One Night with a Cowboy (Paint River Ranch) (Entangled Indulgence) (8 page)

“Damn, woman, you know how to kick a man right in the balls, don’t you?”

Her face was full of mischief. Soft breeze carried loose tendrils of hair away from her face and brought the heady scent of humidity and rain.

“Well excuse me for being a city girl.” The quip was light, the way she pursed her lips, sticky sweet. “City girls don’t get to see things like ranches, or…” she took a big breath that sounded a lot like longing. “This.” Her arm swept in an arc to indicate the bridge.

Then she turned to him and blinked. “So, if I were to refer to you as a farm boy…”

His eyes lowered to her lips, made a slow rake over her chest. “I’d have to extract some kind of wicked revenge.” She made a little “oooh” sound with a wink that shot fire right to his balls. Round two with Sophie Miller? Man, it was against all his rules, but that sweet mouth turned up like that, her tight little body all wrapped up in shorts and that sweater…what man would turn down another chance in her arms? He almost groaned with the thought, and turned his back to the rail and crossed his arms over his chest. “Thank you for helping Jim yesterday, by the way. He’s been a friend of the family since I was a boy and he’s, well, he’s important to all of us.”

She touched his arm. “You’re welcome. I’m glad he didn’t have anything serious going on.”

When his mom had filled him in that a guest named Sophie was a paramedic who’d helped Jim, it didn’t take much to put two-and-two together. He didn’t have much experience with medical stuff, but he knew that job had to be difficult and demanding at times.

“How long have you been a paramedic?” Small talk was mostly a foreign concept, but he forced it because it kept his dick under control at the moment. Sophie turned and walked across the bridge to the opposite rail and looked down.

“I had six years in.” There was terseness in her tone that warned him not to dig any deeper, but it just made him all the more curious. If something had happened to her job, it would probably explain her moods.

“Had?” He pressed with a queasy sensation in his gut. God, he
was
making small talk. Sophie rubbed her arms with her hands and gave a little shrug. “Yeah, well, I’m in between jobs right now.” Well there, he’d just solved the puzzle. Case, and the need for small talk, closed. Sophie’s sandals softly padded over the worn plank floor as she strolled to the mouth of the bridge and turned back to him with a crooked smile.

“Look, it’s a Montana time machine.” She stepped completely out of the bridge. “Modern day.” Then she stepped back inside. “Back in time. It’s like someone stole time, stuffed it inside here, and everything just…stood still.”

Tucker couldn’t argue with that. Most of the bridge was original, down to the square-headed iron nails and hand-hewn log support beams. There was something about looking up and seeing the exposed crisscross roof supports and the faded red paint that wrapped you in old arms and squeezed. He got what she was saying and it surprised him. He’d never met anyone else who shared quite that same sensation. Sophie strolled back toward him to the increased tempo of rain.

“Wouldn’t it be great to steal time? I’d steal July…take the whole damn month and force it to slow down. To stop. Then things wouldn’t…happen so fast.” Her words weren’t really meant for him. He didn’t reply, just watched her with a growing knot in his gut as she wandered closer. Her words might not be for him, but the look in her eyes sure as hell was.

For a pretty little thing, she sure had something heavy ripping her up inside. He knew that look on her face—sadness over something you can’t control and longing for something you can’t have. Heavy shadow wrapped them up as the storm increased. A wet, warm breeze kissed his cheek and ruffled Sophie’s hair as she came closer until she stood, arms crossed, just a breath from him.

“Can’t really stop time, huh?”

Tucker chucked her under the chin when she looked up at him. “No. But you can fill the time you do have and make it good.” He snagged her elbow, pulled her closer. Sophie uncrossed her arms and turned, resting her butt against the railing as rain fell into the river in the open space behind her. Yeah, he might not be good enough for a sweet woman like Sophie, but as long as she offered a little sugar, there couldn’t be any harm in taking a little taste.

Her head tipped back, her bottom lip turning inward just a bit beneath the top teeth. “Good would be your lips on me, Tucker Haywood.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Tucker scooped her neck in his hand and pulled her in, bending down in one easy movement. She stepped into him, one arm going around his back, the other hand braced on his chin like they were meant to fit this way. It was so easy, how they moved and connected and reached for each other. He didn’t allow himself to think on that as he pressed her body against the railing.

Sophie dove into his mouth with a mixture of languid and frenzied kisses. He let her lead, absorbing every soft and hard press of her lips, relishing the taste of her tongue and the deep heat of her mouth. His hat went flying, the top snaps of his shirt popping one by one. When she’d bared his chest halfway, Sophie dipped her lips to his neck, tracing a wet trail over his vein. Tucker closed his eyes, forgetting for a second that he didn’t allow women to touch him like this. He pulled her mouth away to claim it with his own before sliding her shirt up to lift the fabric off her body. She untied the bikini top, her mouth finding his neck again for another round of slow torture. She held the bikini in place with her arm, teasing him.

“Hey now,” he growled, feeling her smile against his skin. Sharp little tingles, like cold razors, bristled along the length of his collarbone, and down his chest. Sophie could take control so easily. Leaving him vulnerable and wanting, but there was no way in hell he’d allow himself to be at her mercy. He’d been at a woman’s mercy once in his lifetime and the pain that had resulted was enough for a lifetime. He unfastened her shorts, yanked them down along with her panties.

“Tucker,” she gushed.

“Do you want to stop?” He grabbed her hips.

“No. I was going to tell you to go faster.” She moved her arm and the bikini top fell away. Tucker swore, lifted her onto the rail. She grabbed his shoulders in a death grip. Before she could protest at being so close to a ten-foot drop, he spread her arms out and placed her hands on the support beams beside her. As soon as she gripped the beams, he sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her head went back with a moan. One arm looped securely around her hips. He unfastened his belt and jeans with the other. Glad he’d had lots of practice undressing one-handed. It was suddenly very, very worth it.

“I’ve got you, Soph. You won’t fall.” He moved a hand between her thighs. She parted them quickly, her hips jerking forward. Tucker rested his fingers on the inside of her leg; drawing gentle back and forth motions over her sensitive thigh.

“Maybe I want to fall,” she whispered as she arched a little, seeking the touch he kept just out of reach. He couldn’t deny her. Tucker parted her swiftly, tracing a finger over her clit. She jerked with a cry; he grabbed her waist more firmly to keep her from falling, pressing harder, faster, against her willing nub. He wanted to pull her off the railing and move her to the floor, spread her out and taste all of her. Sophie’s head was thrown back, her hair streaming down into nothingness between her and the water below, her breasts round and full and Tucker knew this was perfect. Just the way it was meant to be.

He held his breath for several beats, listening to Sophie’s soft pants and moans mix with the ripple of water and the pound of rain. The sounds filled him with an unnerving peace, which he shoved away so pure lust could take hold. He brought her up for a deep, open kiss, flicking his finger in the way that made her gasp the most. Her thighs clenched, her middle going rigid as moisture cascaded around his hand and she screamed into his mouth.

“Jesus, Sophie!” He moved back a bit, positioned her hips on the very edge of the rail.

“Condom!” her voice was so breathy, it took a minute to register. Shit. He groaned against her neck in frustration, kneading her hips with his fingers. He didn’t make a point of carrying that particular item around with him during the workday. There was a time when he might have had one in the truck, but his prowling days were mostly over. Or had been, until he’d met her.

“Don’t have one.” The waver of defeat in his voice made Tucker cringe. Her breaths were long and unsteady. Whispers of rain breezed in against his face.

“I’m on the pill,” Sophie blinked as if she were trying to clear her vision. “I’m otherwise safe and if you tell me you are too, I’ll believe you. But if you’re not sure, then…” Tucker moved his hands up to her waist and back down, reluctant to lose this contact with her. He hadn’t gone bareback since his fiancé had left him years ago, and he’d had an exam since then. Despite confidence in himself, her confidence in him made his chest clench.

“I am. And I’m sure if you are.”

She reached down, grabbing his cock, guiding him into perfect position and signaling her answer. Tucker let lose, driving into her with one violent thrust. Her cry urged him on, encouraged him to take her however he wanted. Rough. Hard. The way she craved him. An overwhelming sense of incompletion raged through him. He thrust harder, pulling her tighter against him and it still wasn’t enough. The tight, hot slide of her body milked nuances and intense sensations he couldn’t recall ever feeling, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be farther, deeper.

He wanted to be closer.

Sophie’s upper body leaned back over the rail. “Don’t stop!” she cried, arching into his hard thrusts with an expression of pure abandon on her face. He flicked her tender clit and she cried his name with a fractured sound. And that was enough; that was the completion he craved as he spilled into her, grinding his face into her chest and holding her for all he was worth.

Breathing. There was nothing but the sound of their hard, unsteady breathing and the rippling water. Sophie lowered her arms and wrapped them, trembling, around his neck so he could help her down. She didn’t let go, just swayed against him with her forehead against his chest.

Tucker reached for her hair, hesitated just a moment before running his palm over the back of her head. This was intimate, too intimate and unfamiliar. Sex was a quick affair, one that led to a quick departure. Not feelings like those crashing around in his chest right now. Certainly not the want to do it again, slowly, to learn what made her buck and scream, what touched her heart. He’d been down that road once already and it led to a drop off of daggers and self-doubt he couldn’t erase.

Handing Sophie her shorts, Tucker turned away to give himself some distance as he righted his jeans. Then she touched his arm and they walked back to the truck in a post-sex glow that wrapped around him like heat from a winter fire. He slid into the truck and so did she, and then, God help him, she lay down on the seat with her head on his lap and for once, Tucker had no idea what to do next.

…

There was no way he was staying in the ranch house tonight. Not after the glory that was Sophie had him in a slow, hot burn. With his mom gone visiting family in Missoula for the night, he’d be alone in the house and it would be aggravatingly quiet and…lonely. He’d dropped Sophie off at the cabin and got himself out to check pastures. Her hot, sweet body followed him every second and now, cloaked in dark and exhausted from finding menial things to keep himself busy, Tucker was edgy as hell. If he couldn’t have Sophie, he at least needed someone to take his mind off her. Another warm body to fill the space, to remind him he wasn’t alone.

He grabbed fresh clothes from the ranch house and strolled down to the row-style bunkhouse the onsite hands lived in. He pounded on Jaxon’s door. A few seconds and muffled curses later, Jax cracked the door with sleepy eyes.

“What?”

“Let me in.”

Jaxon swung the door wide, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He wasn’t one to turn down the chance to fall asleep early, and while nine at night didn’t suit Tucker well for crashing for the night, Jaxon had no qualms.

“You sick?” Jax yawned.

“Nope.”

“Drunk?”

Tucker grunted. “I wish, but no.” He kicked off his boots at the door and crossed the room to the sofa. Jaxon had the largest unit with two rooms and a private bathroom. Bunking down with Jaxon wasn’t new. There was a time when he, Cole, and Levi spent more time sleeping on Jax’s floor than they did in their own beds. When Jaxon came to Paint River as a kid, he’d had a room in the ranch house, but quickly decided living under the same roof as Tucker’s father, Cooper, wasn’t for him. He’d moved to the bunkhouse with the other men with a small sleeping area and a communal bathroom and kitchen. By sixteen, he had won the private quarters on a bet. A very painful bet, one Tucker bore the scars of.

His brain shifted to Sophie’s finger tracing the brand on his back. Tank McGee, one of their oldest and longest running hands at the time, had the private bunk, had for years. When Jaxon said he wanted it, Tank challenged him. Get branded, get the private bunk. No one imagined a teenager would put himself through that kind of pain for a bedroom with a small living space and private bathroom. Jax whipped his shirt off that instant. Both terrified, and proud of his friend’s determination, Tucker offered himself up too so Jax wouldn’t have to do it alone.

That searing hot brand pressing into his skin was the most physically painful experience of his life.

The bunkhouse had turned into the perfect escape for the Haywood boys when their father got to be too much to tolerate. Maeve used to shoo them out of the ranch house, knowing full well where they were going, and reassuring them she could handle their father. Her method of handling Cooper was to remain a quiet shadow until he’d raged himself into exhaustion. Despite her reassurances, Tucker had never been comfortable leaving her, but as a young boy, he’d felt helpless to stand up for her against his dad.

When he’d gotten older, stronger, bigger than Cooper, Tucker had made a habit of putting himself between his parents like a brick wall—keeping Maeve out of Cooper’s tornado, and taking the brunt of the storm himself. They’d all stopped coming to the bunkhouse with Jaxon then, and it had been years since Tucker had stayed the night here.