MrBigStuff-epub
Authors: RG Alexander
Mr. Big Stuff
Bigger in Texas series, Book Two
R.G. Alexander
Mr. Big Stuff
Copyright 2014 R.G. Alexander
Cover Design by
R.G. Alexander
Editing by D.S. Editing
Formatted by
IRONHORSE Formatting
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Dedication
For Cookie—Love is the reason.
For Robin and Voodoo, Dawn and Casey, because I miss you.
Most of all for Eden—my sweet Caroline and bunny wife. This cowboy’s for you. *G*
Table of Contents
Other Books from R.G. Alexander
Chapter One
Love hurts.
Caroline Aaron frowned at the Japanese symbols inked along her side as she stood naked in front of the wall-length bathroom mirror, methodically rubbing lotion into skin still heated and slightly damp from the shower. Love wasn’t the only thing that hurt. Hope occasionally left its mark as well.
She pumped more lotion into her palm and smoothed it over the Kanji tattoo with a sigh. When people asked her about it she would laugh and say it was a nod to her particular lifestyle choices, which was true. She never hid her knowledge or enjoyment of BDSM—it was too much a part of who she was. But the tattoo was also a reminder to be more careful with her heart. And she tried, but Caroline’s heart usually made plans it didn’t feel the need to let her in on until it was too late.
Last night hadn’t gone at all the way she
or
her heart had planned. The man who’d stayed until the early hours of the morning had seemed perfect on paper. Robb had a sensual Scottish accent, exquisite black and gray tattoo sleeves on both arms, and a body that was muscular and athletic. He’d checked off most of the boxes on her list—he was only six years younger than she was with a career he was passionate about, he had an intelligence he didn’t try to hide and he was open-minded enough to draw her in.
Of course he’d thrown up a few minor red flags, but he’d also pursued her for over a month, wooing her with his biceps and a flattering amount of determination. Which was why she’d allowed it to go on longer than she would have in the past. Long enough to feel a glimmer of hope that he might be the kind of guy she could fall for.
Red flag number one—if a guy seemed too good to be true? He was and she was bound to be disappointed. The little things she’d ignored came rushing back to taunt her. The way he’d always told her about his day before he asked anything about hers, and when he finally did, it was perfunctory—he’d seemed more interested in staring at her lips when she spoke and waiting for his turn to talk again than in hearing anything she had to say.
Red flag number two—the way he kissed. It was always a question instead of a command. Cursory instead of intimate. Thoughtless. The way a man kissed said a lot about him. Whether he was playful or serious, confident or ardent. Usually after that first kiss Caroline had a good sense of what a man might be like in bed. This time, she hadn’t listened to the instincts that screamed “missionary position” and “selfish lover”—she’d allowed his looks and the lilting timbre of his voice to deceive her.
She’d told herself Robb was shy and humble and it was charming and probably had something to do with his being Scottish. That secretly he was a powder keg of desire so potent he felt duty bound to restrain himself so he wouldn’t scare her away. It was the same reasoning she used to excuse red flag number three—his insistence that they take it slow sexually.
Caroline wasn’t a fan of slow. She was a strong, sexually expressive forty-five-year-old woman who liked whips and chains on the weekend, not a small town virgin who needed a promise ring before she went to second base. Life was too short. When she saw something or someone she wanted, she went after it. That was who she was and she made no apologies for it. She usually looked for men who felt the same.
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate romance and chivalry. She was a big fan of having doors opened for her, being helped into jackets and holding onto a strong, steady arm while walking through a restaurant in impossible heels. But beyond that? She wanted to drive a man crazy. To have him crave her so fiercely it would make it impossible for him to be the gentleman and hold off, though he knew he should. She wanted a man who’d throw her face down on his bed and dominate her, riding her rough and wild even if his leg was in a cast and he could hardly walk.
Blinking away the image of one particular cowboy she had promised herself she wouldn’t think about, Caroline focused on rubbing her lotion into her neck. That should probably be added to the red flag pile–no matter how attractive Robb was or how intriguing his tattoos were, she couldn’t stop thinking about dirty, mind-blowing sex with another man. Dating should never be used as a distraction. She knew better.
She sighed heavily, massaging in the last of the lotion. If only she’d paid attention to the warning signs she could have avoided this fiasco, or at least not gotten her hopes so high. Instead, after three weeks of early morning phone calls, afternoon texting and late night dinners with Robb, she’d been as impatient for their first night together as a teenage girl with an overabundance of hormones. She’d prepared to be swept off her feet. In fact, she’d wanted—no,
needed
—to be swept off her feet. Needed it so much that once or twice, she’d almost convinced herself she
had
been.
If only she were a better actress.
Her phone rang and she reached for her earpiece, slipping it in place and tapping it to answer as soon as she saw the name on the caller ID. Trudy always seemed to know when she needed cheering up. “Good morning, Trouble. How is the blushing bride to be?”
“Drowning in fabric swatches and last minute catering changes,” Trudy groaned dramatically. “We only have three weeks to go, Caroline, and the old lady at the post office is now passive aggressively hinting for an invite to what she believes will be the social event of the century.”
“I’ll add her to the guest list.”
“You know I was thinking of a small wedding, right? I swear I mentioned that when I asked you to be my maid of honor. At a clearing on the hill where we’ll be breaking ground for the new house? The reverend and John, you and Jefferson and old Margery at our side at sunset?”
Caroline wrinkled her nose at her reflection and started applying her makeup. “And
you
know that long before I tried my hand at Hollywood gossip I worked for one of the most prestigious wedding planners in Northern California.”
“Was that before or after you were a makeup artist for KISS?”
“After, sassy pants. And that was only for one leg of their reunion tour as a favor for a friend.”
“I know. But
KISS
.”
Caroline snickered. “You can’t distract me. A maid of honor has certain obligations, Trudy. The most important being that I help prevent my dearest friend—so lovesick for her cowboy she’d get married naked in front of the ruins of the Chicken Ranch if he asked her to—from making decisions she will regret forever.”
“I should never have told you what that ZZ Top song was about.”
Caroline ignored her. “You deserve a beautiful dress and a menu that offers something other than grilled meat covered in barbecue sauce. You deserve a dance floor, a professional photographer and a crowd of admirers desperate to catch your bouquet. It’s your special day. Let me make it special.”
They’d been having conversations like this for months, ever since Big Bad John Brown proposed. Caroline might miss her friend desperately and secretly wonder how she would survive in such a small, slow-moving town, but she couldn’t help but notice how happy Trudy was now.
No, it was more than happiness. Trudy was blissful. John had kindled something inside her that lit her up and made her shine.
Trudy was special. Talented and warm, emotional as only an artist can be, but she’d always held herself back from giving her heart, waiting for someone or something that never came along. Caroline had always wanted her to find a man who saw her the way she did, who loved her for who she was. Luckily for John, he fit the bill. In fact, as soon as she saw the two of them together she’d known exactly who Trudy had been waiting for.
John supported Trudy’s blossoming indie music career and was building her a new home to go with her studio because the one he’d originally built with her in mind wasn’t big enough for the large family they were already planning. His old house was being given to his business partner—and Trudy’s brother—Jefferson instead while their original Adam’s family home was fixed up for their employees so they could stop living in the old bunkhouse. Soon they’d have their own town, Caroline mused.
The biggest surprise was seeing John chatting on the BDSM community forum she and the rest of Trudy’s California friends belonged to. Trudy was still there too, writing thought-provoking blog posts about the joys of rope and voyeurism, only now she finally seemed satisfied with her play partner.
Her future husband was almost too good to be true, though far too patient in Caroline’s estimation. John had waited years for Trudy to come home, saying he loved her enough to let her make her own decisions. Personally, Caroline would prefer a man who fought tooth and claw for love, but John had come through in the end, and she couldn’t fault him for being exactly what her best friend deserved.
Those two were the real thing. They fit. True love was rare, she knew from experience, and it deserved to be celebrated extravagantly, damn it. “If not for you, do it for me. I miss you, I’m lonely and I need a happy ending to focus on. Anything but my own love life.”
Trudy chuckled. “What happened? Did Braveheart cancel last night before he could finally give up the goods?”
“I wish.”
Her friend blew out a surprised breath. “That bad? From your description I was sure he was—”
“He wasn’t. Not even close. Not even in the same ballpark. The same solar system.”
“What happened?”
Caroline started to apply her makeup to ensure she wouldn’t cry. “What always happens, Trudy? I kissed the wrong frog. I blame his tattoos. You know I’m a sucker for good ink. But underneath he’s just like the others.”
“What others?”
“Men,” she bit out, more bitterly than she would have liked. “Let’s have a look at the defining character traits of my ghosts of boyfriends past shall we? They’re either too full of themselves or too insecure, which in the end is usually the same thing. They have more baggage than they can carry or they’re homeless musicians with no baggage at all. They’re too commitment phobic because of their psycho ex or too clingy because of their sainted mothers.”
