Clay: Armed and Dangerous (3 page)

“Guerrero’s a snake no matter how he acts in public,” she grumbled to herself. “A
scum with a Cornell degree, fancy manners, and a front business of auto dealerships
all over Cochise County. Why the hell did he have to take my trucks? It’s not like
he hasn’t got thousands.”

But Rylie knew Guerrero was all about money and building power, and putting on a good
public face with all of his charity work. He’d shown up in the Douglas-Bisbee area
three or four years ago, when his old man died. Problem was, Guerrero’s old man was
the worst drug lord to ever cross the border, and he had three mean, soulless sons
to carry on his empire. Guerrero was taking over all the criminal activity in the
area, and bringing his own brand of poison, too. Like the truck thefts. So why wasn’t
the sheriff putting a stop to it?

Rylie crammed her hand in her pocket and gripped her knife. “Yeah, like I’ll be all
heroic and stop Guerrero’s ass wipes with this little thing.” She should have brought
a better weapon. If she actually did find a band of thieves skulking toward her barn,
what was she going to do—offer to cut twine for them?

She peeled off the main boundary path and headed toward the cabin at the back of the
ranch. Her new foreman, Brad Taylor, technically wasn’t allowed to carry weapons since
he was on probation from some nasty business last year that really wasn’t his fault.
The cabin was hers, though, along with the decorations: three rifles hung above the
fireplace. They were meant to control coyotes, but they’d work just as well on truck
thieves.

Her moccasins made no sound as she stole along the slightly muddy path to the cabin,
moving as fast as she could without running. She had loved to play in the old cabin
when she was a kid, and had kept the place in decent shape over the years as a kind
of getaway when she wanted some time alone. When Brad had asked to use the cabin after
she hired him, she’d thought it was a good call.

Tumbleweeds scraped her ankles just above her moccasins.

Yeah, she’d heard a few rumors about Brad and his... tastes, but she didn’t put much
stock in rumors. So what if he liked sex, and lots of it? She did, too.

Just not with twins.

Even as Rylie skirted the cabin to the back, she saw Brad’s truck parked outside.
Good. She had her keys, but she didn’t want to barge into his space without him there,
even if she did own the cabin.

As she reached the cabin’s corner, she heard feminine laughter from inside.

Rylie slowed. Then stopped.

“Definitely more than one female on deck,” she whispered to herself as cool evening
breeze found its way through the holes in her jeans. The sensation made her shiver,
along with the realization of what she might see if she let herself into Brad’s cabin.

Bad. Bad, bad. I’d never...

Her cheeks flushed. She’d never even had the slightest urge to spy on people having
sex before.

Her face got hotter.

Okay, okay, that wasn’t totally true.

He’s probably in there with twins. Two women at the same time.

Rylie’s entire body reacted to the thought. She couldn’t even let herself imagine
the three of them going at it—until that laughter came again. Damn, but those girls
sounded like they were having a fine time.

Just a look. One look. What could that hurt? She’d check to see if Brad was, um, busy.
And if he was, she’d go back to the house to get a rifle. If he hadn’t started...
entertaining his guests, she could take one of the rifles hanging over his mantel.

The wind kicked up again, cool and erotic and exciting. Her heart beat faster, then
faster again.

She eased up to the back wall of the cabin, to a knothole that was just low enough
that she had to bend over. Her jeans clung to her ass, and the chilly air brushed
through the dozen or so holes like tickling fingers.

Just one look,
Rylie told herself.

She felt the breeze tickle her again, then bent over and peeked through the hole.

And got an eyeful.

Voices floated through the night air and Spirit’s ears pricked toward the sound. Clay
Wayland brought the mare to a halt, and after looking around for a moment, he swung
down and let the reins drop to the ground. The mare was well trained and intelligent,
and wouldn’t move unless Clay whistled to her.

He’d come to find Rylie Thorn, to apologize for not getting out to take her report
in person sooner, and to try to get her to agree to stay far, far away from Francisco
Guerrero. He’d tried to get away earlier from the sheriff’s office, then gotten himself
tangled in all manner of mess and let it get late—but he knew he needed to have a
talk with the little spitfire before she got herself into some serious trouble.

The lights in the main house were off except for a few, and he was worried Rylie had
already turned in for the night. He sure as hell wanted to see her again, but he didn’t
want to wake her if she was resting. One of her ranch hands could help him out with
the report just the same, and he could come back in the morning to make his point
about Guerrero.

Looking for excuses to come back again already, Wayland? That’s kind of pathetic.

Once Clay checked his utility belt and his firearm, he holstered the gun and quietly
headed toward the only lights he saw blazing, from a small cabin he could just make
out in the moonlight.

The mare grunted as he left her, and she blew out breath before lowering her nose
to the ground. Clay knew she was just about as tired as he was. For the past few weeks,
despite what one Miss Rylie Thorn might think, he’d been investigating the rash of
truck thefts that had escalated in this part of the state. As the fairly new county
sheriff, Clay’s reputation was riding on getting these cases solved, and getting them
solved
now.

He’d ridden just about every local ranch looking for anything he could use, any clue
to who the bastards would target next. He had to get ahead of them.

He made his way through the dry grass and tumbleweeds, trying to remember what he’d
read about the old cabin on the Thorn Ranch.
Brad Taylor.
Yeah, that was it. Taylor had listed the cabin as his address on his probation paperwork.
The boy had gotten himself into a scrape trying to protect his former boss, old Bull
Fenning. Not a criminal by nature, though. Taylor was out of custody and doing well.
More than well, if all the legends Clay’s deputies told about his partying hard and
heavy with twins were true.

Clay’s hand rested on his weapon’s grip, his senses on high alert even though he had
no reason to suspect any thieves would show up a second night in a row. Still, he
couldn’t help but be on the lookout for the slightest indication of danger.

The flash of white caught Clay’s eye and he froze. His eyes narrowed as he watched
the small figure at the back of the cabin. When she stood, light from inside the cabin
shown on her face. She shook her head. Rubbed a palm across her forehead. Shook her
head again.

A woman. A damn beautiful... and a familiar woman at that.

Clay grinned. Definitely that little spitfire of a rancher who’d come storming into
his office this morning. Rylie Thorn had more than piqued his interest.

And as she bent over to peek into a hole in the wall of the cabin, Rylie’s short blond
hair swung forward. Her jeans outlined each of her curves, and the T-shirt and sweater
she was wearing looked so soft he wanted to touch them.

Despite years of law-enforcement training and plenty of practice in keeping emotionally
and physically detached from his work, Clay couldn’t help but feel a stirring. He
swallowed hard, as Rylie licked her lips and wrapped her arms around herself as she
stared through what had to be a knothole opening into the cabin.

A wave of feminine laughter rolled out of the cabin. Then a woman’s voice said, “Do
that again, Brad.”

Clay’s grin got a whole lot bigger. The perky little blonde was a dang Peeping Tom.
Or rather, a Peeping Tomasina.

His body got more tense as he watched her standing there, seemingly frozen in place
by whatever she was watching.

He could just imagine.

Damn, but he had to get his mind back on his job. He had a reason to come see the
hot woman in front of him, right? At the moment he didn’t have a single clue what
it was.

Rylie’s breath caught as she watched Brad, who stood in the center of the cabin, licking
Sabrina Wilson’s huge nipples. Her twin sister Sasha was on her knees giving Brad
all he could handle. “You’re so good at giving head, sugar,” Brad said, in between
mouthfuls of Sabrina’s breasts.

Sabrina and Sasha were identical twins with long black hair and almond-shaped brown
eyes. They both had large breasts that Rylie would’ve killed for, along with generous
curves that Rylie envied—so unlike her own petite, compact, and athletic figure. The
only difference between the twins was the small mole on Sabrina’s left cheek—otherwise
Rylie would never be able to tell them apart.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

But it was hot. Way past hot. The fact she didn’t have anybody to share it with, to
relieve her tension later... She tried not to think about that.

Rylie moved her hands to her own breasts as she watched Brad suckle Sabrina’s nipples.
The woman slipped her hands into Brad’s hair and cried out as he nipped her.

“More, Brad,” Sabrina demanded.

Brad rumbled something low that Rylie couldn’t hear.

He’d probably love it if he knew she was watching. Rylie didn’t play with her ranch
hands, but Brad was almost enough to tempt a girl.

Brad moved to the lone bed across the room from the peephole, and lay flat on his
back. With a sexy grin, he motioned for the twins to join him. Sasha giggled and climbed
onto the bed. She knelt between his thighs and resumed sucking while Sabrina straddled
Brad, right over his mouth.

Rylie tried to stay still, tried to ignore the heat rushing across her skin, the ache
between her legs, and the tingling along the back of her neck. As she watched Sabrina
grinding her hips against Brad’s face, Rylie wished she had a man she could turn loose
with, a man who would push her, and tease her, and satisfy her all night long.

God, she was so aroused.

This is sick. You need to stop, and you need to stop right now.

But it didn’t feel sick. It just felt fun and exciting.

She bit down on her lip, holding back a moan. The night smelled of pinon and sage,
and she smelled her own desire. She even imagined she caught the scent of sex coming
from within the cabin.

Sabrina pinched and pulled her nipples as she yelled, “Harder!”

Rylie could feel her orgasm building. Winding up inside of her, tighter and tighter.

Sabrina screamed as she hit her peak. “Yes! God, yes!”

Rylie’s whole body shuddered as she watched, engrossed, almost able to feel what the
women could feel as Brad worked them, stroked them, drew out their pleasure—

A hand clamped over her mouth and another around her waist.

Rylie froze, her heart pounding and her blood rushing as her dazed mind fought to
figure out what the hell was happening. Her body was still trembling and a rush of
fear added to the convulsions.

“You like to watch people?” a man’s deep voice murmured next to her ear, a husky whisper
that sent an odd thrill straight to her core.

She couldn’t move. Could barely think.

“Do you?” His tone was so low, rich, and sensual that Rylie’s knees went weak as she
nodded. Was there something familiar about his voice?

The man’s hat brushed against her hair as he moved his body closer. She caught his
masculine scent along with the faint odor of mint. And when he pressed his body to
hers, she felt him through his jeans, hard against her jeans, the rough of his clothes
scrubbing against some of the holes.

Ohmigod.
The man’s erection was
huge.

Despite the fact the man was probably a stranger, and currently had her trapped in
his grip, Rylie felt a fresh round of tingles charging through her.

“Look at them.” The man’s voice was hoarse, like he was almost too aroused to talk.
“Does that turn you on?”

Rylie’s gaze went back to the threesome in the cabin and her eyes widened. Sabrina
was on her hands and knees, Brad behind her.

“Now!” Sabrina cried. Brad yanked her ass toward him and slid into her.

“Would you like to be taken right now?” the stranger asked, as Brad pounded into Sabrina.

Rylie caught her breath as the man, keeping his hand over her mouth, moved his other
hand down between her thighs. Even though she didn’t know who had her in his grip,
and even though she had never had sex with anyone she didn’t know, Rylie was so turned
on that she wanted to shout,
Yes! Take me, now!

But the stranger didn’t wait for an answer. He slid his fingers over her jeans, and
she knew he had to feel the heat.

“I bet you’re smooth. I like them shaved.” The stranger’s voice was a silken whisper
as he caressed Rylie, his callused fingers exerting the perfect motion, perfect pressure,
straight through the ancient fabric.

He pushed against her sex, making her swallow a moan. “I know we’d be a good fit.”

A gasp rose up within Rylie at the incredible feel of his fingers working her through
her jeans and his erection pressed tight against her backside.

“What do you think, little wildcat?” The man stroked harder and Rylie couldn’t hold
back the moan. “I bet you taste real good, too.”

Rylie trembled with a hurricane of desire as the man nuzzled her neck, his mustache
brushing her soft skin as he pressed his firm lips to her. She could just imagine
how that mustache would tickle her thighs. Mustache... Who did she know who wore a
mustache?

“You smell like vanilla... and musk.” The stranger moved his lips to the hair behind
her ear and she shuddered. “Good enough to eat.”