THE KNOCK BROUGHT Penn Jericho up from the couch where
he’d been sitting in his dark living room, pondering the day and resting his
aching muscles. His prosthetic foot clanked
loudly against the wooden planks and anticipation grew wildly in him as he
got closer to relief. It had been weeks since he’d found solace in the warmth
of soft curves. He was long overdue.
Swinging the door open, he didn’t
bother turning on the light as he reached out, grabbed a slender hand and
dragged his earlier-than-expected-booty-call across the threshold. His body
turned rock-solid, and he realized just how much he needed this. And because he
wasn’t wearing any clothes, his cock saluted the sexy bombshell he pressed
against the wall. She rewarded him with a whimper of surprise, yet he knew all
too well how she liked it when he took control. Something dropped from her
hand, hitting him on his ankle, but he didn’t care. Not. One. Shit. He had a
one-track mind.
He nuzzled her hair, glad that she
wore it straight and silky unlike her teased and fluffed style. Inhaling her
scent, he paused. This wasn’t her usual smoke/alcohol combination from waiting
tables at the honky tonk. No, this reminded him of a fresh batch of sugar cookies.
He could eat a dozen, but for now, he’d settle on eating one delicious, wet
cookie. He threaded his fingers in her soft hair and lowered his mouth, drawing
his tongue along the seam of her lush lips. He tasted cherry. This was turning into a scintillating buffet
for his senses. “I thought I’d go crazy waiting on you, Saucy,” he whispered
close to her ear as he molded his palm to her breast.
She stiffened. Now why would she do that? He pulled back slightly, only enough to
look down at her through the shadows. The room was too dark to make out her
features or expression, but he got the feeling she wasn’t her usual ready-and-willing
self. They were like magnets when they came together and by now, she’d be
ripping her sharp nails across his skin and begging him to take her fast and
without mercy. He always obliged her.
He blew out a long breath. Maybe she
wanted to play the role of the innocent virgin tonight. Or maybe he’d come on
too strong right off the bat, but she never complained before. “Are you playing
hard to get?” No answer. “What’s wrong?” His body deflated…some.
“If I was ‘Saucy’ I’d probably be
into this.” The soft voice was tinged with a seductive accent and wasn’t high-pitched
like Saucy’s southern twang. Every hair on his body stood at attention. Uh-oh.
What
the fuck? He used the fingers of his free hand to brush over her
forehead, following the delicate line of a smooth cheek, her chin, up to eyes,
but almost knocked off glasses.
Since when did she wear glasses?
Shit! He removed his hand from her
breast, but not before he noticed how hard her nipple was.
He wasn’t sure who he was groping,
but it wasn’t his go-to beauty, Seneca. Rubbing his hand down the wall, he
found the light switch and flipped it on. He met dark eyes, blinking wildly, framed
in large, black glasses. He skimmed his gaze over her bewildered features. She
had the palest complexion he’d ever seen. “You’re not Seneca,” he muttered.
“No, I’m not.” One thin brow popped
up as she fixed her crooked frames. “For a Jericho who prides himself on being
a top notch private detective, I’m quite disappointed in your skills. Good
thing I’m not a maniac wielding a weapon or you’d be a goner.”
He swept his gaze lower between their
bodies that were still pressed together. Her breasts were pushed up, spilling
over the white lace of her bra exposed in the scooped neckline of the top, giving
him a nice view of the ample, pale mounds. Her fingers rested lightly on his
chest, right over the area of his heart that was trying to beat it’s way free. “The
‘no weapon’ is covered, but I’m not ruling out the ‘maniac’ part just yet. Who
the hell are you?” Clearly, she was right about his lack of diligence. He’d
been thinking with something other than his brain and a man knew that was always
a big mistake. In his defense, no one ever came to visit him, especially here
at Second Chances Ranch, unless they were invited. This lady wasn’t invited, at
least not by him. Had she come to the ranch to see one of his brothers?
Probably so. Penn was a bit envious.
“Now since you see I’m not packing,
please remove your,” she cleared her throat, “body from my person. I’m very
flattered, really I am, but you’re not my type.”
“You have the wrong house, lady,” he
snorted.
“Penn, right?”
He hesitated. “Maybe.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “I’m Harley
Tate.”
His balls tightened. How had he not
recognized her? With a growl, he stepped back, pushing a hand through his still-damp
hair. “Why the hell are you here? And a bigger question, how the hell did you know
which house is mine?” If she’d stopped at any of his brothers’ places, they
would have sent her back where she came from, or at least warned Penn that she
was in the vicinity.
Her cool gaze strolled down his chest,
his stomach, lingering for a long moment at his erection that didn’t get the
message to back off. Her smile grew as she brought her eyes to his face. “Unless
you’re showing off, which is a waste of time with me, why don’t you cover up
and we’ll chat. Thinking is hard, literally, with that demanding all of the attention.” Her cheeks turned rosy.
He took several steps and grabbed the
first thing he came to, a throw from the couch. Wrapping it around his hips, he
held the material in place with one hand. Her stare was now focused on his
prosthetic leg as if she’d just realized it was fake. He gritted his teeth. After
his accident, he’d gotten used to stares, random questions, and people walking
on eggshells because they weren’t sure how to take the ‘new’ Penn. However, she
didn’t show any sign of awkwardness—only awareness. He’d never much cared what
people thought, but for some reason, he was glad she didn’t show disgust or
uneasiness. And he didn’t like it that he appreciated it, not one bit. “Lady, I
have an office. Make an appointment.” Best to end this as soon as possible.
She pushed off the wall, cocked one
hip in the skinny jeans, then crossed her arms over her waist, tapping the toe
of her shoe on the floor in irritation. “That would have worked out just fine
if you would have accepted any of my calls. I was tired of getting the
run-around. Thankfully, your receptionist is tired of me calling too. She was
kind enough to give me your address and describe your house, down to the old
truck in the driveway and the red birdhouse hanging on the tree out front. Not
that I wouldn’t have found it sooner or later, but sooner is better for my
timeline. I’ve found that everyone knows you and your brothers around these
parts. Available bachelors, rodeo stars, community heroes…” She rolled her
eyes.
“I’m no longer a rodeo star, so I don’t
give impromptu autographs.” He narrowed his gaze.
She laughed. “Whatever. I’m not here
for your signature. That’s of no importance to me.”
No comments:
Post a Comment