in. And she had slept with him. Scratch that. You actually had to be in a bed to sleep. She’d had sex with him.
Rough sex. Hard sex. Good sex. Great sex.
Mind-blowing, earth-shaking, legs-quivering sex. In a tack room. At his home. At his brother’s wedding. And one of his brothers had seen them. Well, not actually seen them, thank goodness. He had kept his eyes covered—or so he said. Peyton wouldn’t know. She had kept her eyes fully closed during the entire embarrassing episode. Brent had still been inside of her. He had been hard. And she had wanted him that way.
The entire ride from the Kiel ranch to her brother Murphy’s home was eaten up by thoughts of what she had done.
What they had done.
Why had she let it happen?
The answer was clear as a bell to her—she had wanted it to happen for far too long.
She was an awful person. A terrible, horrible, awful person. She and Carter’s engagement was barely over and she had given in to her wants and her needs and loved it. She felt a small snag of guilt develop and sit directly in the middle of her chest. She felt like she had cheated. Cheated on Carter. Was that possible? They weren’t together. They hadn’t been in months, but she still wore his ring.
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t had sex in over a year. Had it been a year? Mentally, she counted and came to the conclusion it had been more like eighteen months.
Carter rarely came home and when he did he spent most of that time sleeping—deeply. She had tried to coax him from his sleep more than once, but it hadn’t worked. It had always worked with Brent. With Brent all she’d had to do was place her mouth on him and he was awake.
He loved waking up with her mouth on him. She loved waking him up that way. She loved how his dick grew and grew as it was nestled inside the warmth of her mouth. He always returned the favor. And boy, could he return the favor.
“Stop it,” she chastised her reflection in the rearview mirror. Don’t think about things that can never happen again—that should have never happened in the first place.
But they had and she cou
ldn’t take them back. It wouldn’t change anything. It couldn’t change anything.
She pulled into Murphy’s circular drive and sat for a second and tried to collect herself. The ring on her finger twinkled with the moonlight and the sight of it made her want to breakdown. The ring was supposed to bring happiness. Joy. Elation even, but it only brought regret. Instead of Carter’s ring adorning her finger, it should have been Brent’s. She wanted it to be Brent’s.
“No, I don’t,” she told the reflection again. Liar.
With a frustrated sigh, she pushed the car door open and walked to the front porch steps. Murphy had called her five times before her encounter with Brent and several times since then.
He had taken Lucas home just after the ceremony and was supposed to have come back, but he had never returned. Something must have happened.
Peyton stood at the front door and knocked several times without receiving an answer. She wouldn’t have thought anything about her knock going unanswered if Murphy hadn’t called so many times. Had something happened? Was Lucas hurt?
A sense of foreboding filled her bones, but nothing could have prepared her for the hell she encountered when Murphy pulled the front door open.
Murphy stood in the open doorway, still dressed in the clothes he had worn to the wedding, minus the tie and a few buttons of his shirt, with blood streaming from the deep cuts in his face.
“What the hell happened?” Peyton’s hands flew to his face and it was then that she saw the slight bruises already starting to form on his cheekbone and near his eye. There was also a scratch on his chest identical to the ones on his face. “How did you cut yourself? What happened?”
“Lower your voice, okay.” Murphy’s voice was barely more than a whisper as he pulled her inside and shut the door.
“You need to tell me what’s going on.”
Murphy grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her further into the house. It took her a moment to register what she saw. Their house had been destroyed. Glass was scattered across the hardwood floors, pillows were shredded and lying in disarray all over the place. The furniture had been turned over and the television had been thrown to the floor without any hope of it ever working again.
“Were you robbed? You need to call Floy Taylor and get him and his officers out here.”
“No, we weren’t robbed and I’m not calling Floy. Listen, I need you to take Lucas for a couple of days. Can you do that for me?”
“Of course I can, but what about work. I have to work.”
“I’ve already talked to Reed. He is going to take your shifts. Just take Lucas. And no matter what, do not tell Dad and Mom what you saw here.”
“Murphy you need to tell me what’s going on. You’re cut to hell and back, the house is destroyed and you’re being rather cryptic about the whole thing.”
“Not now, Peyton. Not now.” Murphy’s voice and his deep brown eyes so like her own told her to drop whatever line of questioning she had swirling in her head. And Peyton would have if Murphy’s wife, Kathleen, hadn’t decided at that moment to make an appearance.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Kathleen’s speech was slurred and her movements were swayed. Peyton’s concern turned to fury as she watched Kathleen move toward them. Her fury was replaced momentarily by a slight bit of embarrassment. Kathleen was naked except for a tiny silk robe hanging off her shoulder and loosely belted at her waist. Her breasts and everything else God had given her was there for Peyton and anyone to see.
“Kathleen, you need to go back to bed,” Murphy said. He moved in front of Peyton, blocking her from Kathleen. Peyton didn’t know who he was trying to protect—her or his wife.
“I thought I told you I didn’t want any of your fucking family here.”
“I was just leaving,” Peyton said as she sidestepped Murphy and headed toward the staircase. Kathleen’s questions followed her.
“Where are you going? Murphy! Where the hell is she going?” Peyton’s foot had taken the first step before Kathleen’s nails dug into her shoulder and spun her around. “I asked you a question? Where the fuck do you think you’re going? This is my house. Mine! You have no right to walk in here and act like it’s yours.”
“Kathleen, I think you need to just calm down and take a step back. I’m going upstairs to get Lucas and then I’ll be out of here.” Peyton took a deep breath and her thoughts were confirmed—Kathleen was drunk. Miserably, disgustingly and rottenly drunk.
“The hell you will. That is my son. Mine. He’s not yours. He’s mine. You and my fucking sister need to remember that. He’s mine.” Peyton had no idea what Kathleen’s sister had to do with this conversation, nor did she care. All she cared about was getting her nephew and getting him the hell away from his slobbery-assed mother.
Peyton turned once more and tried to take the stairs again. Once more Kathleen stopped her. She turned to tell Kathleen to remove her hands and her nails from her body, but never got the chance. As soon as she faced Kathleen a hard palm slammed against the side of her face and slid down.
The pain didn’t shock Peyton. She had grown up with a house full of boys and had played rough once or twice in her life, but the sting that remained did disturb her.
Peyton brought her hand to her cheek and saw red when she removed it. Not red with rage or hate, but red with blood. Kathleen had not only slapped her—she had raked her overly long, overly manicured nails down her face in the end. Peyton no longer wondered what had had happened to Murphy’s face and to his chest. She also assumed Kathleen was the reason the living room and their possessions were in the state they were in.
In a split second, the James temper that Peyton had flowing through her veins came to the surface fully loaded and ready to be unleashed. She heard her brother Murphy’s words, but they seemed far off, garbled and mumbled. All she heard was Kathleen’s laugh and all she saw was the havoc she had wreaked. All she felt was the pain the woman had inflicted.
Peyton’s fist clenched by her side and Murphy issued his warning once more.
“Peyton, don’t.” But it was too late. Peyton threw her punch and it landed Kathleen full on. At any other time, Kathleen would have simply bent under the force, but in her drunken state she fell to the floor with her head and back taking the most of the impact.
Before Kathleen could move, Peyton was on top of her. Kathleen was a bit taller and outweighed Peyton by a few pounds, but she couldn’t do anything to unsettle Peyton’s body from the top of hers.
She flung out her arms and nails and tried to catch Peyton’s other cheek, her hair, anything, but Peyton could fight dirty when the circumstances called for it. This circumstance called for it.
Grabbing Kathleen’s hands, Peyton forced them to the floor. Peyton settled all of her weight and her anger onto Kathleen’s chest and moved her face inches away from her sister-in-law’s cussing and screaming form.
“Get this straight, Kathleen, you’ve only got once to do it. If you ever hit, try to hit or even think about hitting my brother again, I will find out about it. When I find out, I will come back here and rip every last one of those damned false fucking nails you pay so much for from your fingers.” Peyton was serious. She had never been more serious in her entire life. Kathleen must not have thought she was because she started to laugh.
“Look at you. All mad. It’s cute. If your brother were more of a man he wouldn’t have to have his sister fight his battles for him.” Kathleen’s body bucked beneath Peyton, but there was no unsettling her.
“It’s because my brother is more of a man that I’m doing this. He would never hit you, Kathleen, no matter what you say or do, but I would. I will if I ever see, hear or think you’ve pulled this shit again.” Peyton started to release Kathleen’s arms and go about her business of collecting Lucas and his things, but she was stopped. Kathleen stopped her. Peyton had released Kathleen’s hands for the briefest of seconds but it was enough for her to get one more lick in. The second slap to Peyton’s face didn�
�t hurt, it only made her temper go beyond the point of no return.
“Who the fuck do you think you are talking to me that way?”
Peyton let her temper get the better of her. One minute she had Kathleen’s arms and the next her hands were clutching the stupid robe the woman was barely wearing as she pulled her back off the floor. When Peyton had her where she wanted her, she let Kathleen have the answer to her question.
With all her strength, her might and her love for her brother, Peyton reared back and sent her fist flying. It connected with Kathleen’s face with a smack that echoed through the once-immaculate living room. Kathleen was done.
Peyton pushed herself to her feet and watched as Kathleen rolled to her side, clutched her face and rocked her body. When she was at her full height, she saw Kathleen peek up at her from behind her hands.
“I’m Peyton James, bitch.” Peyton shook her head at her mess of a sister-in-law lying curled in a ball on the floor. She shook the sting from her fist and then looked at her brother.
He looked tired. He looked defeated. He looked like death chewing on a cracker. Peyton stopped her thoughts from rolling out of her mouth and simply asked, “Is Lucas upstairs?”
Murphy nodded as he continued to stare at his wife. Peyton said nothing else as she ran up the length of the staircase and into Lucas’s room. The little blond-headed boy who looked just like his daddy sat in a miniature rocking chair with his favorite stuffed animal clutched to his chest.
Peyton shut the door and shut out the outside world. She walked slowly to him and fell to her knees. They were face to face—eye to eye. What she saw staring at her made her heart hurt and her eyes well up with tears she couldn’t shed.
Lucas’s little body was shaking slightly and his face was streaked with new and old tears. Peyton didn’t think, she just acted. She opened her arms and surrounded Lucas as he flew into them.
“Come on, buddy. You’re coming home with me.” He didn’t speak, but Peyton felt his head bob beneath her chin. She stood, taking Lucas and his threadbare animal with her. There was no need to pack a bag—he had plenty of clothes at her house.
