“Sorry, Boss, but I hate to break it to you. That ain’t no girl. She’s all woman.”
Fucking cocksucker. Now my attention was back on her. Specifically, her tits. That dress should’ve been lying crumpled on a bedroom floor somewhere, not covering her body. Little white buttons strained across her ample chest, just waiting for me to unbutton them, expose what were sure to be gorgeous tits, and suck on her nipples.
What the fuck was I thinking? I shook off the disturbing thought. This chick would be my goddamn stepsister in a matter of days.
Which meant she was off limits for the one thing stuck-up pussy is good for—watching that perfect mix of arrogance and sass submit to me, hands bound behind her back, on her knees, and preferably with her fuckable mouth open and waiting for my cock.
The girl’s mouth fell open, synchronized with my thoughts, and my dick took on a life of its own.
Goddammit.
I reined it in when I realized her expression was a direct result of Griff tossing her bags into the house … rather unceremoniously.
Remembering that she was used to being treated like a princess—complete with private air transport—doused my rising libido. And it stayed doused even as she strutted toward the house.
Mac paused in his task, and the kid’s damn mouth hung open. The swing of those hips had him mesmerized. I’d like to say that she was putting something extra in her step to catch our attention, but I’d made a careful study of women and every damn thing about them over the years. I was willing to lay money on the fact that she had no clue that she was walking as if she were heading straight for her lover’s bed.
A vision flashed through my brain—me, waiting in my room, propped against my headboard, and her strutting that gorgeous ass toward me. I’d tell her to stop and turn, to bend and present herself to me, to let me see that submissive ass and cunt before I fucked them both. The image was so real I could picture her thighs slick with arousal and the scent coming off her. I’d eat that beautiful pussy first, savoring the tangy sweet flavor.
She slowed on the sidewalk within a few feet of me, giving me an awkwardly shy smile. I imagined what she would taste like when I fucked her with my tongue.
What the fuck was I doing?
I returned her smile with a curt nod, not meeting her eyes and grateful for the hat shading mine. I couldn’t be held responsible for whatever she’d see in my gaze right now.
Once the door shut behind her, I knew it was only a matter of time before my father would expect me to come in for introductions. Introductions that I wanted no part of, and yet I couldn’t avoid. The roughness of my surroundings might have dimmed the manners that had been instilled in me since childhood, but they hadn’t completely died out. I emptied the last of this load of rocks, made my way to the front door, and opened it on silent hinges.
“We’re happy to have you with us for the festivities and the rest of the summer,” I overheard my dad saying.
Yeah. Thrilled to have another woman taking up space in the house and mentally calculating the value of the property it sits on.
Dad glanced over the blonde’s shoulder. “Hey, perfect timing, Ford. Now I don’t have to track you down to meet Emma.” She turned to face me, a smile spreading across her face … which promptly died when my dad added, “Emma, this is Ford, my son. He runs the ranch.”
Did she really not know who I was outside?
Her look of shock would suggest that she’d had no fucking clue. Well, wasn’t that interesting?
She offered her hand and I shook it, savoring the feel of her soft, delicate palm against my rough one, and trying to get some kind of read on her—did she like it rough? Would she recoil in disgust if I told her I wanted to tie her up and fuck that perfect peach of an ass? I jerked my instincts to a halt; I had absolutely no business trying to get a read on her. She was completely off limits.
And I needed to get the fuck out of there before I convinced myself otherwise.
My dad said something about her catching up with her mom, but I was already trying to figure a way out of this awkward as hell situation. Cynthia laughed and whispered something cute about my dad, to which he responded by whipping her ass with the towel, like a teenager.
Jesus. These two.
Emma cleared her throat and looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. “So … you run this whole place, huh?”
Her question sounded forced, but it was a welcome distraction.
I nodded.
“How long have you been in charge?”
Does she really fucking care, or is this that polite small talk I left behind when we ditched Silicon Valley for Montana?
Given that it wasn’t a yes-or-no question, I responded with the bare minimum of information. “Since college.”