Can't Fight This Feeling (32 page)

He stripped off his shirt. Toed off his shoes and peeled of his socks. She’d reached the designated destination and was staring at him, all big eyes. Something moved in his chest. “Angelica...” he said in a soft voice.

Her eyes flared wider. “Don’t you dare. I want... I want
everything
.”

And so did he, God. So did he.

Striding to where she stood in front of the couch, he didn’t give any warning, but just reached around to unlatch the bra. It dropped into his hand and he tossed it aside without looking where it landed. Her breasts presented themselves in all their bountiful glory.

Enough fragrant female flesh to take a man to his knees.

But he stiffened his, and bent at the waist to slide his tongue over one tightly gathered nipple. She made a sound, desperate and lovely. He moved to the other, wetting it, then sucking it deep in his mouth. Her hands reached out to clutch his shoulders. Grabbing her wrists, he forced them to her sides again. “No touching until I tell you,” he said in a harsh voice.

Another lovely little moan.

He moved back and forth between her breasts, toying with them with his lips and tongue, but not touching her anywhere else. Her perfume was rising from her skin, a dizzying scent, and he lifted his head before he fell prostrate at her feet.

Looking down, he drank the sight of her in: her flushed face, her swollen breasts and their slick wet tips, her thighs, pressed tightly together as if she was trying to relieve a certain ache between them. Her eyes drank him in, as well, and something he saw in them made his belly clutch.

And made his next action rough. With hands on her shoulders, he pushed her onto the couch. She sat abruptly, her breasts bouncing.

Shit. “All right?”

Her glare was molten. “Brett, I’m fine.”

Then that became his goal. To “not fine” the princess. He wanted her so revved up that when he asked if she was fine she’d just say, “Fuck me, please fuck me.”

He wanted her so not-fine that she wouldn’t even know his name.

So he did drop to his knees in front of her. Then he manacled her ankles with tight fingers and propped her high heels onto the edge of the cushions. Her breath was raw in the room—or was that his?—as he reached up to grab the elastic of her panties. He yanked the fabric down without finesse, until stopped by the shoes. Then he pressed on her inner knees and opened her to him, butterfly-style.

God. So pink. So pretty. So wet she was glistening in the firelight.

If he died right now—and it was possible—he’d face-plant right into her lovely, beckoning pussy.

Glancing up, he saw her gaze was as fascinated as his. “Yeah, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky. “You’re beautiful, there and everywhere.”

Then, bracing his palms on her legs to keep them flat and open on the cushions, he leaned in to trace her folds with just the tip of his tongue. Instantly, her hips tried to jolt upward, but he held her down, one hand moving to her shoulder now, his other forearm across her knees.

His next foray wasn’t any less delicate.

She moaned.

He didn’t let the sound spur him. Instead, he continued at a slow pace, tracing her with the faintest of strokes. Her fingers touched his hair, but it only took a look for her to drop her hand. “Good,” he said against her wet flesh.

Then he rewarded her with the flat of his tongue. Her hips tried to rise again, but he held her down, made her his captive. The castle’s gardener finally getting his taste of the treasures inside. Getting his taste of princess.

She was delicious. Her flavor, her responses, the way she moaned, breathy and low.

He pushed deeper into the soft layers of her, getting his nose and cheeks and chin wet with her juices, not worrying about his raunchy urges, not trying to hide the crudest, rawest part of his nature. Taking what he wanted from her.

She’d asked for it. And revealing his animal side was revving
him
, his lust building as he explored the hot center of her. He speared her with his tongue, feeling her muscles clamp down on him and he almost lost it inside his jeans.

Her body was trembling, all of her strung tight. The hand at her shoulder drifted to her breast and he tweaked and toyed at her nipple again, noting it was tighter and harder than ever.

“Please,” she said. “Oh, please.”

Music to his ears. He glanced up, saw that her eyes were at half-mast, her bright pink cheeks shadowed by her spiky lashes. Her teeth sucked in her puffy lower lip. Stunned by the absolute splendor of her, his belly clutched again. His tongue wiggled up the cleft of her sex and he pierced her channel with two fingers just as his lips latched on to her clit with a firm pressure.

She gasped, every muscle shuddered like an earthquake, and then she was coming, each pulse of pleasure communicated through the clench and release on his fingers.

When she quieted, he gentled his mouth and slowly withdrew his fingers from her. Sitting back on his heels, he saw she didn’t move from her open pose, even though he no longer held her in that position. “So pretty,” he said.
So trusting
, he thought.

She blinked, her eyelids moving up and down like a sleepy cat. “Is that all you’ve got?” she asked, her words slurring as though she was half-drunk.

And that killed him. He’d just gone down and dirty on her and she was still challenging him, still standing up for herself.

Still trusting.

Shit, he thought. He rose to his feet, palming his stiff cock through his jeans. Her gaze followed the movement. “I want that,” she said pointing at the bulge.

And for some reason, his temper spiked. He didn’t know why that was—offense, defense, a resentment fostered during all those weeks when she’d seemed so far above his reach—but it fed a mean streak that was part of his pessimistic temperament.

Without warning, he grabbed her elbow and hauled her off the cushions. She rocked on her high heels, and reached down to pull her panties up in a hasty movement.

“Don’t bother,” he said in his scariest voice, though he allowed her to complete the action.

His hand still on her arm, he hauled her to the end of the couch and bent her over the padded arm and fished a condom from his wallet. Then he used his bare foot to push her legs apart. His hands stripped those panties back down as far they would go, to the tops of her knees.

His heart knocking against his chest, he tore open his jeans and shoved aside his boxers to release his cock. Angelica trembled at the sound.
Good
, he thought.
Now you know who has the upper hand here.

His own hand shook as he palmed one ass cheek. She made a sound. He told himself he would be gentle if she asked, but there was blood rushing in his ears, lust firing it hot like gasoline.

Then Angelica glanced over her shoulder at him. Not afraid. But lusting. And so full of trust.

“Fuck,” he muttered, took the moment to sheath himself in the condom, and then he fitted himself to her, sliding inside her pussy to do just that. She took him easily, her hips tilting to accept the deep thrust.

His body pistoned and she pushed back on every drive, taking him in. Taking him as he was.

Taking.

He knew what it meant, even as he knew her excitement was growing, as well. Bracing with one hand on the small of her back, he kept lunging inside of her, telling himself this was his turn, reminding himself that he didn’t need to be tender or gentle or even care if she got off on this round.

Hadn’t she asked for him to be who he was?

Hard, wary of attachment, insulated from feeling.

But even as he thought that, he was curling over her back, pressing his cheek to hers, kissing her ear, her temple, the corner of her mouth. Her head twisted and they were lip-to-lip, the kiss tender, even as he was pounding into her body.

It was a dichotomy, a contradiction, every perverse and perverted urge she brought out in him.

The climax rose from his toes and coiled in his belly, a whirlwind of pleasure that was gathering, gathering. His hand slid around her hip and along her belly until he once again found her clit. She jolted back at his touch, taking him another inch, and then he was coming...and then so was she.

In the aftermath, he lay heavily on her body, panting.

She was quiet.

When he could, he stood and pulled free from her, unsurprised she didn’t stand herself. He zipped his pants, then managed to lift her into his arms. Her head fell heavy to his shoulder as he carried her to the bedroom.

That’s when she gave him the final gift of the night. “I love you,” she murmured against his throat.

He sucked in a long breath, an action that put more pressure on his already-aching chest. “I know,” he said. “I know it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
, Angelica learned they were going to pretend she’d never spoken those three words. That was fine with her. She hadn’t meant to let them loose, of course. Trailing in Brett’s footsteps, following the flashlight he was using to light the way in the darkness just before dawn, she hunched her shoulders for warmth.

It would have been better to awaken alone. But instead, it was obvious he’d spent the night once again on her couch after tucking her into her bed. She’d smelled coffee and so she’d decided to get up and face the music—which turned out to be silent—so that afterward she could tick off another of the items on her goodbye checklist.

Seeing the sun rise from the Walkers’ mountain.

When she’d mentioned her goal to Brett while they were sipping coffee and she couldn’t stand the quiet in the cabin, he’d grunted then told her he’d lead the way.

Her pride had demanded she didn’t make some excuse or refuse his company.

She loved him. He knew. Big whoop. The world was full of sad stories like hers. But she’d survive. She knew that now, thanks to her time in Blue Arrow. She had bootstraps and she knew how to pull them up.

People didn’t die of broken hearts.

Though thinking of never seeing Brett again made it hard for her to breathe.

Ahead, he halted as he crested a knoll. She joined him, following his pointed finger toward the east. Another, taller range of mountains stood there, looking as if it was torn from dark construction paper, then pasted against the silvering sky.

“Keep your eyes on that saddle,” Brett said, indicating a low dip. “The sun will rise right there.”

She could see the barest glimmer of it, an edge of gold warming the black-and-gray predawn. It washed the underside of the flat-bottomed clouds, making them glow like she thought an angel’s wings might.

Change came rapidly after that, pale gold giving way to a deeper orange that washed the sky in tones from petal pink to the full red of robust passion. It was what had happened to her, she thought. At first there had been that golden promise of her fascination with Brett. Then it had risen, expanded and ultimately changed her entire interior landscape.

“Look there,” he said now, in hushed tones. “Below.”

A small lake in the cleft between two jagged peaks had caught the light. An unexpected gold coin, waiting to be plucked by a giant hand. Angelica’s breath caught, awed by the beauty and the poignancy of this moment.

This goodbye. Because if he didn’t return her feelings, couldn’t return her feelings, she had to leave.

Brett lifted the binoculars he’d hung around his neck—the antique pair Poppy had given him. His strong hands framed them, but his touch was delicate as he made the proper adjustments. Then he passed them to her.

She had to crowd close because of the leather strap still circling his neck. Once again following his direction, she aimed them downward, and caught sight of a deer picking its way through the dried grasses.

“So pretty,” she whispered, supremely aware of the warmth of him at her side and back. “How very beautiful this all is.”

“Yes,” he said. “Even more so through your eyes.”

Stepping away, she returned the binoculars. He brought them to his face to scan the surroundings.

“You should put your lodge right here,” she said.

His brows rose as he let the device drop. “As a matter of fact, this was the very place we planned to build it.”

“Then do it. Really put down roots.”

He glanced over, letting the device drop. “Really put down roots? I’m a landscaper. I do that every day.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You tend things, not create them. Didn’t you tell me you rearrange gardens all the time in your head?”

“Those gardens belong to other people. I do what they want.”

“This could be what
you
want,” she said, indicating their surroundings with a circling hand.

“Too risky.”

Angelica was feeling anxious and brave and excited, all three at once. “Take a chance,” she urged. “Put your dream on the line.”

His expression let her know he was closing down. Her pulse began racing and she thought,
You should put your dream on the line, too.
She obeyed the sudden impulse. “Tell me to stay, Brett.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Tell me to stay. Tell me you want me to stay.”

His gaze shifted away from her.

“When I drove back to the cabins yesterday evening, I’d decided not to take the job. I’d decided to go down the hill.”

Though the atmosphere between them was suddenly charged with tension, he didn’t break his silence.

“You really want me to go?” She tried to keep her voice even. “Then say that.”

“I...” He shook his head. “Angelica...”

“I’m in love with you,” she declared.

He winced. “That’s because last night was...good.”

“Don’t dismiss my feelings as pillow talk.”
Take the risk
, her inner voice urged. She glanced around at the grandeur of the mountains and the sky and that still-glowing golden lake and took strength from it. “Brett...”

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice edged with impatience.

“I want you to love me.” She hauled in a breath. “Do that. Love me back.”

His whole body flinched as if she’d slapped him. Then he spun away from her, presenting her with the rigid line of his spine and the stiff set of his shoulders. “I told you. I can’t. I won’t.”

“Brett...” It sounded like a plea.

“Don’t you listen?” he asked harshly. “I don’t have it in me.”

And at the bitter finality of his words, her heart seemed to tumble out of her chest. But she guessed that made sense, as she rubbed at the aching emptiness there. Because she was leaving it behind.

“Goodbye, Brett,” she whispered.

Then she turned, and left Brett behind, too.

* * *

W
ITHIN
TWENTY
MINUTES
Angelica was driving away from the cabins, heading for her flatland life. It was still early when she neared the village, and the parking lot at Hallett Hardware was empty. Once Hank or Glory arrived, she’d go inside and tender her resignation. She was sure they’d understand.

For a moment she allowed herself to think of what Brett was doing. Had he continued hiking on the mountain? Was he back at the cabins and now aware she was truly gone? Angelica could see in her mind’s eye his big hands cradling the binoculars just like they’d once cradled her face, with both power and gentleness.

An aching loneliness tried descending, and she pushed it away by thinking of other things...and yet her mind circled back around to Blue Arrow. So much she would likely never know about the people there.

Would the Walker weddings happen without a hitch? She thought so.

How about Mac? Would she find resolution for her feelings for Zan Elliott?

And the cabins...would Poppy make a go of them?

Then there was the mystery of who was behind the burglaries. She mused over the items that had been taken, feeling a little more melancholy. Via the silent auction, she’d helped many unique articles find good homes and now they’d gone missing. Stu had told her the last theft had likely only involved cash and some jewelry.

Vaughn, however, had reported to Brett that a first edition of
The Call of the Wild
, which Angelica knew was from the Elliott estate, had also been stolen. She frowned. Was it weird that Vaughn had more information?

At least Brett hadn’t lost his binoculars—they hadn’t been at his cabin when the intruder or intruders had been in his place.

Full circle, Angelica thought on a sigh. Brett.

He was so closed off. Could she blame him? Burned by the girl who once had him arrested, wounded by his war experience, betrayed by a lover in a way that left him scarred.

It didn’t leave a woman with any choice but to walk away from him.

That’s what the bikini girl had done. Lorraine Kushi.

Angelica Rodriguez.

Damn. She slapped the steering wheel, and then stared out the windshield, unseeing. Leaving him made her like the others.

And if she was so willing to give up after round one, then she was unworthy of him. Unworthy of her new resolve to take charge of her own life. To go after what she wanted instead of waiting around for someone else’s approval.

Hands shaking, Angelica turned the key in the ignition and turned the car in the direction of the Walker cabins.

* * *

B
RETT
GRAPPLED
WITH
the intruder, battling a red-hot rage and a deep sense of urgency. In a rush to get his keys so he could stop Angelica from leaving the mountains, he’d been completely surprised when a man had jumped on his back when he’d entered his cabin. The guy had him in a grisly hold.

But he had to get to the girl. The thought of missing her, of her slipping out of his town and out of his reach, galvanized him.

With a grunt, he broke the guy’s grip by throwing open his arms. The interloper fell back, and Brett whirled around to confront him, fists up.

Only to see it was Vaughn Elliott who leaped to his feet, his face red and his blond hair disheveled and sweaty looking. Brett gaped. “What the hell—”

The door swung open. Angelica stepped inside.

Being closer, Vaughn was able to reach out and grab her. He yanked the startled woman in front of him.

Holding his hands at chest level, Brett gave Angelica a quick assessing glance, then focused on the other man. “What’s going on, Vaughn?” There was a light in the asshole’s eyes that didn’t look altogether right.

“There’s been a mistake,” the man said, panting.

“We can fix mistakes,” Brett said, in a calm voice. “Why don’t you let Angelica go, and you and I will find a solution.”

Vaughn glanced at the woman he held in a tight grip. “Angelica,” he said, as if noticing it was her for the first time. “I can trade her for the list.”

“The list?” Would Vaughn have a weapon? Brett thought, trying to decide. As a sheriff’s department volunteer he wasn’t issued one, but it would be no surprise if he owned a gun.

“The list of people who bought items from the Elliott estate at the silent auction.” Angelica said. She sounded calm, too.

“Those things should have gone to me.” Vaughn’s tone was belligerent. “My grandfather left the money and the house to Zan. I should at least have been willed the contents of the place.”

“That seems fair,” Angelica mused.

Fair? Brett telegraphed orders to her.
Keep quiet. Don’t attract his attention.

As usual, they could communicate with a look.
I’m okay
, she said back
. Follow my lead.

Then her mouth moved and he could read her lips. “Trust me.”

“Here’s what we can do, Vaughn,” she continued. “I happen to have just learned the password to the historical society database.”

“I thought you didn’t know it,” he said, frowning down at her.

“And I didn’t. But Ruth needed me to do something new with the members section and gave it to me.” Her expression was guileless. “Yesterday.”

“So...” Vaughn drew out the word.

“So you and I could—”

“No!” Brett interjected, his body going cold.

Angelica shot him a quelling look and continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You and I could take a drive to the headquarters and I can print out the list for you there. I have the keys to the front door.”

“Why would you do that?” the other man asked, suspicious.

“She wouldn’t,” Brett said.

Angelica rolled her eyes at him. Yeah, yeah, his remarks were agitating Vaughn, but there was no way he was going to let her leave with him. “Listen, Elliott,” he said. “That’s the love of my life you’re holding there, and it’s making me twitchy.”

Vaughn seemed surprised by the bald announcement. His head jerked back. “Brett Walker, finally settling down?”

“Absolutely. So let go of the girl.”

“She’s got to do something for me first,” Vaughn insisted. “The list.”

“It won’t take a lot of time,” Angelica put in brightly. “I’ll do this little favor for Vaughn and then we’ll continue on with our plans for the day—”

“Vegas. We’re getting married in Vegas this afternoon.”

Angelica’s eyes rounded. “Um—”

“You remember, honey—you don’t want to be stuck wearing something itchy or ugly. In Vegas you can get married in sweatpants.”

“Sweatpants!” There was outrage in her voice. “I’m not getting married in sweatpants.”

The conversation was clearly confusing Vaughn, who somewhere along the line had gone round the bend from arrogant asshole to irrational idiot. But his hold on Angelica was still strong and there was the niggling question of concealed weapons.