Chapter 37
thirty-seven
The fall air bit at Naomi’s cheeks as she stood on the porch of Ghost’s cabin, arms wrapped around herself, watching the sunrise paint the mountains in shades of amber and deep purple.
Three days had passed since her meeting with Marshal Brandt at the sheriff’s office, three days of planning and prowling the perimeter of Valor Ridge like a caged animal.
She couldn’t hide here forever.
Not if she wanted answers.
Not if she wanted justice for Mary Rose, for Leelee, for Angel and Tariah and all the forgotten girls whose faces haunted her dreams.
“I need to go to the festival today,” she said when she heard Owen’s soft footsteps behind her. She didn’t turn, just kept her eyes on the darkening horizon. “My grandmother’s expecting my help at her booth.”
She felt more than saw his stillness, the way he froze mid-step at her words. “The fall festival? In town?”
“It’s the perfect opportunity.” She turned then, meeting his guarded gray eyes. “If I want people to talk to me about what’s happening in Solace, I can’t be the woman hiding out at Valor Ridge. I need to be visible, part of the community.” She paused, watching his jaw tighten. “Brandt agrees.”
“Of course he does,” Owen muttered. “He’s not the one responsible for keeping you safe.”
Naomi stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him in the cool evening air. “I didn’t ask you to be responsible for my safety.”
“You didn’t have to.” His voice dropped lower, rougher as he stepped into her space, drawing her back against his chest. His hands skimmed down her arms to settle on her hips, and he dipped his head to brush his lips at the hollow of her throat.
“Every time you leave this ranch, you’re in danger.
These people have already shown they’re willing to take you.
To hurt you.” He tugged gently at her neck.
“I promised I’d be there if you needed me. ”
“So come with me,” she said simply and turned to face him. “Shadow me all you want at the festival. But I’m going, Owen. I need to do this.”
He held her gaze for a long, tense moment, and she could almost see the calculations running behind those storm-gray eyes—threat assessments, escape routes, worst-case scenarios.
Owen’s mind never stopped working, never stopped planning for disaster.
She captured his jaw between her hands and stood on her toes to kiss him.
He resisted for a heartbeat before relaxing under her hands and taking the kiss deeper.
Her body sparked to life, dampness flooding between her thighs. She knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to distract her. She allowed herself to indulge in the kiss, but when he tugged at the hem of her shirt, she planted her hands on his chest.
“Owen.”
His eyes, dark with desire, met hers.
“I need to do this,” she said again.
He sighed and let her go. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But we do it my way. No splitting up, no wandering off alone, no lingering in isolated areas.”
“Yes, sir,” she said and saluted him.
He scowled, but she didn’t miss the twitch of his erection in his pants. “Keep sassing me, Fury. See what happens.”
Heat flashed through her. “Promises, promises.”
He closed the distance between them in one fluid step. His hand tangled in her hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt her face up to his. The kiss wasn’t gentle this time—it was possession, demand, raw need poured into the press of his lips against hers.
She gasped, and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as his free hand slid beneath her shirt to palm her breast. His thumb brushed over her nipple, and it hardened instantly against the rough pad of his finger.
“Owen,” she breathed against his mouth, but he was already walking her backward until her spine met the cabin wall. The rough wood caught at her shirt as he pressed against her, the hard length of him evident through his jeans.
“Still sassing me?” he murmured, his lips trailing down her throat to the spot that made her knees weak. His teeth grazed her skin, and she shuddered.
“We’re outside,” she managed, even as her body arched into his touch. “Anyone could—”
“See?” he finished, his hand already working at the button of her jeans. “Good. Then they’ll know exactly who you belong to.”
The possessiveness in his voice should have annoyed her. Instead, it sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs. He slid his hand into her underwear, his fingers finding her already slick and ready.
“Christ, Fury,” he groaned against her neck. “You’re soaked.”
“Your fault,” she gasped as his fingers circled her clit with maddening precision. Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.
“Mine,” he agreed, his voice rough with need. “All mine.”
He withdrew his hand, and she nearly whimpered at the loss of contact.
But he was already turning her to face the wall, his body a solid wall of heat at her back.
She heard the rasp of his zipper, felt his hands tugging her jeans and underwear down just far enough to expose her to the cool morning air.
“Hands on the wall,” he commanded, and she obeyed, splaying her palms against the weathered wood. Her breath came in short pants, anticipation coiling tight in her belly as she heard the rip of a condom package.
His fingers returned to her center, testing, teasing, making sure she was ready. Then the blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and she pushed back, taking him in one slow, delicious slide.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
Naomi bit her lip to keep from crying out as he began to move, each thrust driving deeper than the last. The angle was perfect, hitting spots inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.
One of his hands slid around to find her clit again, circling in tight, knowing strokes that had her climbing toward release with embarrassing speed.
“That’s it,” he murmured in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Let go for me.”
The dual sensations—his cock filling her, his fingers working her clit—were too much. She came with a strangled cry, her inner walls clenching around him as pleasure crashed through her in waves.
He didn’t slow, didn’t stop, driving into her with controlled power as she shuddered through the aftershocks. His rhythm faltered only when she deliberately tightened around him, and he cursed under his breath.
“Not yet,” he growled, his hand leaving her hip to tangle in her hair again, tugging her head back so he could see her face. “I want to watch you come again.”
His fingers resumed their relentless circles on her oversensitive clit, and impossibly, she felt herself building toward another peak.
This time, when she came, she couldn’t hold back the cry that tore from her throat.
Owen followed her over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips jerking against hers as he emptied himself inside her.
For a long moment, they stood there, joined, panting, the cool mountain air raising goosebumps on their heated skin. Owen pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to the nape of her neck before withdrawing and helping her right her clothing.
When she turned to face him, his eyes were still dark with satisfaction, a possessive gleam in their gray depths that made her heart skip. She knew what he was thinking—that she’d be too boneless with pleasure to insist on going to the festival now.
Naomi grinned up at him, adjusting her shirt and smoothing her hair. “That was amazing,” she said, pressing a kiss to the underside of his stubbled jaw. “And we’re still going to the festival.”
Owen’s face fell, and he let out a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, tucking himself back into his jeans.
“But you love it,” she countered, enjoying the way his eyes flashed at the word neither of them had spoken aloud yet.
“I’d love it more if you’d stay safely on this ranch,” he grumbled, but she could tell he’d accepted defeat. He glanced at his watch. “If we’re doing this, we should get moving. I want to be there when it opens, scope the area before it gets too crowded.”
She nodded, trying not to smile at his tactical approach to a small-town festival. “I’ll grab my bag.”
As she headed inside, she heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “stubborn woman” under his breath. She didn’t bother hiding her smile this time. He wasn’t wrong.