The Wedding Favor (19 page)

Still and all, Tyrell Brown was no ordinary cowboy. He was sharp as a dagger, and it behooved her to keep her wits about her.

He lifted his eyes to hers, said very seriously, “For the record, honey,
this
is what it means to get felt up.” He squeezed, his thumb stroking over her nipple, tightening it to a point.

Her voice sounded breathy, but she played it cool. “How about this?” She cupped a handful of his butt, gave it a squeeze. “What’s this called?”

“That’s called grab-ass. As in ‘The boys and girls played grab-ass on the class trip to the zoo.’ ”

She burst out laughing. “Where did
that
come from? Personal experience?”

“It’s the best teacher. All my sexual knowledge comes from personal experience and, sweetheart, I’m giving you a crash course tonight. Kind of a sexual Berlitz.”

“What makes you think I need you to educate me?”

He dipped his head down, stroked his tongue across her nipple. Then he blew on it, smiling as it gathered to a nub.

Looking up again, he said in a voice as warm as it was matter-of-fact, “Honey, somewhere along the line you got some wrong ideas about yourself. You keep trying to fit yourself into them, but it’s like squeezing a round peg into a square hole. It’s not gonna go. Even so, you keep on trying, and all that trying’s got you tied up in knots.”

He lowered his head again to drop a line of kisses between her breasts. She hardly felt it. She was frozen, barely able to swallow over the lump in her throat.

How could this man see into her soul?

He moved his head slowly, gently, rubbing his nose along the inner swell of first one breast, then the other. “Now, I can’t solve all your problems for you,” he said as he nuzzled her. “That’s a tall order for just one night. But honey”—he lifted his head, his eyes glowing—“I can sure as hell show you how to enjoy the body God gave you. It’s gorgeous, and baby, it’s hot as a pistol. There’s nothing frigid about you, just the opposite. You’re liquid fire.”

She stared at him, lips parted, amazed. Then everything inside her welled up, a tsunami of emotions, bitter and blissful, old and new. It swamped her utterly, took her breath away. It came damn near to drowning her.

And then it sucked back out to sea, leaving her blinking and gasping, and so, so glad to be Victoria Westin, alive and well and in bed with Tyrell Brown, in the city of Amboise, France.

From deep down in her belly, she released a laugh. It rolled through her gut and on up through her chest, and as it went, she felt the knots untie, the bars come down.

I’m free
, she thought, delirious.
I’m free
.

Chapter Seventeen

F
reedom had a price. Pain. Pain in her broken toe, her calves, her cheeks—all four of them—and most of all, pain in her previously underutilized private parts.

Around four a.m., Ty predicted that they’d both be black and blue come morning. Five hours later, Vicky knew he was right. And she’d never felt better in her life.

“You awake?” he whispered in her ear.

“Mmm-hmm.” She snuggled her bottom against his groin, smiled when he hardened.

“How do you feel?”

“Like a cat on a sunny windowsill.”

He chuckled. “I mean, are you sore?
Too
sore?”

“Probably. But pain is the price of freedom.”

He hesitated. “Um, are we talking about the same thing here?”

“I don’t know about you,” she said with a laugh, “but I’m talking about sex. And I’m ready if you are.”

Untangling herself from his arms, she stretched languidly, unconcerned when the covers slid off. He’d already seen every inch of her, from every conceivable angle. For the first time in her life, no inhibitions constrained her. Rolling toward him, she hooked her knee over his hip. “Ride ’em, cowboy,” she said.

And then—whoa!—she got a look at his face.

Mussed hair, stubbled chin, tiger’s eyes roaming over her appreciatively. All of that was good. But Lord, he looked like a mug shot. The black under one of his eyes had spread out in a raccoon ring. His jaw under the sexy stubble was dark purple and swollen. And he had a cut on his lip she hadn’t noticed before.

Had she done that? With her teeth? She didn’t know.

His chest looked okay, spectacular, in fact, except for some scratches that were definitely her doing. But his ribs. Ouch. She touched the bruise. “This looks like a footprint.”

He shrugged. “Old Winnie landed a kick or two.”

How could he be so casual about it? “He could’ve broken your ribs!”

“He was trying. But he didn’t.” He grinned, his teeth gleaming whitely among the grape-colored bruises. “I’m pretty sure I cracked a few of his, though.”

She should feel badly about that, but she didn’t. After all the horrible things he said to her just before . . .

“Oh God!” she gasped, and clutched a fist to her chest. How could she have forgotten?

“It’s all right, honey.” Ty cupped a hand over her fist. “I know what you’re thinking, and you have to believe me when I say you have the prettiest ass I’ve ever seen.”

She gaped at him. “I don’t care if it’s
pretty
! I was
exposed
! My dress split open like a banana and my whole ass, my
practically naked ass
, hung right out through the hole!”

“Well, think about it, sweetheart”—he sounded perfectly reasonable—“just imagine if it was riddled with cellulite. Then you’d really have something to feel bad about.”

She saw him bite down on the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. “It’s not funny, you jackass!” Barely restraining the impulse to slug him, she resorted to the torture Matt used on her to this day. She flicked him. In the side of the head, just above the ear.

“Ow!” He rubbed his head. “Why’d you go and do that? For Christ’s sake, woman, you owe me a favor!”

Her eyes bugged. “A favor? For
what
?”

“For starting a brawl, that’s what! For beating on Winston and ruining Isabelle’s reception and busting every damn thing in sight until the whole goddamn tent came down on my head and
everybody forgot about your ass
!”

She went still. He had a point. Once the blood had begun to spill, her ass was old news.

She owed him for that, and she was big enough to admit it.

“You’re my hero, Ty.” He eyed her sweet smile suspiciously. She wriggled in closer, dropped light kisses around his eye. “Thank you.” She sprinkled them across the bruise on his jaw. “Thank you.” His lips curved in a smile. She kissed the cut there. “Thank you.” Kissed his ribs. “Thank you.” Moved her lips lower . . .

He sucked a breath through his teeth. Let his eyes drift closed. “Oh, you’re welcome, sugar,” he murmured. “Any old time.”

T
y woke alone in Vicky’s bed. Bright sun streaked through a gap in the curtains. His stomach growled and he checked the clock—11:05. Brunch on the terrace in an hour.

Raising his arm to stretch, his ribs brought him up short. He twisted his head around. Yup, the bruise was definitely shoe-shaped. He didn’t care, because he happened to know that old Winnie had one just like it, and it probably hurt a hell of lot more.

In the bathroom, the shower came on. He smiled smugly. Plenty of time yet for shower sex. He’d give her a chance to lather up before he surprised her.

Meanwhile, he had to take a leak.

Inching out of bed like his arthritic grandpa, he bent over painfully, plucked his trousers off the floor, and eased into them. Every muscle in his body ached, and not all of them from fighting. It wasn’t that he was getting too old for marathon sex, not at all. The problem was that Vicky was insatiable. How in God’s name could anyone think she didn’t like sex? Christ, they’d done everything but swing from the chandelier, and that was only because there wasn’t one in the damn room.

Hobbling like a quarterback on Monday morning, he crossed the hallway to relieve himself in his own bathroom. Did Vicky a favor by brushing his teeth, then took a minute to admire himself in the mirror, first one side of his mottled face, then the other. None too pretty, but he’d seen worse.

A soft knock on his door had him grinning at his reflection. Damn, the woman was impatient. He’d tease her about that just as soon as—

“Ty? Are you awake?”

Isabelle. His face fell. She must have thought of a few more names to call him.

So much for shower sex.

He opened the door, expecting the worst. But she took one look at him and clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh my God!” Tears welled in her eyes.

“Don’t you even think about crying,” he said. “Nothing’s broken. I’ll be good as new in forty-eight hours. And all this purple stuff’ll be gone in a month.”

She dropped her hands. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

“It is. I’ve been beat up worse, and you can verify that with Jack if you want to. It’s temporary.”

Her hands went to her hips. “I don’t know why you and Jack think fighting’s the answer to every problem.”

“It’s not the answer, honey. It’s an excuse. I like to fight. It reminds me I’m alive.” She’d never understand that, so he added, truthfully, “Doesn’t hurt that I got to beat up on a guy who needed his ass kicked.”

Instantly, her face softened. “I can’t blame you for that. After all, I set you up with Vicky. Of course you’d want to defend her honor.”

Was that what he’d been doing?

His cell jangled. He would have ignored it, but suddenly, guiltily, he remembered Brescia.

“Honey, can you hold your thought for just a minute while I see what’s going on back at the ranch?”

“Of course.” She touched his arm. “Jack told me about Brescia.”

He checked the number, skipped the small talk. “Clancy, thanks for calling. What’s the word?”

“Got the labs back.” Clancy paused. Ty started to pace, knowing as surely as if he was standing in front of him that Clancy was tucking a pinch of Skoal into his lip. No force on earth could make him continue until he’d packed it in place with his tongue.

“It’s bloodworms,” the vet finally went on. “And lots of ’em. We’ll have to treat her aggressively.”

“All right.” Ty stopped at the window, stared blindly at the garden. “I’ll be home tonight. What do we do?”

“I worked up a treatment schedule.” He laid it out while Ty grunted along.

“You’ll get her started today?”

“Already have.” Clancy paused. “Listen, Ty. We had to put Molly’s gray down last night.”

Guilt clawed Ty’s throat. By exposing Brescia to the gray, he’d put her life at risk too. He tried to focus on Molly. “How’s she taking it?”

“You know Molly. She’s tough.” Clancy paused again. “But it’s always hard to see ’em suffer.”

“Is Brescia . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Not yet. But I won’t lie to you. You might have a tough decision in front of you.”

Whether to euthanize his beloved horse. Inject the drugs into her veins that would stop her brave heart and close her trusting brown eyes forever.

Squeezing his own eyes shut, Ty forced his voice to sound normal. “Thanks, Clancy. Talk to you tomorrow.” He closed his phone.

“Ty?” Isabelle’s voice was full of concern.

He made himself turn to her. Managed a smile. “Clancy says she’ll be fine,” he lied. He let a little sadness seep into his voice, just enough to be convincing. If he acted carefree, she’d be on to him instantly.

And he couldn’t bear her sympathy. Not the tears, the hugs, the love she’d shower on him from the bottom of her heart. He didn’t deserve them. If, once again, life and death were placed in his hands, he didn’t want anyone’s pity. He didn’t want anyone to know what it cost him.

She must have swallowed his act, because she didn’t cross the room and throw her arms around him. Instead, she gave him a relieved smile. “I’m so glad. And I’m so glad it’s working out between you and Vicky.” Isabelle was relentless when she had a point to make. “I knew you’d get along. You’re both so bright and funny. And you look so good together.”

He cleared his throat. “She’s a beauty, all right.” And he was a slut who let her blue eyes and hot body push Brescia clean out of his head. He’d also conveniently forgotten that she’d accused him of callously pulling the plug on his wife, and that she’d be making that same argument on appeal, trying to convince the court that Jason Taylor and his insurance company shouldn’t have to pay for Lissa’s suffering.

Isabelle must have misread the emotions playing over his face, because she stepped closer. Setting a hand on his cheek, she said softly, “It’s time, Ty. It’s time to let go of the past and move on.”

He froze. “Whoa there, honey. Vicky’s a nice girl and all, but I’m out of here in two hours and I don’t expect to see her again.”

“Oh, Ty.” She shook her head sadly. “Anyone can see that you’re perfect together. Don’t you think Lissa would want you to be happy?”

He took a full step back, putting distance between them. “This has nothing to do with Lissa.” Cold sweat popped out along his spine. “This is about me. And I’m not looking for a relationship.”

She started to speak but he rode right over her. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised, honey. You know from experience that I’m not a good bet. You never should’ve hooked us up if it was going to be a problem.”

She turned her palms up, helplessly. “I don’t understand you. Vicky’s obviously crazy about you. And you can’t stay away from her. You’re like Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. Everything you’ve said about Lissa tells me she’d want this for you.”

“You’re in no position to say what Lissa would want.”

He’d meant to sting her to silence, but she wasn’t buying it. “Maybe I’m not. But even Jack says so.”

That was what he needed, a target for his anger. “You tell Jack he’s got a lot of fucking nerve talking about me and Lissa! Just because he’s walking the straight and narrow doesn’t make it his business to tie me down too.” He stepped around her. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.”

She flung herself at the door, pressed her back to it. “Please, Ty! It’s my fault. I pestered him to talk about her. Please don’t make a fuss. Lil’s already uncomfortable. Everyone’s on edge from last night—”

He held up his hands. “Okay, okay.”

“I’m sorry.” She brought her hands together, twisting them in the way that meant she was deeply distressed. “I thought I was helping. Vicky’s been so unhappy. She’s been unhappy as long as I’ve known her, even before everything with Winston. And you’re so wonderful. You make everyone laugh and feel good about themselves. I thought you’d make her feel good too. And you do. She laughs all the time when you’re around.”

Her eyes pleaded for understanding. “And you’re so lonely. You are,” she added when he waved it off. “For whatever reason, you’ve sentenced yourself to live alone, and Ty, you’re not a loner. You need people. You need someone special. I know you and Vicky are different. She’s uptight and you’re . . . not. She’s a lawyer and you hate lawyers. She’s a city person and you love your ranch.”

“Listen to yourself, Isabelle. Why in the world would you think we’re a good match?” He tried to sound like himself, but a giant hand was crushing his throat. He barely squeezed out the words through his narrowing windpipe.

She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. But I was right. You two light each other up. That’s the only way I can express it. You light each other up. And it’s beautiful.”

Vicky’s words echoed in his ears, telling him he was her hero. But he wasn’t anybody’s hero. He’d let his own wife down. Let her get hurt. Let her die. Now Brescia’s life hung by a thread. Hell, he couldn’t even take care of a horse, how could he ever trust himself to take care of a woman?

Guilt ate a hole in his chest. He never should’ve gotten involved with Vicky. He hadn’t wanted to care about her, and he sure as hell hadn’t wanted her to care about him. Now he’d fucked that up too. He was going to let her down. Because there was no future for them. No future for anyone with him.

The kindest thing he could do for Vicky was to end it fast. Rip the bandage off with one yank. No long, sweet good-byes, no promises he’d never keep. Leave her thinking he was an asshole so she’d forget about him and move on. Find someone who could give her what he couldn’t. While he went back to his ranch alone.

Alone. Just the thought tightened the hand on his throat. And if Brescia died, if he lost her too . . . The hand closed in a stranglehold. He couldn’t speak. Sweat trickled down his sides.

Once before, he’d come undone like this, when his ornery horse had tossed him off a cliff. By a miracle, he’d caught hold of a scraggly sagebrush just a few feet over the edge. But as his feet scrabbled for purchase, he made the mistake of looking down. And he panicked, nearly ripping the sagebrush out by the roots in a frenzy to climb away from his doom.