by Lora Leigh
“Fuck.” He drew in a hard breath, staring at her accusingly. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you asked.” Her smile was a challenge in itself.
His cock was so hard it hurt. Harder than he could ever remember it being in his life. His hands itched to touch her, his mouth watered with the need to taste her.
“Heather.” He closed his eyes, fighting his desires, his sexuality. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
His sexual appetites were raging now. She had thrown gas on a fire already burning nearly out of control. When she didn’t answer him, he opened his eyes. She watched him, equal parts innocence and seductress as he fought for control. Her lashes lowered over her eyes, a sexy, knowing move that broke his resolve.
Before he could convince himself once again how disastrous the consequences could be, he moved to her. He glimpsed the surprise on her face an instant before he flipped her over on the couch, holding her down as he jerked the hem of her gown up over her bare ass.
Dear God. One hand held her shoulders down as he straddled her legs, restraining them. Her hips were raised, the cheeks of her butt clenching, all cream and peach perfection. Well rounded, full globes of beauty.
“Stay still,” he growled as she bucked against him once again.
To reinforce the order, his hand landed firmly on one pale cheek, flushing the flesh marginally with a warning tap. She stilled, but he heard the hard catch of her breath, felt her body tremble.
“You have no idea what I want, Heather,” he bit out, his hand stroking over the silken flesh of her butt once again. “You think you’re ready for me. You think what you’ve heard about with Marly and Sarah is who I am, what you can expect. You’re wrong baby…very, very wrong.”
He smacked her ass again, just enough force to flush the other cheek and have her moaning, confused, fighting to separate the pleasure from the pain.
“Sam,” she moaned his name, her voice questioning, shocked.
“I want to tie you down,” he whispered, coming over her now, tucking his cloth-covered cock into the crack of her ass. “I want to see you stretched out on my bed, leather restraints holding you in place while I show you pleasure you never imagined existed. Helpless. At my mercy. Screaming out for me while I take you places, Heather. Places you’ve never imagined existed.”
She wiggled against him, the cheeks of her rear flexing around the erection separating them.
“Yeah, tighten on me just like that, baby,” he whispered in her ear as he caught her wrists in his hand, shackling her to the couch with his strength. “That’s how you’ll tighten when I bury my cock up your tight little ass. Just like that, Heather, while you scream, because you don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.”
His free hand moved beneath her hips, forcing its way between her thighs as she bucked against him, panting, but not denying him. Damn her, she should have been screaming out in fear. Instead, heaven help him, his fingers found hot, slick moisture, thick syrupy need that collected in the narrow slit of her cunt.
“Sam, you’re a tease,” she accused him roughly, heatedly.
He stilled, his hips pressing hard into her.
“A tease?” He couldn’t believe she had said that.
“A damned tease,” she moaned. “Take those pants off and fuck me or get off me.”
He chuckled. “Do you think it’s that easy, Heather?” he asked her silkily, his fingers rasping over her swollen clit. She shuddered beneath him, her breath catching.
“Oh, you’re close.” He grinned at her neck, his teeth scraping the delicate skin there. “Poor baby. Can your toys do this for you, Heather?”
He gripped her clit between his thumb and forefinger, then delicately, with the utmost care, began a gentle milking motion on the sensitive little bud.
“Oh my God.” She jerked in his grip, an involuntary shudder so close to orgasm that he knew it would be torturous.
He continued the motion. Just enough pressure to make her crazy, never enough to make her climax. He could feel her juices flowing now, knew her pussy would be spasming in desperation.
“Get ready, baby,” he whispered, knowing the climax, though intense and powerful, would only leave her hungry for more.
His fingers rasped her clit, milked, stroked. He felt her tense, her thighs tighten, her syrup flow, then her strangled cry shattered the silence of the game room as she bucked in his arms. Her hips twisted, grinding her clit harder against his fingers as the climax ripped through her body.
She was struggling to breathe, trembling in the after effects of her release as he held her close, his hand cupping the hot mound between her thighs.
“Listen to me,” he growled, his voice strained, desperate lust pumping hard and fast through his system. “Listen to me well, Heather. When I take you, I won’t make allowances for your innocence, or your need for romance. I’m riding an edge that terrifies the fuck out of me. So there’s no way in hell it’s going to be easy for you. Stay the hell away from me, baby, or you could very well get hurt.”
He jumped away from her, stalking from the room and rushing up the stairs. He prayed she didn’t see the wet spot on his pants, the proof of his own climax as she shattered beneath him. Something he had never done before. Something that scared him almost as badly as the nightmares awaiting him.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning dawned too bright and too damned early. Dressed in Levi shorts and a tank top that barely skimmed the low waistband of the shorts, Heather descended the stairs. The leather sneakers she wore made no sound on the carpeted steps, so it was easy to hear the sounds coming from the family room. She had learned to be certain she wasn’t walking in on an ill-timed moment where that room was concerned.
As she stepped into the entryway, she noticed the door was open and the sounds in the house were in the kitchen. Thankfully it wasn’t moans, but rather the low murmur of male voices. Which meant coffee was on. No one made coffee like the August brothers did.
Pushing the door open, she stopped and damned near turned around and left the room again. Sam stood by the counter with Brock and Sarah. Sarah was being held against Brock’s chest as Sam’s head was rising from what was obviously a lingering kiss.
Cade sat at the table watching them, his gaze sharp, clinical, as he watched Heather now.
“Mornin,’ Heather.” He lifted his coffee cup in a salute as Sam moved unselfconsciously and lifted a mug from the cabinet. Sarah and Brock moved to the table as Sam filled the mug and handed it to her.
“You guys are up early,” she commented, fighting her jealousy as she accepted the cup. “Where’s Marly?”
“Still sleeping.” Cade’s voice was a smooth hum of male satisfaction. Evidently all that moaning and groaning a few hours past had been coming from their room. The August men had too much damned testosterone, that was all there was to it.
“Drink your coffee.” Sam handed her the mug as he pressed her toward the table. “I’ll get you some sausage and biscuits.”
“Don’t you guys eat anything else in the mornings?” She frowned, wondering what they had against ham and eggs and gravy, and her stomach pitched in hunger.
“That would require a cook,” Cade stated firmly. “I don’t want a cook or a housekeeper.”
“It would mean good meals,” she pointed out. “Something besides sandwiches and soup, or steaks and sausage biscuits.”
“We don’t have time to cook.” Cade shook his head.
Heather looked at Sarah. Why the hell weren’t she and Marly cooking?
“Don’t look at me, I can barely boil soup. And Marly’s worse.” She laughed as she sat sideways in her chair, her back braced against Brock’s chest.
“What do you do when you get tired of soup, sandwiches and steaks?” She shook her head in bemusement. She felt as though she were starving to death.
“We go out.” Cade shrugged. “Usually, that is. Remind me to kill that bastard twice for the food we’re missin
g out on.”
Death iced his words. Heather turned to him slowly, seeing the cold, hard menace in his voice.
“You won’t kill anyone, Cade. We’ll catch him, and take him in. That simple.”
“Nice dream world you live in, Heather.” He leaned his elbows on the table and watched her mockingly. “Do you think I’ll let him live after I get my hands on him? He shot Sarah; he scarred you. He’ll die for it.”
She turned to Sam and saw the same cold purpose in his face, then in Brock’s as well.
“That’s murder, Cade,” she whispered.
“It won’t be the first one, Heather,” he stated as he stood to his feet. “And you know it.”
He moved around the table, then paused behind her. Before she could think, before she could jerk away, he leaned close, brushing a kiss across her cheek. “I have to go. I have plenty of work to do” Then he moved to Sarah, repeated the caress and left the room.
Heather caught the other woman’s worried glance as she looked to her for a reaction. A reaction she was saved from looking too deeply into as the back door opened.
“Company coming in, boys. Sarah, your brother’s on the warpath again.”
“Oh hell.” Sarah jumped to her feet and glanced at Brock then Sam. “Either one of you hits my brother today and I’ll hit you back.”
Heather blinked then turned to Sam. “Why would you hit her brother?”
Sam shrugged. “You’ll see when you meet him.”
* * * * *
Dillon Carlyle was gorgeous. With thick, dark brown hair that fell below his neck, and velvet green eyes in a dark complexion that was damned near perfect for a man. A strong jaw line, high cheekbones, and sensually firm lips, she bet he had no end of women falling over themselves to get to him.
At the moment, that gorgeous face was creased into a frown of anger though, and his six foot plus frame was tense as he faced the August men.
“Dammit, Cade, what the hell is going on? I come back from vacation to find out this stalker shit is still going on and no one thought to call me?” His deep voice boomed through the entryway as the door slammed behind him. “The least you could have done was call me.”
Before anyone could stop him, his fist drew back and slammed forcefully into Brock’s jaw.
Brock bounced against the wall as Sarah cried out and jumped for her brother, protecting him from the wrath of four bodyguards. The biggest of which was Rick, who looked ready to retaliate rather forcefully.
“Call them off, Cade,” she yelled, dangling from Dillon’s neck as he tried to pull her loose. “Don’t you let them hit him.”
“Dammit, Sarah,” Dillon cursed. “Get off me so I can kick his ass.”
“You moron.” She kicked his shin as he stumbled against the opposite wall. “Do you have a suicide wish I don’t know anything about?”
“Dammit, Sarah, let him go.” Brock was laughing, though the blood on his rapidly swelling lip didn’t look too amusing.
He gripped his lover’s waist and with Dillon’s help lifted her away from his body. Dillon stood ready, his eyes narrowed as he watched the August brothers.
“Pack your stuff, Sarah, you’re coming to the house with me, where you’ll be safe,” he growled aggressively.
“I don’t think so, Carlyle,” Brock grunted. “Get over yourself and have a drink. Enjoy your visit with Sarah then you can head home. Alone. The same way you showed up.”
“Dillon, are you causing trouble again?” Marly entered the fray then, her amused voice drawing eyes as she stepped into the entryway. Dressed in snug jeans and T-shirt, she looked like a mischievous teenager rather than a fully-grown woman.
“Marly, you look pretty as ever,” he sighed. Heather noticed most men sighed a bit wistfully when they saw Marly.
“Thank you, Dillon.” She stepped into Cade’s arms and sent Heather a warning glance.
What? She frowned the question back at her.
Marly looked over her head at Sam. Heather glanced back then moved quickly to place herself in front of him, close. He looked ready to kill. Instantly his arms went around her, and she almost laughed at the instinctive response. If she put aside the whole sharing issue, the August men could be rather endearing.
“I’m not going anywhere, Dillon,” Sarah told him with a vein of exasperation. “Now why are you really here, because we both know you knew I wasn’t leaving with you.”
“Where’s that drink I was promised?” He turned and headed into Cade’s study after shooting him a veiled look.
“Keep your people out here, Rick,” Cade ordered as he headed into the room behind Dillon.
“Cade.” Rick stopped him as he moved to pass. “Don’t keep information away from me, man. We can’t protect you, or catch this stalker if you start hiding things from me.”
Cade’s eyes narrowed. “My family is my life, Rick,” he bit out. “You’ll have everything you need to know, I promise you that. But some things are just not any of your damned business,” he bit out before stalking into the study.
Heather stayed quiet. Sam led her into the room and she didn’t balk. Dillon looked like a man on a mission, and evidently his sister wasn’t the entire mission.
“I talked to the sheriff, earlier.” Dillon poured himself a stiff drink as the door closed behind Sam and Heather. “I found out about Tate and the explosion from him. But what they don’t know, and one of my hands told me, was that Tate had a friend. They aren’t certain who. One who knew quite a bit about your family and the situation here. One who promised Tate some interesting information.”
“How do you know about this?” Cade asked him, his voice dark, warning.
“Tate liked to talk when he drank, Cade. He told a lot of people he would have some interesting pictures soon. Pictures of the August men…” He paused, his jaw bunching as he glanced at his sister. “Explicit pictures from twelve years ago.”
Tension thickened in the room.
“If he had them, the sheriff would have found them,” Cade pointed out logically as he glanced at the others in the room. “Whoever’s behind this was using the bastard.”
“But he told a lot of men, Cade. Men who wouldn’t mind watching you fall. And he hinted that the person with the information was right under your nose.”
A pin drop would have echoed in the room, the silence was so thick, as all eyes turned to Heather.
“No.” She shook her head, feeling her hair swish against Sam’s chest as his arms went around her again. “Rick hand-picked this team. It has to be one of the cowboys.”
“It could be anyone,” Cade murmured.
“Cade, Rick needs to know about this,” Heather said firmly, as he watched her intently. “If there’s even a chance it could be one of his men, he needs to know.”
He drew in a deep, hard breath before nodding abruptly. “You’re right. But just Rick, Heather. And you better get ready to spend a hell of a lot more time with Sam than you have been so far.”
Chapter Fifteen
They ran a ranch. Fences needed mending, cattle needed to be moved, horses needed shoeing and stables to be cleaned. Hay was being baled in preparation to stack within the barns and a thousand other details that needed to be taken care of. Days went by with no news, and no report of strangers or otherwise unusual occurrences. Sam was losing patience and control. Heather was with him damned near every second of every day and Rick watched him like a hawk.
The pressure was starting to get to all of them. He was sniping at Cade and Brock, and caught himself just short of sniping at Heather. He needed her too bad. The ache to touch her, taste her, was about to drive him crazy.
Sam knew Cade and Brock were chafing at the restrictions being placed on them within the house as well. They were all damned tired of stalking the confining, if comfortable rooms, and waiting on something that never came. Sam knew if he didn’t get away from it, he was going to snap. He needed to be outside where he could feel the breeze, taste freedom. Where he wasn�
�t haunted by nightmares, or Heather’s arousing scent.
The nightmares that haunted them all were growing worse for him. He never truly remembered them, but the terror that filled him when he awoke was damned near as sharp as that of the first rape…
He shuddered, pulling on thick leather gloves as he closed his mind to the thought. He gave his head a hard shake, then narrowed his eyes as he realized he was no longer alone in the stables. He turned his head slowly and there she was.
Damn, he’d been praying he could avoid her. At least for today. She was dressed in snug jeans with what was obviously a pair of child’s chaps belted around her lean hips, a tan tank top and well-worn boots. He wanted to strip her and fuck her until she couldn’t tempt him anymore. He wondered if he could ever take her enough to reach that point.
“Tell Rick to assign someone else,” he bit out sharply as she pulled a pair of dainty leather working gloves from her back pocket and started to pull them on.
“Don’t worry, cowboy, I know how to saddle my own horse, and how to ride it.” She smiled cheekily. “Do I look good in the chaps? I always wanted to wear a pair.”
She would look damned good in nothing but the chaps. He narrowed his eyes, imagining it, imagining her, bare except for leather chaps and his cock plowing between her thighs. He clenched his teeth, fighting for control.
“Wear ‘em somewhere else,” he bit out, tightening the cinch on his horse’s saddle. “I don’t have time to wait on you, Heather.”
“Well you better, big boy.” She strolled casually to one of the stalls, loosening the gate and clipping a lead to the horse it contained. “I’m your babysitter today, sweetcakes. Ride out without me, and one of the boys will put a tranquilizer in your ass. Cade’s already given them permission, by the way.”
He snarled in fury. Like he wasn’t well aware of what Cade had fucking done. Goddammit, he wasn’t a child any longer to be protected by the other two and he was getting sick of being treated like one. He was two years younger than Cade, not two years old.