The Maverick Meets His Match (23 page)

She wanted this. She wanted him. That had never been the question. What she’d risk to have him—that was the problem. But the will to fight desire had drained out of her. She inched her hands around his neck as his tongue delved deep into her mouth and his chest rubbed against her breasts. Pulses of pleasure thrummed through her.

“God, you smell good. Taste good. Feel good.” He whispered the words in her ear, and those pulses of pleasure melded into a throbbing ache.

Breathing in his freshly showered scent, she kissed the soft skin of his throat.

He let out a small groan and shifted his body against her. His hips pressed hardened flesh between her legs, and his mouth covered hers, taking her air away.

He was a sensuous kisser, knowing how to play his tongue, how to sweep his lips, how much pressure was needed to tantalize, to possess. His body moved over hers in slow, lazy rhythms that caused a scrumptious friction. How could she resist him when she wanted him so much?

“I’ve waited a long time, Mandy.” Ty’s voice was gravely, deep, daunting as he leaned back and looked her in the eye.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, hugging him to her body. She felt the hard length of his penis through her clothes, and her whole body tightened in response as his mouth curved in an enticing smile. “I’m going to undress you. Slowly.”

An involuntary sigh of pure surrender escaped her lips.

He rose up from the bed, his knees astride her hips. She watched as his rough fingers scraped her flesh and fumbled with the fabric of her top. Cool air teased her skin as he lifted her shirt, only to be replaced by the caressing heat of breath and moist lips. A wave of gravity-defying desire lifted her when warm palms stroked across the tender spot of her belly.

In the next breath, his lips brushed across her breast and his tongue circled her nipple. All coherent thought faded. His lips tugged and pulled. Her hunger intensified. He shifted to the other nipple and began the same slow, tortuous dance with his tongue.

She closed her eyes to concentrate on the whirlwind of sensations his wet mouth was provoking just touching her there. She was so focused on what his mouth was doing, she didn’t notice his hand until he slid it under the waistband of her underwear. He cupped her crotch and murmured something about how wet she was. She dug her fingers into his hair as she felt the tip of his finger rub against her sensitive spot while his mouth continued to feed on her breasts, and her muscles collapsed.

Ty seemed to know exactly what a woman needed. Exactly what Mandy needed.

“Let me free you of these,” he murmured against her tummy, as he slid her undies down her legs, pulling them from under her in one sure motion. Her shirt slid up to her shoulders and then over her head.

She offered no resistance. And little help.

When she felt nothing more—no motion, no touch—she opened her eyes.

He was up on his knees, and pure masculine appreciation stared back at her.

“I’ve never wanted a woman like I want you, Mandy.” His words were matter of fact, but his voice quavered, as if the thought scared him.

She didn’t believe him, of course. It had been ten years since that incident at the creek, and he certainly never acted as if he wanted her more than other women. It was lust talking and nothing more. But tonight, lust was enough.

The prominent bulge in his pants, level with her face, beckoned her to explore.

“Strip,” she commanded in a voice that had suddenly gone hoarse. She would have done it for him if she had the strength.

She watched, mesmerized, as he did her bidding. Muscles rippled across his chest, bare except for the narrow ribbon of hair arrowing toward the denim waistband. Bronzed flesh glistened in the diffused light. He had a sculpture’s dream body of well-defined muscles, smooth skin, and long limbs. On his upper arms, where the muscles were most prominent, the tan lines of a man who worked outdoors were visible, separating the two shades of tan—one with the shirt on, one with the shirt off, all of it cosmically glorious.

He pulled on his belt buckle, the crinkles in his pants attesting to the ever-expanding bulge it protected. Belt ends drooped as he tugged down the jeans zipper, exposing white fabric wrapping a cylindrical object.

He stared at her as he slid the faded denims down his carved and muscled thighs, leaving just the underwear.

Something elemental tripped inside—as if her DNA had flipped an electrifying switch.

“Take it out,” he said, his voice gravelly, his tone urgent.

Not needing to be asked twice, she shoved down the waistband of his tighty-whities. His penis sprang free and dangled before her like forbidden fruit on a limb.

She grasped his long, hot shaft in her hand, the skin as smooth as polished marble. His groan was deep as he brushed hair from her face. He wrapped his hands around hers so she couldn’t move.

“All you have to do is touch me, and I’m set to go off. I don’t want to finish before I get started.” He kissed her forehead, and, reluctantly, she released him.

In one motion he dispensed with his clothes and, once again, straddled her, his knees capturing her hips.

From his broad shoulders, to his workout-defined torso, to hair-brushed thighs that supported the substantial symbol of his maleness, he was perfection.

She brushed her hands up his firm thighs, and his muscles bunched. Self-respect, she’d determined, was highly overrated.

“If we’re finally going to do this, really do this, Mandy, I need to put on protection,” he said, a tinge of regret in his voice as he looked down at her, his eyes so intense and stormy they belied the practical words he’d just spoken.

She nodded, at once glad and irritated he was still so clear headed.

He pulled a condom from the draw on the bed stand and pulled open the foil pouch. She watched as he expertly guided the condom over and down his thick, hard cock. With the condom in place, he slid between her legs. She was beyond caring about business and wills and anything that would keep her from him.

He began trailing kisses down her neck, behind her ear, and at the little indentation at her throat, all the while gently kneading her breast.

“You have beautiful breasts.” He was now kissing his way to her nipple. She wondered what made breasts beautiful to a man? After all, hers weren’t that large. He teased her nipple with his tongue. “And nice rosy nipples.” He suckled and she arched her back. His fingers played with her clitoris. Inside of her, tension coiled and desire engulfed her.

He kissed his way up her chest, past her throat, and stopped short of her lips. “Look at me,” he said.

She was looking at him, or at least his body. But she shifted her gaze to stare into his eyes, eyes that were dark, intense, dangerous. Eyes filled with so much heat, they melted her.

He placed his hands under her thighs, lifted them up. “I’m finally going to have you.”

One smooth thrust and he plunged deep inside of her as his hands pressed against her thighs. She gasped. He smiled. “I want you to know, to remember, what I feel like when I’m buried in you, Mandy.”

She’d never forget this wonderful combination of pressure and tension, this sense of being totally filled. He slowly withdrew, then thrust again, then again and again. He was building the delicious tension. Too slow. Agonizingly slow. She bucked as he pressed her thighs to her chest, encouraging him to go faster. “More,” she gasped out.

The rhythm increased as he kept thrusting. But it was still too controlled.

“Do you want me, Mandy,” he growled.

“Yes.” She did with every fiber of her being. She’d been denying it so long, she’d almost believed it. But she’d been lying to herself.

“Say you want me. Say the words.”

“I want you.”

“Say my name.”

“I want you, Ty.”

He slung her leg over his shoulder, growled her name, and thrust into her so deep she felt it in her belly. And then he was pounding against her. Faster, harder, pounding, pounding, as his hands tightly held her bottom. He slapped against her thighs like a nail gun on speed until the wave of tension broke in a torrential release that zinged within her body like a pinball hitting the jackpot. She trembled as she clenched around him. He growled something and then crumbled on top of her, his ragged breath sounding in her ear.

Ty wrapped his arms around Mandy, spooning flesh to flesh as she slept, her breathing calm and even.

It had only taken a week for them to tumble into bed together, but it seemed like a lifetime, and he was surprised it had happened at all, given everything. He felt drained yet strangely exhilarated. He pressed a kiss to the silky hair that swept across the pillow

He felt like he’d tumbled over a cliff and was still in free fall. Maybe that’s why, all those years ago, he had run from Mandy Prescott. Because he, maverick though he was, would have married her—and not because she was JM’s granddaughter. Not just that, anyway.

But because she was a woman he could appreciate. Strong, firm, smart, passionate, loyal. Despite the provisions of JM’s will, she hadn’t once said a word against her grandfather. She wouldn’t, he realized. Because to Mandy, JM was as much a part of her as her leg or her arm. He was family, and that meant everything.

The fact he hadn’t had much of a family—not after his mother died, anyway, and not much before, if he was honest—had set him on the path of independence early. He’d taken care of himself and expected the same of everyone else. When Trace had gotten into trouble all those years ago, he’d resented having to step in. After all, Ty had kept up his part of the unspoken bargain. He’d never asked for anything from his father or his brother. And what JM had provided, Ty had earned through hard work that resulted in stellar grades. When he stepped out into the world, he’d used his education to make a good living.

Mandy, on the other hand, had always been surrounded by family—a community of people who wanted the best for her, even if they didn’t agree on what that was. And she accepted their doubts along with their support while she made her contribution to the fabric of that community. She didn’t whine about Tucker’s lack of effort for Prescott, or resent her grandfather’s lack of faith in her. She accepted the role of making the family business stronger, even if that meant not leading it. She may have resented Ty’s interference, but she’d taken what he offered when she thought it helped the business, the family, the community that made up her company. She didn’t resent those family ties—she celebrated them. Because they made her stronger, not weaker.

He’d always been careful not to care too much about anything—or anyone. Keeping his distance allowed him to remain objective and detached, and that enabled him to make tough decisions when needed and walk away when politics got too much. And, if he was honest, it assured he wouldn’t risk feeling the pain of loss if things didn’t go his way.

That summer he’d come to work for JM, he’d felt like an orphan looking in the window of somebody else’s home and wishing he could be part of the family residing there. By then, his father had pretty much washed his hands of a son who thought he was too good for ranching, at least that was his father’s version. Maybe Ty had been that orphaned kid too long, had been looking in JM’s window these last ten years and unconsciously coveting JM’s family—and Mandy.

He closed his eyes.

He wasn’t the kind of man who fit anywhere or with anyone. So where was this need to belong coming from? And shouldn’t sex with Mandy fill that void instead of adding to it? Why wasn’t being alone, dependent on no one and no one dependent on him, satisfying anymore?

Hell, even his individualist-to-a-fault brother had become part of a family the moment Delanie entered his life. Trace was no longer an island, isolated and detached. He was talking about preschool and social workers, for Christ’s sake.

He could almost relate because being the other half of a team with Mandy had been surprisingly enjoyable this last week. Self-reliance sounded good, but was it real? After all, JM’s connections had smoothed his way, had created trusting relationships earlier and easier than if he’d had to go it totally alone.

He rolled away from her, feeling the chill where her body had warmed him. The fact he wanted to be part of anything with Mandy spooked him. He tucked his hands under his head. He had to get a grip. Being independent, needing no one, should be a good thing. Particularly since it was the only way he knew how to be.

Mandy woke up to sun streaming in the windows and the smell of bacon wafting through the room.

It took her a moment to realize where she was and what had happened the night before. So why wasn’t she panicked, she wondered as she stretched. Instead, she felt indulged, lazy, content like a lioness after a huge meal.

Sitting up, she looked around the spacious but empty room. Ty’s new boots sat in the corner, the pants he’d flung to the ground lay bunched on the carpet with the pile of her clothes, and a tray of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee sat on the small side table. She heard water running in the shower and took a deep breath.

Last night had been incredible—and unnerving. Physically satisfying and emotionally upending. Her heart did a flippy-floppy kind of beat. She leaned back against the cushioned headboard for support.

Despite all her attempts to resist him, she was falling for Ty Martin, this man of so many contradictions. How could that be when just a few days ago he’d been her sworn enemy, a man who had duped her grandfather and undermined her role?

She shook her head, hoping for some sense. This was temporary. No commitment. Six months and done. Sex and nothing more.

Reality hadn’t changed. Ty was still going to decide the fate of the company based on the numbers. He was still going to walk away at the end of six months. All they’d been doing last night was playing.

Easy as it would be to sentimentalize it, there was no romance here.
Just incredible pleasure
. If she could remember that, if she could keep it strictly physical, maybe she could enjoy the moment and keep the whole business side of their relationship separate. But could she keep the emotional side separate?