Stripped Down (13 page)

And then Rose laughs, delighted, and I snap back to the ranch. Thank fucking Christ. She sounds happy, as if I’d arranged the downpour just for her.

“Look, Angel! Rain!” She fairly dances in anticipation of getting thoroughly soaked. Her face glows, and she’s so much better than the Afghani nightmare that I have to smile too.

“That’s rain, all right.” I sound like a dumbass, my head still thick and slow from the flashback, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s completely riveted by the approaching storm, leaning into it with anticipation. Ordinarily, I’d just sit back and watch her because she’s fucking beautiful and so alive it hurts, but a heavy downpour will turn the dirt road to shit if the rain is anything but brief. Getting the tire fixed quickly is paramount. “We’ve got to get on the road if we don’t want to get mired out here.”

“You’re no fun,” she snorts, dancing away from me. That’s true. Since one of us has to be practical, I drop to my knees by the bad tire, working the jack underneath the truck. Rose has her face turned toward the approaching rain. Cold and wet had nothing to recommend it, not as far as I’m concerned. I work quickly but efficiently, testing the jack to make sure I’ve got it firmly in place. I didn’t survive Afghanistan only to have my truck slip when I’m underneath it. My eyes return over and over to Rose, not ready to lose sight of her. When I look at her, I know where I am. She’s my anchor.

The rain sweeps in hard and fast. Instead of paying attention to the job, I’ve got my hand on the sun-heated metal of the truck, watching Rose. The first wave of wet hits, the drops pinging against the pickup and stinging my skin. Wiping an arm over my forehead, I grab my hat from the side mirror and jam it on. The shirt I toss inside to keep it dry. Rose is gonna need it when she’s done playing.

The rain’s bite doesn’t bother her one bit. Water slicks the flimsy material of her tank top and shorts against her skin, and that’s so much better looking than the damned tire that I give up on fixing the thing for the moment. She dances in the rain to a song only she can hear, her hair plastered against her face. Her clothes aren’t decent anymore. She’s soaked, every curve and shadow on display for me. A fierce urge to possess her, right now, right here, lights me up. Sex is a battle, and she’s won without firing a shot because I’m ready to crawl for her.

Fuck.
I don’t do submission.

I work the tire iron with a vengeance, forcing the stubborn lug nuts free, then jacking the truck up with slow, even pumps. The flat tire slides off easily and I set it aside. Focus on breathing in and out. On
not
looking at Rose. There’s no ignoring the boner shoving against my zipper, though. My body’s voting for the
get fucked by Rose
plan.

After finally getting the new tire on and secured, I lower the truck and finish tightening the nuts. Rose is still dancing in a slow, sensual weave. I don’t dance, but once again I’m tempted to make an exception for her. Instead, I toss the jack back into the truck bed along with the flat tire. Not too much to salvage there, but hope springs fucking eternal.

I’ve had Rose in my house for three days. She’s done the busy bee thing, taking over a lot of the cooking and cleaning from the happy housekeeper, all the while revisiting Auntie Dee’s to straighten up the place, reviewing her estimates, calling around for better bids, and scrutinizing local websites for god knows what. Rose has always been game, always up for a challenge, and she’s determined to open a tattoo shop in Lonesome. Her stubbornness, the way she holds on and won’t let go, is something special.

She
’s special.

The rain soaks into her tank top, painting the thin fabric against her breasts. She’s wearing a bra—barely. The delicate little lace cups are more perch than ledge, the rain outlining every flourish and curlicue in the fabric barely containing her. It’s one hell of a view.

She dances toward me, looking so damned happy and I have no idea why. It’s wet, it’s muddy, and she doesn’t have a future because I took it away from her. The only thing I can give her is myself, and she deserves better than a broken former-SEAL who wants to own her body and soul.

I’m not gonna be smart about this. I manage to avoid crawling, but that’s my hand reaching out to her in invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, just tucks her fingers into mine as if she’s more than willing to two-step or waltz with me. I tug her closer and catch her, depositing her on my thigh. Her fingers curl into my shoulders. She’s as off-balance as I am. I’m not helpless here. I’m in charge.

“What’s up?” She glows at me, her eyes twinkling from mere inches away. She’s not close enough, not yet.

“You wanted to help,” I point out because who am I kidding? I’m totally doing this. “You parked on my lap works for me.”

“This isn’t a bar, cowboy. I’m not handing out lap dances.” She laughs a little, but there’s a note of uncertainty in her voice. She wants to pull her weight, but she doesn’t know what I want from her and some things are off the table.

I’ll show her what I want.

And then I’m gonna make her want it, too.

I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and ease her face closer to mine.

“How is… this… helping?” She whispers the question. The breathless is cute, or maybe that’s all the dancing she’s done. The heat of her pussy all but burns my thigh, though, so I’m thinking it’s for me. Or Rose just really, really likes the rain, and I can work with that. Out here it’s just me and her, and my brothers aren’t gonna interrupt us.

“Trust me.” My mouth forms words against hers, and I just have to lick her. Her lips taste like strawberries, some kind of lip gloss or maybe that’s just how Rose is. Sweet and soft and slick. I rub my thumb over her mouth, wanting more. “I’ll show you.”

She leans in to my touch. Does she know what she’s doing? She drives me crazy, the way she likes to get closer. Putting both arms around her, I cup her neck and her cheek, carefully pulling her mouth down onto mine. She can leave. It won’t take much effort. Those fingers curling into my shoulders can push, and I’ll let go.

When our lips meet, I take control even as the rain coming down around us slows. I should get her inside the truck and out of the rain, but my plan devolves into kissing and kissing her, devouring her, my lips parting hers. She opens, and I get my tongue inside her mouth. Stroking and tasting, I learn every inch of her. My Rose is fucking sweet. Her scent wraps around me, surrounding me every bit as much as her sexy little whimpers.

I’m too rough. I should slow down, go gentle. Instead, I hitch her up, her thighs splitting around my waist, my hands cupping her butt. I line my dick up against her denim-covered pussy and she feels even better than I remembered. My pulse is banging in my ears, almost as hard as my dick, and I fight the urge to take her down to the ground and fuck her hard.

But I’m sliding up and down, pushing my dick into her hot little pussy as much as her shorts will let me in. I grip her hips with my hands, and I fuck myself with her. Or maybe she’s using me, because she’s making sounds, sexy, needy, whimpering sounds that sound like heaven and a symphony orchestra. Or maybe it’s just the soundtrack to our own personal sex tape, because I shove my fingers underneath her shorts and she’s hot and wet and I’m completely undone.

I inch my fingers higher, trace the edge of her panties. Jesus. My imagination’s running riot. I want to rip her shorts off, see for myself what she’s hiding from me. Feels like lace and something silky. She catches my lower lip with her teeth, nipping, and I growl. Pleasure follows the brief sting.

I get my fingers underneath her panties.

She freezes, pulling back and sucking in air as if to clear her head and get free of me. Not happening. She’s let me in. She doesn’t lose me now, because I need her to hang onto me like she does everything else in her life.

“Don’t,” I growl. “Don’t stop, Rose. We’re not friends.”

I see the small shock of surprise in her eyes as she struggles to process my words. “Angel—”

“You’re gonna come for me now,” I tell her and stroke her sweet, hot pussy from top to bottom. She’s soaking wet and my dick jerks.

“Not friends?” she echoes.

“Not friends.” I touch her again, and she’s so close. She’s so close. I can feel the tiny tremors rippling through her pussy. “Lovers.”

I wouldn’t mind being her friend, but it has to be a
too
thing. I slide my fingers deeper, working her pussy. Finding her clit and rubbing it. I want her so bad, and it seems she feels the same way. I’m working her, petting her, learning what makes her moan and push against my hand. My fingers dance over her wet folds fucking worshipping her.

“Come,” I whisper roughly. “Come for me, baby.”

She jerks against me, and I feel the tiny spasms starting and then she locks her thighs around my hand, holding me close. Holding me in place as if I’d fucking leave her now. I’d like to capture each happy, greedy sound she makes, the sweet, salty scent of her on my fingers. She’s so perfect.

I’ve never been one for cuddling. I don’t like the sensation of other bodies pressed up against mine anymore. Fucking memories. But when Rose relaxes against me, it’s all good. I tuck her against me, leaning back against the truck and watching her, the sky, my ranch. Her breathing evens out, and I breathe with her.

Right when I’m starting to think she’s fallen asleep, she looks up, a mischievous grin lighting up her eyes.

“How about friends with benefits?” She loops her arms around my neck, and I grunt. I’m no good with labels. The rain disappears, sweeping over the next hill. The low growl of the thunder fades, and all that’s left is the scent of wet ground, wet metal and the very wet woman in my arms. This is worth coming home for.

She peeks up at me, and I don’t know what she expects. My face is no book. I don’t come with instructions when I don’t fucking understand myself. I’ve had my fingers in her pussy though, and now she has one hot cowboy on her hands. When I get her back to the house, I’m gonna be inside her too, the way she’s somehow inside me.

There are moments you remember. Like when your team pulls it out in the final seconds of a game you want badly, and the ball is through the uprights, straight and true, and the crowd’s on its feet, roaring. Rose is my game that I have to win, and my heart’s making all kinds of noise. No matter what comes next, I’ve got this new memory and I like the thought of it shoving one of the bad ones away to make room for Rose.

We should head back, but I’m not ready yet. I might as well go all out. Scooping her up, I set her on her feet.

“Dance with me.”

Pulling her into a slow, sensual two-step, I dance her in a slow circle as the last of the raindrops come down around us. It’s just the two of us, the lowing cattle singing us a little song in the background, and the metallic scent of the pickup wet with rain. The rain isn’t enough to solve my water issues, but right now, for this one moment, I don’t give a damn.

“You’re not half bad.” She looks up at me as we dance, and she’s looking for words, for an explanation for this sudden shift in our relationship.

“I’m all bad,” I tell her because it’s the truth. She needs to know what she’s getting—and what she’ll never get from me. “I don’t do emotions or relationships.”

“Just sex?” She tilts her head back to look at the sky as I swing her in a circle, pretending I hear the same song she does.

Sometimes even sex is too much. For a moment, the Afghani mountains eat up my surroundings again, but I’m tougher than that. Or I pretend I am. Same fucking difference.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Rose.”

That’s an understatement. I smooth the damp strands of hair away from her face. “You always have been.”

She looks surprised, and for a second I think she’s gonna say something, but then the moment passes.

“You never seemed to think so before,” she points out. Our steps slow, but she doesn’t let go of my shoulders. Hot. That’s what she is.

“You wanted me to tell my sorta stepsister that I thought she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen? That wouldn’t have been appropriate, and we both know it.”

Her momma never married my dad, but they slept together. I try not to think too hard about that, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Rose lived in my house, and I’ve got more years on her than I should.

“So now I’m older, it’s all okay?” She laughs at me with her eyes. Her tattoos are a blur of color through the soaked tank top. I still haven’t seen them clearly, and I want to. “We probably shouldn’t…”

There’s no
probably
about it, but if she’ll let me hold her, I’ll hold on. And then I’m gonna do other things, dirty things she’ll enjoy.

Maybe she’s doing some thinking of her own because her leg—her
bare
leg—shifts, rubbing against the erection straining against my jeans. I’m gonna have zipper tracks on my dick, but it’s worth it.

“Then I guess we have a whole lot of lost time to make up for.” She rubs against me again, and my dick shoves against the front of my pants. I need to get her home.

Civilized and decent don’t cover how I feel right now. Her rain-soaked body moving against mine is raw. Earthy. Christ, yes, I want to fuck her, to lose myself in her. She’s old enough, and she wants this. But I’m suddenly not so certain sex is all I want.

“Don’t overthink.” She places her hand over my mouth and damned if I’m not okay with that little take-charge gesture. I still nip her fingers though. She sucks in a breath, her nipples poking at the front of her tank top. “This is simple. Do we… have something here? Yes or no.”

She’s pushing.

I should get in the truck. She can stay here and have a conversation with herself about how she
feels.
I wasn’t shitting her when I said I didn’t do emotions or relationships. Other than hate. I gotta admit, that there are plenty of people I rub the wrong way. They’ve got strong emotions for me, and not the good kind.

And yet I give in to the temptation to press a kiss against her palm, to inhale the sweet, clean scent of her. When I move my head, her hand slips down to cup my jaw. Game. Over.