Brash (18 page)

“A life in River Black,” he said.

She nodded. “But I don't expect that from you. I know you. I understand you.” Her voice cracked
with emotion. “Please, just stop talking now,” she implored him, tears threatening, her body on fire. “Unless it's to tell me how deep inside me you plan to go.”

His eyes glittered with sudden fire. “Till you can't breathe, Doc.”

Oh God. She stared at him, naked, wet, impossibly sexy. She wanted to get down on her knees and make him come again. She wanted to drink him down, then lick her lips and say,
Ahhhhh
 . . . But he had other plans. Always had other plans. He took her in his arms, his mouth capturing hers possessively. Heat overtook her senses, both inside and out, and she reveled in his little bites on her lips, his tongue thrusting deep, his possessive kisses.

His body was flush with hers and she felt every hard plane against her soft skin. Felt his cock grow thick between them as his hands raked down her back to cup her ass. God, she was desperate to have him inside her. She squirmed as he kissed her, wrapped her arms around his neck, spread her legs—urging him to take her. But he just laughed and gave her backside a slap.

She groaned. The sting was delicious.

Before she could ask for another, he tore his mouth from hers and dropped to his knees. Just as she'd wanted to do to him. Without any preamble, he spread her lips wide and licked her. Glorious, tantalizing heat enveloped her, and she reached
for something, anything to steady herself. As his tongue played with her clit, flicking the tight hot bud, one hand found his head while the other pressed flat against the travertine tile.

Slowly, he eased a finger inside her. She gasped at the sweet invasion and pressed her hips forward. Cole groaned with appreciation, then wrapped his lips around her clit and started to suck gently.

Her body quickened, sending shards of explosive heat through her blood. She was going to come. Her legs were going to give out.

Seconds before she was about to explode, Cole pulled away from her. He grabbed her by the ass, lifted her up with him, and placed her down on his shaft. For a moment, all she could think was how full she felt. How deliciously, impossibly, wonderfully full. So full she could barely breathe. He'd been right.

“This is the fourth
F
, Gracie.”

She stared at him, panting and glassy eyed.

“I couldn't stand it when I thought you weren't coming tonight,” he uttered through gritted teeth as he started to move inside her. Slow, deep thrusts. “Tell me I didn't royally screw us up.”

“No.” She breathed. “It was nothing. It's over.”

“I want you, Grace.” His eyes were intense as he spoke, his nostrils flared. “I want a real life and a real home.”

“Oh, Cole—” She breathed, her mind flashing
in and out. She tried to focus. But what he was doing to her . . . Every nerve ending in her body was poised for release.

“Be mine, Grace. Let me move into that house of yours.” He grinned all of a sudden, took her back against the cool tile, and gave her three deep thrusts.

Grace gasped. Both in surprise and wonder. It wasn't what she'd expected. It was what she'd prayed for. It was a dream.

“You know I belong there,” he growled. “With you and Belle and the rain.”

She was nearly there. Her body wasn't hers anymore. It belonged to this man inside her. He owned her now.

“I love you, Grace,” he said, battering her with thrust after thrust after thrust until she broke apart under him.

“I love you too,” she cried. “So much. Oh, Cole.” She came so hard she saw stars against the backs of her eyes. Bucking and moaning, so much emotion bubbling up inside her, she continued to take what he gave until he pulled out of her and came against her belly. Then she sagged against him, clung to him, her head falling to his shoulder.

After moments, minutes . . . hours, she felt him move. Take her with him. She hardly heard him turn off the water, barely registered that he was carrying her out of the shower, drying her off, and bringing her to his bed.

“You okay, darling?” he asked her, laying her down on the cool sheets.

She looked up at him and smiled. He was standing over her, all hard angles and harder muscles . . . like the one already starting to thicken again. Clearly, this man didn't tire.

“Good girl,” he said, pulling open the drawer beside his bed and taking out a handful of condoms. “Because this is just the beginning.”

A thrill moved through her. “Of what?”

He climbed onto the bed like a hungry panther, his black eyes glittering with promise. “An epic fuckfest.”

And with that, he slipped on a condom, pressed her knees back to her shoulders, and sank inside her once again.

“Can we call you Champ now?” James asked, aiming for the Diet Coke can that sat right in the middle of the row.

Holding his BB gun at his side, Cole eyed his brother. “No—”

“He's the Cobra,” Grace jumped in, her green eyes sparkling with happiness. A happiness Cole shared, and never believed he could have. “My cobra,” she added, giving him a wink, then promptly raised her gun and hit both the Diet Coke can and the Sprite beside it.

“Damn,” James remarked.

“Okay,” Mac said on a laugh as she sipped her glass of lemonade from a table beside Cory Craft's lake. “You guys had a good night.”

“I'll say,” Sheridan put in. She was sitting on the ground petting Belle, who was on her back groaning with ecstasy. “That was some fight. I love MMA.”

“You know that's not what I mean, right?” Mac asked her.

“Of course,” Sheridan acknowledged. “Just trying to keep things clean. But seriously, we need to go again.” She gave Mac a salute with her beer. “Girls' night at the fight.”

“You made us proud, little brother,” Deacon said, dropping an arm around his wife and picking up a chicken leg. “Cass would've been proud too.”

Cole met his brother's gaze and nodded. For the first time since he'd started fighting, he believed that. Maybe he'd begun the whole battle to stave off his guilt and punish a perpetrator he believed would never be caught. But last night hadn't been about hate and guilt. He turned to Grace, his sharpshooter, his friend, his lover, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Last night had been about desire and skill, and love.

Still irritated from having his can shot out from under him, James muttered, “So you two a thing now or what?”

Sheridan gave him a look. “Private business, right, baby?”

He leaned in and gave her a kiss. “There's no privacy with us Cavanaugh brothers.”

“That's unfortunately true,” Mac agreed.

Deacon looked nonplussed. “I don't talk about us.” He hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Except to say how beautiful you are and how you
make my heart—not to mention other areas of my body—heat up like a Dallas sidewalk in July.”

“No, that's not oversharing at all,” Mac returned with a laugh. Which was quickly supressed by the hungry kiss Deacon planted on her lips.

“We're a thing,” Grace announced, raising her gun. “I'm not afraid to say it. Shout it to the world. Or any wildlife that may be roaming around these parts.”

“Like the tomcat,” Cole said. “I'm going to catch him for you. Both your strays need a home.”

A huge grin spread on Grace's face and she raised her voice and called out, “I'm totally into him.”

Cole laughed. “We're more than a thing, Doc. Come on now. We're committed.”

Both Deacon and James were paying attention to him now.

“I'm sorry. What?” James said.

“Oh yeah,” Cole said, eyeing his sharpshooter. “I'm locking her down before she changes her mind and runs back to the Rev.”

Grace giggled, then turned her attention to the five remaining cans on the ledge. The same ledge both she and Cole had come to, at different times of their lives. But had come back here together.

“I was never with the Rev,” she said, then punctuated the statement with three shots.

“Nice,” Cole said with a whistle. “And you went on dates with the guy. So . . . you know, technically you were with him,” he countered.

“A handful of dates,” she corrected.

“He kiss you?”

“I'm not answering that.”

“Maybe that's best,” he muttered, lining up his shot, then taking out the last two cans. “Knocking out a man of the cloth is a sure way to win a one-way ticket to hell.”

“I think
man of the cloth
is a Catholic term,” Sheridan said, scratching Belle behind the ears.

Everyone laughed. But no one more than Cole and Grace.

“You gonna travel with him, Doc?” Deacon asked before biting into his chicken leg. “Go to all the fights? Front-row seat? Carry the first aid kit?”

“When I can, of course,” she said. “Wearing my silver.”

“How'd you know about that, by the way?”

“Matty,” she told him with a grin. “When I called to make sure I could get in, he told me your color.”

Cole nodded. “Sounds like Matty. Interfering bastard. 'Course, you look real pretty in silver, honey.”

“Thank you.”

“And for the record,” he said, turning to face the table where everyone was now sitting and digging in to the feast that Elena had packed, “I'll only be fighting a couple times a year.”

The confused expressions came pretty quick.

“Couple times a year?” Deacon repeated.

“That's a light schedule,” James remarked. “You usually schedule in one fight a month.”

Cole glanced at his girl. She was picking up the cans and placing them back on the ledge. When she looked up at him, he gave her a broad smile. “I'm slowing down,” he said. “Need to keep myself here for my woman and my gym.”

Everyone fell silent this time. Drinks and chicken legs and watermelon slices were held aloft in suspense.

“What?” James exclaimed. “Gym? What the hell?”

Cole grinned as Grace came walking up to him.

“Gym?” she asked. She shook her head.

“Honey, I don't have a promise ring for you just yet, but I'm hoping you accept this one.” He shrugged lightly, his eyes dancing with shocking happiness. “For now.” He pulled out a key ring with twin keys on it.

Her eyes lifted to his. “What is this?”

“I bought the old firehouse. I'm turning it into a world-class boxing gym.”

Her eyes widened and filled with tears. She threw herself into his arms and hugged him so tight he nearly laughed.

“That firehouse is two blocks from my clinic,” she exclaimed.

“Oh, I know. That was one of the key selling points.”

When she pulled back to look at him, there was
such love, such promise in her eyes it nearly knocked him out.

“You think Belle would be a good gym dog?” he asked.

Grace looked past him, at the long-eared creature who was no doubt snoring herself into oblivion at Sheridan's feet, and said, “I do.”

Cole leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Someday you're going to say those two words for a very different reason.”

“Oh, Cole,” she whispered. She clung to him, and for a moment no one else existed.

“This sucks,” Mac exclaimed, bringing everyone's head around, including Cole's and Grace's.

“What's wrong, darlin'?” Deacon asked her.

“Blue should be here,” she said softly. “He's part of this family.”

“Call him up,” Deacon suggested, handing her his cell phone. “Ask him to come over. I'll bet he knows all about the Crafts' BB gun range.”

James laughed at that.

Mac sighed. “He's not answering my calls.”

“He'll come around, Mac,” Deacon said, hugging his wife tight. “You'll see.”

James did the same with Sheridan, pulling her close. And when Grace settled into his side with a contented sigh, Cole saw his future as bright and promising and full of moments just like this one. He was in love with the woman who had healed his brash and oh-so-battered heart.

*   *   *

The sun was a wicked ball of fire in the sky as Blue made his way to the door of Natalie Palmer's duplex. He knew she was home. He'd found out a few things about her, both past and present, since the bomb had detonated the other night.

He knocked on the door. Twice. He wasn't angry, wasn't out for revenge. In fact, he felt oddly cold. As if he could handle anything that came his way. Maybe that meant he was becoming ruthless. His lips twitched. A true Cavanaugh.

Welcome to the family, son
.

The door opened gingerly and Natalie Palmer peeked out.

“Hi there,” he said.

If he'd had any question or reservations regarding her guilt, it evaporated when he saw the look of utter panic flash in her eyes.

People were a bitch.

She recovered quickly. Swallowing hard and forcing a smile. “You're Blue Perez, right?”

“It's Cavanaugh now.”

“Oh, yes. I think I heard about that.” She glanced past him, checking for something. His car? People walking by? “You lost your father a short time ago?”

He nodded. “You too.”

The fake smile receded. “Yeah.”

He nodded, inhaled sharply, leaned against the door frame. “I'm real sorry about that, Cowgirl.”

Her dark eyes flared wide and her skin turned a
sickly white. For months he'd been pouring out his soul, his heart, his guts to a woman he'd thought was falling in love with him. And after he'd found out about his mom and Everett, he'd gone to her. He'd trusted her. Only her.

“Can I come in?” he asked evenly.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Just to talk. I think it's better that you and I talk instead of me and the sheriff.” His brow lifted. “Don't you think?”

Her jaw tightened, twisted, and she stepped back. “Come on in.”

Her house was very clean, very neat. Two bedrooms, a bath, and a large kitchen, which she ushered him into the minute he stepped across the threshold.

She motioned for him to sit down on one of the vintage red chairs. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“Please,” he said. “Call me Cowboy.”

She was prepared for it now. There was no shock or panic. “Why would I do that?”

“Did you know who I was the whole time?” he asked. “Or did you find out partway through?”

“No idea what you're talking about.”

“Did you actually like me or was it some kind of prank?”

Her eyes flashed at that. “I have work to do.”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Not until we get to the truth. Not until you tell me why you
pretended to be . . .” Shit, he couldn't say it.
In love with my sorry, gullible ass.

The phone rang in the other room.

“You gonna get that?” he asked, brow lifted.

“Don't have to.”

“Please. I got nowhere to be.”

She threw him a caustic look, then fled the room. Blue stared after her, amazed at how he was taken in so easily. He sat down at the table. Cookbooks were strewn everywhere. Mostly baking. Some fine cake decorating. He opened one, then another. She'd never said a thing about cooking or baking when they'd texted. Not a goddamn thing. Why the hell had she played him? What did she have to gain—

His thoughts stuttered, because inside the third cookbook, a massive tome, tucked into the meringue section, was a smaller book. A diary. He stared at it. He glanced up. He could hear her talking in the next room. His heart started pounding in his chest as he opened to the last page.