Authors: Beth D. Carter
"Were you a bitch to him?"
"Why is that the first thing you ask?"
"Why aren't you answering?"
"I may have said some un-nice words, but he should know I always say un-nice words!"
His brow arched as he gave her an exasperated look that spoke volumes. She wilted. Her shoulders hunched as she slumped back in the chair.
"I don't know why I have to fight all the time,” she admitted quietly. “A haze seems to cover my brain, and before I realize what I'm saying, all the bad things just pour out."
"If you do enough of the bad, then people aren't let down when you fail."
Her head snapped up. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. For once, her snappy comeback died in midthought.
"You aren't the only person who's done some stupid stuff,” he admitted, coughing a bit at the end.
Heather jumped from her chair to bring his glass of water to his lips, helping him drink before wiping his mouth with a tissue.
"I know all about it, girl,” he whispered through bloodless lips. He looked washed-out, as pale as the ghost he was turning into.
"Know about what?"
He opened tired, dull eyes. “I wanted you to come live with me, but your mother refused. Said all you needed was time to heal. But I knew better. I knew that place was a constant reminder of the pain you went through. Nothing good would come from there, but your mother didn't want to listen to me. By then your father had left you both, and she didn't trust me."
Words eluded her. Her grandfather's admission opened a floodgate of emotion that swarmed her mind and condensed all her thoughts down to one mantra:
He knew! He knew!
"Why did you come here, Heather?"
His gruff, scratchy voice broke through her scattered introspection. Her focus snapped back, and she quickly jumped to her feet.
"Don't,” she ordered. “I don't want to go there."
"Ain't no use running, girl. What's done is done. Time to let it go. I think you came here, to this ranch, for that reason. Didn't you?"
Heather shook her head. “I came here because I ran out of money and needed a place to stay."
"Is that what you want the ranch for? Money?"
She didn't answer. Instead she turned around and headed for the door.
"Don't go,” Lincoln Hart said with a wheeze. “If you don't want to talk about this, then read me the damn book."
Heather dropped it in the trash can before opening the door and leaving.
Once again, she couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed thinking about what the old man had said. A big part of her psyche warned her not to, to push everything away and hide from it like she usually did. But a small sliver of insanity insisted she remember, that she face her demon in order to bury it properly.
But if she did that, then what did she have left? She didn't know if she was strong enough to face the fact that twenty years of her life was gone, devoted to a single incident that had ruined her future and her dreams. If she were to start over, then where would she start? What would she do? All she really knew how to do was teach aerobics.
Could she live here and learn about ranching?
Heather rose from her bed and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She pulled on socks and tennis shoes and left her bedroom, making her way silently out of the house. The night air was cool, as opposed to the humid heat that lingered through the daylight hours.
She could get used to the peace that surrounded the night. Times like this allowed her to imagine she was free, that she was all alone in the world and didn't have to raise her defenses. The smells of the ranch wafted on the breeze, a mixture of hay and dirt and animals. A little of that smell clung to Tristan all the time.
Without realizing it, the restlessness that had snaked its way through her system brought her to his trailer. Butterflies danced in her stomach, and a thousand denials raced through her mind. But her hand lifted and knocked.
It took him a moment to answer. He wore jeans that were zipped but unbuttoned, with no shoes or shirt. His nipples puckered in the cool air. His expression was grim.
"Is it Lincoln?"
She shook her head, and his shoulders relaxed a bit.
"Then what is it?"
"Can I come in?"
The moon cast a soft glow over his face, turning his chiseled and angular features into soft planes and shadows. She could tell he wanted to say no, but he stepped aside to allow her to pass.
"Do whatever you want, Heather. You always do.” He stomped away, leaving the door open.
Heather walked in and looked around the spacious trailer. The door opened into the living room, where a large flat-screen had been mounted on the wall. A large brown leather couch and a chair sat facing it, with an end table between them. Beer cans, magazines, and newspapers littered the surface of the glass coffee table. To the right, toward the front of the trailer, stood the kitchen with a small table and chairs. Toward the back, a hallway branched off to what she assumed must be the bedroom, bathroom, and laundry facilities.
Tristan stood in the center of the room, arms crossed. “If you're trying to win this competition by driving me crazy, then it's working” he said flatly.
"I'm sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I know how difficult I can be. I didn't mean to insult you after we—"
"Fucked,” he finished harshly.
Heather winced at the angry tone. She sighed. “Tristan, I'm sorry. My defense is being insulting."
"Why do you need defenses with me?"
"Are you kidding?"
He sighed and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. Silver peppered the dark layers, adding a depth to his rugged appeal. She wanted to run her fingers through the glossy mass.
"I'm forty-one years old, Heather, too old for games."
"How come you're not married?"
He waved a hand around. “My life has been devoted to this ranch. After Avery and Simon died, I never found the time to actively pursue a relationship. What about you? I thought marriage was every woman's dream."
"My dream is security,” she replied.
"And this ranch could bring a nice price to you, enough to give you that security."
She bit her lip. “I'm not going to lie and tell you that hasn't crossed my mind."
"You keep sucking up to your grandfather, and I'm sure he'll reward you."
"I'm not here to argue."
"Then why are you here?"
"I don't know!"
"Heather, I don't want to play games—"
"I'm not. I came here to...I just wanted to...damn it! I really don't know why I'm here. First you reel me in, then you insult me. And you ignore me for days! So why am I here, Tristan? Why am I always thinking about you?"
Her stared at her for a heartbeat, then grabbed her arms and pulled her into his embrace. His mouth came down on hers, almost brutally, but she met the force with equal hunger. This was what she wanted, what she craved. Her fingers slid though his chest hair, over firm pecs and hot flesh.
He broke the kiss and leaned back far enough to peer down into her face. “What do you want, Heather? Come on, tell me why you're here."
"I told you, damn it, I don't know!"
"Yes, you do,” he said, and he brought his mouth to her neck. He grazed his teeth over the sensitive area right under her ear, causing her to shiver, before taking a nip.
"Again,” she whispered.
She felt his smile against her throat. His next bite was a little harder, a little deeper. She knew instinctively it was going to leave a mark, but she didn't care. At the moment, all she knew was that her heart raced, excitement rushed through her blood, and cream coated her panties.
"This.” He breathed against the bruise he just made. “This is what you want. You want to be fucked. You want me so deep inside that you don't know where you end and I begin."
She squirmed against him, not sure if she wanted to admit he was right. But then he nipped the tender spot on her neck, proceeding to lick downward, stopping when he reached the V of her shirt.
Tristan pulled back, putting space between them. Heather panted, watching him as he stared at her. One of his eyebrows was lifted.
"I'm right, aren't I, Heather?"
She tried to bring her breathing under control, but having him stand two feet away, half-undressed and looking like a Greek god did not help the situation. Instead she thrust her chin up.
"Are you saying you don't want me?” she countered.
When he didn't answer, she took off her shirt. She saw his nostrils flare as he took in her white, lacy bra, the color stark against her tan skin.
"Huh, Tristan?” she taunted as she unbuttoned her jeans. “Works both ways. You fuck me; I fuck you. Does it really matter who gives in?"
"Of course it does,” he said.
She pushed her jeans down a little, revealing tiny, white panties. His gaze was glued on her hands as her fingers played against the smooth skin on her hips.
"And if I said I wanted to be on top?"
He swallowed, then licked his lips. She smiled.
She drew her pants down, stepping out of them gracefully. She posed, knowing she looked good, and watched as Tristan looked her up and down. She felt his gaze like heated coals raking over her body.
Heather stepped into him, pushing her breasts against his hard chest, and slid her hands up his shoulders to encircle his neck. With her body tight against his, she stood on tiptoe.
"My turn,” she murmured, breathing slightly into his ear, making sure she gave the shell a tiny lick before biting the lobe. Hard.
Tristan winced, but the pain seemed to shake him from his lust-induced coma. He put his arms around her and crushed her to him as his mouth found hers. He swept his tongue in, finding and mating with hers, plunging in and out as his hand buried in her hair to keep her head still.
He picked her up, and Heather wrapped her legs around his waist. She enjoyed the slight friction of his jeans rubbing against her stimulated clit and ground her hips into the hardness of his cock. Moving with deliberate, exaggerated movements, he backed up until his ass hit the arm of the sofa. He half sat, half stood, allowing her legs to fold over his lap. This angled her pussy in direct alignment with his cock, giving her the control she sought despite the clothing still between them.
Heather took the opportunity to rub herself up and down his body like a cat in heat. She kissed his face, his neck, and his shoulders, liking the friction against her sensitive breasts. He reached up and unhooked her bra, helping her slide the scrap of material off. He kneaded the soft flesh and teased the hard nipples as her kisses became more aggressive.
She ground her pelvis into his. Teasing him, teasing them both, letting the tension build until she wanted to explore more. Carefully she stepped off the sofa arm. She traced a pattern with her lips and tongue down his chest. She opened his fly and pushed his jeans down the hard muscles of his ass. She carefully guided his stiff cock around the zipper's teeth, relishing the tortured groan he emitted as she slowly started to pump it up and down.
Using the precum that beaded the top, she let her right hand play as she used her left to push his jeans farther down. Tristan stepped out of them and mindlessly kicked them aside before widening his stance to allow her to explore.
Heather cushioned the huge cock between her breasts and rocked back and forth in a pumping motion while her fingers teased his backside, running along his crack and dipping in to trace along his puckered hole. Tristan stiffened and started to pull away a little, but Heather held him firm and dug her nails into his cheeks. He got the hint and held still but kept his body rigid.
She took his cock in her mouth just as she sank her little finger into the raised ridge of his anus.
"Oh my God,” he muttered.
Heather could tell he was incredibly turned on by her blowjob but extremely unsure about being penetrated. She moved her mouth, mimicking the pumping action to his hole, until she found the smooth nub of his prostrate. When she did, he seized suddenly.
"Holy Christ! What the fuck was that?” he said with a moan.
"That's your sweet spot,” she murmured as she pulled her mouth off his cock to look up at him. “Do you like it?"
In response he closed his eyes and wiggled his ass. Heather engulfed him again, her little finger rubbing him within. It was incredibly sexy to see such a powerful man withering at her touch, her mercy, and it turned her on in a completely different way. She had done this before, with other men, yet somehow, with Tristan, none of this seemed dirty or ugly.
"Enough.” He pulled her up by her arms. Heather's finger left his body as she lounged against him, cradled between his thighs. Only the barrier of her sheer panties separated them.
He rested his forehead against hers, his chest heaving. Then he suddenly picked her up and swung her around, planting her ass on the back of the couch.
"I need to be in you!” he muttered in a deep, tortured voice.
"I wanted to be on top,” she replied.
"Believe me, you've more than proved your dominance of me.” He pulled off her panties and stepped into the juncture of her legs. She stopped him, holding her arm against his chest, and stared into his eyes. For a moment, there was a feral light in his eyes, wild and out of control, and she struggled against him.
He stilled and stepped back. “Heather?"
The uncertainty in his tone cleared her head and pushed away the tiny glint of fear that had blossomed. Desire returned in a rush, erasing the need to be in total control. Heather pulled him back into her. Tristan held her hips as he pushed his hard cock into her body. He held still for a moment, his forehead resting against hers, until she flexed her vaginal muscles and squeezed him. His eyes fluttered closed as he thrust again, his angle causing his shaft to rub against her clit.
She wrapped her legs around his hips as she dug her nails into his shoulders. He pulled her tight into his body, and she loved the sensation of feeling all of him all over her. He started rocking his hips slowly, allowing her time to digest every sensation. But the tension built all too soon. In moments she wanted more, harder and deeper. She urged him on, speeding him up by pumping her own hips to meet his.