Chapter 9
STRYKER
The following morning, the ranch looked like it had been invaded by the most efficient repair crew in Southern California.
The club didn’t bring strangers onto land that sat this close to the compound unless we had no other choice, and I had no interest in giving contractors access to Jacqueline’s property when my brothers had enough stubbornness to rebuild the place ourselves.
I was about to head out and pitch in, but I found Jacqueline standing in the upstairs bathroom staring at my shaving kit in the drawer.
She glanced at me in the mirror, her eyes bright with amusement as she tapped the edge with her finger. “Your toothbrush moved in two days ago. Now your toothpaste and shaving kit have joined it. Should I be expecting your entire closet by dinner?”
“Tomorrow,” I teased, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe and letting my gaze move over the soft curve of her body. “Didn’t want to rush you.”
Jacqueline blinked, then laughed. “That is you not rushing me?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled and shook her head, but she closed the drawer and didn’t tell me to take anything out.
Then she slipped past me into the hall, her shoulder brushing my chest because I hadn’t moved out of her way.
I let my hand settle at her waist for a moment as she passed, just long enough to feel her breath hitch, and I almost decided to make better use of the bathroom counter.
Instead, I followed her downstairs and headed out to the barn and spent the next two hours resetting fence posts, hauling broken boards, and talking logistics with Jacqueline about the rehab operation.
I was tightening a brace on the side of the barn when I noticed Jacqueline on the side porch with a paintbrush in one hand and a small can of sage-green paint beside her boot.
She had been touching up the shutters all morning, painting everything she could reach from the porch boards.
But even going up onto her tiptoes wasn’t going to get the top quarter.
I assumed she’d come ask for help when she was ready to tackle those sections, so I kept working.
She was safe, content, and so pretty in the morning light that looking too long threatened productivity.
But she’d stopped and was glaring at the shutters. Then she sighed, disappeared into the barn, and came back dragging an old worn wooden stepladder. I remembered seeing it earlier, and I was already moving by the time my brain registered what was happening.
Fucking hell.
When I reached the porch, Jacqueline had the ladder open and had climbed up two steps with the paint can hanging from one hand and the paintbrush clasped between her teeth. The cracked front rail creaked, then she shifted her weight and the old wood started splitting up the side.
I wrapped my hands around her waist and lifted her off the ladder just before it would have collapsed. She gasped, the brush falling from her mouth as I set her on the porch boards. I took the paint can and moved it out of the way.
My mouth remained shut because I was afraid if I said something, I would reprimand her like one of my soldiers.
And she wouldn’t understand that my anger was born from fear.
So I stepped past her, reached the top of the shutter without stretching, and started painting the last few inches she hadn’t been able to reach.
I could feel her staring at my back. Her voice was awash with stubbornness and abused pride when she grumbled, “I was almost finished.”
“No.” I filled the top edge with smooth strokes to keep myself calm. “You were almost on your ass.”
She glared at me and folded her arms. “I was perfectly safe.”
I glanced toward the ladder, then at the long crack running up one leg. Arching a brow, I waited while she followed my gaze.
“Oh.” Her voice was chagrinned, then picked up a tiny thread of sass when she huffed, “Okay. I may have been moderately safe.”
I gave her a look.
“Fine,” she admitted. “Poorly safe.”
“Try unsafe.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“So does falling off a ladder.”
She huffed again, but a smile tugged at her mouth.
I finished painting the shutter, the last strip at my eye level.
She looked from it to me with an expression that said she found the entire situation profoundly unfair. “You are annoyingly tall.”
“Makes it easier to put you where I want you when you’re determined to use a death trap.”
It was late afternoon by the time the brothers had cleared out. She muttered something about perfectly serviceable ladders while rinsing paint from her hands at the kitchen sink, and I leaned against the counter, watching the pink in her cheeks deepen because she knew I’d heard every word.
“You have thoughts?” I asked.
“I have several.” She dried her hands with a dish towel. “Most involve you carrying me around and deciding what I’m allowed to climb.”
“Think I already mentioned that I like putting you where I want you,” I murmured, stepping close enough that her back met the counter and her hands landed against my chest.
Her blush spread fast, down her throat and into the collar of her shirt, but she didn’t look away. The shy softness in her eyes turned heavier, and my cock answered so hard it bordered on painful.
“I’ve been thinking about the other night,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as her fingers curled into my shirt. “When we, um, kissed.”
I settled one hand at her waist and the other around her nape, tilting her face up until her mouth was where I wanted it. “Good.”
The first brush of my lips over hers pulled a soft sound from her, and I felt it move through my entire body. I kissed her slowly, giving her time to open for me, then deeper when her hands slid up my chest, and her body melted into mine. Every stroke of my tongue over hers made my grip tighten.
I lifted her onto the counter without breaking the kiss, and her legs parted around my hips as I pulled her to the edge, fitting my erection directly against the heat between her thighs.
She gasped into my mouth at the feeling of my shaft grinding against her heated center, and the sound went straight to my dick.
“Brogan,” she breathed, her fingers sliding into my hair.
“Fuck, baby.” I dragged my lips down her throat, scraping my teeth lightly over the pulse fluttering beneath her skin. “Love it when you say my name like that.”
Her hips rolled against me, and I nearly lost my last piece of restraint.
I slid one hand beneath her shirt, palming the warm skin of her waist before climbing higher to the underside of her breast. Glancing down at her shirt, I could see her nipples tighten before I’d even touched them.
When my thumb swept over one of the peaks through the thin cup of her bra, she arched with a broken little moan that made my cock throb.
I took her mouth again while my other hand worked open the button of her jeans.
She froze for half a breath, then softened, her thighs widening around me as if her body had been waiting for my touch.
My hand slid under the soft cotton of her panties and found her sweet little pussy slick enough to coat my fingers.
“Fucking soaked,” I groaned against her mouth.
Her head fell back against the cabinet when I circled her opening with tight movements that had her fingers digging into my shoulders.
I watched every expression cross her face—the shock, pleasure, and embarrassed attempt to stay quiet that didn’t stand a chance once I slid a finger inside her.
She was tight, hot, and so drenched my vision turned hazy from the need battering my control.
“Let me have every sound.”
I worked her slowly, my thumb steady on her clit while my finger moved in and out of her gripping heat. Her breath broke apart, her soft sounds turning into helpless little cries she tried to bury against my shoulder until I caught her chin and made her look at me.
“Eyes on me.”
Her lashes fluttered, but she gave me her azure eyes hazy with need. “Brogan, I—”
“Relax, baby,” I soothed. “Just let it happen.”
I pressed harder on her little bud, curling my finger until her entire body jolted. “That’s right. Come for me, baby.”
She shattered with my name on her lips, her thighs clamping around my hips as pleasure took her hard and fast. I was mesmerized by the sweet flush that spread across her face while her body pulsed around my finger, and the sight nearly brought me to my knees.
Nothing I’d imagined came close to the reality of Jacqueline coming apart on my hand.
I was still breathing hard when a shrill tone cut through the kitchen.
What the fuck?