Bound, Branded, & Brazen (16 page)

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?

He tipped his finger to his hat. “Have to get back to work now. You have a good day, Brea.”

“Yeah. See you, Gage.”

Apparently she had a vivid imagination. He turned his back on her and headed back to work. She enjoyed the view of his ass in those tight jeans. And sighed.

She watched him work with Stormy awhile longer, then decided she’d rather hang herself than torture herself further. She headed back toward the house and ran into Jolene along the way.

“Ogling some hot cowboy?”

Brea shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Looks like he likes you.”

Brea rolled her eyes. “Please. How would you know?”

“He practically had his hands on you. I thought maybe he was going to throw you down on the dirt in the middle of the corral and have his way with you.”

Brea ignored the visions pummeling her of Gage doing just that. Instead, she snorted. “Yeah, right. We were just talking horses.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Brea. You’re hot for him, he’s hot for you. I can see where this is headed.”

She pushed through the front door, sighing in blessed relief at how much cooler it was in there. “How can it be forty degrees at night and blistering hot during the day?”

“You grew up here, Brea,” Jolene said, tossing her work gloves on the hallway table. “You know what spring is like here. Or lack of spring. It’s either cold or hot. Today it’s hot. And you’re avoiding talking about Gage.”

She followed Jolene into the kitchen. “I’m not avoiding at all. He’s not interested. Neither am I.”

Jo reached into the fridge for a beer. “Now I know you’re lying. Your tongue was dragging the ground.”

“You’re so full of it, Jolene. Why don’t you go chase your own man and quit browbeating me and Valerie.”

Jo kicked a chair back and took a seat. “In case you didn’t notice, my browbeating of Valerie resulted in her and Mason getting back together. Where they belonged in the first place.”

She had a point. But God her sister was pushy.

“And second, it just so happens I have my eye on a man.”

“Walker Morgan.”

Jolene tipped her beer in Brea’s direction and smiled. “You got it.”

“And does Walker have his eye on you?”

Jolene laughed. “Of course he does. He’s just being . . . wary.”

Brea pulled out a chair. “Wary? Why?”

Jo shrugged. “Don’t exactly know yet. But I aim to figure it out. I want that man naked and on top of me.”

Brea laughed. “The poor guy. He doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”

“Nope.” Jolene took a long swallow of beer, then set the bottle down on the table. “I’ve had my eye on him for a while. I let things simmer between us for a bit. Soon, though, it’ll be time to set the temperature to boiling.”

Brea leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Set your mind to something . . . or someone . . . and get it.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly gotten Walker yet. But I see no reason to be shy around a man. Walker’s hot and sexy and just flat-out melts my butter. If he wants the same thing, why be coy about it?”

“How can you tell he wants the same thing?”

Jolene arched a brow. “Brea, don’t you know anything about men?”

“Not really.”

“Then I guess Jolene and I need to educate you.”

Brea looked up to find Valerie leaning against the door frame, a wry smile on her face. Great. She so didn’t want to discuss her lack of skills in the romance department with her sisters. Then again, maybe she did need some advice. And despite the squabbles they got into, she trusted her sisters.

“I mean it’s not like I’m a virgin or anything. I’m just . . . not very good at this.”

Valerie pushed off the door and came into the kitchen, grabbed two more beers out of the fridge and passed one to Brea, then pulled up two chairs—one to sit on and one to prop her feet up.

“Long day?” Jolene asked, still so damn happy to have Valerie permanently back at the ranch. And now that she and Mason had hurriedly remarried down at the courthouse and Valerie had decided to set up medical practice there, Jolene couldn’t be more content. At least with one of her sisters.

“Long day on my feet. But it’s over now. So what’s up with Brea?”

Jolene took another long drink before setting her bottle down. “She has the major hots for Gage Reilly.”

Valerie’s brows rose. “Really. Good choice. Great ass.”

Brea laughed. “I think so. But we’re not exactly . . . compatible.”

“Why do you say that?” Jolene asked. “He’s hot, you’re hot. He’s a man, you’re a woman. Sounds pretty compatible to me.”

“He’s more than just a man. He’s way out of my league.”

“And you, my younger sister, underestimate your value. You always have,” Valerie said, pointing the tip of her bottle of beer toward Brea. “You’re stunningly beautiful, especially now that you’ve cleared that bird’s nest of hair away and got your eyebrows mowed. You have the sexiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. And with your hair cut like that . . . you look like Mom.”

Brea’s heart tumbled. “Really? You think I look like Mom?”

“You’ve always looked like her. More so than either Valerie or me,” Jolene said. “Same color hair. And you have her eyes.”

Brea’s eyes welled up with tears. “Mom was beautiful.”

“And so are you,” Valerie said.

“I don’t know about that. I’ve always thought myself a bit plain . . . and on the chubby side.”

Jolene snorted. “Please. You have a woman’s body. Beautiful curves. I’d kill for long legs like yours. Don’t you see how the guys around here look at you when you walk by?”

“Uh . . . no.”

“Maybe you need to stop staring at the ground and lift your head up, Brea,” Valerie said. “Men are looking.”

“Gage is looking,” Jolene added.

Her gaze whipped to Jolene. “He is?”

“Hell yes he is. Pull your head out of your ass and pay attention.”

brea thought about everything her sisters had said.
She’d thought about it well into the night as she sat downstairs in the living room reading after everyone had gone to the bar in town. She’d begged off, claiming a headache. She had some thinking to do about herself. About men.

She hadn’t been paying attention. Or looking at the guys who allegedly had been looking at her. Had some of the men on this ranch been watching her? She found that so hard to believe. But maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe it was time to start believing in herself.

A very hard thing to do when every time she looked in the mirror she still saw the gawky, chubby girl who just wasn’t pretty. You hear that enough times, you get shot down by men enough times, you start to believe that maybe you just aren’t worthy. She wasn’t strong enough to build herself up. Which was why it was so much easier to imagine herself the lithe, strong, smart, capable heroines in the romance novels she read. She could put herself in their places, live their lives, fall in love with their incredibly romantic heroes who would sweep them off their feet and love them no matter what. And not once in those books did the hero tell the heroine he’d totally fall for her if she could lose ten pounds.

And even if she did find the guys approachable, would it make any difference? She’d gone the sex route before and found it decidedly lacking. Or rather, found herself decidedly lacking. She was afraid she’d set herself up by romanticizing sex the way it was in the books she read. And sex just wasn’t that good in person. Not the sex she’d had, anyway.

Too restless to read, she stood and stretched, then noticed a light on at the bunkhouse. She was surprised, since she’d seen everyone pile into the trucks and take off for town. She wouldn’t mind a little company. Maybe Grizz had stayed behind and she could talk him into a game of gin. He often didn’t go into town with everyone.

She headed down the walk toward the bunkhouse, breathing in the night air, the smell of hay and cattle and horses. Not unpleasant smells at all to her, since they all signaled spring settling in. She knocked on the bunkhouse door, but no one answered. Maybe no one was there at all, and they’d just left the light on. She tried the door, and it was unlocked, so she opened it, thinking she’d find it empty.

Music was playing, loud, coming from one of the other rooms.

“Anyone here?” she yelled. “Door was open.”

She moved in farther, shaking her head at the disarray. Cowboys definitely lived here. Scattered boots all over the floor, dishes left on the tables in the living room, beer and pop cans littering every available surface. Brea knew Grizz would get after the guys about once a week to clean the place up, and they’d do their housecleaning, but other than that, they mainly lived like pigs. It was like a dorm, and some of the cowboys who didn’t have their own place or lived farther out of town were welcome to stay here.

She started picking up a few cans since she didn’t have anything better to do and figured the place was empty. When the call came to load up the trucks and head into town, you either hustled or got left behind. Chances were the last one out the door hadn’t turned off the stereo and lights. She’d get those on her way out. She had her arms full of beer cans and was headed into the kitchen when she heard someone whistling. She stopped and pivoted.

“Brea. What are you doing here?”

Her breath caught and she nearly dropped the armful of aluminum she carried.

It was Gage, fresh from a shower, his hair damp and curling around his neck, his body still dripping, and a towel balanced on his hips. Broad shoulders, wide, ripped chest devoid of any hair. Washboard abs, slim hips and, dammit, even his feet were sexy.

The rest of him she couldn’t see under the towel he wore. Which was all he wore except for a damn sexy smile as his lips curled.

Brea’s heart kicked up about twenty notches and she fought to swallow. “I knocked. Didn’t think anyone was here. I’m so sorry.” Her face flamed with heat. She was so not pretty when she blushed.

“Don’t be. Why are you cleaning up?”

She shifted her gaze away from his taut, flat abs to the beer cans in her arms. “Oh. Uh, well I saw them lying around.”

“Drop them. You’re nobody’s maid.”

Grateful to tear herself away from his killer body, she turned and headed into the kitchen. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll just throw these away.”
And then try to crawl out of here with my dignity intact. And without looking at you again.

Because it was possible if she got another look at him she might want to pull that knot out of his towel and see the rest of him. Arousal flared in her, making her breathing difficult.