Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3) (27 page)

“You,” she said, drawing the tip of a finger around the tip of his cock, then stepping around him and out of the spray. “Touching yourself.”

He raised one foot to the tub’s edge, reached for her bath gel and worked up a lather in his palm. Then he planted his free hand on the enclosure’s wall beside her head, gripped his shaft with his soapy hand, and began to stroke.

He did all of it while holding her gaze, hers finally falling to watch the motion of his fist on his cock. She chewed at her lower lip, reached for her nipples and squeezed, shuddering as he rolled over the head again and again, his cock bobbing.

She blinked, sluicing the water from her face to clear her eyes, her tongue darting out, her chest rising and falling. He slicked the cup of his palm over his head faster. Faster, faster, faster. The rhythm of his hand and the heat of the water and the smell of Everly’s lust drawing his balls tight.

Her tits were high, the nipples in peaks. Then she slid a hand down her chest and her belly to toy with her clit. Just tiny little touches over the tip, pulling up on the hood with one finger, then using one on either side to pull harder.

Lifting her foot to the tub so that her toes touched his, she pushed a finger into her cunt, pulled it out and brought it to her mouth, sucking it free of her cream. Then she did it again, but this time she offered her taste to him. He took it, sucked it, held her finger by the knuckle with the barest edges of his teeth while he stroked.

Enough. She could watch some other time. Right now, he was the one who’d gone cold and who needed her to warm him. He moved close, into her body, palmed the backs of her thighs and lifted her. Her legs went around his waist, her arms around his neck. Her head fell back against the tiles, and he dipped his knees, aligned his cock with her cunt, pushed deep and pushed hard and pinned her to the wall.

Then he stood there, sheathed, buried so far inside of her he had nothing left of himself to give. She had all of him. She had everything. He was gone.

He leaned into her, buried his face in the crook of her neck, pumped his hips, his thighs aching. He was fucked and it had nothing to do with where he was or what he was doing, but everything to do with this woman and his heart. She owned him. Body and soul. And she wanted nothing from him but this. How the hell was he supposed to live with that?

He couldn’t, but right now was not the time for a conversation, much less an ultimatum, and he didn’t know whether either one would do any good. He shut off his mind, turned the moment over to his cock, and began to move. He thrust hard because that’s what he was feeling. Desperation, frustration. Anger with himself for letting things get so out of hand.

Because that’s what they were. He wanted what he couldn’t have, and he was fucked. That didn’t stop him from finishing her, grinding against her clit until she nearly climbed up his body getting off. Then he came, the powerful bursts of cum making his knees shake and almost leveling him.

They calmed together slowly, making suds of her bath gel and playing, finally rinsing, and drying, and scurrying from the bathroom to her bed, Everly shaking until the cocoon of her blankets and their shared body heat warmed her where she lay curled against his side, his arm around her.

“Good thing you don’t have to saddle up before dawn and ride out in temps below freezing.”

“It’s a very good thing,” she said, her hand beneath his chin, one finger rubbing against the scruff of his beard. “And I’m sorry you do. Except I know how much you love ranching.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“Are you saying you don’t love ranching?”

“I don’t love freezing my ass off while doing it, but yeah. I do.”

“So it’s worth whatever you have to do?”

“Pretty much.”

“No matter how bad it sucks?”

“Yeah, because as cold as my ass gets? There’s nothing like Sunshine’s breath frosting when she snorts, and the crunch of cold grass beneath her hooves, and the sun coming up to melt everything and getting so suddenly hot I’m sweating in my gloves. And everything smells new, even in winter when it’s all dead. Because the dirt that gets turned up has all kinds of promises tucked down inside, and you just have to believe things are going to change come spring. All that green sprouting up and coming to life. All those calves dropping, wobbling when they stand. There’s nothing like it in the world. Absolutely nothing.”

They both let that settle, and he wondered if he’d painted a bright enough picture that she could see what he saw even in the dark. He wanted her to see it, to know the beauty of his life, to understand the hardships would never be hard enough to drive him off the land. Right then, right there, he made the pledge to himself. He’d work the land until his dying day, no matter what it took out of him. No matter what it took from him. Even if it took his dream of this woman as his wife.

“You going to be okay tomorrow?” she asked as she snuggled against his side.

What was tomorrow? Oh, right. The auction. He’d been thinking about it all day, dreading it all day, until the last few hours when Everly had been with him and on his mind instead. “Sure. No problem. It’s going to be great to have half the furniture Tess left us sold off.”

She threaded her fingers into the hair in the center of his chest, tugging lightly on the strands. “You told me Dax and Casper were okay with it.”

“They are.”

“But you’re not.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a done deal. Nora’s got guaranteed initial bids, or some shit.”

“That’s good. That means you’ll be getting a nice infusion of cash.”

He covered her hand, held it against his heart, wished that everything that money changed could be limited to the good. The bad was giving him hell.

TWENTY-EIGHT

E
VERLY ARRIVED LATE
to the auction. She’d thought long and hard about not coming, but couldn’t convince herself to stay away. Faith would be there, and Arwen, and all three of the Dalton Gang members, plus family and friends. Dozens of potential buyers would be in attendance as well. Buyers with deep pockets and a love of antiques. Nora Stokes had seen to that.

In the end, she’d come for Boone. She wasn’t interested in the pieces up for sale. And except for how much the boys needed it, she didn’t care about the money. All that mattered today was that, even with his sister and his parents and his boys at his side, Boone was alone. She couldn’t leave him that way. Not when he’d come back for the life he’d wanted, and was now having to watch much of it being taken away.

She parked a quarter mile down the main ranch road, behind the long line of cars belonging to the browsers and buyers who’d arrived for the show. Up ahead, the main ranch yard resembled a parking lot. Boone had to hate that. He was a private man. A quiet man. Intensely so, and she loved that about him. When he shared with her the pieces of his life, she felt honored, and humbled that she’d been able to give him something he needed, a place to unload his burdens. A place to lay his head.

And there she went again, being all poetic, but there was something about him that turned her thoughts to mush. He made her happy. He filled her with joy. She laughed because of him, and with him, and he’d taught her the truth of what it meant to have a man in her bed.

He was also, she realized as she slowed her steps, parked for some strange reason in the line of vehicles up ahead, sitting behind the wheel, half a football field away from his house.

He must’ve heard her fighting the gravelly road, because he glanced into his side mirror, met her gaze, and seconds later opened his door and climbed from his seat.

“What are you doing sitting all the way out here?”

“What are you doing just now getting here?” he asked, his frown both desperate and relieved.

Aww. Poor baby. “Were you waiting?”

He nodded. “I was. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” she said, then bravely added, “I thought you could use a friend.”

He looked beyond where she stood into the distance, swallowed, gathered himself before he looked back and opened the door to the extended cab of his truck. “Get in,” he said, boosting her up onto the bench and climbing in behind her. Once the door was shut, he reached for her, lifting her off the seat to straddle his lap, facing him.

She liked this Boone, the way he needed her, and even the fact that he didn’t ask caused no alarm. He would stop if she told him to. She knew that with all of her heart. It was a comforting bit of knowledge, but one she doubted she’d ever have use for. She needed him just as much.

“You and your damn buttons,” he grumbled. His fingers were large, her buttons tiny. She started to push his hands away to take care of the task herself, but she didn’t. Instead, she placed her palms on his knees behind her and leaned back.

“I thought you liked my buttons.”

“I like getting under your buttons. I don’t like what it takes to get there.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Patience can go fuck itself. My hands are too big for this shit.”

“I like your big hands. I love your big hands. Do you know what I think about when I look at them? When one is doing something as simple as resting on your thigh while the other is on your steering wheel? Or when one is holding your fork while the other grips your knife?”

His hands slowed. His fingers came to a complete stop. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

She flexed her fingers into the muscles above his knees. “I think about how thick your fingers are. How they feel when they slide deep into my body. How you always know when to crook just the one, and where to crook it, and how you rub that spot that makes it so hard to stop shaking. You do that and I want to come and I don’t want anything else but an orgasm. An orgasm from you. And your hand. And your thumb on my clit, pushing to the left the way you know I like.”

“Goddammit, woman.” He let go of her blouse and reached for her hands, pulling them around to his fly. His cock bulged behind the denim, thick and full and anxious. “This is what you do to me. All of the time. I’m out riding herd, I think about you, and this happens. I’m in the shower, I think about you, and this happens. I’m in the kitchen waiting on the coffee, I think about you, and this happens.”

She squeezed, loving his girth even more than his very impressive length. “I’m glad I make this happen. I’m even more glad when I’m around to appreciate it.”

“Then get to appreciating,” he said, reaching for his belt buckle, her hands following and working free the buttons of his fly. He closed his eyes and groaned, and she reached for him, lowering the elastic of his boxer briefs to expose his cock and his balls.

She cupped him, and stroked him, and thumbed the slit in the tip, loving how much he wanted her, that he was already so hard, so ready. She tossed her head back and laughed, feeling caught up by a rush of emotion she couldn’t contain, she didn’t understand, she never wanted to lose. At this moment, it didn’t matter that she’d told herself there could be nothing but sex between them. At this moment, her heart was full of him, and all she wanted was to make the hurt he was feeling stop.

Beneath her, Boone groaned, the vibration a rumble she felt between her legs. It aroused her, overwhelmed her, made her wish she was wearing anything but skinny black pants. She wanted him inside of her, but even in his truck’s backseat, there was little room to move; he took up more than his share with just his shoulders.

But he was so big and so hard and so terribly lonely and sad. Nothing mattered but healing the parts of him that were breaking. She let him go, kicked off her shoes, reached back to unzip her pants. He lifted a brow, then helped her, holding her hips as she worked one leg free, wiggling as he pushed his jeans and shorts down his thighs.

His cock stood bold and full, and she didn’t even wait, but rose over him and pushed down, taking him slowly, taking him deep. He filled her completely, throbbed there, grew harder and thicker and made her ache at her very core. It was an ache that tore at her resolve not to feel more than lust, a resolve that she’d known for days now, weeks even, was folly.

She loved him. To her very soul, she loved him. He was what she’d never known a man could be, and he gave her things she hadn’t known missing in her life, a completeness she thought she’d reached on her own. How could she? He took better care of her than she did of herself, seeing to her needs when she was unaware of them, anticipating them before she did.

How had she let this happen? This was not what she wanted, this feeling of belonging, this loss of the independence she’d worked so hard to gain. And yet . . . Those things weren’t what she was feeling at all. She and Boone were sharing, giving and taking, becoming the mythical mated
one
she’d never believed in.

Dear lord, she was believing now. The thought of not having Boone in her life—

“Everly?”

Blinking the moisture from her eyes, she returned, biting down on the words that wanted to escape, saying instead, “I’m here,” as she reached up and cupped his face in her hand, as she kissed him. As she rode him, a slow up and down gyration of her hips, squeezing to catch the head of his cock and pull.

He groaned beneath her, his hands on her hips guiding her, pushing up into her, pumping. Through it all, her mouth hovered above his, their breath mingling, his whiskers scraping her cheek and her chin, his lips catching hers, his teeth, too.

The intimacy brought tears to her eyes. Never in her life had she known such closeness, such honesty, such complete involvement. It was as if nothing existed in the world but the two of them, their bodies made one, their needing each other more than sexual desire.

She came because she loved him. She was so overwhelmed with that reality, she couldn’t wait, or linger, or draw out the glorious anticipation. She exploded, and he followed, bits and pieces of who she’d been falling around her as she convulsed and barely stayed conscious, so happy he was as large as he was, and caught her as she collapsed.

“Wow,” she said, and that was all.

“Yeah. Wow,” he echoed, waiting only until they could both breathe before extracting himself from her, helping her with her clothes, tucking himself back inside his and zipping up.

The sound was like teeth on a chalkboard, bring her back to the present where real life existed, and where a lot of truths were waiting to be aired. Her truths, even though they starred him.

“Listen,” she said, sliding off his lap and into the seat beside him. “I’m meeting an old friend in Austin tomorrow to see a movie, but Monday night. Can we please sit down for our interview?” It wasn’t the interview she needed to have. It was all the things she needed to ask him, and to tell him. About Les. And about Penny. About what she’d done behind his back. About what she owed him. “The Hellcat Saloon? Eight o’clock? Dinner on me? I really need to finish up the story and get it to Whitey before he fires me.”

“Like that would be such a bad thing if it happened?” he asked, reaching over to toy with the buttons between her breasts.

“Considering the
Reporter
is the only game in town, yeah. It would be,” she said, holding his fingers still.

“You could write a cookbook,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers, searching, frowning, wanting something she couldn’t see. “You and Clay. Because I hate to say this, but I’m pretty sure the two of you could make me forget how much I love my mother’s pot roast.”

“Oh, please.” She leaned over his lap to fetch her shoes from the floor. “I opened some cans and thawed ground beef Clay had already seasoned.”

“It was damn good soup. Best soup I’ve had in forever.”

“You didn’t have to cook it. That’s what made it the best.”

“You made it for me. That’s what made it the best.”

She waited until both shoes were on her feet before saying, “Boone—”

“I know. It didn’t mean anything.” He reached behind her for the door handle, shoved open the door, letting in a gust of air that swept through the cab’s tension. “It’s what friends do. But I gotta say I’m getting tired of being friends.”

“You want me to go?” she asked, the knot of nerves in her stomach beginning to burn.

He shook his head, leaned it against the seat back, and, eyes closed, said, “I want you never to go.”

She swallowed, so close to telling him that she loved him. So afraid it was the wrong thing and still too soon. “But you’ll let me go until Monday night at least?”

“Yeah,” he said after a long moment she spent holding her breath. “Dinner’s on you. Eight o’clock.”