“Happy to oblige.” He spread her juicy channel wider. “Let me make really certain you’re fired up enough to have me, baby.”
She pounded her fists on his desk. “Chet, I’m going to be cinders and ashes if I get any hotter.”
He laughed against her clit, and the vibrations had her groaning. “Not to worry, darlin’.” He flicked the crest of her nub with the talented tip of his tongue. “I’m going up in flames with you.”
“Like now?” She keened.
He plunged into her with one long hard drive. “Like right now.”
She opened her mouth in a silent scream of fulfillment.
“Oh, I hear you, baby,” he growled as he gripped her hips with powerful hands, flung his head back and set a jolting rhythm for them both. “Christ, where’ve you been all these years?”
At his question, a warning bell rang in her head, but she couldn’t care, didn’t dare move as he penetrated her over and over with speed. Wanting more, she moaned and pleaded for him, “Come closer, farther.”
He rammed inside her and she thrilled at his strength as he rocked her in a faster pulse that made her yell for more.
He gave it. With fast, sure stabs, he claimed her. She spread her legs, lifted to meet him and reveled in his ferocity. Pulses of pleasure built inside her like a hurricane, taking her up and making her keen as she came in waves of release.
With a shout, he followed her up into the storm, broke and fell over her.
When he lifted his head, he examined her features. His body was tense, his expression raw with worry. He caressed her cheeks and lips with careful fingers. “That was rough. You’re good?”
“Very good,” she breathed.
He grinned, passion hooding his gaze as he took his time, caressing her nipples, sucking them into points over and over, massaging her belly and giving her minute orgasms with his touch. “You come for me so easily, darlin’.”
She let out a giggle. “Who knew I could do that?”
“Why? Haven’t had many men?”
“No. No, not like this. Not like you.”
“Well then, let me take my time and apply all my talents to loving you often.”
She looked Chet in the eye. “Good, because now that I’ve had you—I’d hate to let you go.” She squeezed his shaft with her vaginal muscles.
He groaned. “Who says you have to go anywhere?”
“You’re going to let me stay?”
He stroked her channel with a long swath of his heavy cock. “Oh, you’re staying.”
“I’m hired?” She could barely believe her good fortune.
His eyes laughed as they delved into hers. “Seems like the best way to keep you.”
“Well,” she demurred, teasing him, “I can’t just stay in town and say I’m here to make love to the famous Chet Stapleton.”
His brows furrowed. “No, certainly can’t do that.” He caressed her stomach, lost in thought. “But if you do stay, you are making love to Chet Stapleton.”
“I wouldn’t stay if I couldn’t.”
He examined her then. Long and hard, he looked her over, from her swollen mouth to her pebbled nipples to her wet bush, his cock still buried deep inside her. He combed her pussy hair with two gentle fingers. “I want you often. In a bed. Down in the river. On the bank on a blanket. Everywhere. Every day.”
“At night, too,” she insisted and let him know she was adamant about it with another pulse of her powerful walls.
He hooted. “You bet. But this is a small town and folks have proprieties here, so you’ve got to have a room. We’ll set you up at Troy Mallard’s B&B.”
“You’ll visit?” she asked, eager as a teenager with a new boyfriend.
“Ha! I’m gonna be around you so much, you’re gonna get tired of me.”
She grinned, bold as brass that he could care that much. “I want to be tired because of you, Chet Stapleton.”
“Oh, trust me.” He pushed inside her once more, his eyes drifting closed in the move. “You’re gonna have to find ways to get your work done fast, Shana. Cuz, I’ve got a taste for you now and my appetite is only gonna grow.”
She tossed him an impish grin. “Chet, that’s a promise, I’m gonna see to it you keep.”
Chapter Two
“Mornin’, Troy!” Chet greeted the owner of Hayward’s only bed and breakfast as they stood in the reception hall of the huge, old Victorian house. “This is Shana Carpenter, she’s going to be working for us at the rodeo.”
“Welcome, Miz Carpenter.” Troy took a limping step forward and reached across his reception desk to shake her hand. In his early thirties, he rivaled Chet for tall, rugged and drop-dead gorgeous. With his silky black hair and chocolate-brown eyes, he was definitely as handsome as Chet. His gaze danced down her body. “I see that my buddy Chet, here, has good taste.”
“Thank you,” Shana responded with a professional smile.
“Shana needs a large room, Troy,” Chet announced, his gaze rising slowly from Troy and Shana’s hands. “I hope you have the biggest casita in the back available.”
“Sure do, Chet. I can fix you up.” He turned to take a key from the pigeonhole slots behind him. “The one with the kitchen, right?”
“Yep and the hot tub in the back.”
Troy took his time admiring Shana’s lips, making her wonder if he could tell what she’d been doing with them only minutes ago.
“What’s the rental fee?” she asked, careful to sound professional.
“How long will you stay?” Troy asked. “I can quote you a really good rate if you’re here for a long while.”
“Three months,” she told him before Chet could get a word out.
“Wow. That long? Terrific. Means we’ll get to know you really well.”
Chet smiled, but his expression was more rueful than pleasant. “Easy, boy. Shana’s here to help me make strides with the rodeo.”
Troy examined Chet in fine detail. Shana figured it had to be Chet’s proprietary tone. “Is that right? Well then, you do need the biggest little house in the back.” He fastened his dark gaze on Shana and quoted her a rate per month.
“Sounds like a deal,” she told him with a grin. “Do you want me to sign an agreement for that?”
“No, but you could give me a credit card. Usual check-in practice.” He seemed more businesslike now, less predatory male. “I can bill you monthly. First month in advance.”
“Wonderful.” She searched in her briefcase for her wallet, lifted out her personal card and let him complete the registration forms. She signed and turned to Chet.
He took her arm.
Troy examined both of them with a critical eye. “If you need anything, Shana, just call us here at the desk.”
Chet stared at him and shook his head. “Troy prides himself on doing everything for the single women who take rooms in his establishment.”
“Oh.” She tried to be polite, side-stepping any words to deepen the men’s tension. “Good to know. Thanks, Mr. Mallard.”
“Troy,” he corrected her with laughter in his voice and his eyes. “We don’t get many good-looking single women coming into town.”
“Troy it is then,” she acknowledged. “Hopefully when we get more people coming to town for the rodeo, there’ll be a bigger selection of single women.”
He laughed. “That would be great for the likes of me because I see Chet here has already staked his claim.”
She blushed.
Chet let out a laugh. “Okay, man. We’re gonna settle Shana into the back casita.”
“Call me if you need help getting the air conditioner or the whirlpool going.”
“I think I’m capable, buddy,” Chet called over his shoulder as he headed them out the front door. “I love the man. He’ll walk over hot coals for his friends, but I have to tell you, ever since he got discharged from the Guard, he’s an alley cat,” he told her as they took the sidewalk toward the back of the property.
“So was he in Af
ghanistan or Iraq?”
“Yeah. Iraq. Hell in the sand. You saw him limp, right?”
“What happened?”
“Roadside bomb. Took part of his left foot. He’s still in physical therapy. Goes twice a week into the VA Hospital in Kerrville for treatment. He’s getting better slowly. Too slowly for him. His biggest problem is not the foot.”
“It’s his head?” she speculated.
Chet didn’t respond but seemed lost in thought.
“Does he have psychological problems, or did he get a head injury from the blast?”
“Some of both,” Chet snapped. “Sorry. This is tough for me to talk about.”
She stopped and he turned to face her. With her heart pounding, she opened the subject that could ruin the good things she had going here with him. “Because of your own disability.”
It wasn’t a question, and his wince told her he was surprised she knew the truth about his condition.
“I have read your bio in various press clips,” she admitted her research on the traumatic brain injury that had changed his personality more than five years ago. “That’s how I knew.”
“Yeah well, it’s true. I have head injuries from my years of bronc riding. You get thrown off once, no big deal. Twice, hey, you’re getting good at scrambling up. But three, four, fourteen times and suddenly you’re screwed. Your body recovers but you are not acting right.” His green gaze bored into hers. “We are not going to talk about this. Not now.”
She bit her lip.
“Come on.” He tugged at her arm. “It’s okay, baby. I’m okay. Let’s get you settled in this little house. I’ll get your car and drive it over so you can unpack your suitcase. We’ll talk about the rodeo. I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour then,” he beamed at her, his mouth lush and generous with his grin, “I’m going to cook you lunch.”
* * * * *
But Chet wasn’t his same congenial self. The fact that she’d brought up his head injury had doused their easygoing relationship. He didn’t smile, didn’t tease, didn’t touch her as they rode through the giant wrought iron gates of the Hayward Rodeo.
“Built in 1950,” he told her as they jounced along the rough macadam up to the main arena in his serviceable old 4x4. “One hundred pens in the back, lots of road access for horse trailers and cattle cars. The arena seats five thousand. The roof was new after the last bad hail storm in ’99. The paneling on the inside and the plumbing is all brand new last year. So we look good, and we have capacity to grow in this arena.”
“The outside does look good.” She pushed her sunglasses up her nose. She figured she’d go on with the business stats, learn something about what she had to do here, before she went back to worrying that he might not want her anymore, might truly know who she really was, and not want to talk about the head injury which was the cause of his outbursts she’d witnessed four years ago. “A seating capacity of five thousand means we can alternate this with activities in the open-air ring. Which is where?” She swiveled in her seat to look around.
“Over there.” He pointed to their left and as she came nearer, he went quiet and his glance drifted down to her lips. “What do you think?” he asked, husky and warm. “Want to go see it?”
“Absolutely.” She smiled up at him, eager to have him back inside her, needing to reassure him that his head injury did not worry her, did not make him less of a whole man. I did you a more lasting injury by misrepresenting what your outbursts really were.
His green eyes twinkled with renewed interest. “It’ll be a quick tour.”
“Lead on, then! I need to do my research before I can suggest anything.”
He chuckled, then shifted the gear so that they jounced forward toward the outdoor arena. “Let’s see. What other facts can I tell you?”
“Hmm. Aside from when is lunch?” she teased.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “Lunch is in five minutes.”
He kept his word. Instead of getting out of the truck, he drove her around the arena’s circumference. Pointing to the ticket gates, he told her they were on track to be replaced next month. “The interior seats are good for another five thousand. And they’re comfortable too. But the biggest problem is that in Texas’ summer heat, spectators can fry at one hundred degrees. This arena is better for night events.”
“What about the opening parade of color guards? Do you still do that here or over in the covered ring?”
“Here. We do it early in the morning. Nine o’clock. Early by most standards. But it works for us. For now. Until we need to find the money to build a bigger covered main ring.”
“Cost efficiency,” she agreed. “It’s what we’ll work on.”
“Good. So now lunch?” he asked, his eyes lit with childish glee.
Breathless, she licked her lips. “I’m starving.”
He almost stripped the gears getting the truck in reverse. He chuckled all the way down the rock-strewn drive. “I’ve got to fire up the coals. Want a salad too?”
“Yes. I’m delighted to know one more man in the world can cook.”
“Oh?” He had his eyes on the road as they made a turn onto the highway. “How many men have you known who can cook?”
“My father. My uncle.”
“That all?” he asked, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He was tense. Not a happy sign.
“That’s all,” she told him, but she knew he was fishing for more information about men she’d known, men she’d dated, men she liked. She wasn’t going to give it to him. Because this, coupled with the way he had reacted to Troy Mallard’s interest in her, told her that kind of knowledge was not what she needed to offer Chet. He could get jealous. Angry. That she would avoid at all costs.
“I have a lot of good recipes,” he told her, eyes on the road, one hand taking hers into his lap.
His playfulness had her sighing in relief as she caressed the muscles of his thigh. “Tell me.”
“Steak. Salad. Baked Potatoes. Chili that’ll roll your mother’s stockings,” he told her with a grin as he took the exit ramp. “And cereal.”
She feigned a shiver. “Cold?”
“You hate it, huh?”
“I like something hot.”
He shot her a sensual grin.
She pinched his thigh. “Eggs. Or oatmeal, hot with brown sugar and maple syrup. And if you can’t make it, I can,” she told him as he pulled off the main road down a pebbled drive to a one-story, white-stone ranch house.
He pulled up the drive to the front door and turned off the engine. “Is that an invitation to have breakfast with you?”
She widened her eyes at him. “If you’d like.”
He curled a long, strong arm around her, hauled her across the shifter and, on her mouth, vowed, “Oh, Shana Carpenter, I do like.” His kiss was searing and brief.
He pulled away, hopped out of the cab then came around to open her door and hold up his arms for her to fall into. Opportunist that she was, she took advantage of his embrace to put her own mouth to his in a claim that made them both moan.
“Come inside before we do things out here others will applaud.” He took her briefcase from the floor of the cab and put his arm around her waist and led her to the porch.
When he opened the front door, he stood to one side to let her precede him. She stepped into the cool living room, done in rust-colored leather and brown-and-red Navaho carpets. On the mantel was a large old clock and a huge contemporary iron sculpture. But on the walls he’d mounted memorabilia of his life. Certificates, awards, a few pictures of a family of four from maybe twenty years ago.
“I love it,” she told him as she saw him watching her reaction to his taste.
“I rent the house. Option to buy if I make enough money as rodeo manager.”
She inclined her head toward the large family picture of mother, father and two teenagers, one of whom was clearly a younger Chet. “Your family?”
He nodded, put his keys down on a side table then glanced at his wall. “Y
es. All gone but me.”
His grief was almost palpable. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”
He winced. “I lost my parents five years ago. My brother the next year.”
She felt sick to her stomach with the coincidence of the timing. My god and I ruined him at the same time.
He gazed at her while some inner conflict contorted his features in grief and anger.
“Chet,” she began, devastated by her own guilt, not knowing what in hell she could say to him now. Except the whole truth, for which she hadn’t summoned enough courage. Yet.
He stepped toward her, pushing his hands up through her hair, pressing her to him like a second skin and branding her lips with fierce kisses, once, twice, three times.
“We’ll wait for the steaks,” he told her and bent to gather her up into his arms and march with her beyond the living room into a shadowed hallway toward the back of the house.
She hung on to him, shaking at his demand and thrilled, but not quite knowing this Chet who commanded her. At the end of the hall, he kicked open the door and carried her to a king-size bed covered in a rust and brown silk coverlet. He laid her down and rose above her, tangling his fingers in her long hair as he plundered her mouth. His kisses, filled with languor and nuance, caressed, brushed and crushed her lips. His tongue speared into her mouth, and she groaned, needing more of this man who was so controlling and yet so sweet.
He hauled her up to a sitting position. “I need you naked, baby.”
She kicked off her shoes then reached for her tank top the same time he did. The two of them pulled it up to throw it aside.
“Christ.” He kissed the tops of her breasts as his hands lifted under her bra and made them plump up out of the cups. “I love these. Your big nipples. Pink satin,” he licked one tip with the edge of his tongue, “and hard. They like to be nipped.” He bit each one in turn and made her buck. “And tweaked.” He did each delicately and whispered against her ear, “I could play with you all day.”
She writhed in excitement. “We’re not getting any work done.”
Do Him Right Page 3
