47
Restraint
He deserved a medal for restraint.
Watching Brandy-Lyn undress? Pure torment.
Hearing her groan as she slid into the water? Agony.
And then — because he was a goddamn fool — he went and massaged her feet.
He had scars on his back to attest to the pain Kamila had inflicted, so when he claimed that bathing with Brandy-Lyn was torture, he knew what he was talking about.
In the last five minutes he experienced it all.
Sweet torment.
Glorious pain.
Magnificent hell.
He’d like nothing more than to lift her onto his lap and slide balls deep into her. But she was almost asleep, and he needed to get her out of the water and into bed. He stood and stepped from the bath. Brandy-Lyn didn’t even open her eyes. He dried off and tied a towel around his waist.
“Hey, Red.” He crouched beside the bath and ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. “Time to get out.”
Her eyelids lifted, then fell again. “Leave. Sleeping,” she mumbled.
“You’re still in the bath, darlin’. Gotta get you out.”
This time her eyes stayed open. “Right.”
“Come. I’ll help you.”
She clasped his outstretched hand and— “Wait!” Startled green eyes met his. “I’m naked.”
“As a jaybird,” he added, grinning. “Your exact words were ‘I’ve never bathed in undies’.”
Her gaze dropped from his. “ Ugh. Wipe that stupid grin off your face and help me out of the damned tub.”
Instead of pulling her up, he stooped over and lifted her into his arms. “Rafferty!” She grabbed hold of his neck. “I weigh a ton.”
“Lightest ton I’ve ever held,” he said, lowering her to her feet.
For a glorious, heart-stopping beat he held her bare body flush against his.
She dropped her arms, and he stepped back, reaching for a towel.
Her hair tumbled loose from its knot above her head, a rope of copper coiling around her neck and shoulder.
He drank his fill as she stood on the sodden mat beside the tub, unmoving, but splendidly naked.
His mouth salivated, hankering to explore every inch of her exposed flesh.
Botticelli’s Venus , he thought, shaking out the towel.
Before he gave in to his carnal desires, he draped the warm cotton around her and guided her to the bed.
“Get dry,” he growled, and turned away to fetch her pajamas from the bathroom.
He took a moment to grab boxers from his bag and drag them on before attending to the woman who was slowly killing him.
She’d managed a half-hearted attempt at drying herself, but he deemed it sufficient.
Seeing her bare flesh was torturous temptation, and he was determined not to take advantage of her.
He shook out the hideous flannel top, and without bothering to undo the buttons, he ordered, “Arms up.”
She obeyed, giving him a delightful view of her tits and their hard tips.
The material fell into place, rudely hiding the glorious sight.
Crouching before her, he tamped down the temptation to spread her knees and peek at her hidden delight.
Instead, he wrangled the flannel over her feet and up her calves.
“Hold on to my shoulders and stand,” he instructed.
He stood with her, pulling the material up and over her hips.
His hands lingered, enjoying the proximity of her body to his. Her palms moved over his shoulders and gooseflesh followed in their wake. She combed her fingers into the hair on his neck as she leaned back and looked him square in the eye. “I’ve fallen for you, cowboy.”
And just like that, his resistance crumbled.
He lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers. A slight whimper escaped as her lips parted under his. He deepened the kiss, pulling her flush against him. Every glorious inch of her flesh burned through the material.
She tightened her hold, wrapping her arm around his neck, clinging to him. Pushing his tongue past her lips, he groaned and tunneled his hand under her top, splaying his fingers—
His cellphone rang, the old-fashioned ringtone jarringly rude. He wanted to ignore it, but he was waiting for an update from Stas, and he reluctantly dragged his mouth away from hers. A quick glance at the device showed it was, indeed, the security team operator. “Sorry, Red. Need to get this.”
She nodded and dropped her arm.
Rafferty turned away and palmed his cellphone. “Find anything?”
“Know anyone who smokes cigarillos? Looking at two ends near the southeast edge of the parking lot.”
His stomach dropped as dread rolled in. “Kamila smoked Cavaliere.”
“I’ll bag them and get it to a lab pronto.”
“It’s her.” He knew it as certain as he knew he loved the woman watching him from the bed with wide concerned eyes. “She’s still in town.”
Fuck, fuck. Fuck.
“Connor and Sinead,” he rasped.
“We already had two operators keeping watch at the sheriff’s house. Ruby is on the line with them as we speak. I’ve spoken to Chief, and he’s sending additional personnel from our New York office. They’ll arrive overnight. We’ve got you covered.”
“Thanks, man. And can you contact SAC Hannigan? The more people searching for the fucking woman the better.”
“On it. And Lawson?”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you look after your woman.”
His woman. Hot damn, that sounded so fucking right.
“With my life.”
“She’s still here?” Brandy-Lyn whispered when he ended the call.
“Seems so,” he hissed, tossing his cellphone aside. “You should walk away, Brandy-Lyn. Now. Being with me places you in danger.” He rubbed a hand over his head, touching the rose above his temple.
She lifted her chin. “Not going.”
“Red—”
“I’m too tired to argue with you tonight. There’s a competent security team keeping watch. Tonight, we’re safe. We both need sleep, Rafferty. And tomorrow, we grab those kids and hightail it back to Texas.”
*
Sleep was fitful, and despite his fretting, Rafferty woke sporting a hard-on of all hard-ons.
It was still early, Brandy-Lyn fast asleep beside him, and he eased off the bed so as not to disturb her.
A quick glance at his cellphone showed nothing new after last night’s call with Stas, and he made his way to the bathroom.
After using the toilet, he stepped into the shower, figuring it a wise idea to take the edge off his need to fuck the woman into oblivion.
Hot water cascaded over his body, and he took hold of his straining cock.
He called up the vision of his Red lying back in the porcelain tub and moaning as he massaged her feet while the generous mounds of her breasts played peek-a-boo with the dissolving bubbles.
With a few strokes and a low groan, a long rope spurted against the tiles.
He watched it run off and disappear down the drain and pumped out the last few drops.
His pressing need was slaked, yet he felt dissatisfied.
Empty.
Annoyed, he let go of his limp dick.
With Brandy-Lyn so close, masturbating had lost its appeal. “Fuck. You’ve broken me, Red,” he muttered, reaching for the shower gel. He squirted a liberal amount on the washcloth and vigorously soaped down his body.
A few minutes later, towel slung low around his hips, Rafferty stepped back into the bedroom. The scent of fresh coffee reached him first. Then he saw her — standing in a pool of soft sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, a mug cradled in her hands.
Her hair, a wild river of fire, tumbled over her shoulders, untamed and stunning. And even in those loose, beige flannel pajamas speckled with horseshoes — arguably the ugliest things he’d ever seen — he’d never laid eyes on anything more alluring.
His first instinct was to berate her for standing in front of a window, defenseless against an evil woman, but the only illumination came from outside, rendering visibility inside virtually nil.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, moving closer.
She lowered her mug and gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “You’ve showered.”
He grinned at the mild accusation in her tone. “Observant,” he said, removing the mug from her fingers.
“Hey. Get your own.”
Rafferty took a generous sip. And almost spewed out the coffee. He swallowed the vile concoction with a grimace. “Fuck, Red, how many sugars do you use?”
“Serves you right,” she muttered.
He placed the mug on the nearby coffee table and swiped a hand across his mouth. “Someone’s a little grouchy this morning.”
“Am not,” she grouched.
Fully facing her, he cupped the side of her face and used his thumbs to smooth out her pouty lips. “Morning, beautiful,” he whispered, kissing her.
She jerked away, scowling. “I haven’t brushed my teeth. And I need to pee.”
Taken aback by her sharp tone, he removed his hand and shifted away.“Have at it.”
She sashayed — no one sashayed quite like Brandy-Lyn — across the floor and into the bathroom, shutting the door with a decisive click.
A frown formed. Something had crawled up her pretty ass. Fuck . He hoped it wasn’t regret. Then again, it would be safer for her if she distanced herself from him.
Maybe sanity had sunk in overnight.
His insides spasmed at the idea of Brandy-Lyn backing out.
You’re a selfish bastard, Rafferty.
It would take her out of Kamila’s crosshairs.
You’ve no proof that Kamila’s here.
It’s all conjecture formed by your broken mind.
The water turned on in the bathroom. She was showering.
The vision of her stepping into the cubicle still steaming from his own shower teased his mind.
He imagined her lifting her gorgeous face to the cascading water, wetting that mane of flaming hair and turning it dark copper.
Water caressing all that smooth, creamy white skin patterned with golden freckles, running over rosy nipples gracing breasts grown men wept over.
Water streaming over hips made for loving, mingling with the trimmed patch of red hair sheltering her pussy, and flowing down legs honed by years of horseback riding.
His dick swelled, and Rafferty spun around with a grunt. The towel loosened, and he tore it away and flung it across the room. He grabbed a fresh pair of jeans, yanking them over his hips, cramming his penis none too gently in. “Misbehaving miscreant,” he muttered, pulling up the zipper.
He stalked to the coffee machine and shoved a pod in the slot.
Thankfully, the hotel had doubled the supply of pods.
He’d need more than one shot today. Coffee in hand, he took up the same position Brandy-Lyn had earlier and looked out the window, taking careful note of the surroundings.
With the hotel situated on the edge of the business area of Clearbrook, it offered a view of the park leading down to the lake on the right, and a variety of shops to the left.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A couple of vehicles driving by.
A few people clustered in the coffee shop waiting for their brew.
A landscaping van offloading a crew of workers and equipment.
Just a small town waking up, preparing for another day.
Not a hint of evil hiding within the charmingly harmless picture.
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
Rafferty’s gaze drifted from the window to Brandy-Lyn as she stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
She was once again clad in those godawful pajamas, her damp hair slicked back from her face.
With hands planted on her hips and a thundercloud scowl in place, she marched straight toward him.
She looked madder than a wet hen.
Clearly, the shower had done nothing to rinse away her earlier pique.
Rafferty set down his mug and shoved aside thoughts of Kamila and looming threats.
“Don’t play games with me,” she snapped.
His brows drew together. “Games?”
“You got up and showered.”
Call him dimwitted, but it took a second for the accusation to land.
When it did, a soft chuckle escaped before he could stop it.
She swatted his arm. “Don’t laugh at me.”
He slid his hands to her shoulders, thumbs instinctively finding the warm, still-damp pulse points at her neck. Leaning in just a little, voice low and unapologetic, he said, “I got up and showered … to masturbate, Red.”
Her mouth dropped open. Closed. Then opened again. “But… why?” she croaked.
Rafferty shifted his hand, catching a rope of wet hair and twisting it gently around his fingers.
He gave it a soft tug, drawing her closer, his gaze roving across her face — the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the confusion swimming in her eyes.
Her freckles stood out stark against skin still pink from the shower.
“Because sleeping next to you was sweet torture,” he murmured. “I woke up with the king of all hard-ons, Red. If we’d had sex, it would’ve been over in two seconds. I’d prefer to savor our first time together.”
She blinked, eyes wide. “Oh.”
“Hmm.” His grip on her hair tightened just enough to tilt her face upward, baring the long line of her throat.
His other hand slid around her shoulder, fingers splaying wide across her upper back, drawing her in.
He nuzzled the soft skin beneath her ear, inhaling deeply.
A hint of citrus soap, warm skin, and steam.
“I miss the smell of leather and horse,” he murmured.
Brandy-Lyn stiffened. “Did you just insult me?” she hissed in his ear.
He held firm as she tried to pull away, grinning against her skin. “I love the way you smell, Red,” he murmured, then grazed his teeth along the underside of her jaw in a teasing nibble.
“Rafferty.” Her voice was a low mix of protest and want, a half-groan that betrayed her resolve. But she melted against him anyway, her fingers diving into his hair, her hips pressing into the hard line of his arousal.