Cullen's Bride (6 page)

Read Cullen's Bride Online

Authors: Fiona Brand

BOOK: Cullen's Bride
4.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Rachel made a low sound in her throat and moved, fitting herself more closely against him. She wasn't wearing a bra, and just the thought of releasing the tie behind her neck, then taking the weight of her breasts in his hands, almost tipped him over the edge. He had to remember where they were, who she was....
Who he wasn't.
When he took her it was going to be long and slow, not a rushed, hurried fumble in somebody else's backyard. The thought hammered through him, twisted in his gut, and gave him the needed discipline to slide her zip up and ease her away. “Rachel,” he said hoarsely. “We've got to stop.”
She blinked at him, eyes clouded and soft, hair tangled, mouth so sensually swollen that a fierce growl of male possession started deep in his throat.
Cullen pulled in a breath, fighting the hunger that pulsed through him as be deliberately put space between them. He wanted her mouth again. He wanted the cool glide of her hands on his skin, her moon-pale body and silky dark hair wrapped around him—but the tight, hard rise of his flesh was warning enough. It was almost a relief to hear Cole's voice, edged with a cold, unmistakeable menace.
“It's just as well you did that, Logan, because if you hadn't, I would have taken you apart.”
Rachel stepped out of Cullen's shadow, placing herself firmly in bright moonlight. “Back off, Cole,” she declared. “Cullen wasn't doing a thing except turning me down ”
She moved again, sideways this time, placing herself directly between him and Cole. Cullen clenched his jaw against a powerful surge of emotion. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't seeing it with his own eyes. Rachel was protecting him from her brother.
Cullen stepped out from behind her pale, drifting dress and wondered how he'd got himself into a situation where a woman was ready to do battle for
him.
“What Rachel means is that we just got a little carried away by the moonlight,” he stated with cool deliberation. “Nothing more. I was just leaving.”
Cole met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded curtly. He shot Rachel an uncompromising look “Get your bag. We're leaving, too.”
Rachel didn't respond to her brother's order; she was too busy watching Cullen, her jaw set stubbornly, revealing that the fierceness she'd displayed at the hospital wasn't just a flash in the pan. She was used to fighting with her brother—hell, with anyone she took a fancy to square up to.
“I'll leave when I'm ready.”
Cullen took another step away, deliberately distancing himself from her. It was unexpectedly difficult to do. The instinct to catch her around the waist and move her behind him so he could take care of big brother himself was so strong that every muscle in his body was tensed against a retreat. “Cole's right. You should go.”
“Don't bother trying to tell me what to do,” she said with dangerous softness. “It's bad enough I have to put up with him!” She stabbed an accusing finger in Cole's general direction, not taking her gaze off Cullen for a second.
The passionate fury in every line of her body made Cullen go still. The sudden vision of Rachel locked beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist, that wild gaze linked passionately with his as he pushed himself inside her, flooded his loins with a throbbing, painful heat. A groan rolled through him, and he broke out in a sweat. Sweet hell
He wanted her. Here. Now.
And God help them both, but she wanted him, too.
Cullen unclenched his jaw by slow degrees, but he couldn't do a thing about the guttural roughness of his voice. “Listen to your brother, he knows what he's talking about.”
“Cullen.. ” Rachel reached out to him, but he'd gone, turned on his heel and strode away, leaving her shattered and confused, achingly bereft and more than a little angry at Cole. “You went too far,” she declared in a voice that trembled with temper. “Don't interfere again, Cole.”
“I'll interfere if I have to,” Cole said stubbornly. “You've been hurt enough, and getting involved with a renegade like Cullen isn't going to improve your odds of that happy-ever-after marriage you claim you're looking for.”
 
Cullen reached his truck and leaned against it, taking several deep breaths. He was shaking with pure, burning need.
And other emotions that were too complicated to unravel.
If he had any sense at all, he would head back to Auckland for the weekend. Three hours of driving and he could find the kind of woman who wanted nothing more than satisfaction on a physical level and wouldn't demand anything he wasn't prepared to give. But the thought filled him with distaste. There was only one pair of legs he wanted coiled around his waist, only one pale-silk body twisting beneath his.
His teeth ground together. And he couldn't take her. He wouldn't. Having sex with Rachel Sinclair would destroy her and ruin him. And sex was all he could ever offer a woman. He'd found out who he was fifteen years ago, and that person couldn't risk intimacy on any but the shallowest level.
Once the farm and his half-wild stock were fit for sale, he would sell up and return to barracks and his military career. He couldn't conceive of staying in Riverbend any longer than it took to cut every tie he'd ever had with the place.
Having any kind of relationship at all with the town's equivalent of a princess wasn't going to happen
Chapter 5
R
achel checked her watch as the last customer finally walked out the door into the perfect Saturday afternoon weather. “I'm out of here,” she muttered to herself, snatching up the letter that had arrived in the post that morning and locking the salon with relief.
For the past month she'd spent every spare moment painting the flat above the salon and hanging wallpaper, working until her shoulder and arm muscles ached and her eyes burned with tiredness. The decorating wasn't so urgent that she had to exhaust herself getting it done, but she'd needed the hard work, the satisfaction of bringing order to her life, to balance out the unexpected chaos of her emotions. And most of all she needed a place of her own. The next big effort would be shifting in the furniture she'd stored out at the farm. That was for tomorrow. What was left of today was for her, to fill some of the empty spaces inside her with a little sunshine. When she was good and relaxed she would read the letter, which was from Sandy——her ex-boss—and catch up on all the gossip about her friends and Sandy's large, rambunctious family.
She drove out to the farm as fast as her city thoroughbred of a car could take the dusty, winding back road, thinking for the hundredth time that she would have to switch to a model that didn't mind bucking from one pothole to the next. Maybe she would get a four-wheel drive It would be part of her general toughening-up campaign. Since the Hansons' party she'd vowed to see sense. The final dissolution of her marriage had upset her more than she'd bargained for. She'd been on some kind of crazy emotional seesaw, and Cullen had somehow triggered her to tilt in the one direction she didn't want to go.
Into the arms of another man who didn't want her.
 
Cole came toward her as she strode purposefully across the lawn to the stables, a duffel bag crammed with her towel, a cold drink and the letter slung over her shoulder. She already had her swimsuit on beneath her shirt and denim cutoffs.
“Swimming at the water hole again?” He shook his head. “Why don't you just use the pool?”
“I can swim in the pool any tune. I like the water hole because it's so peaceful.”
Cole followed her into the tack room. She could feel his scrutiny like a laser playing over her features.
‘You're having trouble sleeping again,” he accused. ”Maybe you should give the riding a miss today.”
Rachel grabbed a bridle, looped it over her shoulder, then pulled her saddle down, bracing herself against its weight. She wasn't sure whether Cole's concern was attributable to the shadows beneath her eyes or her own rusty riding skills. She didn't really care. She was living in the country now, and she was going riding “I'll sleep better if I get some exercise and sunshine.”
He eyed her warily. “At least let me carry the saddle.”
“It's not heavy.” Rachel walked past him and out into the sunlight.
Cole continued to shadow her. “I suppose you could take Jessie, but she's not going to be too impressed.”
Rachel gave him an amused look. “She never is.”
She saddled and mounted the sleepy mare, then clicked her tongue, urging Jessie to greater speed as they made their stately way through the gate and down the tree-shaded farm road, then onto the track that led to the water hole. The dusty bay stock horse flicked an ear. Her ambling gait didn't alter.
“Damn,” Rachel muttered resignedly. She'd squeezed with her legs until they ached almost as much as her rear, but the horse knew she had a rank amateur on her back and refused to lift her pace beyond a plod. And Rachel didn't have the heart to kick her. In truth, she felt guilty taking Jessie out. The only time she ever saw the old mare move voluntarily was to put more food in her mouth or to escape capture.
 
Cullen guided the big stock horse through the trees with his thighs, shrugging out of his shut as he went. The sun beat through the sparse branches arching overhead, sending bands of heat sliding like hot chains across his sweaty skin.
A sudden sense of being home assailed him, a rightness m the muscular horse between his legs, the rugged, challenging country he was riding through, and the sheer physical effort it took to bend the wildness around him to his will.
His jaw tightened against the renegade emotion The stock horse, Mac, had belonged to wily old Alistair Carson—another casualty of the rough demands of Logan land. Alistair—who'd owned a small adjoining farm—had run Cullen's stock along with his own. The brutal workload, along with the old man's stubborn persistence, had finally killed him.
The only way Cullen could make a success of such a big, diverse spread was if he committed himself to the challenge. To do that, he would have to stay.
Cullen urged Mac on at a faster pace. He smelled the river before he saw it; the resinous scents of bush and fresh water were strong in the brassy stillness of the afternoon. The water level had dropped with the dry, leaving the banks cracked and eroded where the cattle came down to drink. Debris from last winter's floods was snagged high, some of it caught on low tree branches—a stark reminder of how quickly and how high the water could rise. Despite Mac's objections, Cullen bypassed the first tributary, heading lower down the gully toward the main watercourse and its deep, green swimming hole. After allowing the horse to drink, Cullen left him amiably munching the spindly clumps of grass that grew beneath the feathery manuka and kanuka trees, and climbed down the bank before shedding his boots, dusty denims and finally his battered leather Akubra hat.
Impatiently, he drove his fingers through his damp hair. The cool river current would slide over his skin, washing away the sweat and dirt, and maybe, just maybe, it would wash away some of the impossible heat that had taken up permanent residence in his loins.
But he wasn't counting on it. Cold showers hadn't made a difference. And he doubted the lukewarm river water would succeed where his ice-cold bore water had failed so miserably.
His hands locked into tight fists as he waded into the water, deeper, then deeper still. The skimming current tugged at him, stroking his skin, making his muscles harden with a sudden, reckless need, a wildness he usually kept firmly under control. Flinging his head back, he gazed up at the wide, endless sky, a low curse grating from between his tightly clenched teeth. The days when he'd taken what he wanted and damned the cost were gone. He'd paid for that wild streak more times than he cared to count. Paid for it, and brought it under control.
And he wasn't about to let it rule him now.
 
Rachel stared at the man swimming naked in the river.
If she had a shred of decency, she would go quietly back to where she'd tied Jessie, ease her sore backside into the saddle and ride away. The trouble was, whenever Cullen walked into the picture, she lost any of the ladylike graces her very correct and formal guardian, Aunt Rose, had instilled in her.
He surged out of the water at the far side of the swimming hole. Hair streamed over his broad shoulders; sheets of water slid off his heavily muscled back and ran in a rivulet down the long, deep indentation of his spine to his tight, muscular buttocks and powerful thighs. The sun struck, harsh and merciless, rippling like fire over his sleek, coppery skin. In the cool green setting Cullen burned with a primitive barbarism that made her mouth go dry.
Heat speared through her—part mortification that she was actually spying on Cullen, and part the alien, disturbing excitement that frightened her with its intensity. Abruptly she relived the kiss at the Hansons' barbecue, the way he'd settled his mouth against hers and eased her against his long, hard body—the possessive stroke of his hand on her back. He'd been fully aroused and had made no effort to hide it. The strength and heat of his arousal pressing against her had made her go weak. Closing her eyes briefly in an attempt to shut out the too vivid images, she grabbed for a handhold and began pulling herself up the bank. She still couldn't believe the way she'd thrown herself at him.
Her foot slipped, dislodging a small avalanche of pebbles, and she went down painfully onto her knees. Berating herself, she scrambled back into the stifling dusty confines of the manuka scrub. Damn, damn, damn. Her heart was pounding, and her skin was so clammy her clothes stuck to her where they touched.
Backtracking with feverish haste to where she'd left Jessie, Rachel stuffed her towel into her duffel bag and searched frantically for something to use as a mounting block. At a pinch, she
could
haul herself on the tired creature's back. It didn't help that she was paruclking, that she was certain Cullen would know someone was here, and that she would die of embarrassment if he found her.
A trickle of sweat ran down her spine as she jerked the duffel closed. Rachel shrugged, irritably trying to unstick the back of her bathing suit from her spine. It was so still and quiet Except for those annoying cicadas. The relentless chirruping sawed at her nerves, stretched them tight
A harsh, ripping sound had her spinning around, breath suspended in her throat. An irridescent gleam of peacock blue and glossy black with a flash of white shot past her. A bird. She let her breath out. A native tui. An array of some beeps sounded from high in the canopy above her head, followed by squawking and finally a series of loud, glottal clicks. The sheer indignant volume of the bird had her smiling in relief. With the birds and cicadas making such a racket, maybe Cullen hadn't heard her after all.
But if she tried to ride out of here now, he would hear her for certain.
Pulling in a calming breath, she forced herself to sit and wait With fingers that shook annoyingly, she fumbled the duffel open and searched out her letter. No way was she running like some frightened virgin out of a fifties melodrama. She would read Sandy's news, and by the time she got through the usual marathon of lively gossip, Cullen would have finished his swim and gone.
Curiously, there was only one sheet, which enclosed a smaller, formal, cream envelope. The envelope slipped to the ground as Rachel concentrated on the letter, gripped by a sudden apprehension. For once Sandy was to the point. Adam had asked her to write and enclose his letter and the invitation in the hope that this way it would cause her the least upset.
Rachel's hand tightened on Sandy's trademark, extra thin onionskin, crumpling the delicate paper. Now that the divorce was final, her ex-husband was inviting her to his wedding. Vaguely, she heard the tui scolding overhead, brushed absently at a sand fly, and felt perspiration gather and trickle between her breasts. Adam had tried to talk to her several times over the past few months, but Rachel hadn't let him, hadn't been able to bear having a conversation about his plans for the future. He'd written, but she'd thrown the letters away unopened. But it wasn't as if she hadn't expected this. It wasn't as if she didn't
know
—
A snapping sound had her jumping to her feet The letter fluttered to the ground.
Cullen was leaning against a tree about six feet away, a broken stick held between his hands. He'd pulled on worn tight denims and scuffed riding boots, but moisture still slicked his shoulders and dampened the dark pelt of hair shadowing his chest.
“You're trespassing,” she said, her voice unexpectedly harsh.
He tossed the twig away. “You're on my land.”
Rachel wiped her palms down the side seams of her cutoffs. He followed the movement, then let his gaze slide the length of her legs and back up again. There was an edgy glitter in his eyes that made her stomach tighten.
“I've been swimming here all my life. There's no way
I'm
trespassing.”
He shrugged. “This has always been Logan land. It's just that my
neighbours
have never been too particular about observing the boundaries.”
“Then maybe you should fence the boundary.”
“And make the Sinclairs and the Hansons pay for what they've been taking for free all these years? Now there's a thought.”
Her chin came up. “My family doesn't need to take anything. I'm sure that if Cole was aware of the boundary he would be more than happy to pay for the right to water his stock here.”
“Cole knows. So does Hanson.”
“So why don't they—”
“Don't sweat it,” he growled softly. “If I was that concerned about my neighbours using water when there's more here than I'll ever need, I'd be knocking on their doors with a contract m my hand.”
Rachel's mouth settled into a stubborn line. Cullen wasn't saying it, but it was clear this was just another example of the general prejudice against him, and this time her own family was involved. Well, despite his lack of interest, she wasn't going to let it go. As soon as she got back, she was going to have a piece of Cole.
Cullen straightened from his lounging position, his expression back to the hard, impenetrable mask he usually wore. “You look hot. I'll leave you alone so you can have your swim. I presume that's what you came for?”

Other books

The Hunted by Dave Zeltserman
Body Search by Andersen, Jessica
In the Billionaires Club by Burroughs, Anne
First Kiss (Heavy Influence) by Frohoff, Ann Marie
Naked in Havana by Colin Falconer
Evacuation (The Boris Chronicles Book 1) by Paul C. Middleton, Michael Anderle
Hard Edge by Tess Oliver
The Contract by Zeenat Mahal