Bound, Branded, & Brazen Page 11

  He waited.

  She got out of the car. So did he, moving around the front of the Jeep. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and hitched a breath, prepared to spill his guts--and his heart--to the woman he'd loved his entire life.

  But he never got the chance, because she launched herself against him, wrapped her arms around him, lifted herself up on him and knocked him against the front of the Jeep when the force of her body connected with his. Her mouth sought his, and every word he was going to say was gone in the night fog and the spring wind as Valerie slid her tongue into his mouth.

  The heat of her body wrapped itself around his, her kiss telling him everything he needed to know.

  She was here to stay. He grabbed hold of her butt and lifted her, and her legs wrapped around him tight while they kissed each other, their mouths exploring, her questing fingers knocking off his hat to tangle in his hair. He did the same, pulling her ponytail holder out so his fingers could dive into her hair. He just wanted to hold on, wanted to inhale the scent of her shampoo, the soapy sweet smell of her skin, and hope like hell this wasn't a dream.

  Breathless, she finally pulled away from the kiss, her expression somber.

  "Mason."

  "Yeah."

  "I love you with all my heart. I'm an idiot. I always have been. I don't deserve you, but God, I love you so much. And if you'll have me, I'd love to be your wife again. For good and forever this time."

  Mason had never welled up tears for anything in his life.

  Until now. And if that made him less than a man, then he could live with it. Because nothing on this earth could make him cry except this woman.

  Love did that to a man.

  it was dark and foggy and windy, and maybe it was the wind that stung Mason's eyes. And maybe it wasn't, because Valerie could swear she saw moisture in them. But she'd never in a million years say anything to him about that. Her heart swelled with more emotion than she'd ever carried inside herself, and she'd just laid her heart in the hands of the only person living who had the power to break it.

  "Valerie."

  "Yes."

  "I've loved you since the minute I met you. And when you're ornery and obstinate and stubborn and refuse to see things my way, I'm still going to love you. I will love you for every moment on this earth we have together. And I would be honored to make you my wife, forever."

  She hadn't let the walls down in such a long time, but with Mason she knew she could. Finally, she could. She buried her head against his chest and sobbed, a mixture of relief that he still loved her, and sadness for what she'd almost let go again.

  "I'm so sorry. Mason, I'm so sorry." And once she let it out, she couldn't seem to stop, mumbling and sniffling and crying and apologizing. And through it all, Mason held her tight and stroked her back and kissed her hair, until she had nothing left but hiccups and a stuffy nose.

  He dried her eyes with his handkerchief and handed it to her so she could blow her nose.

  "I look a wreck," she said, wiping her nose.

  "Yeah, you do."

  She laughed and punched his arm.

  "And you're still the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. You always will be."

  She didn't think she could cry anymore, but fresh tears pooled. "Stop saying nice things to me. It'll make me cry more."

  "You want me to call you a selfish bitch?"

  She choked out a laugh. "That's a good start."

  "Come on. Let's get these vehicles back to the ranch and tell everyone the good news."

  "And then you can take me to your place and make love to me."

  He held her at arm's length. "Or better yet, I'll take you upstairs to our room, to that bed I hate because my feet hang off. I know you love that house."

  "We'll make modifications. We'll build an addition. And get a king-sized bed. Or we'll build our own place. A new one that's just ours."

  He laughed. "That's good enough. Maybe a few extra rooms, too."

  She looped her arms around his neck. "For all those kids we're going to have."

  "We'd better get home in a hurry so we can get started first."

  She gasped. "I'm scandalized. You would knock me up without benefit of marriage?"

  "In a heartbeat, Doc."

  "Then I guess it's off to the courthouse for us, stat."

  "Let's stop off at the bedroom first before we break the news to your family."

  She moved against him, feeling the hard ridge of his erection. Heat swelled between her legs, her nipples aching and tight. "The hell with stopping off at the bedroom. How about right here?"

  He arched a brow and jerked her closer, his hands roaming her ass. "Out here, in front of nature and cattle and who knows who might drive by?"

  She lifted onto her toes and tightened her hold around his neck. "If I'm going to be a rancher's wife, I'd better get used to dropping trou . . . wherever. This seems as good a spot as any."

  The look he gave her melted her to the spot. "You make my dick hard, Valerie."

  She shot him a wicked grin. "Why, I'd love to do it against the Jeep. I thought you'd never ask."

  He flipped her around so fast her head spun. In seconds, her jeans were unzipped and around her ankles and his hand cupped her sex. She let out a low moan at how fast he'd worked her into a frenzy of passion and need.

  "Now, Mason."

  She heard his zipper and the rustle of his clothing, and then he was inside her, unsheathed, hot and thick and thrusting until she screamed. It was so damn good she didn't care who heard her.

  "Yes. Fuck me."

  He wound his arm around her and found her clit and she was there in seconds, the emotion and sexual energy combining to get her off in record time.

  "Mason, I'm coming."

  And he was right there with her, pumping inside her, then groaning as he came.

  Her legs were shaking as he withdrew and helped her pull her jeans back up. She turned around and suddenly they were both laughing. Mason dragged her into his arms and kissed her so deeply the fires of passion burst inside her again.

  "I think we'd better get home in a hurry," he said, his cock hard and insistent against her.

  "I think you might be right."

  He turned her away from him. "I'll lead. You follow."

  She moved to her car. "Don't drive slow. I need you."

  The smile he gave her as he slipped on his cowboy hat and climbed into his Jeep was one she'd never forget. And for as long as she lived, she'd know she'd made the right decision.

  She turned the car right and headed home, where she belonged.

  branded

  Brea

  WHAT KIND OF HOUSE? CAR?

  Mansion Miata

  Apartment Mini Cooper

  Shack Lexus

  House Navigator

  WHERE TO LIVE? NUMBER OF KIDS

  Paris 5

  San Francisco 3

  Tulsa 1

  The Ranch? 2

  GUY OCCUPATION

  Caleb Artist

  Steven Teacher

  Gage Writer

  Jeff Millionaire

  one

  brea stared at her notebook where she'd scribbled her most recent M.A.S.H. entry. Her one and only M.A.S.H. entry written as an adult.

  Silly game. Childish game. A game of fantasy, of wishes, of what-ifs. Not at all grounded in reality. Not her reality, anyway.

  She stared out the window at Gage Reilly, watching him work in the corral with one of the young horses. His jeans fit snug to his mighty fine ass, his boots kicking up clouds of dust as he walked circles around the horse. Brea held her breath as only Gage's skills as a trainer and one length of rope kept him from being trampled by one very angry, very wild horse.

  How different their two worlds were.

  Gage's reality was daily tussles with magnificent creatures, primal and wild and free as the land they lived on.

  Brea's reality was quiet, books, and her fantasies. And she liked it that way. Most tim
es, anyway. Her life in Tulsa was peaceful. She had her job as a freelance programmer/analyst and she loved it. It was challenging to her mind, and she made her own hours, which gave her plenty of time to read, and she enjoyed that most of all. Getting lost in a book, in the characters, in the romance of it all . . . now that was heaven.

  But lately she had to admit she had a desire for something a little more satisfying than what she'd found between the pages of the books she read. She attributed that to being on the ranch again, instead of spending all her time in her apartment in Tulsa. Her life there was work, living in her apartment and occasional trips to the gym and the grocery store. At the gym she worked with Sheila, her trainer, and since the hot and sweaty muscle-bound guys there totally turned her off, she paid about as much attention to them as they paid to her. Men more interested in staring at their own muscles than in looking at a woman just didn't interest her.

  But here on the ranch? Now that was a different story altogether. There were real men on the ranch, with muscles built from hard work, not gym work. They spent the day surviving the elements, whether it was blazing heat, whipping wind or frigid cold, flexing muscles the old-fashioned way. And Brea had about as much chance of corralling one of them as she did of roping a man in the frozen foods section at Walmart. Especially when she was stuck in the middle of her two amazing sisters.

  Valerie was a doctor. Talented, beautiful, an icon of fashion, a perfectly long, lean body and amazing green eyes, and everything that came out of her mouth was laced with wit and intellect. Jolene, their baby sister, was a knockout with blond hair, a stunning heart-shaped face, hazel eyes and a body most women would kill for. Jolene was outgoing and ballsy and afraid of nothing.

  And then there was Brea. Plain old Brea. Mousy brown hair, nondescript brown eyes, dumpy figure, a little too curvy in all the wrong places, and no personality to speak of, which made her choice of career just perfect since she didn't have to interact with . . . anyone. Computers were her friends, her books were her lifeline. And she liked it just fine. So she wasn't beautiful, savvy and smart like Valerie or gorgeous, sexy and outgoing like Jolene. And despite Jolene dragging her into one of Tulsa's premier salons for a haircut, color and manicure/pedicure, and forcing her to buy some new clothes that Jolene insisted fit her body better, inside she was the same old Brea. Just with better hair and clothes that fit.

  A haircut and painting her toenails fire-engine red weren't going to change who she was. Nor were these tight jeans and new cowboy boots.

  She'd long ago realized--after a couple of disastrous attempts at what couldn't even be called relationships, which included some awful tries at sex that left both her and her partners unsatisfied--she was a dismal failure with men. Her life was better suited to fantasy.

  And God knows there was plenty of fantasy fodder here on the ranch, though she had to admit there was only one man who'd caught her eye since she'd come back to the Bar M.

  She let her gaze drift out the window again. Gage was still wrangling the filly, who wasn't going to give up her wild nature easily. Brea was mesmerized by the way Gage approached the horse, and found herself leaning over the chair to press closer to the window so she could get a better look.

  But the corral wasn't fully visible from the window, and she was leaning over the arm of the chair, her nose practically smashed against the window. This was ridiculous. She owned this ranch. Okay, she partially owned it, but it was still perfectly feasible for her to go out there to . . . check things out.

  She stood, smoothed her hands down over her sleeveless shirt, looked over her jeans and boots, and wished for the voluminous skirts and tops she'd always worn. Damn that Jolene for hiding her old clothes after she'd taken her shopping. There was nothing wrong with what she'd worn before. These damn jeans clung to her body, outlining every flaw--too wide hips, too thick thighs and a less than cinched waistline. And a little bit of excess baggage in the booty department. She worked her body to death at the gym, and she was firm, but she was never going to have a Playboy centerfold body like Jolene's.

  Dammit. She was just going to have to live with the body she had. Besides, she was only going outside to check out the horses, not to ogle Gage Reilly. He wouldn't even notice her anyway. Most men didn't.

  The sun beat down on the center of the corral area, and she was grateful for the shade of a couple elm trees on one side as she made her way to the fence. She spied Grizz--one of the older hands--and waved.

  "What you up to today, Miss Brea?" he asked as he came up to her.

  "Just decided to get out of the house and enjoy this nice spring day. I saw Gage working with the horses so thought I'd take a look."

  Grizz nodded, turned and spit tobacco juice onto the ground. "Young man's doing a fine job trainin'. Go have yourself a look-see."

  She slid her fingers in the front pockets of her jeans and nodded. "Thanks. I think I will."

  It was just Gage and the filly, a beautiful dark mahogany youngster with a lot of spirit. She raised her muzzle and snuffled in protest as he approached.

  Brea climbed up onto the top rung of the fence to sit and watch, mesmerized by the dance between man and beast. Gage gave the filly no quarter, nor did he torture her or demand submission. The filly was near as big as any of their full-grown horses, but she hadn't been ridden yet. This was her test. And Gage's full-time job.

  It was as if every step Gage took was carefully orchestrated, as if he knew where the filly was going to go, and he anticipated it and knew where he'd go, too. The filly didn't like Gage in her personal space, but Gage didn't back off, didn't show fear, only gentle dominance, making soft clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth to let the horse know he was there and he wasn't going to back off no matter how much the filly stomped her hooves or threw her head back in the air.

  It took a while, but Gage never gave up, never once seemed frustrated or angry or ready to quit. The horse would charge, and Gage would quiet her, in his own way setting the ground rules. He was the boss and the filly was just going to have to deal with it.

  When the filly finally settled, Gage came up to her, pressed his shoulder against the horse and moved her in the direction he wanted her to go. And so it went, all the way through laying a blanket, then a saddle on the horse.

  Gage must have known Brea was there, yet he didn't once take his attention off the horse. Not until he had a saddle cinched around the filly's belly. Then he tied the reins to the fence post near the water trough so the horse could have a break, get a drink and get used to having a saddle on her.

  Gage wiped dust off his hands, reached down into the cooler on the other side of the fence and grabbed a couple bottles of water and headed in her direction.

  He smiled as he approached, and Brea's body quivered. Okay, so they might have exchanged a few glances since she'd been there, but she assumed he was being polite. He was being polite. She was lusting. Who wouldn't? He walked like he owned the world around him, a sexy saunter that screamed he knew who he was and he damned well didn't care what anyone thought. She'd kill for that kind of confidence. The closer he got, the harder she gripped the rail she sat on, poised to flee.

  He unscrewed the cap on one of the bottles of water and handed it to her.

  "You look hot."

  Her jaw dropped. "Huh?"

  "It's hot out here today. Thought you might want a drink."

  "Oh. Yeah." He didn't mean she looked hot, he meant he thought she was thirsty. Duh. She took the bottle and sipped, watched him guzzle down half of his, watched his throat work, stared at his mouth.

  Unfortunately she was still staring at his mouth long after he finished taking a drink. He cast a knowing smile at her, and she blinked herself back into reality.

  Damn, Brea. She felt the rush of heat to her cheeks. She really needed a life. Or an orgasm. Anything to stop her from acting like a nervous geeky twelve-year-old in front of a guy.

  Especially this guy.

  He tilted his hat back to stare up
at her, and she fought for something intelligent to say. Unfortunately, her brain, though usually filled with all sorts of tidbits of interesting things, decided at this moment to refrain from sending any intellectual signals to her mouth. Nothing came out. How could it, when he was staring at her with ocean blue eyes that just screamed sex? The man was walking testosterone, from his sexy gait to his tight ass, flat abs and those Popeye muscles bulging from the short sleeves of his T-shirt.

  "You like horses?" he finally asked, no doubt thinking she was an idiot, since all she'd managed to utter so far was "huh", "oh" and "yeah." Just freaking brilliant, Brea.

  "Uh . . . yes, I do. I like watching you train them. You have a way with them."

  He half turned to survey the filly. "Stormy is pretty easy. She's got a lot of passion in her, but she's not as wound up as some I've trained."

  "Is that right? She seems pretty spirited."

  He turned back to her, eyed her up and down, from her boots to the top of her head. She dissolved in a puddle of desire right there.

  "I like them spirited. It's no fun if it's not a challenge."

  Oh, honey, are you ever barking up the wrong cowgirl. "What if she's shy and a little skittish?"

  She couldn't believe she'd just said that. It could even be considered flirting. Brea did not flirt.

  Gage laid his hands on either side of her thighs. Great, the body part she least wanted to draw attention to.

  "I have a lot of patience for shy and skittish, Brea. And you know," he said, moving his hands a little closer so his thumbs brushed against the denim of her jeans and made her breath hitch, "the shy ones can sometimes surprise you."

  She shuddered out a breath. "Is that right?"

  "Yeah."

  "How so?" She found it difficult to swallow.

  He cocked his head to the side and gave her a lopsided smile. "They can end up full of fire and passion. They just need the right kind of . . . training." His fingers whispered down the side of her legs, the touch so light she wasn't even sure if it was real or if she'd imagined it.

  But her body didn't think it had imagined it. It was full-on ready to jump on him and fuck his brains out. Her breasts were tight, her panties were wet, and her pussy quivered.

  And Gage's nostrils flared like a bull sensing a female in heat. Was it even remotely possible he was . . . interested in her?