She forced air into her lungs and exhaled with a hiss. She was on fire. “Why are you doing this?”
He slipped his fingers under the scoop neck of her blouse and ever so slowly he pulled it down one shoulder. She trembled as he leaned forward, his warm breath sweeping across her goosebumped flesh. Stuck somewhere between desire and fantasy, she waited for his touch on her sensitive skin, but it didn’t come…at least not yet. He cursed. “You’re hurt. The spot where the needle went in is all bruised.” The sincerity of his voice could have moved mountains—it certainly moved all the locks off her gates. “This just isn’t fair,” he whispered. He ran the tips of his fingers over her shoulder. “Does it hurt very bad?”
Her tongue thickened. “Uh…yes…I mean…not really. I guess some. I’ll live.” Did he realize his touch made everything better?
“When are you due for another pain pill and antibiotic?”
“Right now,” her voice trembled. “But I’m okay. Just tired,” she spoke softly.
He reached for the bottles on the table, uncapped them, shook out the right number of pills and placed them on the table in front of her. “Take them before you feel worse.”
“Are you trying to get me loopy?” Her laughter sounded more like a squeak.
“I’m trying to keep you from feeling pain. Remember the nurse said you’ll feel worse tonight.”
“Getting me loopy wouldn’t work anyway. The pain pill is very low dosage.”
His kindness was like a rope lassoing her heart and tugging her in. Logic told her to resist, but her body wanted to throw off the mask and gloves and go for it. There were risks involved, but what in life that’s worthwhile didn’t come with a gamut of perils?
Taking her dose of pills, she swallowed them with water and had the urgency to stick out her tongue to show him she was a good girl, but she snapped her lips closed. “I guess I should go upstairs so I don’t fall down them.”
“Yes, you should.” He stood and before she could mutter a word of resistance, he swept her up into his arms and held her closely. Lying against his hard chest, inhaling leather and musk, she collapsed against him.
“Urban? What are you doing? Put me down.” She pushed against his chest, but it was more like a chance to touch him to see if he was as hard as he looked. He sure was!
“I’m carrying you so be still. I’m not taking the chance that you’ll fall down and hurt yourself again,” he murmured near her ear.
“You’re treating me like a child. I’m fine.”
“No. You’re still weak. Behave yourself and let me do what anyone would do in this circumstance.”
She wanted to struggle, but all resistance faded. He carried her so easily up the stairs while she listened to the beating of his heart. Strong. Powerful. Just like everything about him.
Once upstairs, she pointed him in the direction of her bedroom and he carried her in, placing her in the middle of the thick, white blanket and she sunk into the soft cotton, but it didn’t compare to Urban’s arms. He started to back up and she caught his hand, holding it and staring at him. Seconds passed. “Where are you sleeping?” she asked.
“The sofa sure did look comfortable.” He winked.
“It’s not as comfortable as it might look. If you’re staying I can’t have you waking up with a kink in your neck. This is a queen size bed and big enough for both of us.” She slid over in silent invitation, forgetting all hurdles involved.
He stood next to the bed and she could see his thoughts swirling in the brightness of his blue eyes. “Presley…”
“Don’t think I can keep my hands to myself?” She smiled.
“Hell, you keeping your hands to yourself is the least of my worries.”
“Suit yourself. The couch it is then.” She rolled over, a minute later she heard him kick off his boots and felt the springs lower. Looking over, she smiled. “Close your eyes, cowboy.”
“Why?” One corner of his mouth lifted.
“I’m taking off my clothes.” With a growl, he shifted and turned. Removing her shirt and pants, keeping on her bra and panties, she climbed back into bed and covered with the sheet. “Goodnight, Urban.”
“Goodnight,” he said in a tight voice.
“Wait, I have a question.” She sat up, holding the sheet against her breasts.
“Sure.” He rolled over, one brow lifted.
“Let’s say for theories sake that we were married. Would we share the same bed?”
He rubbed his chin. “That would be up to you.”
“Hmm. So, what you’re saying is, I decide whether we have sex or not?”
He chuckled. “The ball would definitely be in your court, sweetheart. I can’t say I would mind, but then again, I’m a man, but I would never pressure you into anything.”
How could she tell him that he wouldn’t have to pressure her, not in the slightest? “How about living arrangements? Have you thought about that?”
Realizing this was going to be more than a question, he propped up on his elbow, his eyes dazzling in the lamp light. “I guess that would be up to you too.”
“Don’t you care about anything?” She leaned against the headboard.
“Yeah. If you and I were married, real or not, I wouldn’t want you dating anyone else.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m single and don’t date.” Presley blew out a long breath. “You’re the one who would have an issue.”
“Turnabout is fair play. I wouldn’t expect you to give up dating if I planned to continue.” He punched his pillow. “Anyway, it’s not like my planner’s full.”
“Ha!” She slid down the bed and tucked the sheet up to her chin. “I would have every single woman in Colton envious.” She laughed. “You’re a catch, Urban Jericho.” She yawned loudly. “A woman would be lucky to ha—”
She fell fast asleep.
Chapter Seven
Something tickled Urban’s nose and he grunted, wanting to fall back into the amazing dream. Presley was tucked up next to him, naked and ready. Hearing a moan, his breath caught. What the hell? He fluttered his eyes open and it all came back to him. He’d fallen asleep in her bed last night, but he didn’t remember her being tucked up next to him, spooning her bottom in his groin with his hand pressed against her breast.
With a hiss of breath, he slowly and carefully removed his hand, rolled over and looked up into the barrel of a shotgun.
“What the hell are you doing in my daughter’s bed, Jericho?”
Pulling his head back a smidgen and ignoring the fact that his balls were now the size of walnuts, he met the slanted, grey gaze of Harris Dean, Presley’s disgruntled father. “Good morning, Doc. There’s an explanation for this.” Urban raised his hands in defense mode.
“Oh, I’m sure there’s an explanation, and I don’t want to hear any part of it, boy.”
There was movement next to Urban and a low moan, followed by Presley jumping up to her knees, sheet covering her. “Dad! What are you doing? Put that thing away before someone gets hurt.”
Harris groaned and lowered his rifle, only slightly. “Can you please explain to me why this cowboy is in your bed? With you?”
“I won’t say a thing until you put the gun away,” she moaned.
“Go ahead. Presley. Tell him.” Urban didn’t think Harris would shoot him, but he wasn’t a gambling man.
“Fine.” He finally lowered the rifle. “I go away for a few days and come back and you’ve shacked up with a Jericho.” Harris shook his head. “Not to mention you have enough pills sitting on the coffee table to kill a horse.”
“Now that’s an interesting story.” Presley snickered.
“I bet it is.” Harris didn’t blink an eye.
“This was your big idea for me to get married, so, Urban and I are getting married,” Presley huffed. “Now if you’ll step out and let me get dressed, I’d be much appreciative.”
Urban had no other choice but to lay there quietly because his tongue wouldn’t wor
k. In a matter of minutes, he had Presley snuggled up close, a gun pointed at his face, and her agreeing to marry him. She could have told him in better circumstances.
“I’m sorry about the gun, son.” Harris chuckled. “A father must take care of his daughter. Hopefully you’ll understand a father’s love one day. I’ll go make us some coffee and you two can help me get caught up on everything.”
Urban guessed eventually he’d see humor in this situation, but for now, he wasn’t laughing. After the door closed, Urban jumped up out of the bed. “You could have warned me that he was coming home this morning.”
She dropped back and bounced off the bed, dragging the sheet with her. He caught a glimpse of long, toned legs and his heart hitched, making his adrenaline rush again. “I didn’t know he was coming back today. He doesn’t tell me anything.”
He watched her dig into a drawer and pull out a pair of jeans. “Damn. Do you think he would have shot me?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?” He gulped.
She wriggled into her jeans, still holding the sheet over her body, and when she had them snapped, she turned. “You know how my dad is. Whoever really knows what he’ll do when the mood strikes him. Just like this ultimatum for me to marry.” She groaned and strolled to the closet, almost tripping over the end of the sheet.
“So, telling him we’re getting married was a way to get him to relax and lower the gun?” He dropped his feet over the side of the bed, grabbed one boot and pulled it on.
“No. I told him we’re getting married because we are.”
He looked over his shoulder and she had dropped the sheet, giving him a pleasant view of her slender back. However, the angry looking baseball sized bruise on her shoulder wasn’t pleasant. She dragged a shirt on. “And when were you planning on telling me?” He shoved his foot into the other boot and stood, grabbing his hat off the chair.
“I actually didn’t know I was going to say yes until that very moment.” She stepped in front of the vanity and brushed her hair, sending long waves down her back. Although the situation wasn’t conducive to a hard on, it didn’t stop his dick from reacting. His fingers ached to tangle her hair around his hands.
“The thought of your dad shooting me must have made you realize you couldn’t live without me.” He smiled.
She met his gaze through the mirror. “No.” His smile faded. “Actually, having him barge into my room and treating me, us, like teenagers caught with our pants down drove me through the roof. He has to stop behaving like I’m a child and telling me what to do. He wants me to be married? Fine! I’ll get married so that I can run things the way I want. How I want! He probably won’t like it, but he started this old hamster wheel turning so he’ll have no quibbles.”
“So, you’re saying yes to spite your father?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. I’ll take it.” His smile returned. He placed his hat on his head.
After pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she turned to him, her hands on her hips. “Ready to face the music?” One brow lifted.
“Can’t be that bad. After all, we’re all getting our way.”
“Good way to remain positive.” She rolled her eyes. “I have an extra toothbrush in the bathroom if you’d like to use it.”
*****
As Presley took a sip of her coffee, she looked over the rim and across the table to Urban who appeared calm and collected. Of course, he would. He was a man who very seldom got his feathers ruffled, always wearing a friendly smile, and saw the positive in everything. She, on the other hand, didn’t like this one bit. Her father was wearing a victorious smile and her fiance, that would be Urban, was eating it up.
“So, let me get this straight,” her father said through laughter, “you were shot with a tranquilizer dart?” He lifted a bushy, silver brow.
“Yes.”
He slapped his hand against his thigh and let out a complete uproar.
“Dad, I’m glad you can laugh at the situation. Would you be laughing if it killed me?”
“Come on, honey. You’ll laugh about this someday also. How many times have I told you never place a gun into the hands of someone who doesn’t know how to use it?”
“Enough. That’s for sure,” she mumbled.
“When’s the big day?” Harris pushed back his chair, stood and went to pour himself another cup of coffee.
Presley and Urban exchanged glances.
He sat forward and swiped a hand down his whiskered jaw, which infuriated her. Not because he had a thin layer of dark beard, but the scraping sound of his callused palm down his jaw made parts of her awaken—her nipples tightened and her inner thighs throbbed. How was it possible that he looked sexy first thing in the morning? She woke up with her hair stuck out every which way. Her eyes swollen. He woke up looking like he’d stepped off the front cover of a magazine. Out of all the Jericho brothers, he was the one who always seemed to take life easy, comfortably. She couldn’t complain. The world needed more Urban Jerichos. Yet, what got her—really got her—was that he didn’t seem the least bit uncertain about this fake marriage-to-be of theirs. Well then, she’d let him answer.
“Depends on if Presley wants a big wedding.” Urban resituated his hat.
She blinked. He couldn’t be serious. “I think the justice of the peace is open daily,” she muttered.
“Justice of the peace?” Harris swiveled so fast Presley thought he’d fall. He didn’t, but the expression on his face was almost laughable.
“Dad, you better close your mouth before you catch a fly.”
“No Dean gets married in the courthouse,” he huffed.
“Yeah, but it’s okay to force your only child into marriage.” Presley thrummed her fingers on the table.
“No daughter of mine is getting married at the courthouse,” he said firmly.
“Then maybe you’ll have no daughter getting married,” she snapped.
Urban sat quietly, cradling his cup between his palms, still as calm as ever.
“Talk some sense into her, son.” Harris looked to Urban.
“I’m up for whatever she wants.” He turned his chin to Presley and whispered, “As long as it’s quick.”
“You two are full of nonsense. We’ll have the ceremony right here at the farm, just like your mother and I did when were married. Nothing fancy, just a handful of friends and family. This way no one will think you’re knocked up and have no choice but to get married.”
Presley dropped her hands to the table. “Really, dad. You are forcing me to get married.”
“Nonsense,” he grumbled. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
She jumped up from the table, exasperated. “No, I’m not pregnant! Anyway, Urban doesn’t want the hassle of a wedding. He agrees that we should make it as easy, and quiet, as possible. Right, Urban?”
The cowboy shifted, one corner of his mouth danced. “I kind of like the idea of a backyard wedding. My brothers and sisters-in-law would probably be steamed if we didn’t have some sort of celebration.”
She stared in confusion and exasperation. Now he and her father were on her list. “I’ve had my fair share of you both this morning. I’m going upstairs and getting ready.”
“Ready for what?” Urban asked.
“Work. I need to check on Mona.”
“Doc said you needed to rest.”
“I’m fine. I’m standing on my own two feet.” She squared her shoulders and stomped out of the kitchen, hearing her father say… “She’s a handful, son. I hope you’re prepared.”
Chapter Eight
Urban figured he’d gotten what he deserved as he sat in the flower shop listening to Presley and the owner, Desiree, discuss what colors were wanted. What kind. How big. What arrangement. How many. The questions were endless. Why hadn’t he just backed Presley when she told Harris she wanted something private, something small? Could be because once he thought about things, he realized most women wanted the bells and whistles on the
ir wedding day and he didn’t want her to miss out, even if this was a marriage of convenience. They didn’t need to have the best of the best, but they could take the extra step in having a nice memory.
And he liked the idea of seeing Presley in a dress.
She’d barely said two words to him that morning when he picked her up—hadn’t said much since that morning two days ago when they’d faced Harris. Urban almost wondered if she would back out, but nope, because here she was talking floral arrangements with diamonds in her eyes. He got the idea she was starting to like this a little.
“Do you like this one?” Presley popped a yellow flower under his nose. He took a whiff and shrugged. “Reminds me of the perfume my grandmother wore.”
A corner of her mouth twisted. “Okay. Not the sunflower.” She picked out another, this time a flower that was white with a long stem. “This one?”
Again, he didn’t like it. He scanned the variety laid out on the table and found a flower he liked. “This here.” He twirled the stem between his fingers.
“That’s a lilac,” Desiree said.
“You like the lilac?” Presley lifted a brow.
“I think it brings out the color of your eyes.” He held it up against her cheek and winked. “We should have twenty dozen so when you walk down the aisle, uhh…the grass, your eyes will shine.” Both women stared at him as if they were in a daze. He wasn’t sure what he said, but it had been the right thing because Presley placed the order and ten minutes later they were outside heading down the sidewalk.
When she started across the street and not toward the truck, he stopped in his tracks. “Hey, where are you going?”
She turned and placed a palm on her tilted hip. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”
“Yeah, I did. We have flowers. What more do people need?”
“You’re not getting off that easy, cowboy. If I have to buy myself a dress, then you have to wear something nice too. We’re heading over to the tux shop and Gayla is going to set you up.”
Urban's Rush (Saddles & Second Chances Book 4) Page 8
