Taking the Reins(59)

“Uh huh.” She took a tiny step back. Not out of fear, but because she liked to keep her personal life private.

“Your family. The ranch. All the employees, the stock. Business.” Another step closer. “You.”

“Me?” She inched back just a little more, and her calf bumped into the edge of his bed.

“You. Taking care of yourself. From what I’ve seen, that one ranks lowest on your list of priorities.”

She shrugged, though the words sliced a little closer to her heart than she wanted them to.

“So who takes care of you then?”

“Nobody. I just said that. I can do it myself.”

Those long legs carried him until he stood a spare inch from her. One deep breath and her breasts would brush against his chest.

“Maybe it’s time someone gave you a break. A small one, anyway. And took care of you.”

Before she could even process that, which would have led to the inevitable question of why, he bent and kissed her. Not a searching kiss, not a testing kiss. A devouring one. A kiss her body responded to without hesitation, even if her mind was still reeling to catch up.

Her arms lifted on their own and wound around his neck, pulling him down lower, closer, into her. Strong, long hands pressed her back until her hips met his, until she couldn’t miss the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans. Until she . . .

Until she was close to bursting into flames.

“Let me,” he whispered, lips moving to below her ear, over her cheek, her brow, down the bridge of her nose.

“Let you what?” she asked on a gasp of air.

“Let me take care of you. Just for tonight.”

There were so many ways he could have ended that request. But it was as if he read her mind, realized how tired she was, how worried and exhausted from carrying the load. And that for one night—just one, she swore—she was ready to set the burden down and allow someone else to carry it.

Just one night.

“Just for tonight,” she repeated.





God, thank you. Red wasn’t sure how in the good Lord’s name he could have stopped his body, now that they’d started on this journey. But he would have pulled back, even if it had killed him.

And sweet baby Jesus, he didn’t have to. He could do what he’d been dreaming about, thinking about, craving for weeks now.

Already bent over to accommodate their height difference, he kept bending until she stretched out on his bed, her knees bent over the side. With a little wiggling, she was fully across the mattress. Resting his weight on his forearms, he took a moment to satisfy his mind and stare down at her.

This was definitely not a position he’d thought he’d ever see her in. Time to savor. With soft kisses, he tasted her. The tender skin at her throat, the inside of her elbow, below her ear. When he ran out of exposed skin, he skimmed one hand beneath the hem of her T-shirt and urged her to sit up so he could get rid of it.

No bra. Of course not, she’d been ready for bed. Her breasts were small, firm, perfectly proportioned for her. He filled both hands with the mounds and kneaded.

But Peyton’s eyes went from intense, lust-filled blue to a more smoky, uncertain shade. “Never needed a bra for bed. Or anything else, really,” she joked. But he heard the uncertainty in her self-deprecation.

“They’re perfect. Perfect on you.” Red silenced her huff of laughter with another kiss, pulling hard at the tips until she gasped into his mouth and arched for more.

One hand obliged, while the other worked its way down her ribs to investigate the shorts she wore. Which weren’t quite shorts at all, but a pair of men’s boxers. “Where the hell did these come from?”

The self-confident woman was back, her gaze teasing. “Jealous? Of a pair of shorts?”

He smirked. “Hardly. Since you obviously didn’t just walk out of some other man’s bed wearing them.”

She lifted a shoulder. “They’re comfortable.”

“True enough.” Except when you were packing a hard-on that could pound in fence posts. Then nothing south of the border was comfortable. Sort of like now . . .

He slithered the shorts down, pushing them completely off her feet, and let his hand wander between her thighs. Thighs hard with muscle, thanks to years of daily riding and hard work. No extra stuffing to be found on this woman. But a feminine body nonetheless, with compact curves in the right places. And those curves were driving him five shades of insane.

“Come on, sweetheart.” His hand stilled when her thighs clamped shut, barring him from all but the top of her mound. “Open up.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if making a decision. Then as her eyes opened again, so did her legs. Just enough for him to slip in and feel her damp heat, know she was already wet, excited, anticipating.