Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance (35 page)

But that night it
rained. It caught me by surprise. Seven o’clock, Daddy and I had
finished supper and I’d boxed up some leftovers for old Bill. He’d
been working on our ranch as long as I could remember. A cranky, old
bachelor, he never asked for a single thing, but he sure appreciated
my homemade roasted chicken when I gave it to him.

I didn’t make it down
to his cabin, didn’t even make it to the big old barn before the
deluge began. Like mischievous cherubs had been waiting up in the
clouds, giggling and shushing each other until they all-at-once
upturned their filled buckets on the unsuspecting people below.
Soaked in a heart-stopping instant, I started running, my flip-flops
slipping and squashing in the mud.

I ducked into the barn,
shocked, drenched, exhilarated, and stood there in the dark watching
out the window. All hell breaking loose on us, just when we’d least
expected.

I didn’t realize he
was there, too, standing in the shadows. Until he took a step forward
into the dim light filtering through the window. I started at his
presence, gasping and bringing my hand up to my chest.

“Takes your breath
away, doesn’t it?” His deep, rumbling tones, the sexy hush of his
voice, I knew what took my breath away and it wasn’t outside,
violent though that might be. Nothing raged stronger than the storm
brewing inside me for Declan.

“You’re all wet.”
He drew closer and damn if he didn’t describe me in more ways than
one. In the shadows, the lines of his cheekbones, the strong cut of
his chin, the hollow of his neck all stood out like an artist’s
sketch. I could smell him there in the darkness, so virile and male.
I could feel his heat, too, radiating off of him, drawing me to him
as I started to shiver.

“You cold?” he
whispered. I bit my lip and nodded yes, accepting that as my cover
story. Shaking because of the cold. Not because he was so close to
me, in the dark, the way I’d wanted for months now. My
overprotective father wasn’t there to find us, neither were the
other ranch hands. Just us, alone, in the shadows.

He brought his large
hand to my shoulder, the touch of his palm felt so electric I drew in
my breath, quick, my eyes widening. He seemed to feel it too, this
charge between us, his eyes fixed at the spot where he touched me,
his skin against my skin, flesh against flesh. My breathing started
coming faster, shallow.

With one finger, just
one, he traced a line across my shoulder up over to the strap of my
tank top. It was a skimpy one, the kind of thing I’d taken to
wearing in the pathetic hope I’d catch his eye. But he’d never
looked my way before. I’d seen him around town a few times with
girls who looked like they ran a lot wilder than me. Most did, I
guessed. A sheltered little daddy’s girl like me, I didn’t
exactly have a wealth of experience under my belt. And I’d never
felt the urge, the impulse to get it.

Until now.

The feel of his finger,
thick and calloused from hard work, powerful as he toyed with my
strap. It felt so flimsy in his grasp, as if he could tear it right
off of me.

“What are you
wearing?” he asked, his voice harsh and strained. I squirmed,
nervous, shy and aroused.

“A tank top,” I
managed, self-conscious under his scrutiny. Why was he asking? Did he
not like it? Did he think I looked dumb?

He made a sound low in
his throat, almost like a growl, and in two steps he had me up
against the wooden barn wall, the planks rough on the bare skin of my
back. He pinned me there, one hand at my shoulder, one at my hip. His
gaze fixed on my chest, wet from the rain, illuminated by the fading
dusk light of the window.

“Fuck,” he swore as
if angry, frustrated, furious about something. I didn’t know what
was happening, what he meant. I couldn’t think. All I could do was
feel, his strength, the firm, commanding grip of his hands on me,
pinning me down, holding me right where he wanted me.

“Declan?” His name
came out of my lips, half-question, half plea. So close, I could see
the stubble along his chin, his full sensual mouth in the dim light.
He licked his lips, as if seeing something delicious he wanted to
bite right into. A shiver tingled down my spine.

“You’re soaked.”
His voice sounded strangled with need as he stared at my heaving
chest. I followed his gaze and saw what he was fixated on: every inch
of me revealed to him, the thin cotton of my top soaked through, the
light gauzy lace of my bra offering no cover. My breasts were on full
display, the fabric plastered to them, outlining, highlighting, and
my nipples were hard as rocks. The swollen tips pushed out urgent,
erotic, begging for him.

“Why’d you come in
here, Kara?” he growled, not taking his eyes off of me, holding me,
pressing me there. He kept his body tight, coiled, tension lacing
through him as if he were trying to hold himself back.

“I… it started
raining.” I squirmed under his stare. Heat stole through me,
flooding my senses, starting to build between my legs, my sex growing
slick. “I needed shelter.”

“You came in here to
get shelter.” He repeated my words as if finding them ironic,
wickedly funny. Dipping his head lower, he dropped in close, his
mouth so near to my skin. He scented me like an animal, drinking me
in, filling his lungs as if he could sustain himself on that alone.
The feel of his breath against my bare throat made me start to pant.

“You thought you’d
found someplace safe.” His voice mesmerized me, low, and dangerous.
His lips traveled the length of my throat, so close to my skin, but
not touching. Then, so slowly, such a light whisper of a touch, he
flicked out his tongue to taste. He pressed it against my skittering,
racing pulse, licking me there. It almost felt as if he were marking
me.

I gasped. His tongue
felt so teasing, so irresistible. Unable to stop myself from
responding, I tilted my chin back, baring my throat for him.

“Instead, you found
me,” he said, gruff. In an instant, his mouth was on me, hot and
full down around my breast.

“Ah!” I cried out,
eyes closing, engulfed in sensation as his mouth claimed me, sucking,
licking me right through my shirt, heated and wet on my shivering
breast. Finding my sensitive, aching nipple he sucked, hard, bringing
his teeth down lightly, right on the tip. A jolt of pleasure and pain
rocketed directly to my pussy, and I gasped, clutching his shoulder.

At my other breast, he
sucked, licked, his large, rough hands up to cup and massage,
bringing my tip right into his mouth where he enclosed it in his
heat.

“Oh! Declan!” I
cried out as he teased me, licking, trailing his tongue in a circle
around my nipple, not touching it, not giving me what I needed.
“Declan!” I nearly screamed, until he closed his hot mouth
directly over my aching bud, pulling it hard between his teeth,
harder than last time. The intensity of it shocked me, how bad and
good it felt all at once.

I smacked my head back
against the wall, mouth open, eyes closed, my breasts in his hands,
in his mouth, ready for all of it, everything, anything he wanted to
give me. I’d wanted him for so long, so much, I couldn’t believe
it was finally happening. He was finally touching me, here, in the
dark, just us, the way I’d wanted. The way I’d fantasized about
late at night, touching myself, guilty and secret in my bed, coming
with his name on my lips. Now it wasn’t a fantasy, it was really
happening, and it was so much better than I’d ever imagined.

But just as suddenly as
he was on me, he pulled away. I lost his warmth, his power. The
flames consuming me turned cold.

“Get out of here,”
he barked, striding back into the shadowy depths of the barn.

“What?” I asked,
breathless. He couldn’t be telling me to leave. “Declan?”

“Now!” he bellowed,
leaving no room for questions, no opening for discussion. Commanding,
firm. Brutal.

Tears burning my eyes,
I did as I was told, the leftover roasted chicken forgotten on the
floor, my feet somehow finding their way back up the hill. Crushed, I
was unable to forget his heat, or the coldness in his abrupt
dismissal.

But up in my room, I
made up my mind. We still had a whole summer ahead of us, a summer of
nights, dark and hidden and hot. Somehow I was going to find my way
to him again. Now that I’d felt his passion, the way he wanted me
just like I wanted him, I didn’t care what obstacles we faced. I
knew we were meant to be together.

Chapter 1
Present
day

Kara

I strode down the city
sidewalk in my cowboy boots, powered by a mixture of adrenaline, fear
and something else I didn’t want to admit. It felt too much like
excitement. Arousal. I swallowed in anticipation. I was about to see
Declan, the man who’d made me pant with need. The man who’d
broken my heart.

I hadn’t seen him in
six years. Not since that summer when I’d thrown myself all in,
wide-eyed and naive, no idea what kind of pain lay before me. Now I
knew. What reason did I have now for going to see him? I should know
better. You stuck your hand on a hot stovetop once, people felt
sympathetic. You stuck your hand on the same damn heat a second time
around and people just looked the other way. You had only yourself to
blame.

Three blocks to go to
his office building in Billings. I’d parked a ways away, knowing I
could use a walk to stretch my legs and calm my nerves. I’d been
driving for hours, four and a half to be exact. Montana was a big
state and our ranch was way out in the middle of nowhere, exactly
where I liked it. Here in Billings my boot heels made a sharp,
clipped sound against the concrete, not like the dirt and grass of
home.

I would never be here
if I weren’t desperate. Bankrupt was the technical term. If I had
somewhere else to turn, I’d be there. Never in my wildest dreams
could I have imagined doing this, seeking out the man who’d fed my
teenage heart into a paper shredder and throwing myself at his mercy.

But word on the street
was that Declan could help. Apparently he’d made a pile of money
over the past six years. He’d taken some of those big ideas he’d
had back when he was nothing more than a 21-year-old ranch hand
without a penny to his name, and somehow he’d made good on them.

I still hadn’t
thought to turn to him for help. It hadn’t occurred to me until
Dot, my boss at the diner where I worked, had suggested it.

“You should go see
Declan Hunt,” she’d said out of nowhere about a month ago while
punching in receipts. She still used one of those old, black
calculators as big as a football.

I’d nearly dropped
the plates I was carrying. Hearing Declan’s name had that effect on
me.

“About the ranch,”
she’d continued, like we were talking about the blue plate special.
“See if he’ll help you out.” She hadn’t even looked up as she
said it. Dot wasn’t big on shows of affection. Six months ago when
my father died of cancer she’d told me I could drink as much coffee
as I wanted on the house. That was about as touchy-feely as she got.

The next day, before I
could talk myself out of it, I typed his name into the browser on my
phone and everything popped up real quick and easy. Declan Hunt, CEO
of Obsidian Investors, phone number a click away. I clicked. His
secretary scheduled me an appointment on a Friday at eleven o’clock.
To discuss a business proposal.

At 10:49 I crossed a
street, now only one block away. I caught a glimpse of my reflection
in a window: long hair pulled back in a ponytail, t-shirt and jeans
like I was still at the ranch, shit-kicking cowboy boots stomping
their way along the sidewalk. I wasn’t going to dress up for him.
He might have made himself a fortune, turned himself all city slick,
but I hadn’t changed. Not one bit. And I’d be damned if I put on
airs for him. I had my pride, even if it felt like I was swallowing
it all down like a big, fat horse pill with no water, coming to him
hat in hand asking for help.

Shoulders back, chin
up. I could do this. I had to do this. I’d ask for a loan, one I
fully intended to pay back. I’d work hard to do it, and if he had a
job for me, I’d take it. I didn’t know all the details about how
he’d made his fortune. Hell, I’d deliberately blocked my ears
when it came to Declan. It hurt too much to hear about him. But I
couldn’t completely avoid the gossip. You didn’t rise from ranch
hand to real estate mogul without people talking. Apparently he now
owned and operated properties all over the state, maybe all over the
country. So he must need people to help, right? I knew about running
a ranch. Our foreman Bill could keep things going if I had to spend
some time away. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but I’d take
any job he offered, do anything to save my family’s ranch.

The sun beat down
fierce in the clear blue June sky. I ran my wrist up and across my
forehead. It had been like that the summer we’d been together,
every day soaring into the 90s and sometimes beyond. Declan would
take off his shirt in the heat. I supposed some of the other ranch
hands did as well, but I never really noticed. Declan was all I could
see, his shoulders, broad and roped thick with the kind of real
muscle you earned from hard labor. His chest, glistening with sweat,
cut, defined pecs with a couple of tattoos that made me seethe with
jealousy, the way they got constant access, pressing and licking
their way along his skin. The way his flat abs rippled, all leading
down to a tantalizing, flat V.

A car horn beeped. I
guessed in this town you needed to look both ways before crossing the
street. I needed to get my head in the game. Focus.

I strode up the
imposing steps of what had to be the largest office building in the
city. A glass revolving door swept me into a gleaming, cold entryway.
A uniformed man behind a desk asked where I was headed and directed
me to the bank of elevators. Obsidian Investors owned the top floor.
Figured.