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The Rancher's Bride

Page 15

by Pamela Britton


  “You have no idea how lucky you are to live here,” she told the dog. “To have people to love you and take care of you.”

  The dog whined as if understanding her words and trying to reassure her.

  “My last boyfriend disappeared the minute I lost my business.”

  A tongue snuck out and licked her hand.

  “And before she died, I hadn’t spoken to my mom since I was a kid.” She scratched behind the dog’s ear. “She didn’t want to believe me when I told her the man she’d married made a pass at me.”

  They’d gotten into a huge argument that ended with Jorie realizing that she and her mom had been as different as oil and vinegar. She saw it all so clearly in the moment. Once she’d left she had never looked back, talking to her mom only on holidays and her birthday. It had been better that way.

  Lonely.

  Yes. It was that, too.

  “When I die, I want to come back as a dog and live in a place exactly like this,” she told Brat, straightening.

  “If you came here, I’d buy you a rhinestone collar.”

  She froze, wondered for a moment if she was hearing things, or if maybe it was Sam who’d followed her down.

  It wasn’t. When she turned, the moon she’d noticed earlier revealed his silhouette.

  “We’ve called off the wedding,” he said next, moving closer to her. “Laurel has released me from my promise.”

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “And the first thing I thought of, the very first thing I wanted to do, was come to you.”

  She took a breath, then another and another.

  In two steps he’d closed the distance between them, Brat trailing at his heels. “I want to be with you, Jorie,” he said. The pads of his fingers, surprisingly soft, stroked the side of her cheek. She closed her eyes.

  “I want to make love to you.” His hand moved up the side of her face to her hair. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I first saw you in your bed, those damn sheets tangled around your legs.”

  And still, she held silent.

  “You have no idea how badly,” he said.

  No, she had an idea…she felt the same way, too.

  “Will you let me?”

  Every nerve in her body began to hum. Her heart thudded in her chest so loudly she was surprised he couldn’t hear it. But there was no sense in denying it; she wanted him, too.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, yes.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  He felt like a teenager.

  That’s what she did to him. She made him think and want to do things that were so naughty, so completely sexy, that his hands shook. And yet…and yet she also made him want to touch her gently, to relish and to savor and to cherish every soft stroke of his hand against her flesh.

  “Let’s go inside,” he heard her say.

  He could have taken her right here, on the front lawn, that was the raunchy side of what she did to him. She took his hand. He followed, surprised to realize he was already hard for her, so hard, in fact, he felt ready to explode.

  The moon lit the pathway to her front porch. He thought about guiding her to his home, but that would take longer and he was in such a hurry, he didn’t have the patience. She had to fumble for her keys which she’d stashed inside her pants, apparently. Her hands were trembling and it took her a moment to undo the lock, although why she locked her door was beyond him. City thing.

  “Here,” he said, taking the keys from her. He had a hard time focusing, too. He kept replaying their kiss over in his mind, the kiss they’d shared in this exact spot. Knowing he was about to do a whole lot more than kiss her had him trembling, too. Somehow he managed to drive the key home. He all but fell through the door when it swung wide.

  “Let me turn on the light.”

  “No,” he said, tugging her toward the bedroom. He’d played in this house as a kid, knew exactly where everything was, and his steps sped up as he reached her bedroom. He told himself to take it slow, but he was beyond the point of reason. Ryan spun her to face him and planted his mouth on hers more harshly than he intended.

  She didn’t seem to care.

  She opened to him instantly, and she was so hot, her tongue filling his mouth so fully, he felt singed from the inside out. Suddenly kissing her wasn’t enough. Suddenly he wanted more, far more.

  He pressed his body against hers, their two bodies touching center to center, momentarily distracting him. Only the thought of a far more intimate connection, of stripping her out of her clothes and tasting more than her mouth, had him nudging her backward, Jorie stepping out of her heels along the way. He gently clasped her arms and leaned her back until they were both on the bed, Ryan’s body momentarily covering her own until he rolled to the side.

  “Take your clothes off.”

  Once again the words came out harshly, but she seemed to understand his need. She’d left her bathroom light on, the knife-edge of brightness allowing him to see the softness of her face.

  “My hands are shaking too badly.”

  She was trying to undo her belt. He helped her. The gold chain fell away with a clink of the links. His hands found her shirt next. He tried to tug it off. She had to lift her back, and Ryan was pleased with how easily it slid off her torso. If it hadn’t, he wasn’t at all certain he might not have ripped it off her body, but the sight that greeted him soon had him forgetting about the belt and the shirt and how quickly he was moving things along.

  She was beautiful.

  Her long hair lay spread out around her, the golden strands catching the light and seeming to be set aglow. She still wore her black slacks and suddenly he became impatient to get her out of them. She seemed to read his mind, undoing the catch, then the zip. He helped her slide the silky fabric down her body.

  Shit.

  She lay there in nothing but her bra and underwear and Ryan found himself marveling all over again. The sight of her smooth, white skin, of her long legs and the breasts that might still be hidden behind a light brown bra, but were so firm and full all he wanted to do was cup them both.

  Whoa.

  He was starting to think like a Neanderthal, but that’s what she did to him. He was dying, absolutely aching, to touch her—everywhere. And to taste her, the thought barely forming in his brain before he was leaning toward her, not to kiss her lips, but her abdomen, the sight of that little triangle of fabric below her belly button teasing him to the point that his mouth began to move lower, and then lower still.

  “Ryan,” she said, arching toward him.

  His fingers nudged the silky fabric down. Bare skin. Smooth, supple flesh that he tasted and licked.

  “Lower.”

  He tipped his head up, surprised by her tone.

  “Kiss me…there.”

  He grabbed her legs, spread them, his mouth finding her hot center. She moved against him, teasing him into taking more of her in his mouth. She wanted him to remove her panties, wiggled in such a way that he knew that’s what she craved. He didn’t because oddly enough, he suddenly needed to take it slowly, wanted her to want it…want him so badly that he had her moaning and writhing on the bed. So he taunted her, mouthed her soft nub through the satiny fabric until her hands lowered of their own accord and began to remove the fabric. He nudged her hands away, continued his assault, so turned on that his erection felt ready to bust out of his pants.

  “Please,” she begged.

  No.

  He didn’t tell her that. Instead he held her hands in place as he nudged the silk aside with his tongue, tasting her salty essence for the first time.

  He about lost it then, so much so that he didn’t trust himself to continue. He moved up her body, Jorie moaning her protest. He placed a hand against her center as a consolation prize, but
she batted it away, her hands moving to his slacks.

  “Not yet,” he said, trying to move her fingers away.

  “Yet,” she said firmly.

  He took the matter out of her hands by covering her body with his own. Ryan stayed in his own slacks because if she were to take his clothes off, there was no telling what he’d do.

  Spread her legs and thrust myself deep inside her.

  Yes, he admitted. Definitely that.

  So he held both of her hands down with one of his own, his other hand moving to her bra and edging it aside. She had breasts that filled his palm, and rose-colored nipples that begged for his mouth. She moaned when he cupped a hard nub with his lips, writhed beneath him when he nibbled the tip with his teeth, groaned when he suckled her.

  Somewhere along the line he’d let go of her hands, and Jorie was working the catch on his slacks without him even noticing. As her hands slipped inside and found the hard length of him, it was his turn to groan.

  He lifted his head, all but moaning, “You’re going to be the death of me if you keep that up.”

  “That’s the point.”

  She stunned him then by flipping him onto his back. How she did it, he didn’t know. One minute he was flicking his tongue over her nipple and the next she was straddling him, her gorgeous blond hair spilling over her shoulders.

  “You’re going to be the death of me if you don’t stop tormenting me.”

  She slid down his legs a bit, jerking down his slacks. He still wore his white button-down shirt, but she didn’t seem to care. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. That much was obvious by the way she slid his underwear down and then promptly covered his midsection with her moist center.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s no need to rush things.”

  “There’s every need in the world,” she said. “My need.”

  She thought she heard him laugh. He was driving her crazy with his teasing assault. But the damn man still wouldn’t let her have her way with him. No. Instead he rolled her onto her back again. Jorie was unable to keep from laughing, their tit-for-tat lovemaking causing her to feel giddy.

  She was happy.

  Never in her wildest dreams did she think it would ever work out between her and Ryan. The night seemed like a gift from God, one she should relish. Yet all she wanted to do was speed things up.

  Because you’re afraid something will happen, something to spoil the moment.

  It was the story of her life. But she refused to think about that tonight. Refused. This evening it was her and Ryan and the hard feel of his body against her own, the way the rock-hard length of him found her center despite his best efforts.

  He groaned.

  She lifted her hips, wrapped her legs around him.

  “Stop it.”

  She used the back of her heels to draw him closer.

  “Jorie, not yet.”

  She hit the target, or rather he hit her target square on, a hiss passing through his lips when they connected.

  “Do it.”

  She could see his eyes in the half light, saw the way his lids lowered. He paused for half a second before thrusting into her.

  She cried out.

  He pulled back. She clutched at his backside, forcing him inside her, but when he drew back out again she couldn’t take it anymore. She pulled away for a moment, tugged his jeans and Jockey shorts all the way off, helping him shed his boots and pants and underwear all at the same time. The moment he was free, she straddled him again.

  “Jeez,” she heard him rasp. “Jorie. What about protection?”

  She drew herself up the length of him. He seemed to freeze for a moment, as if contemplating a run for his pants or his wallet or wherever else he might stash his protection, but then he flipped her onto her back, and Jorie’s legs wrapped around his hips at the same time he thrust inside of her again.

  Crazy. Wild. Wicked.

  He pulled out, and then just as quickly pushed back in. She cried out, her moans matching his thrusts until lights sparked behind her eyes as pleasure spiraled through her body. She couldn’t breathe, wrenching her lips away only to cry out Ryan’s name.

  She waited for him to ride the same wave of pleasure, knew he had to be close, but instead of allowing himself release, he slowed down. Jorie’s eyes opened in time to spy him staring at her.

  “Again,” he said. She didn’t know what he meant until he said. “I want to hear you cry out again.”

  “No,” she panted, her hands finding the buttons on his shirt and starting to undo them. “It’s your turn.”

  “Again,” was all he said.

  He kept moving. She spread the edges of his shirt, pulling them aside. He allowed her, seeming to fling himself out of it. Jorie sighed and ran her hands down his chest when he was finally free of the darn thing. And though she could have sworn a moment ago there was no way he could make her climb any higher, she began to fly again. It wasn’t as frenetic this time. He seemed to be taking his time, but how he held on to the edge of his control Jorie didn’t know.

  “Kiss me,” he ordered.

  She did, but this time he didn’t thrust his tongue inside her mouth. This time he slowly captured her lips with his own, his tongue flicking out to swipe at her lower lip. He kissed her gently, softly, sweetly, as if he could have gone on kissing her all night. Her hands lifted. She buried her fingers in his hair, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. He did, his tongue touching her own just as gently as it had her lips. Time seemed to slow. Their rhythm slowed. Jorie felt something stir, something that warmed her insides in a way that had nothing to do with sex.

  “Ryan,” she whispered against his lips.

  His hands found hers, lifting them up above his head. Jorie climbed higher and higher until, once again, she felt the pressure build to the point of pleasure.

  “Ryan,” she cried out again.

  Finally, at last, he let himself go. She could tell in the way his thrusts became deeper, in the way his kiss became wilder, in the way his body moved as one with her own. She wanted to hear him cry out in pleasure, wanted him to climax the same way she had, and she moved her body in such a way as to bring him satisfaction.

  “Jorie.”

  She could hear the desperation in his voice, feel the hardness of his body. She forced his head down to her, kissed him as deeply as he had her a moment ago, thrust her tongue inside his mouth at the same time he cried out. She felt his release. Felt the throbs of his desire. Moaned at the sense of pleasure it gave her, so much pleasure that she climaxed again with such exquisite perfection that she couldn’t breathe for a moment.

  “Jorie,” he said again, softly this time.

  He held her. She let him, her heartbeat slowly returning to normal.

  “I don’t want to let you go,” he murmured.

  “You don’t have to,” she said.

  He drew back. She met his gaze.

  “I don’t have to, do I?”

  She smiled, stunned to find herself in his arms, feeling the things she felt for him. Things that should scare the crap out of her given how short a time they’d known each other.

  “Stay the night?” she asked.

  He kissed her again, gently, only drawing back to say, “You couldn’t get me to leave if you tried.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  He awoke to the sound of snoring.

  He felt a smile come to his lips. Good Lord up in heaven, the girl could snore.

  Ryan opened his eyes. There was light in the room, and he realized the sun was pretty high up in the sky. A sliver of heat had snuck past the curtains, warming a portion of their bed.

  Jorie’s bed.

  A glance at Jorie revealed she still slept soundly, her m
outh slightly parted.

  And then she made the sound.

  He huffed out a laugh, thinking he’d never heard a more horrendous yet equally adorable sound in his life. How could someone so beautiful make such a horrible noise?

  She was on her side, her hair a golden rope that snaked beneath the pillow. She was snuggling her pillow, like a child worn down by a day of exhausting play. That’s exactly what they’d done, too, played all night. Ryan smiled and leaned forward, kissing her shoulder. She moaned. She was just as pretty by morning light as in the evening.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Curious, Ryan slipped out of bed, looking toward his own house. He straightened when he realized what the noise was, or rather, who was causing the noise.

  Lyle Harrington.

  The man lifted a fist and banged on the door again. Ryan could only think of one reason why he’d be doing that, and it had everything to do with Laurel.

  He glanced at Jorie again. She still slept soundly. Ryan crept over to his slacks and pulled them on. His cell phone was in his pocket. He grabbed it, moving away from the bedroom before dialing. She answered on the first ring.

  “Why is your father banging on my door?”

  He heard Laurel gasp. “Ryan, thank God,” she gushed. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all morning.”

  “What’s going on, Laurel?”

  “Why haven’t you been answering your cell phone?”

  Probably because he’d turned the ringer off last night. He hadn’t wanted to be disturbed at the engagement party. “Forget why I haven’t been answering, what’s going on with your father?”

  Silence.

  “Laurel?” he said, his tone a warning.

  “You know what I did. We talked about it last night. I told him we broke things off.”

  “Yeah, so why is he banging on my door?”

  “Because I don’t think he believes I broke up with you.”

  “Did you tell him about the pregnancy?”

  “That’s the other thing.”

  He clutched the phone. “What other thing?”

 

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