Texas Pride (10 page)

“Girl,” Savannah drawled in her heaviest Georgia accent, “that man is
every
woman's type. And the way he looks at you isn't exactly with indifference. I'd throw those potatoes in a pot and bring them to a boil if I were you.”

A knock at the door startled them. Eyes wide, Annie jumped up. Her skin glowed, and her eyes shined brightly.

“You look beautiful,” Jessica whispered to Annie, then squeezed both women's hands. “I couldn't have found better sisters-in-law.”

Emma joined them and they all hugged, then Annie picked up her bouquet and sucked in a deep breath. “Let's do it.”

The church was crowded with friends and family for the bride and groom. Jessica's heart hammered as she followed Savannah down the aisle, and when her gaze met Dylan's, she nearly stumbled. No man had ever looked at her the way he was. As if she were the only woman in the room. The only woman in the world.

As if he wanted her.
Really
wanted her.

She looked quickly away. But he didn't want her. He'd made that perfectly clear.

Dylan forgot to breathe as he watched Jessica walk down the aisle. His pulse pounded in his temple as she passed him, and the brief glance she sent him made his heart lurch. He tried to watch the ceremony, tried to listen to the minister, but all he saw, all he thought about, was Jessica.

She was dressed in red. A form-fitting knee-length number that could make a man forget his own name. She'd piled that thick shiny hair of hers on top of her head somehow, and curls cascaded down her long neck. His palms itched every time he looked at that neck, and his gut tightened painfully every time he looked at her spectacular legs.

He watched her cry when Jared kissed Annie, then laugh when the bride and groom ran through a shower of confetti outside the church. He watched her smile for pictures and for the toasts, watched her sip champagne, and later, after the band played the bridal waltz, he did what he'd wanted to do from the first moment he'd watched her walk down that aisle: he pulled her into his arms and out onto the dance floor.

It was a slow dance. He wouldn't have bothered with anything else. He'd deprived himself of enough when it came to Jessica. He'd have this dance, just one, and be done with it.

“Nice wedding,” he murmured, though he really didn't feel like talking. She was stiff in his arms, but soft and warm. He breathed in the scent of her, pulling it into his lungs and holding it.

“Yes.”

Her formal tone frustrated him, but he knew she wasn't unaffected by their closeness. He felt her body tremble, and when his fingers brushed her wrist, the rapid pulse of her heart betrayed her. Desire swam through him like a living breathing creature, and he struggled to control the beast.
One dance,
he told himself. He could manage one dance.

Jessica felt light-headed, though she'd only had one glass of champagne. Every nerve focused on the man holding her. His cheek brushed hers. His hand rested on the small of her back. She felt the heat of his body, smelled his after-shave. The black suit emphasized his broad chest and muscular shoulders, and the combination of smooth sophistication and rugged masculinity left her breathless.

“Jared and Annie look happy.” Dylan glanced over at the bride and groom.

Jessica smiled, relieved to have her attention pulled elsewhere. “They had a tough time getting together. Jared felt guilty after our brother's death, and he didn't think he deserved happiness. That's why he ran off to South America for almost four years.”

“It's easy to get lost in Venezuela,” Dylan said quietly.

She looked at him. “I never mentioned Venezuela.”

He pulled her a little closer. “Didn't you? I guess Jared must have said something last night.”

His warm breath fanned her neck and she couldn't stop the ripple of need that coursed through her.

“I admit I'm surprised that Jared invited you today,” she said, inching away. “But I'm also glad he's not so hostile anymore.”

“No doubt that getting married put him in an agreeable mood.”

“Maybe you should try it, then.” Jessica smiled as Digger danced by with Annie's mother. “Just to improve your disposition.”

“I tried it. Had the opposite effect, I'm afraid.”

Jessica faltered. He'd said the words without the slightest hint of emotion. As if he was simply stating a cold fact. “So one lost race puts you out of the running, huh? I never took you for a quitter, Dylan.”

She forced her tone to be light and her manner aloof, when she was anything but. Dylan loosened his hold on her, and the heat that had nearly exploded between them cooled.

He gazed down at her, his dark eyes intense. “The only thing I quit is making mistakes.”

Neither one of them had realized the slow dance had ended. The band struck up a fast swing number, and before Dylan could blink, Jessica was yanked from his arms by Jared's foreman, Hugh Slater.

Her gaze stayed on Dylan's as she danced with the other man. He watched her, and he ached to hold her against him again. But he'd had his dance, he thought as he turned away. He'd have to be satisfied with that.

He made his way to the bar, where he found Jake nursing a beer. His tie and cummerbund had been loosened long ago, and his black Stetson was tipped precariously on his head. He slapped Dylan on the back and motioned for the bartender to bring a beer. Jared joined them a moment later, and the three men leaned back against the bar.

Jake gestured to the dance floor. “My little sister's really something, isn't she?”

Even before he swung his glance around, Dylan knew it was a mistake. If he couldn't hold her in his arms, he sure as hell didn't want to watch any other man hold her.

She was still dancing with Slater, not a slow dance, more like a hard-rock number, which she moved sensuously to. Dylan took in her swaying curves and high-heeled legs and felt as if he'd been poleaxed. Sweat broke out on his forehead when she dipped forward.

Dylan took a long hard pull on his beer. “Yeah. She's something all right.”

“How's that crew of hers working out?” Jared asked.

Dylan turned back around. “So far pretty good. They're green, but eager to work. They even showed up this morning. I haven't had a crew that wanted to work on Saturday in years.”

“Have they seen anything unusual?” Jake asked.

He shook his head. “I still can't find any logical reason why the old crew quit. I don't buy the ghost story, but I'm keeping a close eye on things.”

“I don't know what we would've done without you, pal. Jake and I definitely owe you one.” Jared grinned over at Dylan. “Jessica giving you trouble?”

Trouble? Dylan nearly laughed. She was trouble with a capital
T
. But not the kind that Jared meant. “No, but if she asks, you mentioned Venezuela to me in town Friday night.”

Jared hadn't time to answer before his new bride stood in front of him, and Savannah in front of Jake. A slow romantic song filled the air. Jake and Jared both grinned and pushed away from the bar.

“Be right back, Dylan. The Stone men never miss an opportunity to hold a beautiful woman in their arms.”

Dylan looked at Jessica, who was dancing with Sam now. The Stone women didn't miss an opportunity with a man, either, he thought irritably. “I'll be heading out in a minute. Thanks for inviting me.” He shook Jared's hand, then Jake's, and smiled at Savannah and Annie. “I'd take Jessica home, but I've got my bike.”

“Don't worry,” Savannah said over her shoulder as she tugged Jake onto the dance floor. “Sam's taking her home. She'll be in good hands.”

In good hands.
Sam's hands. That image had Dylan tightening his hold around the bottle in his hand. He glanced back at the dance floor, gritting his teeth at the sight of Jessica's arms looped around Sam's neck. He began to swear under his breath, then quickly caught himself as he realized Emma stood staring at him.

He forced a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She kept staring intently, her eyes narrowed. She moved to the side of him and looked behind him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly. “Jessica told Savannah and Annie you aren't hard to look at. I don't think so, either.”

Dylan lifted a brow. “Thanks. She say anything else?”

“She said you look good from behind, too, but I like you better from the front.”

Dylan struggled to hold back the laugh in his throat. “Thanks again. I think you look pretty good, too.”

“Thanks.”

From the mouths of babes,
Dylan thought with a chuckle as Emma skipped off. His chuckle faded quickly, though, as he glanced back at Jessica. Sam held her closer still, and she didn't seem to mind a bit. She smiled up at him, whispering something into his ear. Sam laughed.

Dylan's insides knotted and he slammed his beer down. He'd had enough beer and enough Jessica. He'd wanted to be here for Jared, but he'd never been good at parties, especially weddings. He needed a long ride on his bike in the fresh air to cool his blood, anyway.

But almost two hours later, after he'd made it back to Makeshift, his blood hadn't cooled. In fact, when he realized that Jessica still wasn't home, his temperature moved steadily upward, degree by degree, with each passing minute.

He sat at the foot of the stairs with Hannibal and stared at the antique grandfather clock Jessica had placed in the lobby. It ticked loudly. What if they'd had an accident? Sam could have drunk too much. Jessica could be lying in a ditch somewhere, hurt.

Twelve o'clock bonged with a deafening echo.

He stood, pacing the foyer, imagining other scenarios and reasons she might be late.

But he kept coming back to the same one: Jessica, with Sam, in his bed.

The clock chimed the quarter, then half hour. Then one o'clock.

He'd go look for her, dammit. If she was with Sam, then fine, but at least he'd know. Then he could forget about it. About her.

Yeah. Right.

He was heading for the front door when he heard a truck drive up. He looked out. Sam's truck. Hannibal lifted his head, listening to the string of curses Dylan shot out when Jessica didn't come in right away. He was seriously considering sending the dog out for her when the hotel door opened.

She came in quietly, shoes in her hand, and slowly closed the door behind her. She started to tiptoe across the lobby when she suddenly caught sight of Dylan sitting at the foot of the stairs. Startled, she looked at him. Several curls had come loose from the knot on top of her head, and her cheeks were flushed.

“It's after one in the morning.” Dylan grabbed hold of the banister and stood. “Party went kind of late.”

“And you left kind of early,” she said, her gaze holding his. “Without saying goodbye, I might add.”

“Yeah, well, you were busy with Sam at the time.”

“I wasn't that busy.”

He watched the sway of her hips as she moved slowly toward him. “Don't you think you should have let me know you're all right?”

“Why?” she asked.

Did she have to look so damn seductive? he wondered. Was she doing this to him on purpose? “You could've been in an accident.”

“Do I look like I was in an accident?” Her voice was almost a purr as she held out her arms.

He let his gaze skim over her curves in the snug red dress. His groin tightened painfully. She didn't look as if she'd been in an accident, but she certainly might cause one. “So where were you?”

She shook her head slowly and sighed. “Good night, Dylan. I'm going to bed.”

He caught her arm when she started to move past him. “I was worried about you.”

Her eyes glittered like blue ice. “I already have two brothers who worry enough, thank you. I don't need, or want, another one.”

He held her still when she tried to yank her arm away. “Of all the things I want, Jessica,” he said roughly, “being your brother is not one of them.”

Her eyes turned a deep blue as she searched his face. “What is it you want, Dylan?” she asked softly. “What?”

“This.”

He couldn't pretend any longer. He couldn't deny it. It was suddenly all too much, wanting her as he did, needing to feel her body against his.

With an oath, he dragged her against him and covered her mouth with his.

T
he force of his mouth caught Jessica completely off guard. His kiss was hungry and hard, long and deep. She clung to him, at first to steady herself, then mindlessly, helplessly, with a need that had been denied for too long. She knew it was crazy, knew she would surely regret this, but his lips sought hers with a desperation that left her weak.

She moaned into his mouth, meeting the thrust of his tongue with her own. He shuddered, tightening his hold on her, dragging her closer, molding her body intimately to his. Her shoes clattered to the floor.

He slanted his lips against hers again and again, increasing the pressure, making love to her with his mouth, consuming her. She'd wanted this from the beginning, she realized dimly. She'd fought it, but at some level only a woman understood, she knew this was meant to be. It was foolish to deny it and futile to ignore it.

With a guttural sound, Dylan jerked his head up. They stared at each other for a long moment, their breathing ragged. Desire raged in his eyes, and his expression was filled with an intensity that took her breath away.

“I wasn't with Sam,” she said softly. “Not like you think. How could I be with him when all I think about is you?”

Jessica's quiet admission was like a knife in Dylan's gut. She was the most honest open woman he'd ever met. She'd touched him like no other woman ever had, and he'd repaid that honesty with lies. If he made love to her, it would be one more lie. Not that he didn't want her, because he'd never wanted a woman as badly as he did her, but because he had nothing more to give her. There'd be no rings, no weddings, no family. All the things a woman like Jessica deserved.

He took hold of her wrists and gently pulled them away. He saw the confusion and hurt in her eyes, and it was like a hand twisting the knife already in him.

She stepped away from him, only now the hurt in her eyes was gone. In its place was anger.

“Is this a game for you, Dylan?” she said coldly. “You get your kicks from watching a woman make a fool of herself over you, then shove her away?”

He deserved every word, but they still hit with the force of a sledgehammer. He couldn't do this to her anymore. Lie to her. He had to tell her the truth, and even if she tossed him out on his butt, at least she'd know.

“Jessica,” he said hoarsely, “I want to make love to you right now so badly I can't stand it.” He dragged a hand through his hair and turned away, knowing he couldn't look at her without wanting to pull her back into his arms. “But your brothers...”

“Is that what this is about? My
brothers?
” She put her hand on his arm and brought him around to face her. “They might be protective, but I'm a big girl and they know it. Neither Jake nor Jared would ever interfere in my life like that. They have too much respect for me.”

The hole he'd dug was getting deeper by the minute, Dylan realized. He couldn't very well tell her she was wrong, that her brothers not only
would
interfere, but they
had.
She was hurt enough. He couldn't pour salt in open wounds.

“And frankly, Dylan,” she said coolly, picking up her shoes and heading for the stairs, “I'm a little surprised you're afraid of my brothers.”

That did it. Something snapped inside him. She hadn't made it to the third step before he had hold of her arm, pulling her to him. “I never said I was afraid of your brothers.”

Her chin lifted stubbornly. “Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Grant.”

His eyes had a hard dangerous glint. “So they do.”

He heard her soft gasp, and when her lips parted he plunged his tongue into the satin heat of her mouth. He felt her resistance, expected it, but it didn't sway him. He deepened the kiss, searching, seeking the passion he knew she possessed. For the second time, she dropped her shoes and flattened her palms against his chest, neither pushing him away or pulling him closer. The small sound she made in her throat turned from one of frustration to one of need. Her arms stiffened, then crept around his neck.

Relief poured through him at her acquiescence. He fitted her body to his, guiding her up the stairs with careful deliberation. She twisted against him with a moan that drove him half-mad.

Jessica's eager response sent him over the edge he'd been teetering on since the first night he'd kissed her, maybe from the first moment he'd seen her. There was only Jessica. There was only now.

The light at the top of the stairs was dim. Jessica had the sensation that she was floating, then realized that Dylan had lifted her off her feet. His large hands cupped her bottom, and he cradled her against the juncture of his legs. She felt pure feminine satisfaction at the arousal pressing urgently into her pelvis, and she moved shamelessly and erotically against the hard ridge of his manhood.

He moaned and raked his teeth over her lips, then her chin. “You keep doing that and you're going to feel this floor on your back,” he growled. His mouth seared a hot trail over her jaw and her neck.

“Promises, promises,” she whispered, then wound her arms more tightly around his shoulders. He chuckled softly and tasted the hollow of her neck behind her ear. Pleasure pumped through her, and she let her head fall back, urging his lips to continue their journey. He complied, branding her skin with fire-hot kisses.

The hardwood floor creaked under their combined weight, and when Dylan dipped suddenly, Jessica thought he meant to carry out his threat. Instead, he pressed her against the wall, shifting her weight as he tugged up her dress.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

She wound her arms more tightly around his neck and did as he asked. His hands slid over her buttocks and her exposed thighs. He glanced down, hesitating as his fingers touched the lace tops of her nylons. He looked up at her in surprise, his eyes dark and fiercely sensual.

“I hate panty hose,” she said breathlessly.

Dylan traced a finger over the edge of the soft scalloped lace that separated warm skin from silky stockings. Women's undergarments had always intrigued him, but this particular item caught him completely off guard. He was glad he hadn't known earlier. He never would have made it through the evening without dragging her off. His blood pounded in his temples, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to take her right here. But he wanted to see her, to touch every inch of her before he loved her.

He felt her tremble under his touch as he moved his hand up her thigh. “What else do you hate?” he murmured, pushing her dress up higher, wondering what other surprises she might have.

“Slow,” she whispered harshly. “I hate slow.”

Smiling, he moved his hands over her hips and rocked his body against hers. Her fingers raked through his hair, then curled tightly into his collar. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and closed her eyes. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest and decided he hated slow, as well.

He lifted her higher and blazed kisses over her neck, then downward to the swell of her breasts, frustrated by the clothing separating them. Her fingers worked at the buttons on his shirt, and when her hands slipped inside the fabric and touched his chest, he closed his own eyes and swore.

Jessica smiled at the word Dylan uttered. Though she wouldn't have expressed herself quite that way, she completely understood the feeling. Never before had she experienced such intense pleasure. Never before had a man brought her even close to this, and she knew no other man ever would again. No man but Dylan.

The cool wall on Jessica's back was a sharp contrast to the hot male skin under her fingers. His muscles rippled and bunched under her touch, and when she dragged her nails lightly through the thicket of dark hair on his chest, she felt his body tighten.

He brushed his lips over hers, tasting the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her earlobe. His teeth nipped at a sensitive spot behind her ear and she drew in a breath and held it.

“My bedroom or yours?” he murmured.

“Yours is closer.”

He gathered her to him, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a feather. They moved into his bedroom, and he kicked the door closed behind him as he carried her to the bed. His motions were smooth and sure, confident. A man with a purpose, she thought with a smile.

His room was dark, but pale moonlight softly lit the room, giving shape to the shadows. There was a masculine scent here, leather and denim and musk. The night heightened her awareness, and she heard the sound of his breathing, smelled the passion in the air. His hands skimmed over her hips, then her waist as he eased her body down his until her feet touched the floor.

Her eyelids felt heavy as she lifted her gaze to his. He stared down at her with an intensity that made her shiver.

His eyes never left hers as he reached up and gently tugged the remaining pins from her hair. They bounced on the floor with tinny echoes. Her hair spilled over her shoulders.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered.

She looked away, an involuntary reaction, but he cupped her face in his hands and brought her gaze back. “You have to believe that,” he said, his fingers tightening almost painfully. “If nothing else, you must believe that.”

She covered his hands with her own, and the rough texture sent ripples of pleasure through her. What did a woman say when a man told her with such fervency that she was beautiful? She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She felt him hesitate, then his arms closed fiercely around her, and he kissed her with a recklessness that left her reeling.

She felt so small in his arms, he thought through the mist of desire. So delicate. The sound of his name on her lips empowered him. Her hands moving over his body left him weak. He found the pearl clasp at the back of her dress and opened it, then tugged the zipper down. The dress fell away, then pooled at her feet.

Dylan's breath caught. Nothing could have prepared him for the exquisite sight of her. One wisp of black lace covered her full breasts, another bridged her hips. His heart slammed in his chest. “Jessica,” he whispered hoarsely, then swallowed hard.

She should have been embarrassed. Never had she stood so brazenly before any man. But it felt so right, so natural, that she could only revel in the exhilaration of his response. She leaned toward him, pressing her lips to his chest as she unbuttoned, then tugged his shirt from his pants and off his shoulders. She tasted the salt on his skin, felt the tickle of his chest hair against her cheek. His heart beat at the same erratic pace as her own, and as her hands moved lower, his sharp intake of air mixed with the rasp of a zipper.

His mouth rushed to hers with bruising force. She welcomed him, and his tongue swirled with hers over and over again. He lowered his head, then found her breast with his mouth as he cupped the soft mounds in his hands. She gasped, arching her back when he unsnapped the front clasp of her bra and drew the hardened peak of one nipple into the moist heat of his mouth.

Fire raced over her skin. An urgency built in her, almost a desperation. “Dylan, please...”

He seemed to ignore her, and the desperation grew to a wild writhing need. His hand moved lower and slipped under the thin strip of lace at her hips. He slid a finger slowly into the heat of her body. She trembled at the ecstasy knotting inside her.

Her knees gave way and she sank onto the bed. He followed, moving over her, his mouth on her breast, his hand stroking her most intimate spot. She bit her bottom lip and moved her head from side to side, digging her nails into his shoulders and back. “Dylan,” she whimpered, “I need you. Now.”

He stood and slid his own pants and briefs down in one swift movement, then fumbled in the nightstand drawer. She understood why, but the wait was unbearable until he joined her again.

The night closed around them as he lowered himself over her; their bodies were no more than silhouettes in the darkness. A man, a woman. Hard against soft. Rough against smooth. The textures of their bodies contrasted sharply, sensuously.

He knelt over her and spread her legs, entering her slowly, his hands kneading her thighs as he murmured her name. She thought she might cry from the intense pleasure consuming her. He eased himself deeper, and she buried her hands in the pillow under her head, arching her back to accept him more fully.

He moved then, and the heat spiraled through her, tightening and twisting her insides. He groaned and the sound was primitive, exciting. She clutched at the pillow, turning her face to muffle the cry that suddenly burst from her. She shuddered uncontrollably, again and again, his name on her lips. He followed her with equal force, his body convulsing as the powerful release overtook him.

* * *

It was a long while before either one of them moved. Their ragged breathing filled the night, and somewhere far in the distance a lonely coyote howled at the moon. Dylan slowly shifted his weight, rising on his elbows, but she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him back.

“I'm going to break you,” he said hoarsely.

“I don't break that easily, Dylan,” she murmured. “I think we both just proved that.”

He didn't know what to say. He'd lost complete control and taken her like a crazed man. He
was
crazed. Her hands on his skin, her lips so eager and warm on his, had driven him over the edge. He couldn't have stopped, wouldn't have stopped, if a bulldozer had driven through the room.

He could barely make out her face in the darkness, but he saw a faint smile and heard her sigh. He ran his fingertips along her cheek, her neck, her lips. Soft. She was so soft.

Just when he thought he might bring himself back to reality, her fingers moved lazily over his arms, then down his back. Reality could wait, he thought dimly, pressing his mouth to hers and kissing her deeply. It wasn't going anywhere, he knew that, and there was nothing more imperative at this moment than the woman in his arms.