Saddled and Spurred: A Blacktop Cowboys Novel (18 page)

Cupboard doors opened in the kitchen. Footsteps came closer and stopped. When Harper heard the sound of glass clinking against the glass-topped coffee table she opened her eyes.

Bran set two juice glasses and a half-empty bottle of Jameson whiskey between them. He poured the amber liquid in each glass, then held one out to her. “Trade ya.”

Harper allowed the exchange—Bran would get his way no matter if she gave in now or ten minutes from now. And for some stupid reason, his high-handed behavior didn’t bother her.

He lifted his glass. “To you knocking Ralph in the dirt where he belongs.”

She raised her glass to his toast and tossed back the shot. A full-body shudder worked free as the alcohol seared her throat and hit her stomach.

“Ah,” Bran said, after draining his whiskey. “You want another?”

“I’m good.”

“Yes, you certainly are.” Bran poured, drank, and studied her with a look akin to admiration. “Tell me ... where’d you learn to defend yourself like that?”

“My sister Liberty. She’s had hand-to-hand combat training in the army and she’s drilled both Bailey and me on basic defense moves.”

“Was tonight the first time you’d ever used it?”

Harper shook her head.

“Christ.” Bran consumed another shot. “It shouldn’t have happened. None of it. I should’ve . . .”

“What could you’ve done to prevent it?”

His gaze met hers and held. “If I hadn’t been such a chickenshit and had asked you to dance, you would’ve been sitting with me, not alone. I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you walk outside alone.”

She permitted a small smile. “You’re so sure I would’ve danced with you?”

A rare vulnerability flashed in his face. “I figured maybe I could guilt you into it, bein’s I’m your boss and all.”

Silence.

His gaze flitted around the living room. “This is a nice place.”

Harper choked back a laugh. “Right. It’s a rental.”

“You fixed it up nice. Looks a lot better in here than my trailer.” He pointed to the colorful display on the top of the bookshelf. “Are those antique perfume bottles?”

“Yes.”

“They look cool lined up like that.”

“You aren’t here to praise my decorating skills, Bran.”

“True.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“Thank you, but as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. You shouldn’t feel obligated to stay.”

“Obligated.” Bran laughed, a little bitterly. “You have no fuckin’ clue what I feel.” He reached for the whiskey bottle, thought better of it, and dropped his hand.

“So tell me what you feel.”

“You sure you wanna do this, Harper?”

“You brought it up.”

Then those amazing silvery gray eyes locked on hers. “When I say this, understand that I ain’t speaking as your boss. I’m speaking as a man.”

Gulp. “Okay.”

“That kiss knocked me for a loop. Mostly because I’ve been fantasizing about kissing you since the day you showed up at my place.”

Harper’s pulse spiked.

“I probably ought not be telling you this because I’d never want you to compare me to that piece of shit Ralph.” Bran squinted at her. “He offered you a job at the C-Mart, didn’t he?”

She nodded. “Last fall after the Tumbleweed Motel closed for the season. But there were . . . conditions.”

“What kind of conditions?”

“He said he’d give me the prime morning shift if I promised to be in his bed thirty minutes after my shift ended. I declined. He was honestly surprised I didn’t jump at the chance to jump him. And since I turned him down? He goes out of his way to say nasty things to me. Like tonight. Calling me stupid. A two-bit bar whore. Telling me I’m exactly like my mother. He makes me feel . . . dirty.”

Bran’s hand tightened into a fist on his thigh. “Am I making you feel that way?”

“No. God, no. I know if I said, ‘Bran, leave,’ you’d do it. Maybe not happily. But you’d respect my choice. Ralph makes me feel like he’s doing me a favor coming on to me. Like I’m somehow beneath him, but he’d love nothing better than to literally have me beneath him. It’s screwed up and I’m sorry you got dragged into it tonight.”

Instantly Bran was out of his chair, looming over her. “The only thing I’m sorry about is that you had to deal with that slimy fucker at all and I didn’t get to beat him to a bloody pulp first.”

Harper stared at him. Specifically at his mouth. God. Bran was just so . . . powerfully male. But even as close as he was and as angry as he was, he didn’t scare her.

“The last time you looked at me like that I kissed you,” he warned, his voice a deep rasp.

“I know.”

“Dammit, Harper. Tell me to stop.”

“I can’t.”

He swore softly before he pressed his mouth to hers, gently at first, and then inhaled her in a raw, consuming kiss. He dragged her out of the chair so their bodies met—hardness to softness.

She melted even as she burned. This time as they kissed, Bran didn’t restrict her hands, allowing her to touch him wherever she pleased. She traced the angles of his face, fanning her palms down the column of his throat. Over his wide shoulders and hard chest, then back up to wreathe her arms around his neck.

His hands gripped her hips. When the kiss intensified, he squeezed her hipbones. When it slowed, his thumbs stroked the bared section of skin above her waistband. He changed the angle and the timbre of the kiss. Gentling it. Sweetening it. Making her want so much more than just kissing.

Bran broke the seal of their mouths and nuzzled her cheek. “Sometimes I can’t think straight for wantin’ you. But neither of us is in the frame of mind to do anything about it tonight.”

There was his gentlemanly side again.

Pity.

Harper wouldn’t have denied him anything. But the last thing she wanted to feel when they acted on this attraction was regret.

“Do you want me to stay here tonight?” he murmured against her temple. “I could crash on the couch.”

She laughed softly. “And just how long do you think that’ll last?”

Bran nipped her earlobe. “It was worth a shot.”

“Really, Bran. I’ll be fine. Ralph won’t come after me.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. He’s lazy. And the fun is gone for him now that you know he’s been harassing me.”

Bran’s hands framed her face. He kissed her forehead. Her cheeks. Her chin. Her mouth. “Come over tomorrow.”

A little dizzy from his tender ministrations, she blurted, “I thought I had tomorrow off.”

“You do. This invite ain’t about work. There’s a lot between us that don’t have anything to do with you bein’ my ranch hand. And we need to talk about it, instead of ignoring it.” He kissed her with surety and seduction. Then he released her.

Bran slipped on his boots, his coat. His gloves. His black cowboy hat. He gave her one last smoldering look that would keep her warm the whole night through. He said, “Lock the door after me,” and then he was gone.

A
fter spending hours tossing and turning in her bed, Harper decided to do something impulsive for once in her life: She’d throw herself into a sexual fling with Bran because there was an end date. No chance she’d fall for him or that he’d want more from her than sex.

Wasn’t that a man’s ideal relationship? All sex and no commitment? If that was what she offered, wouldn’t he jump at it?

Harper knocked on Bran’s door at ten o’clock the next morning.

He immediately opened it, looking sexy and yummy—and that was before he gifted her with a sweet smile. “Harper.”

“Ah. Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. Come on in.”

She went through the ritual of removing her outerwear, like she’d done so many times at this very spot. But this time was different. This time she felt Bran’s eyes on her as she undressed. And when their gazes collided, he didn’t bother to bank the desire burning in his.

Silence stretched. They didn’t move closer. They weren’t really even looking at each other.

Awkward.

Just as she was ready to chalk this up to a dumb idea, Bran towered over her and cupped her face in his hands.

He murmured, “Finally,” and snared her mouth in a kiss. A chaste kiss, as he kept their lips connected, sliding, gliding, a teasing test of how long they could maintain the soft, sweet, innocent smooches.

Harper slid her hands up, leaving her palms flat on his chest. His heart beat as fast as hers. She thrust her tongue between his lips, not wanting careful kisses and measured touches. Wanting heat and fire.

And did the kiss ever catch fire. Frantic, hungry, breath-stealing, a hot never-want-to-put-it-out kind of inferno.

When the kiss was no longer enough for either of them, Bran ripped his mouth free. “Tell me to stop or I’m takin’ you right now.”

She arched her neck, moaning as his damp lips trailed across her throat. “Don’t stop.”

The last barrier between them shattered.

Bran kept kissing her as he herded her down the hallway to his bedroom.

As soon as they were in the room, he yanked the comforter and sheets to the end of the bed. He worked the buttons on her blouse free, stringing kisses as each button revealed another inch of her feverish skin.

Once her shirt hung open, Bran peeled it off and let it flutter to the floor. A primal heat darkened his eyes as his fingertips traced the swells of her breasts. “You’re beautiful.” He bent his head, using his tongue to follow the path his finger had taken.

Straight down. He dropped to his knees.

Her skin tightened, raising goose bumps. She shuddered at the delicious sensation of his hot mouth on her body. How long would he tease her before removing her remaining clothes? Hopefully he’d take his time, not rush into the naked, thrusting part of sex. As much as she liked that body-to-body intimacy and the sensation of that ultimate physical connection, in her limited sexual experience once the goal of getting inside her was achieved, it ended quickly. And she always got the short end of the stick.

“Harper? You still with me?”

“Uh-huh.”

His fingers popped the button on her jeans. He lowered the zipper and placed his warm mouth below the waistband of her bikini panties. He tugged the denim until it stopped at her knees. “Sit on the bed so I can get these off.”

She complied. Jeans gone, socks gone, Harper wore just her bra and panties while Bran was fully clothed.

He placed his hands on her knees and gently pushed. “Make room for me.” He scooted close enough that his belt buckle dug into her crotch. Those rough-skinned hands slid up the tops of her thighs, around her hips, and up her back to the clasp of her bra. One quick tug and the cups loosened. The straps started to fall down her arms and then Bran’s hands were right there, impatiently removing them.

The look of hunger on his face when he saw her naked breasts for the first time soaked her panties and increased her hopes that all her fantasies about the kind of amazing lover Bran would be would come true.

Bran palmed her breasts, placed his mouth around her right nipple, and sucked.

Yes. This was what she wanted. Harper arched and let her head fall back.

Then he switched to the left nipple, giving it an openmouthed kiss as his hands kneaded the mounds of flesh. Then his mouth was gone, and so was his body as he stood.

She opened her eyes.

He yanked his T-shirt over his head.

Harper’s mouth went dry. Oh, wow. He had a really great chest. Well-defined muscles. A smattering of dark hair. A line of hair she followed down to where it disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. She watched, her heart racing madly, as he unhooked the belt buckle. Unfastened the button. Unzipped. The jeans hit the carpet with a muffled thump. The tip of his penis poked out of the top of his navy blue boxer briefs. Then the entire length was staring her in the face, rising from between muscular thighs and more of that same dark hair.

Okay. So Bran wasn’t huge, but he was bigger than either of the men she’d been with. Way bigger. Heat burned in her cheeks and she swallowed hard, an equal mix of anticipation and anxiety.

Bran walked to the nightstand. He rustled in the drawer and she heard the sound of crinkling plastic. When he turned around he wore a condom.

That was fast.

He grinned. “Scoot up in the middle of the bed and spread out.”

Harper moved and Bran was right there, fusing his mouth to hers. Kissing her with more eagerness than finesse. She wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his hair, sinking into the kiss.

But the kiss didn’t last long. His lips followed the line of her jaw up to her ear and he whispered, “I’m dyin’ to be inside you.”

At that moment, she froze. Surely there was more than . . . this?