COWBOY ROMANCE: Avery (Western Contemporary Alpha Male Bride Romance) (The Steele Brothers Book 3)

by Amanda Boone

  “I love these sweet peaches,” Rob murmured as he followed the curves of her breasts with his fingertips. “They make my mouth water.”

  “Then have a taste.” She drew his head down to one throbbing tight peak, her breath rushing out as he kissed it. He stroked her with the flat of his tongue, and then sucked the puckered bead between his lips, drawing on it until she shivered and moaned.

  Everywhere Rob touched her, Malory felt her body warm and grow damp. By the time his hand glided between her thighs, she felt as if she were soaked down there.

  “Sorry,” she murmured as he explored her folds. “You’ve got me all worked up, Robert.”

  He looked directly in her eyes. “I can do something about that.” He watched her as he penetrated her with one long finger, caressing her inside as he slowly pumped it in and out. “I still don’t have any condoms with me.”

  “I don’t want anything between us.” Malory reached down to wrap her fingers around his thick, swollen shaft. She shifted her leg, bracing it on top of his as she shifted closer. “This is ours.”

  He nodded, his jaw tightening as he felt her press him against her. “No one can take it from us.”

  “Come inside me,” she breathed.

  Robert gripped her hip, and thrust gently, probing and then penetrating her. The fullness of his heavy cockhead stretched her, but her desire engulfed him with greedy, slick heat. He hissed in a breath as she wriggled, trying to take him deeper.

  “I want to take my time,” he told her, his voice ragged now, “but I need you so much, I don’t think I can.”

  “Next time we’ll go slow.” She tugged him over on top of her. “I’m yours, Robert. Take what you need.”

  He groaned and then unleashed his passion, driving into her with deep, hard strokes. The fullness and friction of his heavy shafting fueled her own desire, and she arched under him with every thrust.

  “Oh, honey, you’re so tight and hot on me,” he gasped, his hard muscles bulging as he worked inside her. “Yes, look at me, I want to see those pretty eyes. Does it feel good to you? Do you like me loving this sweet pussy with my cock?”

  His graphic words sent a shocking wave of lust through her belly, and she pressed her breasts against his chest. “I love you inside me. Oh, Robert, harder. Please, I need it harder.”

  He arched back, dragging her hips up with his strong hands. The shift in position brought him impossibly deep with every full thrust, and Malory cried out when he used his thumb on her clit.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s what you need.” He gave her a savage grin as he rubbed her hard pearl and pumped his cock into her clenching softness. “I want to feel every inch of your pussy wrapped around me when I come. But first you. Soak me with that hot sweetness, honey. Drown me with it while I fuck you.”

  Malory cried out as the pleasure exploded inside her, her vision graying and her body straining as she clamped down on him. She heard Robert grunt and then utter a low roar as he drove into her fluttering softness and then jerked. The slow, thick jets of his seed pumped from his pulsing cock into her, setting off a second, dreamy climax.

  Robert bent over her, bracing himself on his hands as he gave her a long, tender kiss. “I want to do this again,” he said, panting the words. “How about you meet me here in five minutes?”

  “Well, if you’re going to make me wait . . . .” she laughed and hugged him.

  #

  Rob lay on his side to watch his woman sleep. Once she drifted off, Malory curled up like a little shrimp against him. She hadn’t moved since the last time they’d made love; his cock still lay snug inside her body. Rob held her and thought about how odd it was that the blackmailer had demanded money from her but not from him.

  The Boones didn’t keep millions in the bank, preferring instead to invest much of their profits back into Ghost Lake Ranch. Still, it would be a damn sight easier for Rob to get his hands on two hundred grand than the town librarian.

  Unless the money wasn’t the reason for the blackmail.

  Carefully Rob drew out of Malory, and saw her stir and frown in her sleep before she sighed and went still. He climbed out of bed and pulled on his jeans. From there he walked silently out into the living room, closing her door before switching on the lights.

  Malory kept her bills and important papers in a pretty white fold-out desk, which he went to and opened. A brief search of the largest drawer produced a deed to her grandparents’ farm, and several letters from Harold Ames, a rancher who wanted to buy it.

  He took out his phone and called The Cue Ball. “Margie, hi,” he said as the bartender barked a hello. “It’s Rob Boone. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Make it quick,” she told him. “It’s Truckers Drink Free Night, and they’re all thirsty.”

  He glanced down at the letters in his hand. “When I was there for my brother’s bachelor party, there was a guy sitting next to me at the bar. He bought me a beer, but I never got his name.”

  “That was Harry Ames,” Margie said. “He and his sister have got a big spread just north of here, but you should know that. You gave him a ride home that night.”

  “Thanks, Marg. I owe you one.” He ended the call and then dialed his brother Chris’s home phone number.

  “Ethan just called me, looking for you,” his older brother grumbled. “You shacked up with some good-time girl again?”

  “No, I’m helping out someone in town,” Rob said. “Chris, can I talk to Becca? I just need to ask her a question about her baby shower.”

  Chris called for his wife, and then said, “Notice how I’m not grilling you about your weird interest in my wife’s surprise parties. Here she is.”

  Once his sister-in-law was on the phone, Rob said, “Hey, little mama. How are you and that basketball you swallowed?”

  “I think we’re playing kidney kickball tonight,” she said. “But we’re good. What’s up?”

  Rob closed Malory’s desk drawer. “Becca, was there a lady named Ames at your baby shower?”

  “Let me think. Oh, yes, Shawna Ames,” she said with a note of triumph. “I remember her because it was a little weird. She didn’t seem to know anyone, and Caroline told me later that she didn’t invite her. Is there such a thing as a baby shower crasher?”

  “Sounds like it.” Rob glanced at the closed bedroom door. “One more thing, Becca – did this woman sit next to Malory French?”

  His sister-in-law giggled. “How did you know that? Were you spying on my baby shower, Robert Boone?”

  “No, sweetie, but I met her brother the other night.” He kept the cold tide of anger rising inside him out of his tone. “Can I talk to Chris one more time?”

  Chapter Five

  After spending two nights with Rob in her bed, Malory felt guilty for not telling him about meeting with the realtor at her grandparents’ farm. But he had been so adamant about not paying the blackmailer that she knew he’d try to stop the sale.

  She didn’t care about the farm or the money, not anymore. Rob was all she needed in her life.

  The realtor, a plump smiling blonde who wore a bright pink suit, greeted her with a hug. “I’m so glad you’re moving ahead with this, Ms. French. Farmland needs to be worked, you know, and Mr. Ames will take good care of the property.”

  Malory nodded and tried not to look miserable as she followed the realtor into the little farm house where she had grown up. Harold Ames and his sister were sitting at the old kitchen table and looking over a property map.

  Both of them stood to shake her hand, but Malory kept the contact brief. She didn’t like the way Harold Ames’s eyes crawled over her every time they met. His sister had a sneering smile that gave her the creeps, too.

  “We’re real happy you decided to sell to us, Ms. French,” Harold told her. “I’ve brought a check for you, too, so we can close right now.”

  The realtor’s smile slipped a little. “Ah, Mr. Ames, we do need to do some paperwork before we can close. There’s the title search
, and an inspection of the property—“

  “We’ll take it as is,” Harold said. “I don’t want this little lady to go and change her mind on us. Let’s git her done.”

  Malory stared at him as his words echoed in her mind, and dragged her back through time. She’d heard him say that, right to her face. For an instant she had a flash of Harold bending over her and tugging at her clothes as he said almost the exact same words.

  Come on, Shawna. Those pills won’t keep ‘em out forever. Let’s git her done.

  Feeling shaken and turned to stone all at once, Malory turned to the realtor. “Would you excuse us, please? I need to have a word in private with the Ames.”

  The realtor looked uncertain, but nodded and left them.

  “What’s the problem now?” Ames demanded.

  “You drugged me and Robert Boone, and put us in that hotel room,” Malory said without any emotion. “You stripped us, posed us and took pictures of us. Then you sent them to me and demanded money you knew I didn’t have.”

  Harold Ames’s mouth flattened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady.”

  “Sounds crazy to me,” his sister put in, but she looked worried now.

  Malory focused on Shawna. “Do you know how long you can go to jail for what you did to us? The rest of your life. And you did it just to get your hands on this farm and bankrupt me?”

  The older woman turned to her brother. “You said she’d never remember.”

  “Shut up, Shawna.” Harold spat on the floor. “I could have killed you and that cowboy,” he told Malory. “I still could. Or maybe I’ll just tape up those pictures inside your precious little library. Think the kiddies will like seeing you sucking on that big dick of his?”

  Rob came out of the kitchen with a stack of photos. “You mean, these pictures I found at your house?” He tossed them in the fireplace. “I don’t think they’ll hang too well, Harold.”

  The rancher looked smug. “I can make more.”

  Chris Boone walked in from the hall carrying a baseball bat and a computer hard drive. He placed the drive on the floor and hit it with the bat, making Shawna screech. He straightened and surveyed the pieces. “Did you remember to make backups of your digital files, Ames? ‘Cause your hard drive is history.”

  “Yeah I did,” the rancher grated. “I got ‘em in a safe place, too. You’ll never get to them.”

  Rob came to Malory and put his arm around her waist. “Well, honey, I guess we’ll just have to get married.”

  She saw the look in his eyes and played along. “Okay.”

  “No,” Harold told her. “You’re going to give me this farm, and keep your mouth shut, or everyone will see those pictures. No one will believe we drugged you and posed you.”

  Chris turned his head and shouted, “That enough?”

  A moment later police officers flooded into the farmhouse to arrest Harold and Shawna and march them out of the house.

  “Nice little ruse,” the realtor said as she came in and pulled off her blonde wig to reveal a neat cap of gingery curls. She smiled at Malory. “Hi, I’m Detective Woods. I’ll need you to come down to the station to file charges against these two. Today, please.” She nodded to Rob and Chris before scooping up the paperwork on the table and walking out.

  Chris came over and kissed Malory on the cheek. “He’ll explain everything. Welcome to the family.” He glanced around as he pulled a wire out of his shirt. “This is a great place. Save it for your kids.”

  Once Rob’s brother left, Malory turned to her lover. “You knew Ames was the blackmailer, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “For this to work we had to make him think he’d won,” Rob said. “Detective Woods thought you’d be more convincing if you didn’t know. I planned to come in and confront him as soon as he tried to get you to sign and con him into confessing. We didn’t count on you working it out in the middle of everything.”

  “Con him?” She glanced at the fireplace and the smashed hard drive. “Everything was fake?”

  He nodded. “The police got a search warrant to execute while Ames and his sister were here. They’re confiscating the real photos and hard drive as we speak. Detective Woods needs them for the prosecutor, but she promised to handle them as sensitive, confidential evidence.”

  “That’s not a guarantee that they’ll be protected, you know,” Malory said. “And if Ames every gets his hands on those backups—”

  “You mean, these backups?” He took some jump drives out of his pocket. “He was keeping them in his truck’s glove box. Too cheap to get a safety deposit box at the bank.” He went over and tossed them into the fireplace.

  Malory came to stand beside him, and wrinkled her nose at the smell of burning plastic. “I love you. I’m still mad at you for not telling me, but I love you.”

  He kissed her temple. “I love you, too, honey. Now stop frowning like that.”

  Malory rested her cheek against his shoulder. “It’s just . . . Rob, what are we going to do if I’m pregnant?”

  “We face it together, just like I said. And if you’re not, maybe I can talk you into keep trying until you are.” He put his arm around her waist. “So, are you sure you really want to stick with me and brave all my bad luck?”

  “That’s something I didn’t tell you, Robert,” she said, smiling a little. “My name, Malory, comes from an old French word meaning unfortunate.”

  He stared down at her. “You mean—”

  “Yep.” She beamed up at him. “I’m your bad luck now.”

  Elise and the Lumberjack

  A Mail-Order Bride Western

  Book 1

  (Can be read as a standalone book)

  By: D.D. Boone

  Elise and the Lumberjack

  Chapter 1

  This was the longest wait Elise Anderson had ever had at the Bishop Hill, Illinois, post office. She was expecting a letter from her best friend, Bridget, who lived in New York City. They’d been separated for about three years now, but they’d kept in contact every other week to tell each other about their lives.

  The letter Elise expected today was in regard to Bridget’s wedding plans. Elise’s employers, for whom she translated English into Swedish and taught how to speak and read English, had given her permission to attend the wedding. All she needed to know was when she had to leave.

  At last, Elise saw the mail courier coming from the southwest, as he did twice a week when he picked up the mail at the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad depot in Galesburg, Illinois. For the former Swedish commune established in 1841, no train station was closer than Galesburg.

  Elise pondered how she’d gotten to Bishop Hill. Her parents had immigrated from Småland, Sweden, after their 1848 marriage. Rather than traverse the country to Minnesota, they’d chosen to stay in New York City with their infant daughter, Elise. By the time she was eighteen, they were both deceased, and she needed a job. With her bilingual abilities, she went to Castle Garden, into where many Swedes immigrated. The immigration department didn’t pay a lot there, but they had hired her.

  About a year later, she’d met Bridget O’Riley. They’d become friends almost instantly during the O’Riley family’s immigration processing, and Mrs. O’Riley had invited her to live with them once they were settled so she could save some money. And she did save, for another two years.

  Then she aided the Bengtson family with translating when they arrived from Sweden. They were headed to the commune founded by religious leader Eric Janson, and Mr. Bengtson asked her to join them as their personal translator and teacher. Elise accepted the job immediately when he told her how much he was willing to pay her. She had always wanted an adventure, and moving to Illinois would be just that.

  Unfortunately, that meant she and Bridget had to say good-bye, and both promised to write regularly.

  “Would you come out of that daydream and join the rest of us, Elise?” a young man asked from beside her.

  She startled and gaze
d up at the tall, blond Swede. Her face heated in embarrassment as she said, “I’m sorry, Lars.”

  Lars Olson’s baby-blue eyes gleamed with merriment, and he grinned down at her. “You always are. Would you like the mail for the Bengtsons?”

  “Is there anything for me?”

  “I’m afraid not. Have you and Bridget had a falling out?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Elise replied as she accepted the mail from him. “She’s probably just busy with wedding preparations.”

  “Have you heard that I’m leaving for California next week?”

  “No, I haven’t. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just decided a few days ago. I’m tired of farming and making mail runs. I’m going out there to be a lumberjack.”

  “A lumberjack,” she repeated in surprise. “Do you have any idea what kind of work that entails? I understand it’s very strenuous.”

  “It is,” he said with a wide grin, “but I’ve been preparing for it. I cut trees here every chance I get—never without reason, though. Trees take a long time to grow back.”

  Her heart sank to know that he would be leaving soon. So far, he’d been her only suitor, and she was going to miss him, especially that smile. “If this is what you want to do, I wish you well.”

  “May I write to you?”

  “You’d better write to me,” she said cheerfully. “I would feel terribly neglected if you didn’t.”

  He winked at her. “I’d better get the rest of the mail into the post office so others can collect theirs. You have a good day. I’ll be by the house to see you tonight. Is that all right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As Lars went into the post office, Elise strolled toward the general store. Mrs. Bengtson needed some thread for darning, and Elise had promised to pick it up on the way home. After purchasing the thread, she headed back to the house, her mind deep in thought.