Dylan (27 page)

He eased her down on the bed and got up, grumbling, “I should have done this part first, damn it.”

She was smiling up at him as he toed off first one boot and then the other.

“But then I'd have missed watching you undress.”

He bent over to remove his socks and she sighed. “You have the best ass.”

His snort of disbelief escaped before he could work to hold it in. “Now there's where you're wrong,” he said climbing onto the foot of the bed. “You, on the other hand,” he murmured, flipping her over onto her stomach, “have a magnificent ass.”

“What are you going to do now?”

His laughter was just this side of wicked. “Why, darlin', I thought you trusted me.”

She mumbled something into the pillow.

“I didn't hear you. What was that?” he asked, pressing his lips to the curve of her ankle before sliding his tongue along the line of her calf muscle.

“Oh, God.”

Encouraged, he tested the uncharted territory, the virgin skin on the back of her knee, with his lips and tongue.

She was squirming in earnest now. “Dylan, please don't make me beg.”

“Hold on, darlin',” he urged. “I'm not finished yet.”

She bucked beneath him when his tongue touched the dip at the back of her right knee. Lord, his filly was sensitive there. “Tell me you hate it and I'll stop.” He pressed a kiss in the dip and heard her moan, but she didn't ask him to stop.

Good thing, because he was so tense, he'd have imploded if she asked him to stop before he had a chance to test the firm white skin on her amazing backside. He set his teeth on her and she growled at him. “You do not fight fair.”

“Ronnie, darlin', if you think this is fighting, I must not be doing it right.”

He couldn't decide if her snort was one of derision or temper. Fillies have been known to snort when the temper was on them.

“If you don't turn me over right now, there is definitely going to be a fight.”

His good mood was slipping away from him. He flipped her over and ground out, “I'm trying to show you my tender side, damn it.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his lips down to meet hers. “I appreciate the sentiment, darlin', but you left something turned on at home.”

He didn't register what she was talking about until she brushed her heated core against his erection. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the woman was burning with need.

“Again?” he teased, before kissing her with everything he felt, showing her with lips, tongue, and a nip of his teeth for good measure.

“I need you now,” she demanded, sliding her hands down to grip his muscled backside.

“Let me protect you.” He eased back, found the condom he'd left in his bedside drawer, smoothed it on, and covered her from head to toe with his body.

“Now, darlin',” he drawled. “Where was I?”

She lifted her hips and he slipped into her with a swiftness that stole her breath. “Here?”

She tried to answer him, but he didn't give her the chance. He wanted her to remember that he could be gentle; he could cherish her, damn it. Then her hips rocked up against his and every last thought was sucked out of his head, in a vortex of desire so strong it took them both under and whipped them up over the peak into madness.

Her finger poking him in the shoulder had him reluctantly moving, but he braced himself on his arms and looked down into her siren-green eyes.

“Tender nearly killed me.”

He crushed her to him and rolled onto his back chuckling. “God, I love you, Ronnie.”

She tried to smack him, but he rolled back until she was beneath him again. “I thought that's what you wanted to hear.”

Her green eyes flashed with temper. “So you just said it because you thought—”

He shut her up by kissing her. “I've never said I love you to another female—except my mom—and that was a long, long time ago.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling… and he knew that was a good thing.

“I love you back,” she rasped.

“Let me hold you, darlin'.”

She sighed, snuggled close, and drifted off to sleep.

“I've got to go, darlin'.”

Ronnie opened one eye and groaned. “What time is it?”

“Four thirty. I'm working a second job, so my brothers let me sleep in.”

She brushed a lock of hair off her face and opened the other eye. It was work; even her eyelids were tired. Looking up at him, she realized there was just something about a man with rough edges and a little wear on him that appealed to her—on all levels.

“Morning,” Dylan rumbled, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The sweetness of his kiss seeped into her bones and wrapped itself around her heart, smashing what was left of the wall she'd built to protect it. “Good morning,” she whispered.

“I brought you a cup of coffee.”

She smiled and reached for the cup. Blowing across the surface she took a sip and started choking.

He was grinning when he said, “Jesse got up first and made the coffee.”

“Is that what this is?” She'd never tasted anything quite like it. “Did he add a strip of leather from the bottom of his boot to the grinder this morning?”

“Beggars can't be choosers.” He nodded toward the cup. “If you want better coffee, you can wait for Emily to get up or make it yourself.”

“If you get a coffeemaker with a timer, Emily could set the pot up at night to go off at whatever unearthly time you guys start your day.”

“It was a revelation to us when Tyler came home with that drip coffeemaker. We'd always made coffee like you do… Grandpa wouldn't drink it otherwise.”

“I couldn't picture Emily out here until I saw the way she fits in.”

Dylan grinned as she dared another sip. She grimaced and he chuckled. “Emily's as close to sainthood as a woman can get… she's Tyler's saving grace.”

She almost blurted out that Dylan's was hers, but she caught herself in time. He hadn't repeated the words she still held close to her heart, but she wouldn't forget that he had said them. Knowing he was not long on words, the importance of the fact that he told her loved her was not lost on her.

“Tell you what,” she said slipping out of his bed. “I'll make you coffee and breakfast.”

He shook his head. “I'll take you up on the coffee, but I already ate. The stock doesn't sleep in.”

“OK,” she said. “Will you wait for the coffee?”

He let his finger slide along her collarbone, stopping in the hollow at the base of her throat. She shivered and he pressed his lips where his finger had been. “I'll put the horses in the front pasture and feed and water them, and come back for coffee.”

She imagined she could brew a pot of excellent coffee and whip up a batch of corn bread while he worked. “You bet.” She walked into his arms and hugged him tight. When he loosened his hold, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. She knew when to tempt and when to hold back.

He laid his cheek on her head and inhaled; he let the breath out slowly as if savoring it. “Why do you always smell good enough to eat?”

She laughed. “I have no idea, but if you really want a great cup of coffee, you won't give me any ideas about distracting you from taking care of Wildfire and the gang.”

He pushed her gently back and laid his hands on her shoulders. “There's a lot about me that you don't know.”

She nodded. “You could say the same about me, but we have time… don't we?”

Dylan bent his head and gave her a swift but devastating kiss. “As long as it takes.”

Before she could ask him to explain, he spun on his boot heel and was gone.

“Time's a wastin',” she mimicked his Texas drawl and opened up her tote bag, pulling out jeans and a T-shirt. No point in spending the extra time to put on underwear; she was going to hit the shower right after she was finished in the kitchen.

Amazed at just how dark it was at this hour, she was careful not to make too much noise as she walked by the only closed door in the hallway. Making her way downstairs, she noticed that it might still be dark, but it wasn't quiet. The cheerful sound of birds chirping floated in on the early morning breeze.

Washing her hands in the sink, she noticed a feeder hanging from a hook just outside the window. She'd have to make a point to look later when the sun came up.

The coffee was dripping into the pot by the time she was scooping corn bread into a glass baking dish. Sliding it into the oven, she gauged her time and hoped it would be ready before Dylan headed out to do whatever chore he had to tackle next.

The room was noticeably lighter by the time he walked in the back door. “Hello, darlin'.”

She handed him a mug and nodded to the stovetop. “There's hot corn bread if you want a slice.”

His gaze locked with hers. “I love corn bread.”

She grinned up at him. “Mmmm… I know.”

He set his mug on the countertop and wrapped her in his arms. “Have I told you how much it means to me to see you here at the Circle G?”

He had, but she hadn't a clue why. “Yeah, but why—”

He tilted her head back and pressed his lips to the tip of her nose. “Garahans have owned the Circle G for over one hundred and fifty years. We've fought Indians, drought, and survived more than one range war. We're a part of this land: worked it, lived on it, and are buried in it.”

“I thought that was just a figure of speech.”

“No, ma'am. I can show you the graves later.” He kissed her forehead and hugged her tight. “It's sharing what's part of me with you, and seeing the way you just fit in here, that warms my heart and feeds my soul.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't bother to blink them away. She needed Dylan to know how much his words meant to her. “There's this feeling I get being here, even when you're not in the room, it's like I'm where I belong… I'm home.”

He captured her lips in a soul-searing kiss. When he drew back from her and leaned her against the counter, he was grinning. “No, don't distract me, woman. I need a hunk of that corn bread and have to get on to the next chore on my list or I'll never have the chance to drive out to your place later today and finish up priming the drywall or putting up the shelves.”

She placed a hand to her lips and sighed. “I guess I'll hang around, unless I can borrow your truck.”

He bit off a piece of corn bread and groaned. “Almost as good as my grandma's.”

She paused with her cup partway to her mouth. “Excuse me?”

He chewed and swallowed. “Darlin', ain't nobody who can top my grandma's corn bread, but this is so close it's almost heaven.”

“Hmmpf.” Mollified, she waved at him to get him to move away from the counter. “I need to put plastic wrap on it, or it'll be hard by the time you come in for lunch.”

“Hang on a sec.” Dylan cut out a huge chunk, pulled off two sheets of paper towel, wrapped it up and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks. This'll hold me until lunch.”

He stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. “You plannin' on takin' my truck again?”

She smiled. “Well, that all depends.”

Dylan waited. Finally, she shook her head. “I'll be here for a while. We're having lasagna, roasted garlic with Italian bread, and a nice salad.”

His eyes glittered. “With the same sauce you made the other day?”

“Maybe, but not if you don't give me some space so I can start cooking. That sauce has to simmer for a couple of hours.”

“Can you make a double batch?”

“For you, darlin',” she drawled, “anything.”

His eyes darkened as he drew in a ragged breath. “Don't be temptin' me when I've got to concentrate on my chores.”

Her lips twitched, but she fought the urge to smile. “See you later.”

He nodded. “If you want to practice barrel riding later, we've got a couple of real good cutting horses.”

He was on the back porch when she called out, “Can I ride Wildfire?”

“He doesn't take to other riders.”

“But what if he does?”

“I'll be riding him out by the North pasture after lunch, but you can pick any one of the other horses.”

“Thanks. Maybe I'll wander on over to the corral after I'm finished in here and see who wants to let me ride them.”

“Now you're talking like a woman who's been living on a ranch all her life.”

She was still smiling when she heard the sound of hoofbeats as he and Wildfire rode off. Looking around the kitchen she sighed. “This is about as far as I could get from suburban living in Jersey.”

Wiping down the countertops, she started gathering what she'd need to create Nonni's red sauce. The familiar scent of garlic and onions sautéing in olive oil soothed her. By the time she had the sauce simmering on the back burner, she checked the clock. “Just enough time to grab a quick shower before those wild-eyed Texas boys invade my kitchen—”

She had to hang on to the back of a chair to steady herself. “It's not my kitchen.”

The thought that it could be had a feeling of déjà vu washing over her.

“OK, let's not go crazy here. I'm in a relationship with a volatile, scrumptious cowboy, who busted down the walls I built around my heart after my ex stomped all over it. That doesn't mean it's time to break out the orange blossoms, white lace, and rice.”

Unless
you
love
him.
Her brain was working overtime as her head listened to what her heart had been trying to tell her. “I really do love him.” Drawing in one deep cleansing breath and then another centered her. She let go of the chair and walked upstairs to take a hot shower.

Her cell phone was ringing when she walked into the bedroom. Keeping her towel from slipping with one hand, she answered it.

“I was just about to leave you a message.”

“Sorry, I just got out of the shower.”

“Really?” Mavis asked. “Do tell.”

Ronnie laughed. “What's up?”

“Are you free this afternoon?”

Ronnie smiled. “I could be. What do you need?”

“I've called a few friends and they can't wait for the lingerie party. Can you meet me at the Lucky Star?”

“I was going to spend part of this afternoon practicing my barrel riding. It's been a while.”

“Maybe you could squeeze in two hours in town,” Mavis suggested. “Say from two o'clock until four?”

Ronnie thought about it. The potential for more sales and new customers outweighed the need to practice what she knew would come back in a heartbeat. Barrel riding was a lot like riding a bike—you never forgot how, and if the horse was as good as Dylan said he was, it would be a lot easier. Barrel riding was a combined effort: your talent and skill added to your horse's.

“I'll let Dylan know I'll be at the Lucky Star for a while this afternoon. See you later.”

As she hung up, she realized that her box of lace-covered confections and perfumes was at her shop in town. “Damn. I've got to go through it and see what I have and what I can download from my website to use as flyers in case anyone wants to place an order.”

After she got dressed, she went to check on her red sauce. The spicy aroma wafted toward her as she walked into the kitchen, welcoming her. “Let's see if it tastes as good as it smells.”

Dipping the spoon in the sauce, she touched the tip of her tongue to it—perfect temperature—and tasted it. “Hmmm… needs a dash more salt.” After sprinkling some in the pot, she stirred and then tested the sauce again. “Mmmm… perfect.”

Ronnie was adding the top layer to the lasagna when Tyler walked into the kitchen.

“Smells amazing in here.”

She ladled sauce on the noodles then added a few handfuls of shredded mozzarella. “Tastes better.”

He nodded. “Any chance of getting that for lunch?”

Jesse walked in with Dylan, distracting Ronnie from answering. Her gaze sought Dylan's. When he looked over at her, her insides got all gooey. The man definitely had a hold on her.

“Is that lunch?” he asked, pointing to the baking dish she lifted from the countertop.

“Dinner,” she said covering it with foil and placing it in the fridge. “I wanted to make sub sandwiches, but you don't have the right kind of rolls, so I made Dagwood sandwiches instead to go with the potato salad… I made both kinds.”

“What's a sub sandwich?” Tyler asked.

She closed the fridge and looked over her shoulder at him. “You're kidding, right?” He shook his head and started to reach for a sandwich. “Did you wash up?”

They all nodded. “At the pump outside,” Dylan answered for his brothers. “So what's a sub aside from what the Navy uses underwater?”

She laughed. “Who would have thought the food would be so different out here? It's a specialty back home in Jersey. You take a nice Italian roll, half the size of a regular loaf of bread, and layer it with salami, ham, cappicola, provolone, tomato, lettuce, onion, spices, and vinegar and oil.”

“Sounds good,” Tyler admitted.

“It goes great with a frosty glass of cola—”

“Or a longneck?” Jesse asked.

She nodded. “That too.”

“So why are we getting cartoon sandwiches?” Dylan asked.

She grinned up at him. “So you know what a Dagwood is?”

“Our grandfather was a
Blondie
fan.” He added, “He used to have one of us read from the funnies while he made us all Dagwood sandwiches. We still get a kick out of reading it in Sunday's funnies.”

“My Nonni loves that comic strip.” She smiled and said, “When I get back from town, I'll hopefully have the makings for subs for you guys.”

“You're going to town?”

She nodded. “Mavis called. The ladies have arranged a get together with some of their friends over at the Lucky Star around two.”

“Girl stuff?” Dylan asked.