Bad Boy Billionaire: F#cking Jerk 3 (9 page)

“Tell me you aren’t burning up inside right now,” he commanded as he scooped my breast out of my bra. He dipped his head and pulled my hard nipple into his warm mouth.

My bones turned to gelatin.

“I’m…” I mumbled.

He gently rasped his teeth against my nipple. “Tell me to stop.”

“Clay…” I practically begged. Even to myself it sounded like a plea for more, not less. I curled my fingers, grasping fists full of smooth cotton shirt and opened my mouth to tell him to stop. Nothing came out but a moan.

One of his hands got bold and decided to take a trip down my writhing, traitorous body. It somehow found its way between my legs to cup my sex. I might have actually inched my thighs apart a little.

I was so freaking weak!

Inside my head a war was being waged, between the good me—the one that knew I would be making a huge mistake if I let this continue—and the other me. Bad Morgan wanted Clay to scoop her up, dump her in the bed of the truck, and fuck her all night long. Good Morgan wanted him to stop.

Bad Morgan was shouting.

Good Morgan was whispering.

And it was getting harder and harder to hear Good Morgan’s soft voice the longer Clay’s hand remained between my legs.

Ohhh. And now that hand was moving. Friction was most definitely Bad Morgan’s best friend.

Where was Good Morgan now? Gone. Silent.

I shuddered, my legs softening even more. It was a good thing I had a solid grip on Clay’s shirt because it was the only thing keeping me from falling to the ground. The hand that had silenced Good Morgan slid up a bit, to find its way into my clothes. Fingertips teased my folds.

This time we both moaned. And then suddenly I found myself being swept into a pair of strong arms and being hauled around to the rear of the truck.

Ohmygod, he was going to do it. He was going to fuck me out here, in the middle of nowhere, under a blanket of stars. Just like he had that first night.

He reached over the hatch and set me down on the bed’s ridged liner before swinging himself up to join me. He kissed me until my head was spinning and I’d forgotten where we were.

Suddenly, he stopped. The jerk. “Now that I have your full attention, I want to explain what happened with the ranch.”

“Now, Clay? Really?” I asked between gasps. I was on fire. I didn’t give a damn about anything right now but the taste of his kisses, still lingering on my lips, and the pounding need thrumming through my body.

“Yes. Now.”

“But you just—“

He cut me off by literally clapping his hand over my mouth. “Babe, I love you. Listen.” He peeled his hand away. “I sold the ranch, that much is true. But I did it for you.”

“How?”

He gave me a warning squint. “I’m trying to explain.” He audibly inhaled. “The ranch belongs to you if you want it.”

Now my head was spinning even more, but it wasn’t because of lust. “Belongs to me if I want it?”

“According to the will, I had three options. I could keep the ranch, sell it, or donate it to a charity. If I’d had the option to give it to you, I would have. So the only way I could make that happen was to sell it to someone and then have him or her sell it to you. Then it would be yours, free and clear.”

I got it now; I saw what he had been trying to do. Sadly, it wasn’t going to work. My heart sank. “That’s fine, except I don’t have any money to buy it back.”

“Can you come up with a dollar?”

“A dollar? One?”

“Yes,
one
dollar.”

“Sure,” I said, growing confused. What was he trying to get at? “But a buck won’t buy a bale of hay, let alone a ranch.”

He smiled, his grin so bright it could illuminate the whole state. “It will buy a certain ranch that recently suffered a fire and needs some work.”

“A dollar?” I repeated.

“That’s all it’ll cost you. And then it will be yours. Free and clear. No attorneys watching every dollar you spend.”

Ohmygod.

So it was true.

Clay had sold the ranch. But he’d done it to help me.

It was mine. All mine. For the price of one dollar.

The burned down house.

The half-burnt barn.

The animals.

The debts.

Oh crap.

Then I remembered the insurance check, on its way to me now. Would it be enough to not only rebuild the house but also dig the failing ranch out of ruin? I doubted it.

The sad truth was I didn’t know if I wanted the ranch. A part of me felt I should want it. It was the only remaining tie I had to my father’s side of my family. For that reason alone I should want it. Adding to that, Clay had just gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make sure I could have it free and clear, with no outside influences. If I didn’t buy it back, I was telling him I didn’t appreciate all he’d done.

But, then again, one fact remained.

I didn’t know shit about how to run a ranch. At least, how to
profitably
run a ranch.

And now I didn’t even have Harper to help.

Holy crap. What was I going to do?

“What’s wrong?” His brows knitted.

It would have been easy to lie, to tell him nothing was wrong. Because I knew that was what he’d want to hear. He wished I would thank him for his selfless act and accept the offer with due enthusiasm, as I would have expected if our positions had been reversed. But after just accusing him (falsely) of lying, that would make me a world class bitch.

No, this man deserved the truth, even if he didn’t like what he heard.

“Clay, I don’t know how to run the ranch.”

His eyes widened.

Compelled by the look of disbelief on his face, I continued, “What I said earlier--about me being better off without the ranch--was true. It’s a big mess now, thanks to the fire. The house is gone. The debt is growing every day, thanks to the cost of housing the animals at the neighbor’s. It’s too much.” I threw my hands in the air as a tear of frustration leaked from my eye. “I can’t do it.” I dragged my hand across my face. Trembling. My hand was trembling.

I was such a fucking baby.

“You can if I help you.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against his warm body. And I relished his embrace. When I closed my eyes, I could hear the steady drumbeat of his heart. I could feel his chest rise and fall. I could smell the scents of life, of Wyoming air and wild grasses. And I could believe. “Together we can turn it around.” His hand stroked my hair. “Trust me.”

Trust him.

Once again, he was asking me to trust him. After all the times I’d done the exact opposite.

He pinched my chin and lifted it until my eyes found his. “Morgan, I want you to be happy. I want whatever you want. It’s your choice. Yours.”

Nothing like putting on the pressure.

What did I want?

Did I want to live in California with Harper? To watch her mix and mingle with Hollywood’s elite? Would I want to live in her world, of riches and egos and mansions? Of living lies and illusion?

No.

Had I ever wanted to live in that world?

Hell no.

But did that mean I wanted the ranch?

Well…?

I sure didn’t enjoy the hard work that went along with the ranch. Or the frustration.

And what about my dreams? Of helping girls?

Was there a way for me to make a place for myself here in Dawson, without totally giving up the dreams I had for a career? After all, what better way to teach than by doing? By being a living, breathing example?

I’d dreamed of helping girls find the power they all held within. Being powerful didn’t mean I couldn’t accept help when it was offered.

That sparked an idea.

A wonderful idea.

I reached into my purse and pinched a dollar bill. My lips curled up as I slid it out.

“Tell your seller I’ll buy. On one condition.”

Clay’s smile amped up to the wattage of the freaking sun. “What condition?”

“You manage the ranch.”

He jerked a nod. “Done.”

“But we’re going to fire the rest of the crew. We’re going in a totally different direction. Hiring young women.”

That mega-watt smile dimmed. “Girls?”

“All girls. Teens. Troubled teens. My girls are going to learn they don’t have to rely upon a man for anything. They’ll learn what I should have. What my aunt knew. How to split wood. And repair cars and tractors. And take care of animals. How to build a whole fucking barn. And how to be fierce, independent and feminine.”

“Babe.” He sandwiched my face between his hands. “You’re crazy. But brilliant. I love you.”

My heart launched out of my chest and soared to the stars. “Does that mean you’ll do it? You’ll help me?”

“You bet I will. Now, let’s get going. We have a lot of work to do. I have your aunt’s safe from the farmhouse. I’m sure you’ll want to see what’s in it.”

I looped an arm around his neck and shook my head. “That can wait… until you finish what you started here.” I cupped the bulge in his pants and waggled my brows.

I’d never felt comfortable going through another person’s stuff. It didn’t matter that my aunt was dead. There wasn’t any way I could insult her by combing through her personal papers. Not to mention she’d left all this stuff to me. Technically, that made it mine.

Still…there was something about reading personal letters belonging to someone else that felt wrong.

I didn’t want to do this. But it was necessary. I had to go through this stuff, see what was worth keeping and what should be tossed. Clay had told me everything had been scorched beyond saving. Everything except the safe and what was in it. The safe had been fireproof. Although the outside was covered in ash, the stack of papers inside was perfectly preserved.

This was all I had. All that had been spared. I hoped Aunt Sandee had thought to put some photos and other mementos in there for safekeeping.

I started with the biggest envelope. It wasn’t thick, just large. I flipped up the flap and slid the papers out. They were some kind of legal document, printed on an attorney’s letterhead but not James Hardin’s.

My eye caught on the first line: My Last Will and Testament.

Wait? There was another will?

I flipped to the last page to see when it had been dated. August, 2001. That was several years before the final one. Okay. She’d changed it. Interesting. I turned back to the beginning, wondering what was different.

Roughly fifteen minutes later I sat there, stunned, the old will scattered on the floor. Turned out a lot had changed. This will was nothing like the later version. There was no residency requirement for me to earn my inheritance. And my share was substantial. But the majority of the property, including the ranch itself, had been left to Clay.

Why Clay?

And why had she changed it?

Hoping to find a copy of the more recent will, I sifted through the safe’s contents until I found a second large envelope. Sure enough, it was the current will. I pulled it out and read it front-to-back. One thing struck me, something I hadn’t noticed before because I’d been too focused on the terms of my inheritance.

The new will was dated two days before my aunt’s death. Two. Days.

What had made her decide to change it? Clay had to know something.  I packed both copies back into their envelopes and headed to the barn, where Clay was working.

Immediately his gaze caught mine as I stepped into the cool, shaded interior. “The horses are all in their makeshift stalls. It isn’t ideal, but it’ll be good enough until we can get the rest of the barn rebuilt.” He glanced at the envelopes in my hands. “What’s that?”

“The wills. There were copies in the safe.”

He nodded. “Wills.”

“Yes.” I lifted the earlier document. “My aunt made some big changes. Right before she died. Do you know why?”