Trouble in Texas (30 page)

“Maybe I’m tired of the status quo,” she said. “Maybe I just wanted to try something
different—something completely out of character.”

He snorted. “Well, that was it. Hell, you can’t even walk in those crazy shoes.”

Suddenly Elizabeth had the strong desire to kick him hard in the back with her crazy
shoes. Instead, she scooted toward the opposite side of the bed.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to change and go down and help the hens.”

But before her feet could even hit the floor, Brant had pulled her back and trapped
her beneath him. “Since when do you want to help the hens reopen Miss Hattie’s? I
thought you didn’t want anyone knowing your connection to a whorehouse.”

“It’s not a whorehouse,” she stated indignantly, although it was hard to be indignant
when her entire mind was wrapped up in the hard body pressed against hers. She could
feel the texture of his blue jeans against her thighs, the cold metal of his belt
buckle just to the left of her hipbone, and the flex of his biceps on either side
of her shoulders.

“I don’t believe this,” he said. “Minnie has finally succeeded in pulling you into
her crazy hen psyche. Next you’ll be smoking cigarettes and talking about all the
men you’ve slept with.”

“And what difference does that make to you?”

In the shadow of the bed curtains, she couldn’t distinguish his features, but she
could feel his eyes boring into her.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t make a difference.” He rolled over onto his back and rested
his forearm over his eyes.

If Elizabeth had wanted to leave, now was her opportunity.
But the truth was that even an arrogant, controlling Brant was better than no Brant
at all.

“You don’t have to worry about the Cates name being associated with bad press,” she
said. “That will be the last time the feather dance will be performed. Minnie just
wanted something special for the grand opening, and Sunshine got sick.”

“Is she all right?” He lowered his arm and glanced over, and she gasped. In the shaft
of moonlight that spilled across the bed, his face was a mosaic of tiny cuts and bruises.

“Oh my God, what happened to you?” Even as annoyed with him as she was, she couldn’t
help reaching out and tentatively touching the purplish knot on his jaw.

For a brief second, he leaned into her hand before he pulled away. “It was just a
stupid misunderstanding I had in a bar. One that Beau enjoyed making worse.”

“How is he?”

Brant looked away and released his breath. “He refuses to go back to the hospital
to have more tests done. He claims that even if they find something, he won’t go through
any more surgery and treatment.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No more than I am,” he said. “But the funny thing about it is that I don’t blame
him. I’d probably do the same thing if I was in his shoes.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

He turned back to her. “And what makes you think so?”

“Because you care too much about what it would do to your family.” She rolled to her
side. “Anyone that knows anything about you, Brant, knows that your family comes first.
And always will.”

Time slowly ticked by as they stared at one another. Finally, he lifted his hand and
smoothed back the piece of hair that had fallen over her eye. “I’m sorry. The last
thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

She started to deny his words, but then realized she couldn’t. At that moment, she
felt hurt. Hurt that she couldn’t love him the way she wanted to love him. And hurt
that he didn’t love her at all.

“You never promised me anything, Brant,” she whispered. “Everything I did, I did because
I wanted to.”

“And now?” he asked. “What do you want now, Beth?”

“You,” she said, even though she knew it was an impossibility. “I want you.”

With a groan, he pulled her into his arms, holding her as if he never wanted to let
her go.

“God,” he whispered against the side of her head. “How did this happen?” Not waiting
for a reply, he pulled back just enough to kiss her. It wasn’t a brief sip, but a
deep, hungry kiss that held a desperate plea Elizabeth had no trouble answering.

Somewhere in between the hot slide of lips and tongues, they stripped free of clothing
and came back together in a tangle of heated skin. His hands seemed to be everywhere
at once. Caressing her trembling flesh. Gliding over her straining muscles. Dipping
into her wet heat. It had been over a month since he had touched her, a month with
only fantasies to keep her warm, so it didn’t take long for her to find release.

Her orgasm struck like a flash of lightning—hard, bright, and electrifying. When the
pieces fell back into place, she was lying on top of Brant.

“I need to be inside you, Beth,” he whispered as he rained
kisses along her neck. He lifted her limp body and sucked her nipple deep into his
mouth before he bit down gently. The sensation had desire zinging through her again
and her legs tightening around his hips. She could feel him probing to get inside,
and she helped him by grasping his throbbing penis in her hand and, inch by inch,
guiding him in. When he was two-thirds of the way in, she sat down fully, wiggling
to adjust the fit.

“Jesus,” Brant groaned and dug his head back into the pillow.

His excitement excited her, and she wiggled a little more. When she got the same reaction,
she realized that she liked the feeling of being on top and in control. She liked
it even better when Brant encircled her waist and taught her the exact way to move.
His hands set a slow pace. And while it felt good, it wasn’t enough friction, and
soon she took over and pumped against him hard and fast.

“Slow it down, babe,” he said between his gritted teeth. “I’m too damn close.”

Except Elizabeth didn’t want to slow down. She’d spent her entire life doing things
slow and concise, and tonight she wanted to push the limits. To test the edge. To
spin out of control.

Or maybe she just wanted Brant to spin out of control.

For her.

So instead of listening to him, she moved faster, causing his hands to tighten on
her waist and his breath to rush out in short, quick pants. She enjoyed the feel of
him deep inside her, but no more than she enjoyed watching his excitement build. When
he reached orgasm, she expected his eyes to close. Instead, his gaze locked with hers.
In the molten-blue depths, she saw ecstasy, but also
something else. Something that made her love him even more than she already did. She
saw Brant before the tragedies. Before the pain. Before he’d built the wall so high
that no one else could enter. She saw the sensitive heart beneath. His vulnerability
brought tears to her eyes and a tidal wave of emotion that forced words from her mouth
she’d never had any intention of saying.

“I love you.”

He stared at her for only a second before his eyes closed, and he rode out the last
ripples of his orgasm. When his muscles had relaxed and his body sagged back into
the mattress, he opened his eyes again. But the vulnerable Brant was long gone, replaced
with the hard, determined man who rolled her over and proceeded to wipe all thoughts
from her mind with long, deep kisses and sweet, hot caresses.

A man who wasn’t satisfied until he’d given her two more amazing orgasms and left
her too exhausted to do more than sleep.

W
HEN
E
LIZABETH WOKE,
it was still dark. She reached out for Brant, but felt nothing but the cold slickness
of satin sheets. Sitting up, she glanced around the room. Brant stood by the window,
his back to her.

“You don’t love me, Elizabeth,” he stated without turning around.

How he knew she was awake, she didn’t know. Or maybe he just spoke to himself. Either
way, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and turned on the lamp.

“I might be a novice at these things,” she said. “But I don’t think that’s your decision
to make.”

He turned, his naked body glorious in full light. “Whatever happened to friends with
benefits?”

She got to her feet, uncaring that she was completely naked. “I guess I fell in love
with my friend.”

Brant’s gaze ran over her body in a hot slide before he turned back around. “You only
think that because I’m the first man you’ve ever had sex with. But it will pass.”
He paused as if struggling with the words. “Someday you’ll
meet the right man and get married. Until then, I plan on signing the henhouse back
over to you.”

“So you’re leaving,” she whispered.

There was a long silence before he finally spoke. “It’s for the best. You’ve done
a great job with renovations, and I have little doubt that you can finish getting
the henhouse up and running. Still, I’ll set up an accountant for you in Bramble,
just in case you need it.”

She laughed. It was a brittle, hard sound that came straight from her breaking heart.
“I guess I’m a hen in all respects now.”

Brant turned away from the window. “Excuse me?”

Her smile faded. “Sex for money? Isn’t that what you’re offering me?”

“No, my offer has nothing to do with… sex.”

Trying to ignore the pain that accompanied his choice of words, Elizabeth walked to
the nightstand and picked up the journal she’d been reading. “Oh, so I get it. Signing
the house over to me has more to do with guilt.” She tried to casually thumb through
the pages, but her hands shook so badly that she was forced to snap the book closed.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not going to make it that easy for you, Brant. I don’t want
your guilt money. All I want from you is something you can’t give.”

“Damn it, Elizabeth!” Walking over, Brant took her by the arms and spun her around.
“You don’t want to love me. Don’t you see what loving me gets people? It gets them
swept away in some tornado. Or hit with some life-threatening disease.” He gave her
a shake. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll go through that again. I won’t have you being
pulled into the curse that seems to follow me.”

She jerked free and glared at him. “That is such bullshit, Brant.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re an intelligent adult who should understand the difference between
fact and fiction.” She spoke like she did with her preschool kids, her words slow
and precise. “A curse is fiction. A legend. Some story passed down by creative, but
uneducated people, to explain the calamities that happen to them. You are no more
cursed than I am.”

His face darkened. “You haven’t had people you love die all around you.”

“No,” she said. “I haven’t. Probably because I grew up with only a mother. You, on
the other hand, have been blessed with a huge family. And yes, some of them have died.
But that doesn’t mean you’re cursed. Nor does it give you the excuse to act like an
asshole.” She leaned up and got in his face. “If you don’t love me, Brant, then be
man enough to say so. Don’t hide behind some fictitious curse.”

His jaw worked, and there was a moment when she thought he was really going to lose
his temper. She wished he had. At least then, she would’ve known he had some feelings.
Instead, he picked up his clothes and headed for the door.

Once it clicked closed behind him, Elizabeth’s legs gave out, and she wilted down
to the bed. She felt like she’d been repeatedly kicked in the stomach. Pain throbbed
deep down inside her, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She didn’t know how
long she sat there before the slamming of a car door drew her attention to the window.

She hurried over in time to see Brant walking away from his truck, wearing nothing
but his jeans. Just the sight of his muscular chest in the moonlight had heat
surging through her body, melting her brain cells so quickly that she almost didn’t
notice the suitcase he was carrying. The implication of the suitcase pulled her out
of her desire-drugged state and back to reality.

If Brant Cates thought he was going to spend the night at Miss Hattie’s, he had another
think coming. Elizabeth might not be an expert on the dos and don’ts of dating, but
she knew enough to know that once you dumped a girl, you had no business spending
the night in her home.

Suddenly she realized that Minnie had been right all along. For better or for worse,
Miss Hattie’s
was
Elizabeth’s home.

Heading for the closet, she grabbed the first robe that she found. She didn’t realize
it was the red satin dressing gown until she went to tie the sash. Since the last
thing she wanted was for Brant to think she was trying to seduce him, she started
to take it off when a loud crash had her glancing over at the door that led down to
The Jungle Room.

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. Quickly, she retied the sash before pulling open the door.
How dare Brant think that he could sleep in the hens’ private sanctuary? His audacity
had her feet flying down the steps. But she came to a halt when she rounded the artificial
philodendron plant.

There
was
someone in The Jungle Room. But it wasn’t Brant. Not unless he was a quick-change
artist. The man who moved around the dimly lit room was dressed completely in black,
from the top of his stocking cap to the toes of his boots. And he was smaller than
Brant, smaller and a lot less agile.

He stumbled over a tiger-skinned ottoman and bumped into the bar, knocking over the
hula dancer lamp and causing numerous bottles of brandy to wobble precariously.

Elizabeth watched as the man grabbed one of the bottles and opened it. But instead
of drinking it, he did the strangest thing. He walked over to Minnie’s fuzzy orange
chair and poured the entire contents all over it. Then before Elizabeth could blink,
he pulled out a lighter and flicked it to life. The face that wavered behind the flame
had Elizabeth gasping.

“Mother?”

Harriett Murphy looked over, and her eyes widened. “Elizabeth? What are you doing
here?”

Elizabeth stepped into the room and flipped on the light switch. “I think that should
be my question.” She waved a hand at the chair. “Why in the world would you do that
to Minnie’s chair?”