“Don Wexler? Sounds like a made-up name to me. He just struck me as being kind of a greaseball. He looked like a Fed. What was he discussing with you?”
“Well, the first time we met in the lobby, we discussed the menu. At the rodeo, we discussed the upcoming benefit. He donated an awesome raffle item—an Eames era sunburst wall clock. He thinks it’s a David Smock original, but we’ll have an appraiser at the dinn—”
“Wait.” Sinclair spun on his butt to face her squarely, put down his wine, and even took the pad from her knees and laid it on the sand. “What menu did you discuss at the Searchlight?”
Violet brightened. “Like this!” Yanking her backpack to her lap, she unzipped it and withdrew a photocopy Rose had given her. “The original was taken from her wall shortly after I spoke with Mr. Wexler, so Rose got this photocopy to ask around with. I told her about talking to Mr. Wexler shortly before it was stolen, but we really don’t think he’s a perp of any sort. What we can’t figure out is why anyone would steal the menu. It’s only got value when it’s hanging at the Searchlight.”
Sinclair took the photocopy from Violet. She was almost embarrassed all over again, realizing he was reading terms like “Cock-a-Doodle Doo” and “One Trick Pony.” A smile lit up his face as he scanned the terms.
Pretending to be relaxed, Violet leaned closer to Sinclair and pointed at the paper. She wanted him to know she had an anthropological interest in the menu items. “I’m curious about ‘Doctor’s Orders.’ I wonder if it’s anything like a game I played with a little neighbor boy over on the Lone Palm Ranch.”
When Sinclair looked at her, his eyes seemed to drink her in in a new way. “Oh, yeah? And you were the patient, I presume? He was the doctor?”
Violet’s face got hot, but she held Sinclair’s gaze steady. “Of course. Back in those ancient days a woman was never a doctor.”
“I was just reading something strange. Back in the Victorian era, women were thought to have ‘womb hysteria’ when really, they were probably just what we’d nowadays call bipolar or just a little bored and blue.”
“Oh, yes. It’s a tragedy some of the strange afflictions women were accused of, when nowadays we have simple medication to help.”
“But that’s not what was so strange about what I read. I read that New York doctors would charge money to—well, what’s the word for it when the patient is a female?”
Violet frowned. “Prescribe laudanum?”
“No, not at all. Well, maybe that, too. But the doctors would just casually put their hands in the women’s drawers and, ah, manipulate them until they came. This solved the ‘hysteria’ and eased congestion in the blood, so they thought. The women were satisfied, calm, and happy. Their husbands were happy because they saw results, and they didn’t have to lift a finger, so to speak.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of that!” Violet cried, grabbing Sinclair’s bicep. “Isn’t that a strange little fact? Can you imagine that? I can imagine that some women merely pretended to have ‘womb hysteria’ just to get the prescription for it!”
“Oh, definitely! Then the doctors’ arms got tired. They liked the money, of course—there were women lining up down the street for their treatment—but they were exhausted, so eventually they contributed to the evolution of vibrators.”
“Oh, I would much rather have a human hand. Nothing can beat the human touch.” Reluctantly, she had to let go of Sinclair’s arm, but he was warming up to the subject.
The pheromones Sinclair emitted were calming yet enticing. Violet felt literally that her chemistry mixed very well with Sinclair’s. “So you’d rather have a Hand Relief Party than a B.O.B.?”
“It depends,” Violet said guardedly. “What’s a B.O.B.?”
Sinclair smiled crookedly. “Battery-operated boyfriend.”
Violet had to look away at a distant dune, but she was bold enough to answer, “Oh, I have dozens of those things. Mechanical aids can do the trick, of course, but I really think nothing can compare with the human touch, if a man is knowledgeable enough.” She wouldn’t really know. She was just showing off for Sinclair. A man-about-town such as him had probably given Hand Relief Parties to hundreds of women. Violet was mostly, or entirely, familiar with the B.O.B. variety.
Something distracted her, though. A few cows were straggling over the ridge of the sand dune about a quarter mile away. At first she thought they might have been Harper’s fugitives from a week ago, but then Harper himself appeared astride that spirited paint. He was too far away for her to see them, as Violet was in a cool grove of fan palms. In fact, she was propped up against the lower dead fronds of one of the shaggy massive trees. If she didn’t move, Harper would just continue right on by obliquely.
Sinclair was about to speak, but she interrupted him. “What did that cow boss Harper Davies want with you after the bronc riding event?”
Sinclair followed her gaze and no doubt saw Harper sidestepping his mount down the steep dune. The cows seemed in no hurry, and a couple of other vaqueros were there to help Harper, but Sinclair suddenly spoke in a rush. “He’s got a massive crush on you. He wanted to warn me to keep my hands off of you, but I couldn’t agree, Violet.”
Violet was incredulous. “What? That makes no sense whatsoever, Sinclair. No, he made it a point to tell me that he’s gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“I know. He must be bisexual but currently in denial about women. He made a pass at me, too. He’s a very brutal, callous sort of man.”
Sinclair stroked the side of her face. Having put down his wine glass, he wrapped his free arm around her at the waist and bent her back into the dead palm fronds, almost as though he wanted to hide her from Harper. Violet had very much enjoyed their kiss at the rodeo, and of course wouldn’t have invited Sinclair to be her date if she didn’t intend to take it to the next level with him. Bryan could go sit on it. Her lawyer said as much. She had filed for divorce months ago. Bryan just hadn’t responded.
So she returned the caress, running the callused pad of her thumb over the severe dimple that marked the middle of his manly chin. “A pass? Are you sure? What exactly did he do?” The truth was, she was turned on by the idea of that hypnotic, seductive cow boss touching this virile stud in any way. The two men were so different. Harper was dark and twisty, with a hundred morbid secrets. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been so arrogant with his claim that lots of women reacted hormonally to him. What an ass. Then there was Sinclair who should have been an arrogant toolbag, with his Kennedy good looks, but wasn’t.
Sinclair drew her close, brushing his painfully beautiful lips against her jawline, her throat. “Am I sure? I don’t think I could mistake his intentions.” He gently bit her lower lip and tickled it with the tip of his tongue.
Violet knew she was getting wet. Her heartbeat thudded in her eardrums, her head was throbbing with blood, and her pussy lips were engorging. She could actually feel the glans of her clitoris elongating and peeking out, rubbing against her panties when she squirmed. She desperately wanted to hear Sinclair’s story. “How was there no mistaking it?” she whispered. “What did he do?”
Hooking a thumb under the strap of her sleeveless T, Sinclair drew it off her shoulder. He murmured, “He lashed my wrists to a saddle rack so he could have his way with me.”
The flood of lust that coursed down Violet’s innards caused her to gasp against Sinclair’s mouth. She went light-headed with the sudden shock of his words. She could barely stutter out, “What was ‘his way’? Tell me.”
“Do you want details?” Sinclair asked salaciously. “He shoved his hand inside my pants and grabbed my cock. There was nothing I could do.”
“Nothing you could do,” Violet echoed.
It didn’t occur to her that Sinclair was reenacting the Harper incident as he slid his hand down her abdomen and over the jean skirt that covered her pubic bone. He expertly found the bulge of her clit and rubbed it from outside. “No. My hands were tied. He took my
cock out and jacked me.”
Violet’s inner pussy clenched with a thrill at the memory of Harper standing in the river, cock in hand. Her entire channel fluttered, sending waves into her womb, and she thought about the interior clitoris. She had studied it when working with a taxidermist in Sao Paulo. The obvious small circular glans was the only external evidence of a system that had internal “legs” that reached around to “hug” the vagina when aroused. She had been dying to feel the effects that a real flesh and blood man could have on these internal processes.
So she parted her thighs to indicate her willingness to be stroked, too. She even took ahold of Sinclair’s hand and placed it on her bare thigh beneath the skirt. “Were you aroused? Don’t tell me you weren’t aroused. It’s human nature to be aroused when a situation superficially is configured so that one appears to be the helpless, weak one.”
“Really?” Sinclair gathered handfuls of her jean skirt into his hand, inching it up her thighs. Already her legs felt clammy where they touched each other, and she knew he’d be gratified when he felt how slick, how ready she was. He sucked on her earlobe, sending shivers rushing down her arms, stiffening her nipples. “How’d you know? It was incredibly hot. I’m not gay in the slightest, but once I had no say in the matter and just relaxed, it only took me a few seconds to come.”
“So he masturbated you to completion?” Violet’s voice came breathy and feminine as Sinclair tickled her bulging clit from the outside of her thin, satiny panties. Her knees were fully two feet apart and a woman could not possibly display her eagerness any more blatantly, but she appreciated that he wanted to take his time, to be better than a Silver Bullet or a Happy Rabbit.
It was terrifying, another man touching her for the first time in decades. She had fantasized about this for years, wondering how she would react when the time came. She had promised herself she could be tough, unfeeling, in it only for the sex. Now the time had come and already emotions were clouding her reactions. She felt an actual affection for Sinclair. She actually liked him, and it was important to her that he was as attracted to her as possible.
So she heaved her breasts, knowing they looked juicy and ripe, bursting from her tank top as she reclined on the palm fronds. She swayed her hips in circles like some wobbly toy, giving him every indication of her desires. He picked up on the signals and slipped two fingers beneath the strip of satin panty.
“To completion?” she prompted him, right before his finger swiped against her clitoral swelling. She was glad she’d asked again, because now her mind soared, and she didn’t care much about the answer. Sinclair had draped one thigh over hers and was humping his long, fat erection against her. She had never directly experienced such a well-hung penis before, and her automatic reaction was to slide a palm over and grasp it. She squeezed the erection and her womb fluttered. Hormones were dictating that she wanted to copulate with this man, who was a fine physical specimen. But another part of her knew that he was just a kind, generous man.
Sinclair brushed his shapely lips over her throat. “Yes, to completion. I had no choice. He jacked me, then got down and sucked on me.”
An illicit thrill rushed through Violet’s pelvis as Sinclair fingered her. When she whispered, it sounded like a detached voice coming from another person. “The clitoris…has almost as much internal erectile tissue as men. There are…eight thousand nerve endings—”
“You’re a sensuous, hot woman.” Sinclair steamed up her neck with his breath. “You can let go and feel good, Violet.”
“I know,” she gasped. To show her need, she clutched his muscular shoulder. “It’s just been so long since—”
“I know. Let me get you off. I want to watch. I’m tired of being the exhibitionist. I want to see you go over the cliff, Violet. I want to see you squirm and beg—”
“Please, Sinclair!” Her plea was honest and sincere down to the core. His talented fingers were coaxing surge after surge of desire that pooled, tightening around her vulva. Just a few more efficient strokes, and she would go off like a shot—
“I see you never intended to keep your promise.”
What the fuck? Violet’s eyes popped open. Hovering over Sinclair’s shoulder like the shadow of an enormous eagle stood Harper Davies.
The toolbag had actually been watching them. And, strangely enough, Violet wasn’t embarrassed.
She was angry.
Chapter Eight
Sinclair was pissed off beyond belief.
He was just one stitch away from urging the lovely Violet over the cliff. It was too good to be true she had already allowed him access to her pussy, and she was wrapped around him like a sloth. Her natural cinnamon scent wafted into his nostrils, enhancing the erotic experience.
He knew Harper was coming down the sand dune on the opposite side of the valley. He didn’t really think Harper would notice them, though, secreted in the little palm grove. It was a turn-on, though, the possibility that Harper might spy them and be eaten up with jealousy that Sinclair was scoring and he wasn’t. It also stiffened Sinclair’s prick to imagine that Harper might be getting off on his body, too.
It was obvious that Harper had more than a slight attraction for Violet. It pumped more than Sinclair’s ego to be the first to stake a claim. Sinclair was in competition with Harper, plain and simple, and he had one important leg up on the cow boss.
He was rich. And Violet’s brother approved of him. Drake would never approve of a vaquero for his upstanding sister.
Sinclair would play up these benefits until the cows literally came home.
But he felt he’d slipped several rungs on the seduction ladder when the southern drawl twanged out behind his shoulder. “I see you never intended to keep your promise.”
Shocked out of his senses, Sinclair lost a beat. When Violet raised herself on her elbows, he had to completely abandon his mission. He twisted at the waist slowly, murderously, to blast Harper with the death rays of his anger. But it was Violet who spoke first.
“How dare you, Harper! You give me a tongue-lashing for watching you masturbate, and now you go out of your way to watch me gain some satisfaction? That’s hardly fair at all.”
“What?” whispered Sinclair, sitting upright. Violet didn’t seem to notice her thighs were spread, so he pushed her knees back together. “You were watching him?”
Thumbs hooked in his gun belt, Harper took another few steps closer. Sinclair knew from unfortunate experience that the swollen package displayed between the thighs of the chaps meant that Harper was at more than half-mast. Sinclair had spent more time than he was comfortable with thinking about what appeared to be Harper’s big, bulging sac, and now he was gazing right up at it like some kind of adoring buckle bunny.
But even more shocking, Violet was addressing Harper as though they were at a cocktail party. Sinclair was struck mute with disbelief. She wiggled her fingertips at Harper as though he were a fly. “Carry on somewhere else, please. Mr. Nieman never told you that he’d keep his hands off me, so he’s not breaking any promise.”
When Harper swept off his Stetson and whipped it to the ground like a frisbee, Sinclair could see he was dead serious about this. He’d been addressing Sinclair, but his eyes were fixed on Violet’s face. “Miss Stinson. I realize I’ve been treating you like dirt because I wanted to push you away. I’m sorry I didn’t succeed.” Harper’s tone changed when he exhaled. Now he sounded defeated and sad. “God, am I sorry I didn’t succeed. Sinclair accused me of using him to make you jealous. He was right. You’re a sunny, strong woman, Violet, and it scares me to be attracted to you.”
Even Violet seemed stunned into silence when Harper dropped to his knees at her feet. He didn’t appear to notice Sinclair anymore, as his leather holster butted Sinclair’s shoulder and pushed him aside. Sinclair scooted back just because he wanted to hear what Harper said next.
Harper put one hand on each of Violet’s knees and spoke in a serious, sincere tone. “Miss Stinson, I hope you forgive m
e for my callous behavior. I’ve only been doing men the past three years because I lost my fiancée in a brutal crime, and it was easier to forget her with no women around.”
Aha. Playing the death card. Not only was Morgan dead, she was a she. Sinclair wanted to wallop the cowpoke into the middle of next Sunday for blatantly manipulating Violet like this.
But she fell for it. Her face a mask of concern, she gently covered one of Harper’s hands with her. “Aw. Now it all makes more sense, Harper. You’re like me—filling a void with substances, and it’s not making you happy.”
Finally Sinclair spoke. It was as though the happy couple had forgotten he was there. “Substances? You don’t use any substances, Violet.”
She explained as though she were at the front of a class. “Food, Sinclair. I use food in an unhealthy way to fill a loneliness. I simply must stop.” She turned back to Harper who clutched her knees as though she were a life raft. “And you use deviant sex with other men to fill your void.”
Harper said thoughtfully, “I would agree, except for the deviant part.”
“Yes, it’s not deviant,” Sinclair was quick to add.
Harper continued, “I turned to men because I couldn’t look another woman in the eye. But I think it’s time for me to get over that fear. You’re not a threatening person, Miss Stinson.”
“I will be, if you keep calling me Miss Stinson.”
When Harper smiled, it was enough to melt both polar caps. It happened so rarely that the dark and twisty cow boss showed an emotion other than irritation or lust. But it was only a matter of time before he displayed one of his two available emotions. “Violet. Then you won’t mind if I finish off the job my friend started. I’m very good, you know.”
Without waiting for an answer, Harper fell to his elbows, simultaneously parting Violet’s knees. They came apart easily and Violet looked down on him, enraptured. Sinclair was just a bit player in this scenario, and it angered him. He had started the job. Why was Harper moving in for his sloppy seconds?
The Substantial Gift [The Sunset Palomino Ranch 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 8
