The Next Mrs. Blackthorne (Bitter Creek Book 6)

by Joan Johnston

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Clay said. “Come back to Bitter Creek. To me.”

  Jocelyn put her foot on the brake at the pleading sound of his voice. But it was far too late to turn around and go home. She was stopped at North’s back door.

  The back porch light flipped on.

  “I’m hanging up now, Clay,” she said.

  “Jocelyn, please don’t—”

  She closed the flip phone and turned off the ignition. She’d long since removed her jacket and thrown it into the backseat, but with the air conditioner off, she already felt uncomfortably warm. Jocelyn never appeared in public when she didn’t look perfectly put together. But it was hot. And she knew North would be just as happy if she showed up stark naked. She left the jacket where it was, opened the door, and stepped out into the sultry night air.

  The countryside was amazingly dark, with no sign of civilization for miles around. There was no moon and very few stars. She could hear crickets. And cattle lowing. And the wind rustling through the live oaks that shrouded the house.

  She could see a half-naked male figure in the kitchen doorway. He pushed open the screen door and stood there.

  It was North.

  Jocelyn felt her heart begin to batter frantically against her chest, like a frightened bird in a cage. She was terrified he would send her away before she had a chance to speak. Everything she’d imagined saying fled her mind, and she halted, staring at the figure in the doorway. Surely once she looked into his eyes, the right words would come. She started toward him, but the dirt driveway was rutted, and her high heels made her stumble.

  She saw his hand go over his brow to shade his eyes from the bright porch light, trying to figure out who she was.

  Her high heels wobbled again on the rutted dirt road, and she balanced herself with a hand on the warm hood of the SUV until she reached the end of it. The last ten feet to the door, she kept her eyes focused on the uneven ground.

  When she looked up again, North had backed up a step and the screen door had closed. She could see him silhouetted by a light beyond the dark kitchen. Moths and mosquitoes were buzzing the porch light, and she waved her hands to keep them out of her face as she stepped onto the back porch.

  She looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak.

  He shut the door in her face. And flipped off the light.

  2

  Jocelyn felt her face flame in anger. How dare he shut the door in her face! After she’d driven so far to—A second wave of heat shimmered up her throat, as shame washed over her. She was well repaid for her arrogance. How stupid to think she could ever manipulate a man like North Grayhawk with sex! The whole idea had been foolish from the start. She’d simply been too desperate to help Clay to see it.

  As she stared at the closed door, a hysterical bubble of laughter escaped. The situation was that ridiculous. How could she have been so wrong? If North really had been attracted to her, he wouldn’t have slammed the door in her face. Which he had. She opened the screen door, still furious enough—at both him and herself—to bang on the closed wooden door, demanding to be let in. Instead, she stared at her fisted hand and laughed again.

  Suddenly, the porch light came on and the door opened.

  Once her eyes had adjusted to the stark light, Jocelyn found herself facing a man every bit as tall and imposing as she remembered. His cold blue eyes were distant and unapproachable. His rangy body was deceptively relaxed, but she had the impression of a wild animal, ready to pounce.

  He was barefoot and wearing a western shirt that he’d apparently just pulled on, because it wasn’t snapped or tucked into his jeans. Which weren’t snapped either.

  Her eyes locked on the hair-dusted strip of tanned, muscular abs and chest in front of her and arrowed down to jeans that fit like a glove. She flushed and forced her gaze back up to North’s face.

  His eyes had narrowed, and his lips had twisted in a cynical smile. “Still shopping for a man? Or you finally ready to buy?”

  Jocelyn ignored the taunt and waited for an invitation to come in. It wasn’t forthcoming. Finally she asked, “May I come in?”

  North stepped back, but not very far, and Jocelyn’s breasts brushed against his naked chest as she edged into the shadowy kitchen, lit only by the spill of light from the hallway and the porch. She was flustered, but a quick glance upward revealed that North wasn’t as unaffected, or uninterested, as he wanted her to believe.

  Jocelyn watched as his gaze left her face and slowly dropped to her nipples, which had visibly peaked beneath her silk blouse. She felt a frisson of desire shiver up her spine and caught her lower lip in her teeth to keep from moaning.

  He did want her. She could do this. She had to do this. Clay’s happiness, his family’s future, depended on her success.

  “Like what you see?” she asked in a disturbingly breathless voice.

  His eyes moved back up her body slowly until they were focused on hers. Then, in a whiskey-rough voice, he said, “Yes.”

  Jocelyn realized she’d been hoping North would proposition her, so that all she had to do was agree. But his full lips remained sealed as his avid gaze roamed her face.

  “We’re going to let the moths in,” she said at last, as she eased the screen door closed.

  At the same moment, North turned out the porch light.

  Jocelyn felt trapped with him in the darkness. She didn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her breasts felt achy and her body clenched in sudden desire as she felt his hand close around her breast.

  She gasped.

  “This is what you came for, isn’t it?” he said in a voice that resonated deep in his throat. He backed her against the door, his hips thrusting against hers, so there could be no mistaking what he wanted from her. He was hard and hot, and her body trembled with fear and desire.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  And then, as though someone had thrown a pail of cold water on her, she realized where she was and what she was doing and what she’d said.

  “I mean no,” she said hastily, putting her hands to his shoulders and looking up at eyes that glittered dangerously in the meager light from the hallway. “I mean yes, but—”

  “Make up your mind, honey. I haven’t got all night.”

  Jocelyn had never heard such brutally frank—and unflattering—language from a man. It shocked her. And angered her. “Get away from me,” she said through bared teeth. “Before I—”

  She was free before she could say what awful carnage she would wreak on him for the insult she’d suffered.

  “I’m going to bed,” he said, heading for the hallway. “Shut the door when you leave.”

  “Wait!” she cried.

  He stopped, glanced at her over his shoulder, and said, “What for?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Talk isn’t what I want from you.”

  Jocelyn held out her hands in supplication. “Please. I only need a few minutes of your time. This is important.”

  “There’s only one thing you have that I want, honey. Unless you’ve changed your mind—”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Jocelyn said.

  He turned around and crossed his arms and spread his long, bare feet wide. “I’m listening.”

  He looked as unassailable as a brick wall. And equally unsympathetic. She was anxious and nervous and afraid that what she was offering wouldn’t be enough to sway him. She searched her mind for something to say that might postpone the inevitable discussion. “I’ve been driving for hours. I could use something cold to drink.”

  “Glasses are in the cupboard. Tea is in the fridge. Ice is in the door. Help yourself.”

  Jocelyn knew better than to ask “Which cupboard?” She simply moved to the most logical place where glasses might be kept, opened the cupboard and found one there. “Would you like some, too?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  She took out a glass, crossed to the refrigerator door, which had an automatic ice dispenser, then
opened the fridge and stood there in the cool air and welcome light while she poured herself a glass of tea from a half-gallon jug. She closed the door and turned to him and tried to smile. And failed dismally. “Thank you,” she said as she swallowed a sip.

  “Can we sit down?” she asked, gesturing toward a round table in the corner of the kitchen.

  “I’m waiting,” he said in response.

  “Yes. Well. The thing is—” She looked across the room and found North’s spread-legged stance as intimidating as she was sure he intended it to be. Two could play that game. She set the glass down on the counter and moved toward him. She stopped six inches away. Definitely in his space. She put her hands on his crossed forearms and felt the muscles bunch under her fingers.

  “I’m here to ask a favor,” she said.

  A muscle worked in his jaw, but he remained silent.

  She took a deep breath and said, “I want you to sell your controlling shares of the Bitter Creek Cattle Company back to the Blackthornes.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because you don’t need Bitter Creek.”

  North snorted.

  “And because I’m offering you something more valuable in exchange.”

  “Nothing on earth could match the feeling of satisfaction I’m going to get from owning Bitter Creek,” North said savagely.

  “You can have me in your bed,” Jocelyn said. “Willing. And eager.”

  “What makes you think I care?”

  Jocelyn lowered her eyes along his body until she reached the abundant proof cupped lovingly by his butter-soft jeans. She let her hand follow where her eyes led, until her fingertips had outlined the width and warmth of him.

  Then she met his gaze and said, “I think you care a great deal.” Her voice caressed as her hand caressed.

  “I want revenge more,” he said curtly, grabbing both her wrists and holding them in front of him tight enough to hurt.

  “You can still have your revenge,” she argued. “Just in a different way.”

  “What way is that?”

  “You can steal me from Clay, the way Blackjack stole Eve from your father. Wonderful symmetry, don’t you think?”

  He paused so long she thought for sure she’d found an argument he would buy. But he said, “I don’t want a wife.”

  “Fine,” she said, smarting from his dismissal. “You can have me for as long as—”

  “I’ll take you just long enough to make him suffer,” North interrupted. “That’s all I want.”

  “Our wedding day is June 4. I—”

  “Call it off,” he said. “That’s my price.”

  Jocelyn couldn’t speak past the sudden lump in her throat. She swallowed painfully, and said in a soft voice, “Very well. It’s done.” The ache in her throat made it hard to speak, and she whispered, “Now what?”

  He let go of one wrist, but held onto the other and headed out of the kitchen and down the hallway, pulling her along behind him. Her high heels clacked on the wooden floor.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “To bed.”

  “No. Wait!” Jocelyn stuck her hand out to brace herself on a passing doorway, but it was no use. He was too strong, and she lost her balance in the high heels and careened after him. “Please. I don’t think I can—”

  He turned so suddenly her breasts flattened against his chest when she ran into him, and his arms circled her to hold them both upright. She could see his eyes just fine now, and they were as cold as Arctic ice.

  “You trying to wriggle out of the deal already?”

  “You don’t have to drag me along like a cat on its way to a bath,” she snapped. “You could leave me a little dignity.”

  “There’s nothing dignified about sex. It’s hot and sweaty and coarse and vulgar and about as primitive as life gets.”

  Jocelyn gaped. She was too stunned to breathe. “I don’t even know you. We’re strangers. Surely you can’t want—”

  “I want you, honey,” he said. “Or there wouldn’t have been a deal. You coming? Or not?”

  “I need time—”

  “This is a one-time offer,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

  “How do I know you’ll do what you say after you have what you want from me?” she countered.

  His eyes narrowed. “I killed the last man who called me a liar.”

  Jocelyn would have thought he was exaggerating, except his voice had been too soft—and menacing. “I’m not a man,” she said. “I can’t meet you with six-shooters at dawn. I need some sort of—”

  “My word has always been good,” he growled.

  “I want it in writing.”

  He took her by the hand this time and headed down a different hall. He didn’t stop until he was standing in front of an oak rolltop desk. He let go of her and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote something, then thrust it at her. “Here’s your damned paper.”

  On it he’d written:

  In exchange for sex with Jocelyn Montrose for as long as I want her, I hereby agree to sell my shares of the Bitter Creek Cattle Company.

  He’d dated it and signed his name.

  “This won’t work,” she said.

  “What the hell’s wrong with it?”

  She reached for the pen he’d dropped on the desk and crossed out for as long as I want her and wrote in until September 1 and added language to say that he would sell his shares to Clay Blackthorne no later than that date. She thrust the paper back into his hands and said, “Initial the changes.”

  He read it and said, “I’m not getting much for what I’m giving up.”

  Jocelyn held onto her temper, refusing to respond to the provocative insult. “Then don’t initial the changes. I can always walk back out to my car and drive away.”

  His lips quirked on one side, and he laid the paper on the desk and initialed the changes she’d made. He then added another sentence and handed it back to her.

  Jocelyn read his words with dismay. She looked up at North and said, “But I have to tell him why I’ve done this. Otherwise, he’ll think—”

  “Let him think what he wants. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  Jocelyn’s jaw was locked as she laid the paper on the desk and initialed the line that read, Clay Blackthorne will not be told the terms of this agreement. Then she folded it up into a very small square and stuck it in the pocket of her skirt. “I hope you’re happy now!”

  He headed for the door and said, “Follow me.”

  Jocelyn couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy. Would North do as he’d promised? Was Bitter Creek really out of danger? What if he didn’t follow through? Was the document he’d signed enforceable in court? After all, she was exchanging sex for…It wasn’t prostitution. It wasn’t. It was a favor in exchange for a favor.

  She and North were on their way back down the first hall when they heard pounding on the back door. “Are you expecting someone?” Jocelyn asked, her eyes wide.

  “No,” he said.

  North was still moving toward the bedroom, but Jocelyn had stopped and was looking toward the back door, where the banging had gotten louder. “Don’t you want to answer that?”

  He shot her a crooked smile and said, “Honey, there’s only one thing on my mind right now. And it isn’t company.”

  “Jocelyn! I know you’re in there!”

  “That’s Clay!” Jocelyn exclaimed.

  She heard North mutter a series of profanities before he strode past her on his way back to the kitchen door. He grabbed her wrist as he passed and said, “Come with me.”

  He didn’t leave her any choice. He dragged her behind him, then swung her around and settled his arm around her waist, just beneath her breasts, with her buttocks molded into his hips.

  Jocelyn realized what this posture would look like to Clay, and she was terrified of what he might do. And of what North might do in response. She struggled to get free. “Don’t! I don’t want
Clay to see me like this.”

  “Why not? You’re mine now.”

  “Until September,” she shot back.

  “The wedding sure as hell is off. The sooner he knows it, the better,” North said.

  “He’ll kill you,” Jocelyn said, horrified at what she’d set in motion.

  “He’s welcome to try,” North said in a steely voice.

  Jocelyn gripped the arm he’d tightened around her with both hands and said, “Please don’t provoke him.”

  North’s laugh was terrifying. “You should have thought of that before you showed up at my door.”

  “I was thinking of Clay. I’m doing this for him. Because I love him,” she said.

  “You sure have a funny way of showing love, honey.”

  Before she could retort, he’d flipped on the back porch light, yanked open the back door and shoved past the screen.

  She was greeted by Clay’s shocked face.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” she hurried to explain. “I mean, it is, but there’s a—” North’s arm tightened enough to cut off her air, and she realized she’d been about to make the explanation she’d been forbidden to make.

  “Let go of her, North,” Clay said through tight jaws.

  “She’s here of her own free will,” North said. “Find yourself another Mrs. Blackthorne. Jocelyn is mine.”

  Jocelyn’s stomach knotted as she watched Clay’s face twist in a snarl of rage.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Jocelyn would never agree—”

  “I don’t give a damn what you believe,” North interrupted. “Now get off my land.”

  Jocelyn watched Clay’s hands bunch into fists as his feet spread in a fighting stance. Any moment violence was going to erupt. She had to stop this, even if Bitter Creek was forfeit. A piece of land wasn’t worth dying for.

  And then she realized that, of course it was worth dying for. Generations of Blackthornes had died—and killed others—to keep Bitter Creek. Clay wouldn’t hesitate to make the ultimate sacrifice. She had to stop him from doing that.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked brusquely. “How did you find me?”

  “There’s a tracking device in the car in case it’s stolen. I’ve been following you most of the day. What are you doing here, Jocelyn? If this has anything to do with this bastard trying to steal the Bitter Creek Cattle Company—”