Lip Lock: Country Fever, Book 2 (17 page)

Half an hour later, she had a stack of bills but a stone in her belly. However, Andrea had given her the promise of earning a bonus this week if she left tonight for the flea market hub of Wyoming, a town a hundred miles away. Andrea couldn’t leave the shop unattended to go herself, but she wanted new stock, and Hayley was the answer.

All she needed was a bag of clothes and to transfer this money into Steve’s eager hands, and she’d be ready. In the back of her mind, she knew she should let Brant know, but part of her was too fragile to face his questioning. He’d want to know where she was going, whether or not her truck would get her there…and if he could come.

No, it was best to leave him a message after she’d already arrived. Surely he wouldn’t miss her that much.

Chapter Thirteen

Papers signed, forty little mouths checked, adjusted and prodded, and his car inspected. A productive day. But the only thing Brant could think about was getting Hayley in his clutches. The little vixen had evaded him all day. When he stopped in at Anecdote at lunch on his way to the bank to sign the final papers for the rental property, Hayley had already left for home.

Until now, he hadn’t gotten a spare moment to even call.

With one hand on the wheel of his luxury car, he clapped the cell to his ear and listened to the rings leading up to Hayley’s sultry voice.

But her voice message came on.

Where the hell was she?

Ten scenes flashed before his mind’s eye—she was in Casper, at an away game, or lying in bed, having a long, flirtatious phone conversation with Drake’s dashing father. Hell, she might be scaling Mt. Rushmore, for all he knew. A thread of irritation ran through him. When would she truly let him in? Just as he thought he’d broken through her reserves, she backed off twenty paces again.

He geared down to stop at the only red light in Reedy and speed-dialed Hayley once more. Five calls later, his annoyance level was at an all-time high.

On the sixth try, she picked up.

“Where the hell are you?” he practically screamed into the phone.

“Well, hello to you too.” Her voice was considerably cool—something he didn’t want to hear.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m a little wiped from the day. Will you let me see you tonight?”

“That’s not possible, Brant. I’m sorry. I’m not in the area.”

“What? Where are you?”

She named a highway leading north—right to the little ranch he called heaven.

He cussed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come with you.” Passing a hand over his face, he tried to beat back the possessiveness she evoked in him. Then his stomach bottomed out as it occurred to him that if she’d wanted him along for the ride, she would have invited him before leaving.

Motherfucking hell.

“Brant, I’m sorry. I had to leave in a rush to get here in time to meet with some vendors before the flea market opens tomorrow. It’s good business to have a drink or two—”

“Oh, hell no. I’m coming up.” Visions of Hayley in the little town pub, knocking beers and boots with some of the down-home cowboys nearly sent Brant out of the stratosphere.

“Is that a good idea?”

He swallowed hard, chest working with the bellow he wanted to release. “I don’t know, Hayley. Is it?”

The ball was in her strike zone now. If she wanted to hit his heart and send it flying away from her, she could.
Please don’t
.

After a heartbeat, she sighed. “I’m staying in room number ten at the Jack Knife B&B. You’ll be here in what…two hours?”

Grinning like an idiot, relief wringing a drop of sweat from his brow, he glanced at the dash clock. “Two hours, yes.”

“Okay, Brant. I’ll see you soon.” Her voice dipped low, invitingly, sensuously. His cock twitched to life.

“Damn right you will, baby. And remember that smack I delivered on your ass a few weeks back?”

Silence. Then a breathy, “Yes.”

“Prepare for more of that. You’ve been a bad girl.”

Shivers ran up and down Hayley’s spine as she replayed Brant’s words for the hundredth time since they’d spoken.
Prepare for more of that. You’ve been a bad girl.

That sting had excited her more than anything else in her life. In a way, it had opened her up to receiving the gifts he provided with his body. More than one smack? Fuck, she’d be reduced to a puddle of simpering female.

She’d spent a cursory half hour in the bar with the flea market stall owners, wheedling them with her charms in order to secure better pricing tomorrow at the open. They’d begged her to stay and have dinner with them, but she’d refused and returned to her room, knowing Brant would arrive shortly.

She paced in front of the bed, which was heaped in multi-layers of handmade quilts. The headboard was created from an old wooden gate, peeling paint and all. Add a few rustic jugs, and the bed and breakfast feel was complete. But she couldn’t focus on anything but those spanks she might receive.

What if he didn’t go through with it? Was she prepared to beg?

Stopping in front of the full-length, standing mirror, she flicked her gaze over her short satiny slip. Would it be better to be nude when he came in? Maybe her ass in the air, pleading to be warmed?

Where did that come from?

She didn’t like to dwell on the fact that she had loved his smack on her ass that day. For a mother to crave such a thing hardly seemed appropriate. But it was impossible not to think about it when she lay in bed alone at night. She hadn’t been lying to Drake when she told him she enjoyed Brant taking care of her. The man knew what she wanted inside and out.

When he’d slapped her ass, the reverberations reached deep into her core and stripped away a bit more of her control—something she needed. In the bedroom, he pushed her and she only wanted more.

Arousal soaked the thin strip of silk covering her pussy and glued her inner thighs together. The downfall of having full thighs, but one Brant didn’t seem to mind.

She picked up her hairbrush and whipped it through her tangled strands for fifty strokes. The tingle on her scalp was echoed in her body, and she craved more. Taking up the brush again, she wielded it for another fifty strokes. When the knock sounded on the oak door, she still held the wooden-handled brush.

Mouth agape, she fought to think of what to do. Another knock and she moved. Dropping the brush to the bed, she drifted to the door, knees trembling.

“Yes?” she breathed through the wood.

“Hayley, it’s me.”

Releasing a harsh breath, she yanked the door open and threw herself at him. He bent her over his arm and took her mouth, fucking it with his tongue. Diving deep, skimming shallow, sucking on hers until her legs went boneless and he had to scoop her up.

He spread her out on the bed and stood at the edge, legs splayed, hands fisted, breathing heavily. “I don’t plan for us to stay here tonight. Can you get dressed?”

Confusion slammed her like a pail of cold water, extinguishing some of her fire. “Where are we going?”

“I have a place…”

“You have a place? Something like a second home?”

“You could say that. I want to share it with you, baby. All night. And if I sink into your hot little body now, we’ll never leave this room.” He caressed her outer thigh with a fingertip, running it down to her knee.

His expression burrowed into her heart better than anything else could have. In that instant, her heart flipped—with absolute love. God, how had it happened? What began as mutual lust had pierced deep and hit a vein. Now she was bleeding out love from her every pore.

“Sweetheart, what is it?”

His tender tone was her undoing. Reaching up, she locked her arms around his neck and drew him down, burying her face against his neck and trying to keep the happy tears inside lest she alarm him.

“Oh, Hayley. Thank God you let me come to you tonight. Let’s put this distance behind us now. I want to be with you. Let me take you to Willowbank. I want to show you my plans for the place…after I’ve had my way with you half a dozen times.”

Her smile spread across his warm, salty skin. At that moment, she’d follow him anywhere. If he asked, even to the altar.

Twenty minutes later, they drew up to a quaint farmhouse, overgrown with old-fashioned rose varieties and swallowed by pines. But the land was gorgeous, the light falling across the golden tips of the tall grasses. A picturesque barn stood alone on the far end of the property, but all too well she could envision a corral of horses, maybe even a goat.

“This is yours?” she asked.

He put the car into park and stared at her. Something moved behind his eyes. “Yes. My dream. To someday retire from the practice, give up digging around in kids’ mouths and move up here with a…” He broke off, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“With?”

He shook his head and opened the door. “Come on.” From the back seat, he collected her bag, which had been hastily repacked.

The interior of the house was as charming as the outside. Plaster walls painted in honeyed tones that caught the sunlight, a farmhouse-style kitchen with open shelving and a sink to die for. But when they reached the master bedroom, her heart caught.

She imagined herself there, beside him on the old brass bed.

He dropped the bag and unzipped it. Reaching inside and holding her gaze, he withdrew the hairbrush.

She shuddered. “What are you doing with that?”

“Strip and you’ll see.”

“Brant—”

“Hayley, I promised to warm your ass for escaping me again. I plan to follow through.” He tapped his broad palm once with the hairbrush.

In one quick motion, she pulled her dress overhead, leaving only her slip.

“That too.” His eyes darkened to a shade of midnight.

Gripping the hem, she slid the fabric up and off, tossing it to the floor. Shaking, she locked her knees.

“Those too.” He pointed with the brush at her hips, where her baby pink panties covered her wet flesh.

“O…kay.” She hooked her thumbs in the sides and shoved them down. They puddled at her feet, and she stepped out of them.

Then with a suddenness that stole her breath, he picked her up and shoved her onto her hands and knees on the bed.

She struggled to gain her equilibrium as she detected the rustle of clothes. She ached to turn and look at him, but thoughts of that hairbrush consumed her. Was it indecent to admit she wanted him to paddle her with it? If she ignored his order, she might not get it.

He blanketed her with his big body, scorching skin to skin. His springy chest hair tickled her back, infusing such longing, she moaned.

“Tell me what you want, Hayley.”

“I don’t know if I c—”

He cut her off. “Do you want this?” He rubbed the soft bristles over her ass cheek. Electricity shot through her.

“Y-yes.” Her voice was disjointed, someone else’s.

“And this?” He smacked her lightly with the bristles. Each stiff hair seemed to dig into her heart and reach an unseen realm. Love blossomed for him.

An intake of air. “Yes.”

“What about this?” He smacked her harder now with the wooden back of the brush. The crack reverberated throughout the space.

Stunned yet reeling, she wantonly thrust her ass up for more.

“Oh fuck, yeah.” He cracked her again, square on her cheek. As she cried out, he delivered five more, rapid-fire. Gasping, she opened her mouth to beg for another swat when he struck her lower, close to her pussy. The edge of that blow seemed to swell, spreading downward to encompass her already aching sex.

His strikes eased, growing gentler and closer to her snatch. Her focus sharpened, and it seemed she lived her whole life to be on the receiving end of that hairbrush.

One final tap delivered over her swollen labia and she was sobbing for more.

More that he didn’t give. Instead, she felt the smooth wood handle slide into her pussy. Crying out, she pushed backward, taking it to the bristles, which skimmed her needy clit.

“God, Hayley, that’s so fucking hot.” He pulled the handle out, then pressed it back in as deep as it would go. But it wasn’t deep enough or big enough.

“I need you, Brant. Not that—just you.”

The handle slid through her folds, and she heard the brush strike the floor. Suddenly, he was with her, cock stretching her to perfection, the swollen head of his shaft bumping her repeatedly where no one had ever touched before.

An uncharted part of her heart.

Again and again he drove her higher into the clouds. Dark heat clawed at her belly, and that knot that held back the dam of her release snapped.

She flew through the abyss of sensation, feeling only him wrapped around her, inside her, as her pussy clamped down on his thick shaft. She cried out and he followed with a guttural groan of his own.

“Hayley, my love. I want this—want us—forever.”

Blackness slammed her out of nowhere. All of a sudden, she was in Kent’s arms again, hearing those same words before she eloped with him. Denial shot up her throat. In seconds, she was on her feet, scrabbling for her abandoned clothes. Brant’s come zigzagged down her thighs.