27
I tuck Conor into bed after she falls asleep in my arms on the back porch. Head on the pillow, she blinks up at me, all soft and sleepy-eyed, and I fall in love for the millionth time.
“I’m going to check on Jarret.” I kiss the cushion of her lips.
“’kay.” She turns on her side and closes her eyes. “Love you.”
“You, too.”
She’s so insanely beautiful I’m held captive in her presence, standing over her, drinking her in, and watching her sleep like an obsessed creeper.
There’s no question I’m obsessed. Unapologetically so.
I kiss her again and force my boots out of the room and through the house.
Jarret’s not in his bedroom or office. Maybe he went out? He didn’t seem to be in the mood for a hook up. Something’s on his mind, and I’m too nosy to let it go.
When I step onto the front porch, I spot an unfamiliar sedan parked next to his truck in the lot. Neither of us have ever brought a fling to the ranch. Our home is our sanctuary, and we trust no one outside of our childhood circle.
I head around the side of the estate and scan the dark pasture.
Across the field, the interior lights of the stable glow through the open doorway. He’s in there with whomever is visiting.
Except we don’t get late-night visitors.
This reeks of a certain meddlesome journalist. What the fuck is he doing with her?
I take the short walk to find out.
At the entrance of the stable, I push past the door and slam to a stop.
Arms bound to a support post and legs kicking air, Maybe Quinn is trussed up with rope and seething past clenched teeth.
I guess that’s one way to deal with the journalist.
“You’re going to regret this, you sick, perverted, sick…sicko!” She thrashes against the restraints, causing her dirt-smudged dress to slip farther off her shoulder.
She’s a filthy mess, hair hanging in her face and skirts ruched up in the rope.
Jarret circles her, flicking a riding crop against her bare legs. Irritation lines his expression, but beneath that, he’s worked up in a way I don’t want to see my brother. Ever.
I edge closer, pausing a few feet away, and they turn their heads in my direction.
“Is this consensual?”
I hate asking him that question. He would never force a woman. Though, there’s a gray area, a dubious zone that he and I love to play in.
Jarret gives her another whack with the crop, and she growls at him.
“I don’t know.” He steps into her space, grips the pole above her head, and puts his face in hers. “Is it consensual, Maybe? Do we have a deal?”
The hungry look in his eyes tells me exactly what kind of deal he’s offering.
“This is not what I had in mind.” Her chest heaves, cinching the rope he looped around her torso.
“Yes or no.” He pinches her chin, making her breaths come harder. “My brother’s not going to leave until he knows you’re willing. Do you want the story or not?”
I don’t know what bullshit story he promised her, because he sure as hell wouldn’t give her the story.
She cuts her eyes at me. “You can go. I’ll deal with your brother.”
I meet Jarret’s gaze. “You might want to bind her—”
She kicks out and nails him directly in the groin.
“—legs.”
He bends over, cupping himself, and shoots me a glare. “I’ve got this.”
“I see that.” I back away, grinning. “Good luck.”
Maybe Quinn must be hard up for a job. I can only imagine what she’ll agree to do to get our story.
My dirty imagination follows me back to the house, resulting in a sizable erection by the time I slide into bed with the hottest woman on the planet.
I should let her sleep. That would be the selfless thing to do.
I’m here for you, too, you know. Whenever you need me.
She wasn’t thinking about sex when she offered those words. But I’m a guy, and my needs are simple.
So I wake her with my mouth between her legs. Then I flip her over and ride her into the mattress until she needs me as much as I need her.
After, when our needs are sated and my body twitches with fatigue and lingering bliss, I make myself move. I pull her into my arms, and the tattooed canvas of hers comes around me.
Legs tangled.
Breaths melded.
Hearts knotted together.
Mine.